#i want him to aim for my eye like a homing dart and splatter that shit everywhere

[zeeroweenies]

Need baji’s nut on my face.

#burn book 📓 #i want him to aim for my eye like a homing dart and splatter that shit everywhere #‘locked n loaded lieutenant’ #‘sir yes sir!’ 🥸

[ratcatcher0325]

Nobody’s Fool (Chapter #2)

Hello! Here we are with Chapter 2! There's so much more to this story I can't wait to share!

Previous: Chapter #1

Next: Chapter #3

CW: Adult language, dehumanization, references to abuse, mild non-sexual nudity ________________________________________

NOBODY'S FOOL

Chapter #2: One Step at a Time

[Eveline's POV]

Stepping out of doors, I watched his whole body tense as he immediately quaked from the cold. I held him inside my jacket to try to keep him warm, before I walked around the corner and headed up the concrete stairs. As soon as we got to the top of the stairs and I started to guide my steps towards apartment 2B, he shot upwards, squeezing my pinky with a tiny white knuckle grip.

Please don’t make me feel guilty, little one, I’m doing the right thing….

I knocked on the door, the music practically blasting. I could see plenty of people still there, playing pool, shouting, doing shots through the window. I hated my neighbor. I heard the grind of a lock, the turning of the knob. Suddenly, there she was, in a ‘sexy Santa’ outfit. She stood in the doorway, drink in hand, reeking of tequila.

“Whadd you want???” She was trashed. The second the door opened, and the snarky blonde woman leaned outside, the little man in my palm trembled like he was facing down a lioness or a she-wolf. His quaking caught her eye, and she looked down at him. The second her gaze locked with his he whimpered and suddenly I felt something warm on my hand…the poor little thing was pissing himself he was so afraid.

“Mmm h-heyy lil dude! Th-Thought you broke your neck down there…. Ha! Guess yer stronger than you look!!” She jabbed a finger aimed at his chest, and he yelped like a frightened puppy. Instinctively, I stepped back so she didn’t touch him.

“You, you need to take better care of him, Claire. If I hadn’t found him who knows if he would have survived the night? He’s not being fed enough, and he was filthy. I cleaned him up and gave him something to eat…. You should really be more careful…”

She snorted, practically teetering in place. Would she even remember this tomorrow? “Are you giving him back to me? Cuz I don wann him. If you don’t either you can toss him off the balcony again, bonus points if he splatters on impact…” she grinned widely, finding this all very funny.“Nah, but I don’t—-I don’t give a fuck. Sell him or somethin’, I’m tired of dealin’ with his ass. He's way too fucking needy…. And ‘spensive…”

Most of the party goers were now staring at me through the open door, clearly pissed that I was dampening the mood. “You are seriously fucked up, Claire. All of you! It’s four in the goddamn morning!! Shut the fuck up and go the fuck home!” Claire was horrified! She gasped. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She stepped forward to give me a piece of her mind, before she tottered on shaky, high-heeled legs. I could tell it was happening a split second before she did. I stepped to the side, as she suddenly vomited all over her entryway.

“Have a good night…” I mumbled. I could still feel the tiny fingernails cutting into my flesh as the petrified little guy witnessed this insane scene in front of him. I darted off down those same concrete steps, back down the driveway, back to my door, back inside. Kicking the snow off my shoes, I took them off by the door, before turning my full attention to the tiny guy.

Poor little thing, those boxers were soaking wet. When I finally settled enough to truly take him in, I was surprised as what I saw. His face was knitted up in anger, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. Oh. Shit.

“Hey little fella…. Are you mad at me? For trying to return you? I only brought you back because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do…I, I’m sorry. I see now how abusive it was….” Instead of screaming at me or trying, (uselessly, of course) to get away, he instead curled up in a little ball and wept. This shattered my heart into a million pieces. Big, heaving sighs wracked his tiny body. I wanted so badly to rock him, hold him, stroke him, comfort him. But I knew he was angry with me. I’d almost sent him back to that nightmare. I caused him to relive that trauma and think he was doomed to repeat it.

Poor, sweet, precious little man. I hurt you….

I wrapped him up gently in that same hand towel, turned the heating pad on and sat on the opposite side of the room. I grabbed my pencil and sketch pad, and resumed the illustration work I had been trying to accomplish earlier in the night, giving him space to rage and grieve and hurt while still being close in case he needed anything. I knew right then and there that I would vow to take good care of him from this day forward. He was mine to look after and I’d make damn sure he was safe, happy and healthy. Even if he hated my guts forever for betraying him.

He cried for a long while. His sobs almost impossible to hear from this distance. I found myself, without even thinking, sketching that little bundle of towel and man. Suddenly I had dozens of little doodles of his raven hair and sad beautiful eyes.

Finally, when all the fight had been knocked out of him, he lay there, limply, his left shoulder and side, pressed against the arm of the couch, his bare feet just peeking out of the towel, he looked about himself. He searched around wildly, I supposed just now realizing he didn’t know where I was. It took him a moment to survey the room, vast as it was compared to his little frame, before his eyes landed on me in the corner. He quickly looked away. Pressing closer to the arm of the couch. It hurt that he was so scared of me, but I couldn’t blame him.

“Hi, little guy…” I waved sheepishly. He did not turn to look at me. Back to work then. I tried to focus my attention on my actual client work but my hand refused to not capture him, in what details I could see from this spot. Probably another half an hour went by in silence (well, minus the soundtrack of the party above) as he gazed inquisitively at the space around him, taking in the design on my pillows, the surface of my couch, my display of plants, my books, my paintings. Everything but me.

Finally, and so unexpectedly that I practically jumped, his cracked voice cut through the (relative) quiet, “Ma’am? May I ask…Why do you keep looking at me?” He stared straight ahead as he did so, as though the question alone might get him smacked across the head. I was surprised by how articulate, how adult he sounded. His voice was silky, deep. I mean, I knew he wouldn’t sound like a chipmunk but… still. Here I had been chirping at him like he was a little baby and now he was speaking to me like a fully articulate adult. It was surprising, unexpected. I’d never been around one of these guys before… I guess I had assumed they had limited linguistic capabilities, like a gorilla who knew sign language.

“I’m sorry…. Do you not want me to?” He turned to face me, but still avoided my eyes. “No ma’am, I just wondered what you were doing….” His voice trembled a bit. He was still scared. He was still just a little puppy in so many ways… a puppy with a beautiful voice. “Can I come closer? Can I show you?”

His spine stiffened. “It’s okay, little man….” I whispered. He softened slightly, nodding his head a bit mechanically. Slowly, I crossed the living room, sitting down on the floor again, I scooted as close as I thought I should at this point, and I opened my sketchbook to show him his likeness made in pencil. He leaned forward, staring at the pages with his bright, intelligent eyes. “…. That’s me?” He breathed. I nodded. “Is that what I look like? So small…” he seemed to shiver, but not from cold.

“Hey, it’s okay. I, I owe you an apology… for, for taking you back there… it was wrong… I’m so sorry for what she did to you….” He shook his head, eyes wet with tears again, as if to plead for me to stop. I shut up. He wiped his eyes with the edge of the towel.

“What’s your name?” He pulled his head out of the fabric for a second, confused. “Huh?” “What’s your name? What would you like me to call you? Or I can just keep calling you little guy if you like that better…” he paused for a moment.

“She…. She named me J-Joey, after some tv show character…” I placed a finger on his mess of curls, I knew he wouldn’t like me touching him, but I wanted him to know I was sincere, “No, what’s your real name?” My finger trailed from his hair down his jaw line and up to his chin. I tipped it up to see his eyes, to my surprise, he didn’t flinch away. “Penn… my name is Penn… ma’am” I smiled involuntarily, my heart beating faster.

Without thinking, I leaned forward, my lips angled toward the top of his head. He gasped, squirming away, terrified. “Shhh, relax… calm down, you’re okay…” I used one finger pressed against his chest, to press him into the wall of the couch, before planting a kiss on the crown of his head. “Hello, Penn. Nice to finally meet you…” I let go, leaning back on my heels. He breathed heavily, collapsing a little against the wall. “I’m Eveline. But mostly people I know call me Ev. You don’t have to keep calling me ma’am, just Ev will do... You okay? I didn’t scare you that badly did I?” He rubbed his face with his tiny hand, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. Poor little fellow, what a frightening world this was for one so tiny!

“Penn?” he looked up at his name, a little smile barely present on his lips, I bet it felt good to be called by his true name after all this time. “You, uh, wanna hand me those boxers so I can wash them?” His face flushed red and he tore his eyes away, “Hey, nothing to be embarrassed about. Its okay. It wasn’t your fault. I’m certainly not holding it against you, you poor abused little thing….” His face just seemed to get redder, but he begrudgingly did as he was asked. I took the soiled garment from him on just my finger, and carried it into the bathroom where I let it soak with soap and water.

When I returned he wasn’t so balled up in the corner, but had a more relaxed posture, sitting up with one leg kicked out. Good. He was warming up, slowly, both physically and mentally.“Tomorrow I’ll take you to pick out some clothes, how does that sound?” His ears perked up, there was that little light in his eye again.

“Thank you… thank you, ma’am.. er…” He looked mortified to have made a mistake. I chuckled softly, “It’s okay. It’ll be hard to get used to at first.” I rubbed between his shoulder blades, reassuringly. He seemed to be flinching less and less at my touch. Sweet little guy. “I’m so glad I found you tonight… You sure are a cute little fella…” I couldn’t help coddling him sometimes! He was absolutely precious! Those sweet eyes, that mop of hair, that soft voice…. How could anyone throw him out like trash? He was such a people pleaser and so well behaved.

“So…” he hesitated, brow furrowing. “Go ahead…” I encouraged. “So… you’re going to keep me?” He was worried I would sell him to someone else! Oh, poor dear, he had so much to be afraid of didn’t he? “Of course, little one. You got me to rescue you, now you’re stuck with me. You’re not going anywhere if that’s what you’re worried about.” His shoulders dropped a little bit. Good. Relax, little man, you’re safe now. He nodded his head, then I saw the cutest little yawn in the history of adorable yawns. Poor baby! He was wiped! Of course he was. Now the adrenaline was finally wearing off and he had been through so much.

“Oh! I saw that little yawn! Yeah, I think you’re right…. It’s sleepy time…. Poor little fella, poor, sleepy, little Penn… come here, come help me make your bed…” I pressed two fingers under his arm pits and lifted him up into my palm as I stood. I had forgotten that his bottom half was totally nude, but he seemed too exhausted right then to really notice so I tried not to pay it much mind either. He winced slightly. The bruises. “I’m sorry, little man! You okay?” He nodded, balancing on his hands and knees in my palm.

I walked over to the linen closet, and asked him to pick out which blanket and pillow he’d like. He tried not to show it, but I could tell he was delighted to pick them out for himself, one small way he got to have control in a world that 90% of the time sought to control him. We got ready for bed and then I placed the pillow and blanket on the couch, in the same corner that the heating pad had been.

The pillow served as an absolutely massive mattress for him and I pulled the blanket over so he would have plenty to cover himself without drowning in the mass of fabric. He carefully pulled off his ratty undershirt and handed it to me as I crouched before his bed. “Get some rest, little one. You’ve been through so much. Sleep in as long as you like. I promise you’re going to like being here so much more than… well, you know. Sweet dreams, Penn.” I kissed him on the head again. He flinched slightly less. I’d take that as progress.

He looked as though he wanted to speak but said nothing. Soon I turned out the lights and instinctively went to close my bedroom door. I stopped just a few inches shy of the door frame. Maybe I’d start leaving it open…. Just in case…. With that, I crawled into bed and after thinking again how lucky it was that I happened to discover him before the worst…. I drifted off to sleep.

*******************************

I had a hard time sleeping, despite being completely drained of energy. I kept reliving the events of that night. Shooting upright in a cold sweat, my heart pounding, terrified I would wake back up half naked in the snow again. I couldn’t believe all that had happened in just the last few hours. Flashes of things rotating though my mind like a pinwheel…. The pool stick cracking against my spine. Being force fed and made to drink from a tube. Throwing up. The room spinning. Being shoved in mouths. Rubbed against breasts. Pressed to crotches. Posed in photos. Used as a drink accessory. Being almost stepped on. Sat on. Being flicked between the eyes. Smacked. Pushed. Dangled high in the air. Crushed between so many unfeeling fingers. Screaming, begging for air. The embers of a cigarette singeing my hair and eyelashes while smoke was blown in my face. Begging to be brought back inside. Falling. Falling. The crack of my own skull against concrete. Those faces so very very far away laughing, like some kind of unfeeling cosmic deities who found joy in the face of misery and destruction. Cold. Cold. Bone biting cold. I was going to die out here. Screaming at the top of lungs for someone, anyone. Until my throat was raw. Tears streaming down my face and practically freezing on impact.

Consciousness ebbing. Then a foot, looming overhead, sure to crush me into nothing. A voice, unfamiliar. Prodding painful fingers. Warmth. Food. Naked. Bath. Cold again. Her. Drunk. Evil. Laughing. So very very afraid. Then inside again. Warmth again. Anger too. Fear. Distrust. Small, so so small. Drawings. Penn. Eveline. And now here. What was a little pet, such as myself, supposed to make of all this? Was this even real? Or was my mind hallucinating some sort of illusion of safety as my cracked skull bled out on the snowy driveway? I had no idea what to think. But I knew what I felt. And I felt safe. Even though my mind told me to distrust. I felt like this owner was different. She was good. I hoped I was right.

#g/t related #g/t #g/t writing #giant/tiny #size difference #g/t au #g/t angst #g/t fluff #sfw g/t #g/t community #will he be okay? #just relax little dude

[captainjaspenor]

Fire in My Bones

So I haven't written anything in YEARS, especially not fanfiction, but what can I say? I've been inspired. Anway, here is my first stab at fanfiction in neary ten years. This will be a multi-chapter fic. Please read and let me know if you'd like to be on the tag list.

Show: Cursed

Pairing: Weeping Monk x Reader

Warnings: Violence

Summary: I tried to write one and honestly I sucked at it, so here is a little excerpt instead.

"From the trees, shrouded in smoke, he emerges. The Weeping Monk. Around you the terrified screams of the Fey and the pained groans of the dying fade away. You forget the acrid smell and taste of the smoke and ash as it burns your throat and lungs. You forget Nimue, who is hiding behind you, clutching at your cloak, shaking like a leaf."

Chapter 1: I Saw A City Burning

You see the smoke and know it has to be coming from your village. 

Nimue. 

You dig you heels into your horse’s side and take off at a gallop. You hear the screams and the fighting before you reach the town. As you come to a halt at the top of the last hill to look down at your village, you see the small huts the Sky Folk use as homes are ablaze. The Sky Folk are running around in a panic, pursued by figures robed in red. Red paladins. You heart skips a beat in your chest. Part of you wants to flee into the countryside and leave the Sky Folk to their ruin, but you know you can’t leave Nimue and Lenore behind. You dismount give your horse, Xanthos, a reassuring pat. You hate to go on without him, but you know he is safer in the Iron Wood. And a horse would do you no good in this chaos. You unsheathe your sword and check that your dagger is in place in case you need it. You lift the small pendant hanging from the chain around your neck to your lips and kiss it before tucking it safely into your shirt. 

You take off in a swift jog toward the center of town. The smell of smoke overwhelms your senses and your eyes begin to water almost immediately. You drop into a crouch next to one of the huts that isn’t entirely engulfed in flames and survey the scene in front of you. Many of the Sky Folk are fleeing for their lives, but some brave souls have turned to face their enemies head on and are engaged in battles that are often to the death. You look around, hoping to spot Nimue or Lenore, but you don’t see anyone you recognize. You send up a small prayer that they’ve already gotten themselves out of the village, but you won’t leave until you’re sure they’re safe. Your best chance at finding them in in their hut, but that means running headlong into the fighting in front of you. You swipe at the sweat gathering at your brow and readjust your grip on your blade. 

You sprint toward the next still standing shelter a dozen yards ahead of you. A red paladin falls to the ground in front of you, with a spear sticking out of his thigh. He screams and clutches at his leg, but before he has too much time to feel the pain from the wound, you deliver a quick thrust to his chest. The man tries to let out a startled yell, but only a small cough comes out and droplets of blood splatter on his chin. You shove your foot against him to free your blade. You don’t stick around to watch as the life leaves his eyes.

You try to move quickly, but your path is often cut off by people locked in duels for their lives or panicked animals trying to escape the fire that is spreading around you. You duck as another arrow flies over your head. This one was closer than the rest. Before the archer can take aim again, you run. You’re almost to the hut you’d planned on hiding behind for cover when a red paladin on a horse spots you and changes course toward you. He brings his sword up to strike but you wait until it starts to come down before you roll to the side. His swing goes wide as he races past. He yanks on the reins and turns the horse around to come for another pass, but you’ve already snagged one of your throwing daggers from your boot. It hits him square in the eye and he falls backward off his horse, dead. You keep moving. 

Ahead Lenore and Nimue’s hut still stands, one of the few homes that have not yet been set alight. You push your way past the hides that serve as the door and enter the small dwelling. You are both delighted and dismayed to see that neither woman is here. You don’t have much time; this place could go up in smoke at any moment. You cross to the corner where Lenore keeps a chest with the family’s valuables. Inside you grab the coin purse that holds Lenore’s life savings and tucks it into your pocket for safekeeping. You then go to where your own belongings are stored. You dig beneath your flimsy mattress to pull out your own, much lighter coin purse. In the dresser you share with Nimue, you retrieve three more daggers, which you slide into your boots. You take one last look around at the small hut that had served as your home for the last thirteen years and try to commit it to memory. 

You step out of the hut but stayed hidden under the slanted roof. It wasn’t much, but even if it only obscures you a little bit, it is better than standing out in the open. At least this way, you know your back is covered. Beneath a hut not far ahead, a familiar figure is hiding in a similar fashion. Nimue!

You can’t believe it. You’d found her! After checking that no red paladins were looking your way, you run to the hut Nimue is crouched beside. “Nimue!”

“(Y/N)! Oh, thank the gods you’re here. I can’t find Mother! And one of the red paladins grabbed Pym!” Nimue pulls you in for a desperate hug. 

“I checked the hut. Your mother isn’t there. Do you think she ran?” you ask.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know.” Nimue is panicking, you can tell, but now isn’t the time. 

���Think, Nimue. You know your mother better than anyone. Where would she go?”

“I guess, she… she’d go to the… I-I don’t know,” Nimue says and begins to cry.

“Okay. It’s okay. We’ll find her. And after we find Lenore, we’ll find Pym.” You reassure her. “It’ll be okay, Nimue.” Nimue doesn’t look sure, but she gives you a weak smile anyway and, honestly, you appreciate the effort. 

You check around you and see if any red paladins have spotted you. Fortunately, it seems as though no one is the wiser of two Fey girls hiding almost in plain sight. You try to mentally plot out the best place to search for Lenore without being seen…or without being seen by more red paladins than you can take on in a fair fight. You’re only just coming up with a plan when Nimue begins to violently shake your arm. 

“What?” Nimue doesn’t answer, only continues to shake your arm. “What, Nimue?” You look at her, concentration broken. You realize Nimue is terrified. You turn on your heels to look where she is staring, and your heart catches in your throat. This is what you had been afraid of before.

From the trees, shrouded in smoke, he emerges. The Weeping Monk. Around you the terrified screams of the Fey and the pained groans of the dying fade away. You forget the acrid smell and taste of the smoke and ash as it burns your throat and lungs. You forget Nimue, who is hiding behind you, clutching at your cloak, shaking like a leaf. 

He is dressed from head to toe in black and gray. Even his horse is as black as pitch. Speaking of his horse, it’s the biggest horse you have ever seen, standing at least two hands taller than your own. Reluctantly you draw your eyes away from the mass of black muscle and take in the monk for the first time. He rides slowly. Confidently. As if he doesn’t have a care in the world. As if Fey aren’t being slaughtered all around him.

He dismounts and immediately two red paladins come up to take the reins from him. It takes the both of them to lead the horse away. You watch as the monk walks up to an older man and drops to one knee. You wonder who this older man is to command such respect from someone as dangerous as the monk. The older man greets his younger compatriot by putting a hand on his shoulder. You realize they must know each other well, with the familiarity the two share. The monk rises as the two converse and you become entranced by the interaction in front of you. The spell is broken when you feel Nimue tug at your arm once more. 

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)! It’s Squirrel!” Nimue says. You tear your eyes away from the pair in front of you to look over and see the small boy in question wandering aimlessly and dragging a large sword behind him. You realize if he keeps walking this way he’ll be right in the monk’s line of sight. You glance anxiously back at the older paladin and the monk, but they continue to talk, unaware of the young boy headed straight for them.

You have to move. Fast. “Come on.” You grab Nimue’s hand and drag her behind you as you sprint for Squirrel. You pass mere feet from the monk, but the gods must be on your side today, because he doesn’t seem to notice two stray Fey women.

You reach Squirrel and Nimue tells him to follow the two of you as you lead them around an abandoned wagon into one of the last standing structures. “In here,” you tell them. 

The three of you duck beneath the safety of the roof. With your back to them, you keep your eyes on the battle going on outside. You know that you are all that stands between them and a red paladin’s blade. You overhear Nimue tell Squirrel to go hide in Old Man Rock in the Iron Wood and you can’t help but smile, despite all that is going on around you. You’d taught her that when you both were children. 

The two talk for a moment more before Squirrel darts out from behind and disappears into the trees. You make sure he isn’t followed, but no one sees the small boy and as quick as he is, he’s out of sight in no time. You’re thankful he’s out of harm’s way. One less person to worry about. 

“Squirrel says he saw Mother near the temple.” Nimue tells you.

“Then that’s the first place we’ll look.” You say and go to exit the hut. 

“No.” Nimue pulls you back down. “I want you to go with Squirrel and make sure he stays safe.

“If you think I’m leaving you behind, Nimue, then you don’t know me very well. There are dozens of red paladins out there and they’ll kill you if they catch you. They don’t care if you’re girl.” You argue. 

“I can handle a few red paladins.” Nimue argues. 

“You can handle them better with me.”

“(Y/N), I don’t need you to protect me!” Nimue snaps. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what you want. When Mother isn’t here, you take orders from me.” 

“It doesn’t work like that when your life is in danger,” you retort.

Nimue sighs. “Then I’m not ordering you. I’m asking you, as my friend. Please, keep Squirrel safe. He’s like family to me. Please,” Nimue asks. 

You clench your teeth and let out a growl of frustration, but give her a curt nod. “I will protect him with my life.”

“Thank you.”

You stand and pull Nimue over to the edge of the hut. You point out a nearly hidden path in the brush a few yards away. “The quickest way to the temple is down that path. It’s not used anymore, so you shouldn’t run to anyone.” You bend down, pull a dagger from your boot, and offer it to her. “For protection.” 

Nimue smiles and takes the dagger from your hand. “Go,” she says.

You spare one last glace at the ruined village behind you before turning and sprinting off into the woods after Squirrel.

_____

And that’s a wrap on Chapter 1! The title of the fic and the title of the chapter are lyrics from songs. Let me know if you figure out which song the chapter title is from!

In the next chapter, the Reader will meet the Monk for the first time, and let’s just say, sparks will fly. 

Thanks again for reading, and let me know what you think!

#weeping monk x reader #weeping monk #daniel sharman #cursed netflix #cursed #lancelot x reader #lancelot cursed #weeping monk fanfic #weeping monk fanfiction #nimue x reader friendship #fire in my bones

[flying-nightwing]

The Three Words to Remember in Dealing with the End

I’m trying something new y’all, this is a third person POV because I want you to unveil the actions at the same pace as Jason and not MC/reader. I absolutely loved writing this, so hopefully I did it right and you will enjoy this adventure like I did!

ps: this isn’t something fun or light hearted, it might be triggering for some people. if you are in a fragile mindset right now (especially with everything that’s happening right now), maybe it would be best to save it for later. Please take care of yourselves xx

Masterlist in bio/pinned

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader (ish) 

Word count: 5060 

Warnings: death (major theme), language

Summary: Jason finds something deeply unsettling during a not so typical night in Gotham (I’m not saying more y’all, read and find out).

It had been a strange night for Jason. Things had been quiet, not too quiet to become suspicious, but enough to underwhelm him at an unsettling level. Everything from the gloomy, yellow-ish night sky above him to his tensed muscles screamed trouble--and his instincts were rarely wrong--but there was nothing big happening. He was almost tempted to pick a fight with the wrong person just for the sake of it, just to shake off this nagging feeling that serious shit was about to blow in his face. Although starting beef again with Sionis would be quite entertaining, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to deal with another tantrum from the eccentric man on the longer term. 

So instead, he kicked the door from the building’s roof on which he was hanging around and half heartedly climbed down the stairs. Plastic tarps were flapping around in his face like badly designed Halloween ghosts, and the wind in the half constructed walls were whispering unintelligible songs in his ears. That specific construction site had been abandoned as the recurrent vandalism had weighed the construction costs into the negative, making the company leaving it behind completely as a rotting proof the poorer Gotham neighborhoods were no longer a concern to city hall. Jason thought about the community center that had been bulldozed down to make room for the apartment complex, leaving dozens if not hundreds of children and teenagers without an after school hangout place, and it made him sigh. Now the cheap carcass served to shelter squatters, or well, him when he needed a hideout in between safe houses. 

The building in itself wasn’t very high like the skyscrapers one could find in the diamond district, it was rather on par with the rest of the apartment complexes around. From a distance, you couldn’t even differentiate it from the rest. Cheap, smog stained concrete looked the same whether or not it was a finished product. The aesthetics wasn’t something developers around here were aiming for, nor were the resident seeking lodging. Low income neighborhoods didn’t get to benefit from trendy landscaping. But the city didn’t really care about that, they claimed nobody really came around here anyway, like poor people weren’t people in the first place. But Jason knew, and every day he resented those officials on the city council a little bit more. 

A thud coming from the floor he had just passed made him halt his descent, his ears strained to try and catch some more noise. He waited a few seconds, and concluded it must have been a squatter tripping and falling on the floor when no other sound followed. But he hadn’t taken a full step down that a loud and clear cry for help bounced on the unfinished plaster on the walls. Without much more thinking, he turned around and climbed back up the five steps he had already taken, going straight for the origin of the sound. He was about to round the corner of a threshold when he bumped into a frantic young woman, her eyes wide and terrified.

“Please help!” She cried, gripping the sleeves of his leather jacket like it was a lifeline. She had an angry, scabbed rope mark on her neck and bruises the size of fingerprints around. “Somebody’s after me, he tried to strangle me!”

Well, that was a new one. Usually, there would be little punks making graffiti or trying to steal material from the structure, petty non-violent crimes like that, but he had never seen homicide, especially not since he started coming around. Nevertheless, he gently pushed the woman aside and pulled out his gun, ready to investigate.

“Stay close” He said, and she nodded vigorously. He carefully walked inside the room, analysing his surroundings for any thread or hostile individual. The floor creaked lightly under his boots, making the woman jump every other second. However, his search eventually came up empty, so he clicked the safety of his gun back on and slid it back in his thigh holster. He faced the girl and shrugged. “If there was anyone here, he’s long gone”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah” He replied. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m not sure” She flinched, still visibly. “To either questions, to be honest. All I remember was seeing this blurred figure grab my head and slam it on the floor, then his hands were around my neck… And I woke up, and there we are” 

“Do you have any idea who did this?”

“No really” She rubbed her temples. “I was grabbed on my way back from work and dragged in here. I know it was a man, but he was masked”

“Damn” He muttered, looking around. There wasn’t much left to do now, beside making sure that woman got home safely. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Do you have somewhere safe to go?” 

“Yeah, I have an apartment a few blocks away” She nodded timidly.

They climbed down the stairs, Jason following a pace behind her. She was recoiled on herself, her eyes darting from one place to another like she was expecting to be jumped at any time now. She was shivering from the harsh wind, clearly not dressed for one of Gotham’s cold September nights. He thought she was lucky to have fallen onto him and not someone with ill intentions. The people coming here usually left each other alone, but with the lady’s assailant on the loose, he wouldn’t be so trusting of everyone’s intentions around here. 

“Here, we’re almost out” He said as the front door came into view. She sighed in relief as she took the last step down and closed the distance with the door. She reached for the handle, pulled, but nothing moved. She then tried to push, but it didn’t move any more. 

“I-It’s like it’s locked” She stuttered in disbelief. 

“Let me try” Jason stepped forward, pushing and pulling the door like she did before. Strange, that door was never, ever locked. He then tried to pick it, even break it, to no avail. The door simply wouldn’t open. He huffed and took a step back, thinking. “Let’s try the backdoor”

The pair moved through the ground floor, passing in front of a few empty sleeping bags on the way. Jason went straight for the small door, only to be met with the same problem. 

“Alright, you wanna play this game?” He muttered harshly, pulling out his gun and aiming at the handle. He fired a shot, but the bullet bounced right back on his red helmet. “Son of a bitch!”

He muttered a few more curses before kicking the stubborn door in frustration, then turned to the woman. 

“Well, somebody doesn’t want us to leave '' He stated with bitter humour. “Maybe your wannabe killer is still around, after all”

“Oh god” She gasped, her chest suddenly heaving quickly. She was having a panic attack. “We’re trapped. We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”

“Hey, hey” He tried to reassure her, an uncertain hand on her shoulder. “I won’t let him get near you. He certainly didn’t plan on having me around, so he’ll stay away if he knows what’s good for him. We’ll find a way out”

She bent over, hands on her knees, and shut her eyes tight, focusing on her breathing until it somewhat calmed down. She then nodded slowly, standing straighter again. “O-okay”

“You sure?”

She took a deep breath and nodded again.

“Alright…” He drawled out, looking at her for a second more to be sure she was actually okay. “Let’s go around and see if there’s anyone in here tonight, and if they have seen anything”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” She eyed him with uncertainty. “...He could be out there”

“Then it’s his mistake” He shrugged. “Come on”

Like earlier, she followed closely behind him as he checked each floor in detail. He came across a few homeless people he had seen around before, none of which could ever commit murder, or attempt to for that matter. He saw it in their eyes, they were harmless. They had been on the second floor, the only one which seemed inhabited at all that night. The third floor came up empty as well, so Jason didn’t waste time there either. However, he was a little more careful on the fourth. It was where he had found the girl, so there was a slight chance the assaulter might still be hanging around there. He began with the first apartment on the left, then the one on the right he initially searched. He paid specific attention to any detail he might find; hair, cloth, blood splatter, anything. He was crouched over a suspicious stain when he heard it.

A deafening scream.

In less than a second, he was on his feet and through the threshold of an adjacent room, only to come face to face with a decaying corpse. The woman was staring with horror like she was in a trance, a hand covering her mouth to either hold back any more screams or her own vomit. Probably both, Jason thought. 

“That definitely complicates things now” He hummed. 

“How can you be so calm?” She was freaking out again. “There’s a body! A dead body!”

“Yeah, I know” He replied, unbothered, taking a step closer to observe. The nauseous smell of decomposition was starting to get through his helmet, and he genuinely wondered how she hadn’t barfed her guts up already. Her state of shock perhaps helped to keep her together, at least for now. “Looks like it’s a woman. Probably has been there for two weeks or--fuck this is nasty”

He backed up and gently pulled her out of the room, away from the corpse. She didn’t need to see anymore of it. 

“Well, there’s good news and bad news” He sighed. “Bad news is your guy and this poor woman’s killer are most likely the same person. Good news is that you, unlike her, escaped him”

“Oh god” She gagged, but dry heaved on air. “This can’t be happening”

“Okay, listen” He sighed, “I’m sure this is a lot for you, and you didn’t ask for any of this. But the killer is potentially here keeping us trapped, and I need you to hold it together a little bit longer until I figure this out, kay?”

She gave him a wild look like he was crazy. “How can you expect me to hold it together?”

“Is there anything you can focus on?” He tried, getting a bit impatient. Things weren’t adding up in his head and he needed to concentrate, but he couldn’t if his new unwilling investigation partner started freaking out every other minute. Then, he noticed her fingers fidgeting with a necklace around her neck, a small ring with a azur gem hanging from it. “What does that ring mean?”

She looked down at it, like she was surprised she had subconsciously showed it up. “Uh, it was my mother’s. Family heirloom, y’know. She gave it to me when I graduated college”

“It’s very pretty” He said. “Look at it and think about your mother, okay?”

She nodded, and he took a step away to pace around in peace. So there was a killer who managed to trap them into the building, or intended to trap only her, which was why he was hiding away now that Jason was here too. But then again, Marty on the second floor didn’t see or hear anything all night, and that guy had a sharper ear than a cat. Then came the question of why he didn’t see or smell the body on his first general scouting of the place. Surely, a decaying body would have ticked him off way sooner. Maybe the killer dragged the body from a higher floor? It would make no sense as to why he would have done that, but there was no other logical explanation. 

He went to rub the bridge of his nose, only to be met with his helmet. He let out another muffled curse and looked at the ceiling in exasperation. “This is the one time I could use one of my stupid brothers”

“Why?”

He let out a dry chuckle. “They’re idiots and annoying as fuck, but they’re better detectives than I could ever be. Solving this nonsense puzzle would be an easy game for them”

“Then what’s stopping you from calling them?”

Jason paused, staring at the woman for a moment. No, it wasn’t that simple. “Last time we spoke, I… We fought pretty bad. I don’t think they ever want to see me again”

“I’m sure--” 

“We’re on our own for this, trust me” He interrupted, his tone dry enough to make her recoil. He coughed and relaxed his tense posture, taking a deep breath. “I can solve this, I don’t need them. I’ll go check the body again, stay here”

“Wait!” She called before he could turn around. “What if he comes back?”

He blinked a few times, then began patting his side and pockets. He wouldn’t leave her a gun, or she’d hurt herself in the state she was in, or accidently shoot him for that matter. Nervous firing rarely even found their intended target anyway. A knife was also out of the question for the same reasons. Besides, she didn’t seem skilled enough to hold her own with a blade, and he had no idea what weapons the killer carried. The knife would basically be useless, if not more dangerous for her. He finally felt a small lump in his pant pocket, then fished for it. He pulled a small taser that definitely wasn’t his, remembering he had disarmed it from a goon earlier that night. He had no idea he had kept it, but it would do. 

“Here” He held it up to eye level, pressing the button. A blue-ish current was formed, crackling and fizzling. “You hold it out and press the side button to turn it on. Don’t point it at me or yourself. Got it?”

“Uh-- I guess--”

“Great” He pushed the device in her hand and turned on his heels without more ceremonies. 

He inhaled deeply and held his breath as he returned to the corpse, thinking about a thousand better ways he could have been spending his Friday night. He crouched next to it, grimacing at the decaying skin that made the victim’s identity barely recognizable. He noticed the dried out hair first, it was the same color as the poor girl on the other side of the wall. The exact same, he could have sworn. The killer must have a very specific m.o. he stuck to. There had been a couple of girls going missing in the last weeks, it must have been one of them. Nobody would think to check here, or rather nobody would bother. He turned his head to the side, coughing as he worked to catch his breath despite the putrid smell. He forced himself to return to his half assed detective work, scanning for any trace of struggle or aggression. The rope the killer used to choke her was still around her neck, but that was nothing Jason could work with as he already knew about the obvious neck fetish that was in play here. He poked the rotten skin with the end of his gun, pushing hair and clothes away to try and find something he could have missed with a first glance. No viable piece of information could be found in the teeth or under the nail since he was about two weeks too late, and he could not make the distinction between decomposition marks and actual contusion marks. Dammit. He had nothing.

He was about to give up when something shiny got his attention on the victim’s chest. There was a chain plunging into the neckline of her shirt, and with his gun he carefully pulled it up. He was certain his brain physically broke in two when he came face to face with a stained, yet recognizable ring with an azur stone. 

“What…” He trailed off softly. “... The Fuck”

Thinking about it, the victim’s clothes were awfully similar to what the lady on the other side was wearing, beside the obvious dirtiness difference. He looked over his shoulder, to where she was pacing nervously, then back to the corpse. Same hair, same clothes, same ring. Same approximate size, same bone structure, rope position coinciding with her strangling mark. Jason did not want to be thinking what he was thinking, because only crazy people were seeing ghosts. But was he totally sane? That was debatable. It would explain why they were locked in the building for no goddamn reason, or why Marty didn’t hear anything, or why he did not notice the corpse or the smell during his initial search, or why that lady did not stop once to rethink asking an armed stranger in a red mask for help, or why… 

Besides, ghosts would not even make the list of the weirdest things he’s seen. He himself came back from the dead, so the idea wasn’t actually that far fetched. But now, the question he faced was, how do you tell someone they’re dead, when they’re convinced they’re alive? Bruce’s training did not prepare him for that, and honestly neither did Ra’s. 

He slowly stood up, trying to scour his brain for a gentle way to break it to her. He couldn't just rip the bandaid off, that would be insensitive. And if she really did control who could get in and out of the building, would sending her into ghost shock--if that was even a thing--risk trapping him here forever as well? How does one even deal with a bloody ghost? Reluctantly, he returned to the other room, where the woman looked at him with hopeful eyes. Jason felt a pinch in his heart, knowing he would be the one to break the news to her.

“Anything?” She asked, her arms wrapping around herself. He gave a sad nod, and she sighed in relief. “Good, I just wanna go home”

“I…” He struggled to find the words. “What’s your name?”

“(Y/N)” She said, uncertain. 

Jason was glad his mask hid his expression. His eyes closed as his suspicions were officially confirmed; she had disappeared a little less than three weeks ago without a trace. She had been presumed dead by the GCPD, apparently rightfully so, he found out. 

“(Y/N), I have good news and bad news”

She kept staring at him to let him speak. She didn’t seem to grasp the undertone of his words, or how he somehow said it completely differently than the previous time. She really wasn’t aware of her situation. 

“Good news is that I found who the victim is” He began, his voice heavy. He wasn’t the type to just get emotional for strangers like this, but this one especially struck a chord in him. “Bad news is… You’re--you’re not going home, (Y/N)”

Her face fell. “W-What?”

“The… Body, on the other side” He half heartedly pointed behind him. “It’s you. You went missing three weeks ago, and you’re...”

“That’s crazy!” She shrieked. “That’s impossible! I’m here, I’m right here, I’m real…”

Her voice faltered at the end, like she was starting to doubt herself. Jason softly jerked his head to the other room, silently making his way back to the corpse with her carefully following behind. He stopped and crouched like he had done minutes ago, and in the same way, lifted the ring. Something clicked in her face, a newfound horror etching on her features. This time, it wasn’t because she found a corpse, but because she found out the corpse was hers. 

“No…” She stumbled back, and Jason hurried to steady her. He didn’t know if it was necessary, since she probably couldn’t even feel physical pain anymore, but it seemed like the right thing to do. He escorted her out of the room once again and waited beside her as her entire reality came crashing down. It felt surreal for him, he couldn’t even imagine what it was like for her. He let her slide down the wall and rest her head in her hands as she processed all of this.  “I can’t be… My family, they must be worried sick”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N)” He sighed, sliding down next to her.

“But I’m--” She tried to argue, then a tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m not ready to go”

He took off his mask for the first time, ruffling his hair in the process. The least he could do was to give her a human face as the last she would ever see. “Take all the time you need, I’ve got nowhere else to be”

She eyed him with confusion, at both the removal of his mask and his words. “Why?”

He smiled sadly at her. “I don’t think you should be alone right now. I’m Jason, nice to formally meet you”

“I don’t think it matters now” She mumbled, casting her glance downward. She handed him back the small taser, realizing she wouldn't need it anymore. “I’m dead. I don’t even know how I’m even still here, or where I’m even going. I don’t understand anything--”

“You don’t have to,” He interrupted softly. “It’s okay not to understand. And it’s okay to be afraid. But death is a part of life, and despite how scary it might be when it rings at your door, sometimes it’s better not to fight it”

“Easy to say for someone who is still alive” She said, making his lips subtly curl up. At least she was calming down now.

“I died years ago” He admitted, and her eyes widened comically. “No, I’m not a ghost if that’s what you’re wondering. I was resurrected through magic… But I know what it feels like”

“How did you die?” Her voice was barely a whisper. 

Jason hesitated. He wasn’t used to talking about this, but he figured he could at least vent to a ghost. It might even make her feel better about the circumstances of her death, he thought. “I died in an explosion” He finally revealed as he looked away. “I realized I was dead when the countdown reached two seconds and nobody came for me. Two seconds isn’t a long time to come to term with the end of your own existence, and everything that comes after”

“I suppose not” She sighed. “I guess I’m lucky I have time to figure it out. What’s it like, on the other side?”

“I honestly can’t really remember” He shook his head. “My memory from the moment I closed my eyes to when I reopened them is scrambled. And even if I did recall, it might be different from you”

“You think so?”

“I hope so”

He did not elaborate on that, and she did not ask. Jason wasn’t sure whether his visions of hell were from his time in the grave, or if the pit messed with his perspective, but he certainly hoped this girl wouldn’t have to go through something similar as well. They waited in silence for a moment as neither felt the need to speak up. He respected her need to have a moment to herself to absorb all this like he had wished he could have had. He had never felt as vulnerable as when he waited, helpless and unable to move, for the bomb to go off. He had been terrified, clinging to a last hope it was just a nightmare, or that help would have swept in at the last second like it always happened in the movies. He had been truly alone then. Perhaps it was why she had found him earlier, she felt his connection to death and his ability to relate. She seeked one last ray of warmth before disappearing, one last attempt not to be forgotten by reaching out to someone with the best chance to understand her. He doubted it was a coincidence he was the one she let help her.

“You didn’t have to stay with me…” She spoke up. It could have been ten minutes or more, Jason couldn’t tell. He had been in his head the whole time. “But you did, for what it’s worth. Thank you, Jason”

“You’re welcome, I guess” He half shrugged. “It’s… It’s just things I wish had been said to me in my last moments, comfort I wish had been brought to me when it was time to go. I’m glad it helped ease this transition for you”

She gave him a small smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. He could feel her unnatural cold radiating on him, see the bleakness of her skin and the absence or a steady rise and fall of her chest now that he was up close.

“Well, I’m glad you found me” She muttered, letting her hand fall back down to her side. “I… I think I’m ready to go. But before, could you do me a last favor?

“Sure” He nodded.

“Could you bring back my necklace to my mother?” She asked, staring straight into his eyes. And probably his soul, by the looks of it. “This case might never be solved, I don’t want it to be lost in an evidence bag”

He was initially surprised by the request, but it made sense. This would be the last thing her mother would have of her daughter, and it didn’t belong in a locker kept away forever. He nodded. “I can do that”

“Thank you” She gave him the first real smile he had seen on her face. Her eyes had lost the life in them, that was obvious, but there was this peacefulness that hadn’t been there before. Her resolve to accept her faith showed more and more in her expression, and it was steadily becoming clearer she did not belong to this plane of existence anymore. Two weeks trapped in between life and death without being heard or seen must have been so exhausting, and now she was ready to let go. “Just one more thing”

Jason furrowed his eyebrows at her sudden knowing expression. He could see it clearly despite her image slowly fading away. Was she even aware of it? He didn’t know, but it didn’t seem painful. He hoped it wasn’t, she deserved an undisturbed rest for what had been done to her in this life.

“A piece of unwanted advice from a dead girl?” Her tone was a bit playful. He let out a quiet chuckle, his shoulders barely raising. “Call your brothers”

She became serious, and so did he.

“The worst thing about this, is that I left this life without even being able to say proper goodbyes to my family” She explained. “I wish more than anything I could just see them one more time to tell them I love them, but I can’t. Don’t take for granted there will always be a later for it, because there might not be”

“I…” 

“Please, for me” She said, almost entirely faded now. “I hope I see you again one day, Jason. Thank you for everything”

And then she was gone. Jason stared at the empty space beside him, like there had never been anyone there. The cold spot was gone, and with it the last image of her smiling face. The smell of the corpse returned at full strength now that she wasn’t there to manipulate the surroundings, but he couldn’t be bothered by it as much as he was before. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from where she had been seconds ago, struggling to tell whether or not it had actually happened. But it must have, the entire experience had felt way too real to be a product of his imagination, and the dead body served as a material proof his head didn’t conjure it all up. Slowly, he stood up and went back to the body for one last time. He’d have to place an anonymous call to the police to tip them to the body tomorrow, after giving a heads up to the squatters to steer clear of the building until the situation died down. He bent down and only took the necklace without disturbing anything else, slipping it in a pocket for safe keeping. He’d also have to find a way to give it back to her mother without making it seem like he had killed the girl…

With one last silent goodbye to a new found yet ephemeral friend, Jason made his way down to the first floor, his step a little slower and heavier than last time. The first light of the morning peeked shyly through the sky of Gotham as the clouds appeared clear up, like it was their way of reflecting the peaceful passing of a soul on the other side. He never believed in symbolism in nature, but this once, just this once, he could make an exception. He reached the bottom of the stairs and carefully made his way to the main doors, pausing in front of it. The birds in the walls didn’t seem to mind him as they sang the arrival of the morning, and he put back his mask to face the outside once again. He gripped the door handle, pushing even so slightly.

It opened with a groan.

Sighing, he stepped outside and fished for his phone in his back pocket. He went to his contacts, scrolling down until he found the name he was looking for. Reluctantly, he pressed it and came face to face with the taunting call icon. Surely he would still be awake, his patrol would have ended not too long ago. Or he’d be asleep, and then he’d disturb him. Hesitating, his thumb hovered above the lock screen button, then over the call one, then again, the lock screen. He let out a frustrated huff, looking at the sky. There might not be a later… Or perhaps there will. But was he ready to take that chance? He looked at his phone again, taking a deep breath and making his decision.

As the first sun ray reflected his helmet, he called Dick Grayson for the first time in years.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #dc #dcu #dc universe #dc imagine #dcu imagine #dc universe imagine #batfam #batfam imagine #imagine #jason todd x you #red hood x you #outlaws #trigger warning #tw #tw death #trigger warning death

[mjscornerr]

the can-can

for @broskepol (i don’t know if you meant this to be a writing prompt but i vibed with it and im bored at work)

(warning: can-can from orpheus in the underworld was blasted during the writing of this fic and as a result the entire work is on crack)

It had been stuck in Loki’s head all damn day.

It was a classical song with some sort of trumpet melody. “Can-can,” he remembers Peter calling it last night at his after-school Drama Club meeting. Peter claimed it was the Drama Club’s theme song.

A drama club that, believe it or not, Loki was a proud member of.

When Thor had brought Loki back to Earth, the team decided first and foremost that the god of mischief needed to be contained, to be isolated. He was too chaotic for their planet.

Whatever, Loki had thought. This coming from the gentleman that wanted to put a suit of armor around the world? Talk about paranoid.

Though when all was said and done, Thor hadn’t even been able to convince Tony to let Loki exist in harmony with mortals.

It had been Peter.

Peter suggested rehabilitation. He was the one that had seen Loki sitting bored out of his mind behind a thick sheet of glass, had been the one to hear Thor’s story of how Loki saved their people. He was the one that demanded Tony find any other method of familiarizing Loki with both humans and the world because, as far as Peter had been concerned, locking a person away just because they unleashed an entire alien race on the biggest city in the world “wasn’t fair.”

The punishment didn’t fit the crime, so it goes.

So there Loki was. Spreading strawberry jam and peanut butter on two slices of bread, humming “Can-can,” and silently wondering how he was finally living without a target on his back, silently thanking Peter.

“Are you...humming?”

Loki spun on his heel with a jump, butter knife flying out of his hold and splattering peanut butter and jelly on the floor as he made eye contact with Clint, who was leaning against the compound refrigerator with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

“No.” Loki spun back around, his chin raised as he brought the two pieces of bread together and settled the sandwich on a plate. “I hate music. It’s too...happy.”

Clint scoffed, his arms crossed over his chest as he sauntered forward. “And I’m...what? Just supposed to believe that?”

“Do what you will,” Loki shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich and raising a brow smugly at the avenger. “I don’t control you.”

Clint clicked his tongue with a laugh, shaking his head. “Alright. I see how it is.”

“And how is it, bird man?”

“Don’t bullshit me. You’ve been in my head before. I don’t know what fucked up game you’re playing here, but we’ve taken you down once. Don’t think for a second we won’t do it again.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Cut the crap. Alright? You’re the god of mischief for christ’s sake. It’s in your blood.”

Loki clenched his jaw, his chin remaining raised as Clint stood inches from his face.

“You may have everyone else fooled, but not me. You can never belong here.”

Loki puffed his chest out, anger seeping into his gaze, his ears and cheeks burning red-

“Woah, woah, woah-“

Loki snapped his head toward the kitchen island as Tony jogged inside, his hands raised in mock surrender.

“Let’s all just take a breath. Alright? Legolas, you want to, uh...?”

Clint scoffed and turned on his heel as Tony brought a hand to the man’s shoulder and clapped it, turning over his shoulder and offering Loki a smile.

“Makin’ yourself some lunch there, Dark Knight?”

“...Trying to.”

“Right. Carry on.”

Tony led Clint out of the kitchen and heaved a sigh, hand remaining on his friend’s shoulder as they sauntered toward the great windows of the compound.

“...You wanna pull yourself together, dear?”

“He was humming, Tony. Humming a song like he’s innocent.”

“Look, alright, he’s getting there. But we can’t provoke him like that anymore.”

“Why are you okay with this? The guy is the literal master of manipulation and deceit, Tony. And why do you let him hang around the kid?”

“Loki can’t hurt Peter. There’s no one alive that can look in that kid’s eyes and try to hurt him. I don’t make the rules. Besides, Loki needs a friend that isn’t Thor.”

“I’m sorry, since when are we beating around the bush and treating him like royalty? In 2012 he’s killing at random and sending galactic armies down on us and now he’s making sandwiches in our kitchen? Humming?”

“Maybe he likes music.”

“Where did he even hear it?”

“Does that matter? He’s...immersing himself. He’s trying to be better. Who cares where he heard it?”

“It’s just weird,” Clint shrugged, squinting as he looked out the window at the blinding blue sky. “He doesn’t have a phone, and he definitely doesn’t watch TV. Just makes you wonder, you know, where he heard the song.”

Tony raised his jaw and narrowed his ryes suspiciously Clint’s direction, imagining all the ways Clint would flip his lid if he ever found out that Loki, for some reason Clint’s great enemy, was attending Drama Club meetings at the Midtown School of Science and Technology with Tony’s kid.

“...Could’ve been anywhere.”

“Hm.”

Tony’s answer had been far from satisfactory.

Clint was about to head home to his family for the weekend when he spotted Loki sneaking out of the compound, fully clad in a sweatshirt and jeans. He looked over his shoulder once before he was letting the door slip shut behind him.

Clint narrowed his eyes and followed him out, bow in hand.

Loki stopped beside one of Tony’s Audi’s. He looked both ways again anxiously before he was opening the passenger side door.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Clint growled and reached behind him for an arrow, fastening it in place, closing one eye for precision-

Clint’s eyes flew wide when he spotted Tony in the driver’s seat. He choked, quickly lowered his weapon, and watched numbly as Loki climbed inside the vehicle and shut the door behind him. The Audi peeled out of the driveway soon after.

“...What are you up to, Stark?”

Clint followed loosely behind the two in his car for about forty five minutes before Tony finally parked the car.

Midtown School of Science and Technology...?

The two climbed out of the car and began making their way through the front doors. It was four o’clock, so obviously school had ended by then.

Clint narrowed his eyes in suspicion and snuck after them.

They sauntered through the halls casually before Tony led them into the auditorium. Clint hurriedly ran to keep the door from shutting and slipped inside after them, bow and arrows still at the ready.

“...Okay, so, looks like everyone’s here, except...”

Clint crawled behind a row of seats in the audience, squinting as he watched a group of kids conversing, all seated in a circle on stage.

Two kids were standing looking at a clipboard. A blonde girl, sixteen or so by the looks of it, and...

Peter...?

“Oh, nevermind, there he is!”

“Hey, Loki!”

“What, no greeting for me?”

“Hi, Mister Stark.”

Tony patted Loki’s back as Loki hopped over the lip of the stage and crossed to the one empty chair in the circle.

“I beg your pardon,” Loki said in a polite, unfamiliar tone, smiling nervously as he sent an awkward wave to the group of kids. “I appear to have lost track of time.”

“You’re right on time,” the blonde one assured him, her smile beaming. “We’re covering improv today!”

“Oh, great,” Tony grunted as he seated himself on the front row in the audience. “I’m something of an expert at improv myself, you know. I have never planned anything that’s ever happened to me, ever.”

“Do you wanna join, Mister Stark?”

“...Nah. You guys got it.”

“If you say so. Alright, someone get the music.”

One of the kids hopped up from their seat and jogged backstage. A second later, classical music began playing softly around the theatre.

Clint gasped, betrayal flashing in his eyes as he narrowed them.

“The can-can...”

“Let’s warm up with the freeze game! Noes goes!”

The kids each quickly raised a finger to their nose. Loki was the last to do so.

“Aw, okay, Loki’s it for the first round.”

Clint scoffed. It? Loki’s it? Like he’s playing a god damn game of hide and go seek?!

“This should be good,” Tony said from the front row.

Clint saw red.

Peter sensed this, snapping his head out toward the audience in alarm. Tony frowned, turning over his shoulder.

But Clint was already running and fast, the music crescendoing as he grabbed an arrow, positioned it in his bow, leapt over the stage, landed on the apron-

“Get down!”

Peter’s cry of alarm sent everyone screaming and diving to the stage floor, hands over their heads protectively. Loki was standing with wide, terrified eyes as Clint aimed and fired his bow.

“No!”

Peter leapt forward and caught the bow a mere few inches before it could collide with Loki’s face. He stared at it in shock for only a moment before he was turning back to Clint, eyes wide.

“Mister Clint, what’re you-?!”

“Get down, kid.” Clint shot another arrow Peter’s way, the arrow exploding into a net and entrapping Peter inside as he collapsed to the ground. “I’m trying to protect you.”

Loki reached for Peter desperately, though Clint returned his aim to the demigod, expression seething.

“Don’t move a muscle.”

“Are you out of your damn mind?!”

Clint glanced to the side as Tony jumped over the lip of the stage, horrified gaze darting between the arrow aimed at Loki’s face and his kid, kicking and thrashing inside of a net.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“I mean, Jesus Christ, Barton. I shouldn’t even have to tell you how wrong this is.”

“Dammit, Tony, this isn’t real. Okay? None of this is real! Until he’s been inside of your head, until he’s controlled your mind, you’ll never understand that everything he’s ever done was just for show.”

The auditorium doors clicked open. Clint faltered as Natasha, Thor, Steve, and Bruce walked inside, eyes immediately wide at the sight on stage.

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Brother? What is the meaning of this?!”

“Golden Archer here had a bright idea to ambush a high school to settle a grudge. That’s the meaning of this.”

Clint lowered his weapon, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

“...what are you guys doing here?”

“We’re here for the play.” Steve lifted a flyer from his pocket, eyebrow raised. “It’s Loki’s first show. It was on the fridge.”

“...What?!”

Loki sent an accusatory scowl Tony’s way. “You told them?!”

“It...might’ve slipped out over dinner. But I didn’t hang that on the fridge, I swear.”

Loki narrowed his eyes again, this time Peter being the victim.

“...sorry, Lo.”

“Wait...” Clint scoffed, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “You signed him up for this, Tony?”

“...The guy’s already a drama queen. What else was I supposed to do?”

“We came to find you,” Natasha explained to Clint, “but you weren’t in your room. We assumed you already went home for the weekend.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“Um, excuse me,” the blonde girl was saying from the floor, her friends around her shivering in fear, “but what is going on? And why is Peter in a net?!”

“Good question, Miss Brant.” Tony strode forward, sending a seething glance Clint’s way before he swiped one of his arrows from out of Clint’s pouch and used it as a knife to slice through the ropes of the net.

“You good, kid?” Tony brushed Peter’s hair out of his eyes gently, worry etched into the lines of his face.

“‘M good, Mister Stark. Thanks.”

Tony was just about to turn around and tear Clint to shreds, though someone beat him to it.

“If you hurt the child again,” Loki warned through gritted teeth, “I’ll be the one holding the arrow to your face.”

Clint scoffed. “See, Tony? He’s still the same Loki. He hasn’t changed a bit.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now? That was eleven years ago. I mean, look at him. He’s wearing a sweatshirt and jeans for godsake. He’s at a Drama Club rehearsal. What’s he gonna do, huh? Kill us all with the plastic prop sword backstage?”

“I don’t-I don’t know, okay? He’s got Asgardian powers. Any second he could turn on us.”

“He would never do that.”

Clint raised an eyebrow as one of the kids rose from the ground hesitantly, hands still raised in the air.

“Loki is...we really like him here. He’s good at drama.”

“Yeah,” Betty nodded, rising to her knees. “He’s the club historian. He takes all of our pictures for us. He even started on a scrapbook.”

The group chorused in agreement. Loki fought a genuine grin when he remembered that the avengers were watching from the audience seating, listening.

“Plus, he’s one of my best friends.” Peter smiled up at Loki from his knees. “Right, Lo?”

Loki bit his lip before he grumbled something under his breath, throwing up his hands in mock surrender.

“Fine. Fine, okay? I may have...I may have bonded with the humans. And I-I listen to music now, and I go to Drama Club meetings, and I wear...whatever style of clothing this is.” Loki turned to Clint, his stance still defensive though his gaze was sincere. “I’ve changed. Or, at least, I’m trying to change. All I need is a second...second chance.”

Loki stuck his hand out for Clint to shake. Clint raised an eyebrow, raising his jaw.

“No tricks?”

“No tricks.”

“No lying? No infinity stones? No alien armies?”

“None whatsoever.”

Despite himself, Clint’s lip quirked ever so slightly in a smile and he was taking Loki’s hand in his, shaking it with a nod.

“Well...alright then.”

Clint slung his bow over his shoulder and turned to face the avengers in the house of the auditorium, his gaze apologetic. Natasha, Steve, and Bruce was smiling up at him. Thor was wiping tears out of the corner of his eye.

“Brava!” Thor clapped, his lip quivering. “Excellent! Excellent display!”

“...You realize that wasnt the show, right?”

“I would be fine if it was.”

“Eh,” Tony shrugged. “I think that’s enough Drama Club for one day. What do you say, kids? Rendezvous for some shawarma?”

The group of teens all chorused in excitement, rising from the ground and all thoughts of danger vanishing from their minds. They slung their backpacks over their shoulders and descended the steps of the stage excitedly.

“Mister Stark,” Peter frowned as Tony wrapped Peter in a side hug, squeezing him. “I thought shwarma was reserved for after missions?”

“Well...” Tony gestured his head toward the lip of the stage, where Loki was dangling his legs off of the side and engaging in conversation with the avengers.

Actually talking. No fighting, no weapons, nothing.

Thor was ruffling his brother’s hair fondly, tears still brimming his eyes. Loki was rolling his own, scoffing at Thor’s adoration.

Clint was still suspicious though Natasha was nudging him in the shoulder, a smirk on her lips. Bruce had an arm draped around Steve’s shoulders as Steve threw his head back with a laugh at something Loki had said.

“...Mission accomplished, kiddo.”

//do not tag as st*rker or th*rki//

#mcu #spiderman #spider son #peter parker #iron man #iron dad #irondad #tony stark #my fic #broskepol’s prompts #loki #thor #avengers #peach tag <3

[miss-tc-nova]

A Real Winter - Scala Kids

Merry Christmas Eve from Nova! Or Happy Holidays if you don’t celebrate Christmas. 

This is my alternative work for the Hearts for the Holidays zine. I liked the other more in terms of it’s spirit and emotion, but I still liked this one enough to complete and share with all of you. Enjoy Xehanort’s first real winter. 

Inspiration: Yeah, this

~~~~~

              “You better watch out! You better watch out! You better WATCH OUT!”

              Those two blockheads have been singing the same thing for five minutes now, ever since Eraqus forgot the next line and repeated the one before. Then that smarmy Fluffcoat—Bragi—joined in and they’ve just been ominously singing the same line over and over.

              Other than the threat-chanting morons, today has been a new experience for Xehanort. Having spent his entire life on a pair of tiny, tropical islands, he’s never actually seen real snow before. Spring was in full swing in Scala Ad Caelum when he arrived and it only shifted into an even hotter summer. Granted, autumn was pretty and another first for him but, hands down, this winter wonderland is one of the most beautiful scenes he’s ever seen.

              In the first snowfall of the season, the new key bearer was out in the middle of it, awing at the sky until Vor and Hermod ushered him back inside. The down pour over the next few days kept them all holed up indoors—that and Xe caught a cold. Now that the weather has had time to dump a bounty of snow across the city and all the students are healthy, they’re out to sightsee and show the newcomer what a real winter is.

              And what a sight to see. Scala itself is normally a bright place with white buildings and shining adornments, but blankets of snow make everything nearly pure white and it’s almost enough to burn retinas. Still, when it isn’t blinding innocent civilians, Xehanort distinctly thinks of diamonds when looking at the glittering powder. It sparkles and glimmers and even the crystal ocean of his home world can’t compare to the sight. His friends can barely convince him to stick with the group—they want to meander while he’s raring to race through the streets and see it all as soon as possible. He has to admit, though, a slower pace does give him a chance to really appreciate the true beauty that the weather has presented them.

              They finally reach the park where a seemingly endless expanse of untouched snow dazzles the silver eyes. Powerful is the desire to disturb the perfect scene yet at the same time, he wants to just take this moment to take it in. That’s ruined when there’s a pull on his jacket.

              Xehanort peers over his new scarf at his shortest classmate. With another tug, she says, “Let’s build a snowman!”

              With no idea how to do that, he gives the others one last glance before being dragged off the path to ruin that perfect blanket. Vor excitedly scoops up a pile of snow while explaining to Xehanort how to build a snowman. It’s pretty straightforward: roll snow up in a ball and stack three of those on top of each other. Not about to ruin her fun, he copies his friend’s action and starts rolling a handful of frost.

              Before long, Xehanort has a decent mass of powder packed together when Urd calls him over; a much larger orb sits between the girls.

              “Put it right here,” Vor instructs, patting the top of the base. They reinforce the seam with extra powder as Eraqus brings over another orb, heaving it on top.

              “Lookin’ good,” he hums.

              Vor dusts her hands. “Now he needs a face.”

              Before a confused Xehanort can ask, Bragi announces, “Way ahead of you.” He and Hermod have been collecting sticks and stones for their creation.

              The islander watches the Scala natives poke rocks into the thing to emulate buttons, eyes, and a smile that looks rather drunken. This tipsy appearance is further created by the crooked arms that mimic an inebriated jig. The whole group looks rather proud of this morally questionable mound of snow.

              The blond tilts her head. “Hmm, he’s still missing something.”

              Hermod tugs at his scarf. “Here.”

              “Perfect!” Her smile turns to concern. “Are you sure?”

              “Yeah. I wanted to get a new one anyway. That one has a hole in it.”

              As the girl tries to tie the scarf around the taller counterfeit being, Xehanort’s still not sure about this whole snowman thing.

              “If he’s made of snow, why does he need a scarf?”

              Vor beams. “It just makes him look cute. Isn’t that right, Shawn?”

              “Shawn…the Snowman?” Urd questions.

              “Yes!”

              “Well okay then.”

              Hermod chuckles. “Sounds like a good name to me.”

              Firstly, there’s really no reason to argue with Vor about such a trivial thing and, second, none of the others were likely to come up with anything better to call him. However, surely there’s someone who’d have some quip about “Shawn,” but he’s mysteriously vanished.

              “Hey, where’s Bragi?” Vor asks.

              Xehanort glances around. “Eraqus is missing too.”

              As the four fall silent, a rhythmic humming can be heard.

              “You better watch out! You better watch out!”

              Across the path is a low hurdle of snow. In time with their ridiculous chanting, the troublemakers pop up from behind the wall to add to its bulk. All the while, their mantra slowly morphs into shouting.

              “YOU BETTER WATCH OUT! YOU BETTER WATCH OUT! YOU BETTER WATCH—”

              Hermod heaves a sigh. “What are those two—”

              THWAK!

              Down goes the model student in an explosion of powder. Xehanort immediately ducks, now fully aware that those rabble-rousers have started an assault.

              “Run! Run!” Vor shrieks, fleeing for the first defense she can get at: behind a tree.

              Xehanort slinks away behind good ol’ Shawn for cover, just missing a projectile aimed for his head. He watches as the ambushers prep more ammo and their first victim drags himself into the shelter of Shawn with him.

              “What the heck is going on?”

              “They started a snowball fight,” Hermod grumbles, wiping a sleeve across his face. “Basically we just throw chunks of snow at each other. But at least it’s two against four.”

              Xehanort distinctly notes the head of silver hair ducking down behind the barricade with the hoodlums. “I think Urd just defected.”

              “Oh no…”

              “FIIIIIIRRRRRE!”

              Both boys look back to see little Vor with a mound of scooped snow and hurling them across the path like a machine. Her barrage alone is enough to cause the rebels to cower and earn gaping mouths.

              The two exchange glances and Hermod tells him, “You make ammo and I’ll make the wall.”

              Xehanort agrees with a nod and begins packing snow into throwable clumps while Hermod shoves more around Shawn to extend his protection.

              Even odds take over the battlefield as the underdogs gain some ground: Guardian Shawn’s wall has been built and Vor uses her secret talent of snowball flinging while Hermod and Xehanort provide back up and ammo. More importantly, Xehanort is having a blast. Behind the dramatic “fatalities” and battle cries, every one of the kids is laughing and giving the game their best.

              There was no telling what this new season would bring the boy who only knew humid summer all year round, but based on the beauty alone, winter quickly became his favorite. However, now that he’s out enjoying what the weather has to offer—now that he’s making memories with newfound friends—the snowy season will forever be his favorite time of year.

              A shot of freezing cold splatters against Xehanort’s ear. He launches his retaliation across the expanse, knocking Eraqus back behind shelter. Vor follows up with a volley of her own.

              “SURRENDER!” she demands.

              “NEVER!” the blockhead boys shout back.

              Her orders turn on her teammates. “Gimme another!”

              “We’re running out of useable snow,” Hermod says, plopping an orb with stray bits of dead grass in her hand. “Unless someone wants to run out there and risk getting pelted.”

              “Unless we use Shawn,” Xehanort tacks on.

              He’s never encountered such a wrathful look of offense, but Vor is deeply disturbed by the suggestion. “Don’t you dare touch Shawn!”

              “He’s too tightly packed anyway,” Hermod informs them. “We might have to surrender.” It’s his turn to face the offended expressions of his classmates: Vor is too invested in this battle and Xehanort never admits defeat.

              “No,” the girl states flatly. “This is what we’re gonna do.”

              She gives the boys her do-or-die plan. Hermod is a little reluctant, but has never been one to let his classmates down; Xehanort, on the other hand, is already on board, risking attack by reaching for good, fresh snow beyond Shawn’s wall. With a stockpile for little Vor to support the longer-legged boys, the trio makes their move.

              The second the opposition all ducks behind shelter, Hermod and Xehanort dart in opposite directions. Urd pops up, only to be forced back under cover by Vor’s onslaught.

              “They’re coming!” she alerts the other two.

              Bragi and Eraqus attempt to halt the pincer maneuver, but the sharpshooter keeps them in check. With Vor watching their backs, the boys are able to slip around enemy lines. The victims put their backs to the wall, successfully cornered, and the petite blond scurries over to reinforce that advantage. Snowballs are held up in warning.  

              “Give up!” Xehanort shouts.

              “No!” Bragi snaps, resulting in a snowball exploding in his face, curtesy of Vor.

              Eraqus is not as eager for his punishment, attempting to hide behind Urd. “Alright! We give! We give!”

              Hermod drops his arm, but Vor throws hers in the air. “Whoo! We win!”

              Chuckling, Xehanort tosses his last snowball off to the side. “Looks like I win again, Fleetfoot,” he says as he extends a hand to his rival.

              Despite having lost, Eraqus gives him a grin and takes the offer. “Yeah right. Vor handed you that one. You and Hermod would’ve been toast without her.”

              One teammate does not disagree while the other is quite proud of herself. Xehanort, on the other hand, is a bit miffed. “Please. One on one and I’d have you cowering in under a minute.”

              “Are you kidding? You’ve got a red mark on your face from where I got you.”

              “One lucky shot doesn’t win a war,” Xehanort retorts.

              “Why don’t you two continue this on the way back to the castle?” Hermod suggests, his hands shivering against their shoulders. The herd has been out long enough that everyone seems to be stifling shudders.

              So the pack treks back to the citadel, taking refuge from the frosty weather in the student dorms. Damp layers are discarded for dry before everyone meets back in the commons. Hermod and Vor are kind enough make the hot chocolate while Xehanort and Urd get the fireplace going. As the sun begins to set, everyone sits in a happy comfort, chatting among themselves and enjoying the warm fire.

              As he sits, Xehanort’s eyes travel to each of these kids he’s only spent a handful of months with. Being aloof and distant had been his specialty from the beginning—not everyone on his home world liked him and those assumptions transferred with him to this world—but not one of these people seemed to acknowledge that. He brushed off attempts to be friendly and even picked fights with Eraqus, but they remained welcoming and friendly; they did not meet his expectations of people which was something he didn’t know he wanted until this very moment. They spent all this time with him, breaking down those beliefs of his and creating friendships with him. Everything about Scala Ad Caelum flipped all he knew and this snow—his first real winter spent with actual friends—has cemented the idea that he has a bright future ahead of him.

              “So what do you think of winter so far?” Pulling Xehanort from his ponderings is an elbow from Eraqus: the one who’s destroyed the most expectations.

              A smile pulls at his lips. “It’s better than I thought it would be.”

              All of it is.

#scala kids #xehanort #eraqus #urd #bragi #vor #hermod

[higuchimon]

[fanfic] In The Arms of Love:  Chapter 6 [end]

Story: In The Arms of Love||Title: Snowballs Ship: Yuusaku x Ai Chapters: 6-6||Words: 1,621||Total: 9,711 Genre: Romance||Rated: G Challenges: Diversity Writing: YGO VRAINS/Sevens: H10, 6 chapters; Hugsaku Week 2021, day #6, N/A Notes: This takes place post-canon. Ai and all the other Ignis have returned and have spiffy SOLtis bodies of their very own. Summary: Yuusaku needs lots of hugs and Ai is there to make sure they all happen.

Ai knew that his skin was artificial, probably grown in a vat or spun in some other fashion. But he could feel everything that touched him, perhaps to even greater detail than humans could.

So he definitely felt Yuusaku’s warm lips pressed against his own. He wrapped an arm around Yuusaku’s neck and leaned into the kiss, hearing the murmurs and whispers of all the people watching them and making certain they saw him kiss Yuusaku very clearly.

When he pulled back, it was more due to the potential for Yuusaku’s lack of air than his own. If that were the issue, he could have kept on kissing forever. But Yuusaku needed to breathe.

Yuusaku’s eyes sparkled at him, his cheeks faintly flushed, and he had his own arms around Ai’s neck. He breathed in a little but said nothing. Ai wasn’t at all sure if anything needed to be said.

Ai could do untold numbers of calculations in the space of seconds. He could figure out the most complex of duels in heartbeats and work out projections in almost no time at all.

And even with all of that, he still didn’t understand what was going on as Yuusaku’s arms slid from around his neck, and a few seconds later, something cold dropped down the back of his sweater. A heartbeat – even when he didn’t have a heart to beat – passed before it dawned on him what it was.

“Yuusaku-chan!” He spluttered. He’d never thought that Yuusaku of all people would try something like that!

Quick as he could, he scooped up a handful of snow and stepped back, tossing it at Yuusaku. His Origin – and his boyfriend – ducked out of the way, though he didn’t quite escape. Snow splattered along his chest, and Yuusaku started to reach for more snow of his own.

“If you’re going to do that, boys, you should take it elsewhere,” one of the older people advised them. “This area’s for skating.”

Yuusaku stood up a breath later, snow still in his gloved hand. “All right,” he murmured, and held out his free hand towards Ai. Ai considered not taking it but the prospect of a snowball fight against Yuusaku was far too tempting.

He accepted the outstretched hand and together the two of them headed away. He heard a soft sigh of breath from one of the watching people and a whisper of, “They’re so handsome. And so lucky.”

They have no idea of how right they are. Ai preened as they walked, enjoying the sensation of Yuusaku’s hand in his. He tightened his grip a fraction, enough so Yuusaku looked at him, and smiled.

That had been Ai’s first kiss. As far as he knew, it had also been Yuusaku’s. A tiny flicker of worry tripped in his programming.

“Yuusaku,” he murmured, keeping his voice low so that no one else they passed could hear him. “The kiss – you didn’t mind, did you? It wasn’t – with a human.”

Yuusaku regarded him, eyes narrowed. “If I wanted it to be with a human, there are humans I could have kissed.”

Ai wasn’t going to argue that. He doubted that Yuusaku would have, because even now he wasn’t the most social of creatures, but there were plenty of people who would have happily volunteered to do the honors if Yuusaku ever expressed the desire for such a kiss.

And Yuusaku had wanted him for that kiss. Had kissed him. Granted, it had been Ai who started the kiss, but Yuusaku hadn’t complained or protested or tried to avoid it. He’d returned it.

Ai knew that he weighed far too much actually walk on air. He’d read of such descriptions and he knew they weren’t meant to describe reality. But the farther they walked together hand in hand, the deeper that it sank into him that they’d not merely ice skated together but they’d kissed and were off to have some private fun with snowballs together, the more certain he was if he looked down, he would see his shoes floating a good distance above the snow.

Perhaps he would try that the next time they visited Vrains. It would be interesting, to say the least.

But for now Ai spied a long stretch of snow ahead of them, raw and pure, untouched by anything save a few birds. In less cold times it probably was something like a parking lot or perhaps a meadow. Now it was a source for snowballs and fun and Ai looked forward to both of those.

He turned to Yuusaku, wanting to say something, and was quickly reminded that Yuusaku had carried that snow all the way from the skating rink as it splattered over his chest. He brushed it away and did his very best glower – he practiced expressions a lot while Yuusaku slept. He never knew when he might need them.

“You-” Ai didn’t even have words. Instead, he scooped up the nearest handful of snow that he could and lobbed it at Yuusaku, who darted out of the way, finding a hiding place for himself behind some thick bushes.

Ai located a copse of his own to shelter behind and the two of them took turns tossing packed snow at one another. With more distance between them now, Yuusaku’s snowballs didn’t hit very well. He was a programming prodigy but getting fresh air and exercise hadn’t been on his personal to-do list for quite some time. Ai didn’t have to worry about that. He had superior hand-eye co-ordination simply by virtue of what he was, so the vast majority of his snowballs hit exactly what he aimed for.

The snowball fight only ended when Yuusaku finally sagged against the bushes he hid behind and waved one hand at Ai.

“That’s enough for now,” he said, working hard to catch his breath. Ai wasn’t going to argue. He’d had more than enough fun like this already.

He brushed his hands clean of snow and made his way over to Yuusaku, checking the time as he did. “We’ve got reservations at a good restaurant soon anyway. You’re hungry, aren’t you?” He regarded Yuusaku sternly. “For something that’s not just hot dogs.”

Yuusaku offered a small smile. “A little,” he admitted, taking Ai’s hand and coming to his feet. “Which restaurant?”

“Ember Days,” Ai said with a very satisfied grin. “They serve some excellent tempura.”

Yuusaku looked a little intrigued by that. Ai knew that on those rare occasions when he didn’t eat at Cafe Nagi, he mainly picked up ramen from random shops along the way home. Tempura wasn’t something he was all that used to. Ai looked forward to seeing his reaction to it.

“What else have you planned for today?” Yuusaku asked as Ai began to brush the snow off of him. He tried to raise his hands to do it himself but Ai wasn’t going to let that happen. He could get to the parts that Yuusaku couldn’t.

“Well, we’ve done just about everything,” Ai admitted. “You got your presents and we went ice skating and snowball fighting and now we’re going to eat.”

Yuusaku regarded him. “How do you eat, anyway?”

“It’s complicated,” Ai admitted. “I don’t really need to, you know.” He shrugged. “I sort of mash it up in my mouth and then it goes here.” He touched his stomach area. “I’ve got a place in here to keep it away from my circuitry and later I can empty out the box. It’s not too different from what humans do.”

Yuusaku looked a lot more fascinated than Ai had thought he would be. “Do you taste anything?”

“Not quite. I’m working on developing that, though. I have a few ideas.” It would take some effort and he thought he could work it out best in Link Vrains. He didn’t think it was necessary for his own satisfaction but it would make emulating humans just that much easier. He didn’t want to be human but he knew life for Yuusaku would be so much easier if he could blend in that well.

Ai dismissed the entire conversation with a flick of one hand, wishing that he had his cape to make the appropriate dramatic swoop with, before he wrapped his fingers around Yuusaku’s and gently pressed their fingers together. He might not be able to taste, but he could feel, and he enjoyed the feeling of Yuusaku’s hand in his.

“Come on. It’s almost time for our meal. We don’t want to be late.”

Hand in hand, they started for the nearest pathway that led to the restaurant. Ai kept on enjoying the sensation of Yuusaku’s hand in his and he thought Yuusaku enjoyed this as well. He thought about giving Yuusaku another hug but the problem with that was he would have to release Yuusaku’s hand and he didn’t really want to do that.

“Why are you doing all this?” Yuusaku murmured as the restaurant came into view ahead of them. Ai snorted at the question.

“Don’t you know? I haven’t exactly been hiding it.”

Yuusaku let out a small laugh. Ai savored the sound of it. Yuusaku laughing was a rare and precious treasure.

“Would you even know how to hide anything if you wanted to?”

Ai considered that, even as they were escorted inside the restaurant and seated at a quiet spot out of the way. Then he shrugged the tiniest bit, grinning.

“Why hide when it’s the absolute truth?” And he leaned over to brush his lips gently over the side of Yuusaku’s ear, whispering, “I love you.”

What made the night even better was that Yuusaku leaned closer to him and whispered those same words back to him.

The End

Notes: So that’s all of it! This chapter was prompted by a request from SilvorMoon, to have Yuusaku and Ai hold hands.

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #hugsaku #ygo vrains #fujiki yuusaku #AI (vrains) #ai x yuusaku #yuusaku x ai #aiballshipping #chapters: in the arms of love

[adolanables]

Linked - Part 11 (E.D)

Masterlist

The border of Hailette was nearly two hours away from the town center; which was plenty of time for Anna to start panicking. All she could think of was all the ways they would kill her if they got caught. She was also thinking about how heartbroken her parents would be finding out she had left. A part of her hoped her mother would understand, knowing Anna’s life would be so much more fulfilling outside of Hailette. 

“We’re almost there.” Ethan broke the silence, eyes narrowing on the small patrol station up on the road. He felt her tense underneath him, his right hand rubbed circles on her thigh. “Breathe, okay?”

She nodded as they approached the border, her heart dropping to her stomach as she saw the station was manned. Before she could speak, Ethan was reaching back into the duffel bag, giving Anna a warning eye before he pulled a pistol up into his lap. “Not a peep.” He whispered, sliding the gun under his right thigh and rolling down the window. As they approached the station, he rolled the window down, his right hand gripping the pistol tightly. 

“Sir, may I ask what you think you’re doing?” The officer snarled, his hand gripping the gun on his waist. Ethan was grateful there was only one person manning the station right now - he had scoped out the parking lot. Before the officer could move, Ethan was pulling the trigger with the gun aimed at the poor man’s forehead. 

As the sound rang through Anna’s ears and blood splattered onto Ethan’s face, the pair saw the world shift before their eyes. Ethan was quiet, eyes welling up with tears as he turned the safety on and put the gun back in the bag. Truly, they thought they were home-free. As Ethan went to lean into the small room to open the gate, what felt like hundreds of trucks popped into the rearview with lights blazing. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Ethan muttered, wide eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror and back to his wife who looked like she’d just seen a ghost. He didn’t know what to do. Logically, he knew this was a possibility, but he had convinced himself it wasn’t going to happen. Every possible scenario ran through his head; he didn’t have a plan and that terrified him. 

“Ethan, what are we going to do?” With shaky hands, Anna reached over to him to grab his attention. The trucks were speeding down the road and would easily be there in seconds. 

In a split second decision, Ethan reached over his wife for the gun, popped the safety and pointed it at her feet. “Ethan - wait - what are you - ah!” Anna saw red as her entire left leg went numb, vision was black - she was unconscious. As he watched his wife contort in severe pain, knowing it was his own fault, Ethan burst into tears. Not long after, strapped military members were at their windows - eyes wide as they took in Ethan Dolan and a dead security guard.

-

“Mr. Dolan I am so incredibly sorry for the actions of our employee.” Sergeant Daniels sighed, softly sinking down into the seat across from Ethan’s desk at Dolan Industries. “You have to understand why he was concerned with the two of you wanting to leave.”

“I do, Sergeant.” Ethan nodded, letting out a sigh at the pure ignorance of the man in front of him. “I know sir - being drunk doesn’t excuse trying to go on a vacation to Florida.”

“That is one funny explanation.” Sergeant Daniels laughed awkwardly. “Doesn’t excuse him shooting your poor wife - thank God it was just her leg.”

“Thank god.” Ethan agreed, fumbling a pen between his fingers. “Really sorry for keeping you all here so late.”

It was nearing 5AM now - when the guards had approached the car the attitude had instantly changed. Ethan had convinced them that he was inebriated and really just wanted to take his hot wife to Florida. Did they actually believe him? Hard to know, but it seemed like he was getting away with it. Anna had been transferred to the hospital downtown for emergency care and Ethan felt like he was going to vomit as she was loaded into an ambulance. If cheating wasn’t already bad enough, he wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive him for this. 

“It’s not a problem at all sir.” Sergeant Daniels smiled. “Your brother is on his way to give you a ride home.”

-

“What the fuck, Ethan?” Grayson seethed as his twin climbed into his car, blood splattered on his shirt and sporting a new haircut. 

“Grayson, can you promise me you aren’t plotting my demise?” Ethan whispered, eyes darting around as Grayson started to drive.

“Uh… the fuck? Yes?” With furrowed brows and confusion on his face, Grayson looked at his brother like he had two heads. Ethan knew right away he was being honest.

“I’m trusting you to not open your mouth to Kennedy - but I cheated on Anna.” Ethan rolled his eyes as Grayson’s jaw dropped in disgust. “I know. Shitty. But the bitch filmed us and is threatening to release the footage.”

“And that made you want to go to Florida…?” 

“No - jesus - Grayson - we were trying to leave.” Running a hand over his shaved head, he watched Grayson process what he was saying. “If that video gets released Anna’s fucked.”

“Okay, but you might not be?” Grayson argued, hands clenching the steering wheel tightly. “You risked both of your lives just now.” 

“I love her.” Ethan scoffed, folding his arms. “You’d do the same for Kennedy.”

“No I fucking wouldn’t.” Glancing over at his brother with wide eyes. “I love her, but not like that.” He gulped and let out a slow breath. “But if you love Anna that way, then I’m here for you - what do we need to do.”

“Call Craig - first thing in the morning.” Ethan muttered as Grayson dropped him at his front door, he leaned over and hugged his brother tightly. “Thank you, G.”

“I’ll be back here at 10AM.” Grayson nodded, revving the engine as he drove away.

As Ethan laid his head down on his guest room pillow - he couldn’t bear to sleep in their bed alone - he felt sick. He wished he could’ve gone with Anna to the hospital, but they took her away from him so quickly. Surely, she’d be questioned and he hoped she wouldn’t be in any danger. If he had been able to tell her the plan before he shot her, he would have, but he knew they didn’t have time. He had to get to the hospital in the morning before she woke up. 

-

“You owe me big time.” Grayson muttered as Ethan slid into the car the next morning; both had matching eyebags. “Dad is fucking furious - I calmed him down enough to stay home, but Craig is on it.”

“You called dad?” Ethan groaned, tossing his head back as the pair took off to the hospital. 

“No - but Craig did.” Rolling his eyes at his brother, Grayson sped up. “He’s pissed at the entire situation, but whoever’s threatening you is gonna regret it.”

Ethan let the car fall silent as he mulled over his thoughts. The last thing he wanted to do was get his dad involved in the situation, but he knew if anyone was going to protect him, it was his father. The Dolans were nearly untouchable in Hailette; he only hoped Anna would be included. 

-

“Hi, Mr. Dolan.” The polite nurse smiled at the handsome man before her as she guided him down the hallway. “Your wife is in recovery, still a bit groggy. She had some severe hemorrhaging, but aside from scars - her leg is fine.” As they approached the door of her room, the nurse’s face fell slightly. “I’m very sorry sir, but the baby did not make it.”

“What?” Ethan stuttered, brows furrowing as he tried to comprehend what she was saying.

“Yes sir, I am very sorry. We believe she miscarried due to the trauma.” The small lady smiled sympathetically and pushed the door open, smiling softly. 

“Ethan.” Anna croaked as her husband came into view, he looked nearly as awful as she assumed she looked. She knew he shot her, but she was still pretty confused and unable to piece anything together. 

“Anna,” He sighed, bounding towards her and pulling her upper body into his arms. “I’m so sorry.” A wince left her mouth as he gently let her go. Before she could ask him to explain himself, Ethan was sputtering. “I panicked - okay - I’m so sorry, I made up a story. We got drunk and wanted to go to Florida and I said the guard shot you so I shot back.”

“O-Okay.” She nodded, trying to understand, but her mind was clouded with other things. “Ethan, they told me I lost a baby.” Her voice was quiet and soft, barely above a whisper as she looked to her husband to explain. 

“They just told me that as well.” Crouching down on the edge of her bed so he was eye level with her, “I’m so sorry, Anna - this is all my fault.”

“Are we in trouble?” She squeaked, tugging on her fingers nervously. So much had just happened in the last twenty-four hours, she wasn’t sure what to think. The anesthesia still wearing off was not helping her either. 

Shaking his now bald head, Ethan rubbed a soft circle on her wrist. “I don’t think so; we are working to find whoever is threatening us to stop that.” His voice was secure and calming; Anna was grateful he was here, even if she was furious with him. “I think they planned to question you, but I’m going to let them know we lost a child.” 

Anna watched as Ethan’s eyes welled up and he pressed a soft kiss to her hand, sniffling a bit before standing up. “I’m going to let Grayson know the situation and I’ll be back.” He kissed her forehead before walking out of the room briskly.

The only feeling Anna had at the moment was confusion. She had found out Ethan cheated on her, was being blackmailed, tried to escape Hailette, witnessed a murder, got shot by her husband, found out she was pregnant, and lost a baby all in one day. All she wanted to do was go home to sleep in her own bed for hours - maybe even days. 

When Ethan came back into the room, she was asleep again. The nurse helped Ethan with the discharge paper - knowing she should probably keep Mrs. Dolan another night, but Ethan was adamant that they were going home. Grayson helped get Anna into the backseat of his car as Ethan held her tightly into his side. She was awake - just barely - but the combination of exhaustion and pain meds was all too much. 

-

“Ethan Grant - what the fuck were you thinking?” Mr. Dolan’s voice bellowed through the large foyer of Ethan’s grand home. Anna was deeply asleep on pain medicine, so there was no chance of waking her. 

“I wasn’t, father.” Ethan sighed, shutting the door behind his dad and their detective Craig. “I don’t need to be told what I did was stupid.”

“Stupid?” Mr. Dolan chuckled sarcastically as Craig walked into the dining room to speak with Grayson. “What you did was damn near suicidal - and murderous to your poor wife.”

Ethan didn’t respond to his father’s slander knowing everything he said was completely true. Ethan was not acting like a grown man - he needed to grow up. “Yes sir.”

“Craig has a lead.” Grayson spoke from the other room, drawing the argument to a close.

Craig was an older man with gray hair, but he was not to be underestimated. There have been many cases he has worked on for the Dolans over the years and he had never let them down. “How much do you know about your assistant, Jonathan?”

“Uh - not much - he has worked for me for a while?” Lifting an eyebrow at the comment, Ethan folded his arms over his chest. 

“Well - we found the skanky redhead you fucked, offered her some money to snitch. Which she did.” Mr. Dolan snapped. “She’s dead.”

Ethan rubbed a hand over his face in distress and nodded, knowing that was inevitable. The Dolans weren’t going to let some lowless bartender threaten their family. 

“She gave us Jonathan by name - not sure how she’d have that information unless she’s being honest.” Craig shrugged, thumbing through a stack of papers in his lap. “Of course, we are running through every lead; but he’s up there.” Craig cleared his throat again. “Now - we need to discuss your wife.”

“What about her?” Ethan bristled at the mention of Anna. 

“I don’t think we have to worry because of the miscarraige.” Craig emphasized, but held his hands up in caution. “But we need to be sure - if anyone finds out why we are investigating right now she could be in danger.”

“No one lays a hand on her.” Ethan seethed, pointing his finger around the room. “I want her treated like a Dolan.”

“Son - you know that’s not -” Mr. Dolan started.

“I don’t CARE!” Ethan bellowed, jumping out of the chair with his fists clenched by his sides and his face red. “If a SINGLE thing happens to her, it will be as though someone castrated ME. TREAT IT LIKE THAT!” His chest was rising and falling quickly. “I will BURN this country to the ground if a single hair on her head is harmed.”

“Understood.” Craig nodded, shutting the folder in his lap and shooting Mr. Dolan a look that said - let’s get the hell out of here.

#ethan dolan #grayson dolan #the dolan twins #dolan twin fanfic #ethan dolan fanfic #dolan twin au #ethan dolan au #ethan dolan smut #ethan dolan flu #ethan dolan fluf #adolanables #linked!ethan

[everlastingdreams]

Jaskier x Reader : The Green Eyed Monster   chapter 1/3

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Notes: First of all ^ not my gif. Decided to break this story up in 3 longer chapters instead of 5. It will flow better that way. Leave a like or a comment if you liked it :) Or even a holy reblog lol Oh and let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this story.

Summary:  You meet Geralt and Jaskier while you were after the same monster for coin. Soon you find yourself falling for the bard but he seems to be oblivious to that. You have killed many monsters to survive. One monster seems to be too strong to beat. The Green Eyed Monster.

Chapters:   1/3

Word count:  2359 words (in this chapter)

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They had made it sounds so easy. One little monster had attacked a child recently and you had to track it down. Kill it and get paid, quick and easy. It's home was in a cave and even though you tried to sneak up on it, it turned out to have good hearing. Really good. The monster, who wasn't actually little, swung it's scaled arm backwards. Knocking you to the ground with force. You scrambled back up on your feet again just as it turned and charged towards you. You grabbed your sword from the ground and spun as you stepped out of it's way. The sword left a deep wound in it's side. It growled and lashed it's clawed paws at you. You ducked away but it was still able to strike your arm. Taking a step back you tried to figure out it's weak spot, the scales made it look like there wasn't one. You grabbed a dagger in your other hand and charged at the monster. Using your sword to block it's close attack, you dragged the dagger along the only part with less scales. The front of his neck.

Blood splattered around, covering you in the stuff within the blink of an eye. It's sunk to it's knees before falling over. You stayed alert until you were sure the monster was dead.

You took a moment to catch your breath whilst trying to wipe the yellowish colored blood from your face.

Someone gasping pulled your attention and you quickly turned to where the sound came from.

Two men stood not far from you the one you could identify easily by his looks as Geralt Of Rivia, was looking at the dead creature on the ground. The other, unknown to you, was staring at you.

His mouth was slightly agape and you turned your sword in your hand, always expecting trouble.

“Absolutely stunning..” he breathed out loudly and it made Geralt look up at him like he was insane.

“What are you talking about ?” his gruff voice pulled the man's attention away from you.

The man looked at the witcher before looking down at the creature “Wha-” his eyes darted between you and Geralt “No-no- I don't mean that thing I meant HER!” he awkwardly responded.

Now they both looked at you, covered in the monster's blood, making your hair stick to your face. Geralt looked back to the man, who had once again started to stare at you as if you weren't covered in blood, torn armor and clothes. He shook his head and walked towards you, making the man snap out of his odd trance.

You raised your sword at him “State your intent, Witcher.”

He stopped, not even looking at the sword “Came here to kill the monster. Looks like you took care of that.” You eyed him suspiciously, who could you trust in this world ? Many had stabbed you in the back. They could kill you and collect the coin for killing the monster themselves.

The man leaned from behind the witcher as if he was his shield “Hello fair maiden..” he stepped from behind the witcher, his eyes darting between the sword and you “ Please, allow me to introduce myself.”

He tried to bow put thought otherwise as you followed his every move with your sword. The witcher groaned at the awkward display.

The man let out a nervous chuckle before “My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, but please call me Jaskier. And this is my friend Geralt Of Rivia. You may have heard of us.”

“He's not my friend. He's a bard that keeps pestering me.” Geralt corrected him.

Panic flashed on Jaskier's face “Perhaps now is not the time for this discussion again.” he nodded his head towards the sword.

“You're a bard... hunting monsters ?” the combination was odd, to say the least.

His attention snapped back to you and he flashed you a bright smile “Oh, well.. actually he-” he nods to Geralt, not looking away from you “-is the one doing the hunting part. The adventures we experience makes for great inspiration. Have you heard of the song Toss A Coin To Your Witcher ? I wrote that. It has become quite popular, I could sing it for you if you wis-” he rambled on and you started to lower your sword. The more he spoke, the less of a threat these men appeared to you.

“Jaskier !” Geralt snapped at his rambling companion.

Jaskier fell silent, but only for a moment.

Geralt was about to speak to you but the bard interupted him.

“Would you be so kind as to tell us your name, Miss ?” he stood nervously and the witcher looked like he wanted to throw him of a cliff.

You tucked your sword back behind your back and it instantly made the men relax. Enough proof for you that they didn't mean you harm. Pondering the thought for a moment before you held out your hand “My name is y/n. Pleasure to meet fellow hunters..and bards who still have manners.”

Jaskier eagerly took hold of your hand and to your suprise he bend down as to kiss your hand before noticing that there was also blood on your hands. He settled for a handshake and then didn't let go of your hand until Geralt cleared his throat. A smile formed on your face at the action. You weren't used to meeting people like the socially awkward bard, he was quite endearing. You held out your hand to Geralt next, he looked at you as if to figure out if your trustworthy. Then he shook your hand “Nice to meet you, y/n.”.

“A beautiful name, fit for a beauty.” Jaskier chimned in, a big smile still plastered on his face.

He was so openly flirting with you that you didn't know how to react.

You laughed nervously “So uhm.. this will not sound good...” you started a little embarrassed “Do you guys happen to know how to get out of this place again ?”

The two men looked at eachother, Jaskier shooting Geralt a pleading look for reasons you didn't understand yet.

Geralt nodded “Yes. Follow us.”

And you did follow them.

Actually you got quite attached to the witcher and his charming bard.

You had followed them for a while now, helping out different towns with problems. Sharing the coins you earned between the three of you. Soon you also met Yennefer, and were suprised at how well you two got along and you were quick to notice how it was the opposite with Jaskier. Yennefer was very open of her dislike of him.

After helping out another person you all decided to go and relax at the local bar before returning to the Town's Inn for the night.

The bar was rather small, the fireplace warmed it without much trouble. The lit candles placed on the tables gave the bar an almost cozy appearance, only failing to be so considering the bar was full of people. A lot of them drunk, some even managed to focus on a game of gwent. Others enjoying their drinks in silence, others loud enough for both. Some occasionaly bumping into the chair you were sitting on, quickly apologizing once they saw the small dagger at your hip.

The first notes played and the bar became a little quieter as the people listened to the sound of the lute trying it's hardest to become louder then the crowd. Just like it's owner.

A smile crept on your face as you watched him start to sing. You quickly glanced over at Geralt, who was standing at the other end of the bar with Yennefer. Right on time to see him close his eyes and muttering something to himself. You contained your laughter as you saw his reaction to Jaskier starting to sing. Some things never change.

Some things, but other things do..

You watched Jaskier as he put his heart and soul into his music, he pranced around the bar as he sang. Often almost bumping into someone as he did. Some paid him no attention, but you couldn't help but stare as he moved around the room. Watching him as he moved closer to the table you were sitting at. You were so enthralled by the passion he put in his music that it distracted you from what the lyrics were. He turned and stopped for only a moment as he sang

“Share a drink with a lady.

 Delight in their company.

 For who can resist,

When all they wish is to be kissed.”

he made a little bow and winked to you as he sang the lyrics, as if he was aiming them at you.

Or maybe you wished those were really aimed at you. He walked past your table and made his way through the crowd still playing the lute effordlessly.

Soon the song ended, and those who were not too busy holding their drinks clapped. You clapped as well as he gave the audience a small bow. Then he spotted you again in the crowd and bowed dramatically and a laugh escaped you when you saw him do it. You shook your head, trying to contain the smile on your face. That's what you liked about him. How he was able to charm a crowd yet be such a lovable goof at the same time. He was so different from the other men you had met, he wasn't a warrior or a hunter. A lover, not a fighter. The opposite of you in more ways then one, and it was fascinating to you.

Then the smile disappeared from your face as you saw three young women form a small crowd around him, drawing all his attention away from you. He of course was happy with the attention he was recieving from the women who praised his music and him. You snapped your eyes away from it all and put your attention on the drink in front of you. Even though you were not thirsty, you took a big swig from the tankard and swallowed it in one go.

You looked at Jaskier from the corner of your eye and one of the women had her hands on his left upper arm. The frustration you felt was mostly aimed at yourself.

Why couldn't you just tell him ?

You feared risking your friendship, risk things getting awkward. And with Jaskier, it would get awfully awkward. You didn't want to stare at them, but even when you tried to focus on your tankard or anything else, your eyes still drifted to him.

Yennefer stood next to Gerald, watching the scene unfold before her eyes. She didn't need magic to see what was going on. She had seen the way you acted around Jaskier before. The way you stared and how your smile only grew bigger when the bard was near you.

"Poor thing, if falling for the bard wasn't worse enough, now she has to see that happen." Yennefer remarks and Geralt looks at her confused. She scoffs at his asking gaze "Oh, you are as oblivious as he is." She discreetly nods in your direction, Geralt follows her gaze and he finally understands that Yennefer is talking about you.

"She likes him." the corner of her lips turned up a little as she sighed. "Likes who ?" Geralt still asks oblivious yet interested. Yennefer stares at him, thinking how blind he could be to something so obvious. But then again, so was the bard. She rolls her eyes in frustration "Jaskier !"

Geralt's head turned in your direction instantly “Oh.” he uttered and then realisation fully hit him “Fuck.”  

He groaned and Yennefer shook her head.

You tried to ignore it. Tried to ignore the pit forming in your stomach. But when one woman started to touch his Jaskier's hair, something in you snapped. You stood up instantly, shoving the chair back loudly as you marched to the exit of the bar. You were stopped by someone grabbing your arm. Your head snapped back, ready to punch anyone who was trying to bother you. You sighed when you saw that it was Geralt. "What ?" It came out colder then you had intended it to. He let go of your arm "Let's have another drink." You narrowed your eyes at him, you could feel that he was trying to distract you "No, thank you. I've already had a few. I think I'll go and get some fresh air. The smell of this bar is getting stuck in my clothes." He gave a short nod but did not seem pleased at his failed attempt to cheer you up and distract you from Jaskier being surrounded by the female company. He breathed out and groaned as he walked over to his occupied friend.

Jaskier was conversating with the enthusiastic women when he noticed them staring at his hair all of a sudden. He nervously brushed a hand through his hair “Is there something in my hair or..”

Geralt cleared his throat and Jaskier spun around, coming face to face with him.

The women giggled at the sight. The bard couldn't think of any reason why his friend looked unpleased.

“Have you seen y/n ?” Geralt knew but all too well where you were, Jaskier however seemed to be oblivious to your absence.

Jaskier's eyes shot to the now empty table at which you had been sitting “She's... she was right there just a second ago..” brows drawing together as he scanned the bar looking for you.

“Hmm.” Geralt tried to sound serious “I'll look around the bar.”

Jaskier looked at him questioningly before realising the plan “And I'll go look outside ?” it was more of a question.

Geralt didn't bother answering as he walked through the crowd, pretenting to keep an eye out for you.

Jaskier looked around him once more, trying to spot you in the crowd before he finally made his way to the door. Geralt watched as Jaskier left before he went back to Yennefer and finished his drink.

#jaskier x reader #reader x jaskier #reader/jaskier #jaskier/reader #jaskier #imagine jaskier #the witcher #witcher jaskier #witcher #geralt of rivia #you/jaskier #jaskier x you #jaskier reader insert #yennefer #geralt #witcher fic

[takeiteasypeasybaby]

Save Me: Chapter 22 - Alone

~Hey Guys! Chapter 22 is out now ❤️ Molly encounters Saviours as Rick confronts Negan about Molly’s presence at the Sanctuary...I hope everyone enjoys this chapter and chapter 23 will be out on Sunday 🤟🏻~

It was better to be alone, than to hurt again.

There I was, lying wrapped tightly in his arms. He kissed my neck gently through my hair.

I could feel his warm breath against my ear, tingles rushing down my spine and a smile now plastered across my face as my eyes remained shut.

I awoke abruptly to hear a gunshot outside.

It had been a dream, a perfect dream. I was back in my surroundings, the abandoned damp house.

I darted towards the window, and peered outside, shielding the majority of my body from anyone's view.

There were a group of men standing close to the house, with a car that I recognised.

Shit. Saviours.

They were standing around pointing at the various houses. They meant to search them.

Negan sent these guys to bring me back? Or worse kill me?

He let me go. It didn't seem like something he would do.

I was amidst my thoughts as I still crouched by the window.

Suddenly, one of them looked in my direction, frowning as I shifted frantically out of view.

I could still hear them outside, 'check it out!' one shouted.

My eyes widened. Fuck.

I took out my gun and held a knife below it. I paced quietly to slide behind the bedroom door.

I heard the front door creak open as a couple of guys walked in slowly.

'Could've been a walker' he warned the other guy.

I smirked, oh boy you've got something worse coming for you. I would never let them kill me or take me back.

They walked up the stairs and went into separate rooms to check them out.

Seeing one guy walk into the adjacent room, I slipped round the side of the door and followed him in.

I made no sound as I crept up behind him.

'Hey Mike check this out' he said softly as he bent down to reach for an old Pac-Man game.

I wrapped my arm around his chest and slit his throat quietly.

Blood splattered against the wall and I set him down gently on the floor.

The other guy said 'what?' as he came round to enter the room.

I waited against the wall and had my gun aimed at the door ready.

He walked through the threshold and shouted 'you!' as I shot him in the head.

There were still three other guys out there and the gunshot had now alerted them to my position.

I crept round to the window and opened it slightly to position my gun.

They were arguing and shouted 'Mike, Robbie, what's going on?' from outside the house.

I managed to get a clear shot on one of them and killed him instantly. The other two ducked and ran into the house and up the stairs.

They fired on the room I was in repeatedly. They had far more ammo than me.

After firing for a few minutes, seeing all the bullet holes in the wall. I dragged one of the bodies over to the door so that the blood would spill through under the door.

They mumbled to each other, thinking I was dead.

I heard their footsteps slowly get closer to the door. I looked around the room to see if I could use anything.

I smiled when I saw an aerosol can of old deodorant. Fuck yeah.

I crawled to pick it up and counted a couple seconds until I knew they were close.

I opened the door suddenly, through the can out and shot at it.

They gasped as the can spluttered and exploded, sending a cloud of white powder through the hall.

They were disorientated and shouted to each other.

Seeing the back of one of the guys step backwards towards me, I grabbed the back of him and held him with a knife to his throat.

Once the mist had cleared, the other guy stood in front of us and aimed his gun at his friend.

'Put down your weapons' I shouted to him as his friend struggled in my arms.

The other guy started to lower his gun slightly as I said sternly 'tell me who sent you and I won't kill you'.

He looked at his friend and sighed saying 'Simon. He told us to kill you'.

'Really? I'm guessing that asshole will kill you if you don't kill me' I retorted, tightening my grip on his neck.

He winced, 'do what she says' he said shaking.

'Be smart, me or Simon' I said slowly.

He sighed before saying 'I'll take my chances' and raised his gun back up at his friend, willing to shoot us both.

Seeing his intent, I shot him in the heart immediately, his friend said 'please' as I slit his throat.

I dropped to my knees, weary and numb. I felt no remorse killing those men. It was me or them.

I was more like Negan than I thought, or even worse, I was already like him before we met.

I wiped my brow, pushing all thoughts of him out of my head.

I snapped back into action seeing walkers approaching the house. They must have heard the gunshots.

I grabbed my rucksack and swept supplies into it as I ran down the stairs and out the front door.

They were getting closer and started to clamber and snarl around the Saviour's car. I ran to it, shooting the walkers nearest the door.

They dropped as I pulled open the door and shut it just in time as more walkers now encircled it.

I started the engine and saw that there was a half tank of gas. Thank god.

I pushed my foot down and floored it sharply away from them. The ones in front of the car flung wildly over the bonnet.

I had no idea of where I was going but I just kept heading further and further away from the Sanctuary.

I drove for about half an hour as I began to see roads that I recognised. I was close. These were the old routes to Alexandria.

A smile grew across my face in relief which was quickly replaced by a scowl seconds later.

I stopped dead in the middle of the road.

I couldn't go back. I couldn't go home.

How would I even begin to explain? How could I even look at Maggie, Rosita or Sasha?

Rick would banish me like he did to Carol years ago.

I was better off out here.

I couldn't stay too close, given that Negan and the Saviours would come to collect each week, I couldn't risk anyone seeing me. Least of all, him.

Negan's POV//

Silence, complete silence.

I sat there, in my room with Lucille propped by my side. My hand slipped slightly as I poured myself another glass of bourbon.

I was almost through the entire bottle.

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. I missed hearing her voice.

I lifted the glass up to my lips as I heard a faint Negan echo around the room. I stopped dead and put the glass down.

It was her voice, Molly.

'Fuck, I'm going crazy' I whispered to myself. I stood up and smashed the glass against the wall and walked to the window.

I gripped the window ledge firmly as my eyebrows furrowed. I was trapped. I had lost the only thing that made life worthwhile.

After Lucille, I never thought I would find someone like that again. I fucking ruined it.

Suddenly, my thoughts were ripped from me by a slight knock and the door opening slowly.

'I thought you might like some company' a hesitant voice said.

I sighed, knowing it was Frankie. 'If I wanted your company, I would've asked for it. You're not my wife anymore' I snapped at her.

She was silent for a second before she closed the door again.

I bowed my head against the window pane. I needed news of her, anything.

I threw on my jacket and marched over to the door, I spun back around and picked up Lucille, almost forgetting her.

I strolled to Simon's room and knocked loudly on the door.

'Negan' he answered.

'Molly. Was there really nothing you found those first weeks?' I said exhaustedly.

He looked at me with surprise.

'No, nothing really. Except this' he said coldly as he handed me a necklace. It was her locket.

'We found it round the arm of a walker' he said with an amount of admiration.

I scowled in disbelief as my eyes began to water.

'She can handle herself' I said, smiling weakly with hope.

'It didn't look good sir, there were a hoard of them around it' he said looking down.

I gripped the locket in my hand and marched away back to my room.

I was full of guilt, rage, fear and regret. To think that I had put her in this situation. I might have killed her.

It was overwhelming me and I was drunk. At least that's what I told myself later on.

I found myself stumbling into the wives lounge. Ex-wives.

I leant against the doorframe and looked around. None of the other wives remained, only Frankie.

She sat there in her black dress and looked up at me. I just needed to forget her and feel like myself again.

'Frankie, baby. Come with me' I said smirking at her.

She grinned widely and jumped up, running over to me. I tried to seem interested but really I was using her.

The next morning...

I woke up the next morning, her arm wrapped around me.

My eyes opened as I felt her behind me. I sighed, she didn't feel like Molly.

I got up and looked over at her as I got dressed. I felt nothing.

As I picked up Lucille, I grabbed Molly's locket and pressed it against my lips before holding it in my pocket.

I was wrong. She didn't make me weak, she gave me strength. Holding that locket in my hand showed me that.

I was regenerated with a vengeance.

I ordered everyone into the meeting room, it was time Rick got what was coming to him.

At least there was a comfort in knowing Molly couldn't hate me more than she did.

At that, there were bullets fired against the walls, smashing in the windows.

I peered out of the window to see Rick's group shielded with metal barricades.

'What's the plan?' Simon said sternly as I simply scanned around for her.

'We talk. Otherwise we're just wasting metal on metal' I said as I walked out of the door.

Dwight, Simon, Arat, Gavin and Eugene following me.

'Well shit! I'm sorry, I was in a meeting' I said sarcastically, swinging Lucille over my shoulder.

I looked at all of them.

'I see you got your little mud flaps with ya. So I'm not exactly feeling a reason for us to try throwing lead at each other. I care about my people, I'm not just gonna throw them into the line of fire because I wanna play my dick is bigger than yours!' I yelled.

I smirked before softly saying 'it is, by the way. We both know it'.

I paced on the balcony, looking now at Rick.

'But, I'm also comfortable enough to accept the fact if it wasn't. But I'm certainly not gonna let my people die over that shit, like your about to' I said, pointing to him with Lucille.

'So Rick, what the hell can I do for ya?' I asked mockingly.

He paused before moving out into full vision.

'Give us Molly' he yelled. I froze at her name.

I looked down awkwardly, 'she's not here, she left' I said, choking slightly.

Rick just nodded in frustration, probably thinking I lied.

'Dwight, your name's Simon, you're Gavin and you?' Rick said pointing at my people.

'Arat' she replied.

I was now fed up with his bullshit.

'Rick I'd feel remiss-' Eugene spoke before he was interrupted by Rick.

''No! I know who you are...' he said now scowling at him.

'Listen you five, the Saviours inside, all of you have a chance to survive here, to survive this. Y'all can live if you surrender. Can't guarantee it anytime but now. Right now' he spoke, almost pleadingly.

I just smiled and a light chuckle escaped my lips.

'So they surrender, and you and your little piss patrol doesn't kill em. That sounds like a good deal!' I said sarcastically.

I now looked down at him, saying 'what about me Rick?'.

'I told you, twice. You know what's gonna happen' he yelled.

I nodded, 'I do, I do know what's gonna happen. You have no idea the shit that's about to go down. Lemme ask you something Rick, you think you have the numbers for this fight?' I said gesturing to the Sanctuary.

'You don't' I added.

'Let's find out shall we?' Rick stayed confidently.

I was silent.

'You're gonna make me count. Okay, okay, I'm counting. Ten, nine, eight, seven...' he yelled before he opened fired on all of us.

I ran down the stairs and round the back while my guys ran back inside.

Rick followed and fired on the scrap metal I was crouching behind.

'Rick! It's not about you' a voice said to Rick, making him ceasefire.

He went round the side and I ran towards the nearest base.

The old trailer.

Walkers encircled it and I was trapped inside.

'Fuck' I mumbled. 

I sat inside, in darkness when the door opened to reveal Father Gabriel...

#negan x original female character #negan imagine #twd fanfiction #negan fanfiction #twd #twd negan #slowburn #thewalkingdead #negan #jdm #jeffreydeanmorgan #rick grimes #daryldixon #twdromance #slow build #negan smut #the walking dead negan #mollychambler

[keeroo92]

Truce

Hi, guys! This was my contribution to the INVICTUS zine. Thanks again for having me, it was such a pleasure to work amongst such talented people. Enjoy!

Word count - 1,627

________

---Vergil---

The shattered remains of the Qlipoth stood vigil as the two brothers circled each other on the already brutalized terrain. Their heavy breath fogged the chilly air of the Underworld, not a breeze to be found. Splashes of his kin’s blood stained his normally immaculate vest; his own was almost invisible on Dante’s crimson leather.

Vergil smirked. He’d drawn more blood.

My victory approaches.

Yet the thought lacked the satisfaction he expected. It didn’t make sense, defeating Dante was his goal for years, it was what drove him to split himself. Where was the sense of achievement? The glory? What changed?

Irrelevant. He tightened his grip on the Yamato and growled, setting his stance in preparation for a lunge. Dante followed suit, dropping into a low crouch and holding his blade defensively. No matter; he’d target lower. Perhaps a feint?

Ha darted forward and despite his adjustments, steel struck steel as Dante blocked. The flesh of his arms trembled from the reverberations. Icy crystal met stormy depths as their eyes locked and for a single heartbeat Vergil wondered what his life would look like if not for that one terrible night.

He blinked and the strange thought dissipated. Now wasn’t the time to get nostalgic, what was wrong with him? With barely a thought, he flashed away to regain his bearings.

But Dante didn’t relent. A streak of red and a familiar battle cry warned him just in time as the legendary devil hunter attacked with a flaming series of punches that would’ve shattered his ribs. Another perilous thought pierced his mental barricade as he guarded his core and dodged what he could.

What happened to us, brother?

A flash of cold steel; Vergil stepped to the side as Rebellion crashed down, forcing his attention back to the current moment. He raised Yamato and targeted Dante’s exposed rib cage.

A clang rattled up his arms as Dante blocked his calculated blow with his gauntlet. He pushed against it, using the red-clad man’s resistance to propel him a safe distance before he had a chance to retaliate.

You will never understand what I have endured. How could you?

The roads they walked were too different. Dante’s smooth and unblemished. Vergil’s, cratered and treacherous at every turn. Perhaps once they had a chance to walk the same path, but no longer.

If only it were that simple.

---Dante---

Damnit Vergil, I’m so sick of this!

Dante glared at his twin and sighed. He was so tired, all he wanted was a nap but stupid Vergil wouldn’t stop trying to kill him. It was nuts, didn’t he realize they’d never actually be able to kill each other?

Not with our heritage...

At this point, he attacked out of habit alone, lunging forward to strike at Vergil’s red-splattered chest. He knew the hit wasn’t going to land; it rarely did. His brother was too clever to fall for such a simple move and as expected, by the time he reached his target a slim blade blocked his way.

“Too slow, little brother,” Vergil taunted, darting to the side to aim a slice at Dante’s throat.

But what has trying to kill me ever gotten you?

The man in red ducked, dodging the blow with barely an inch to spare. Familiar spite and anger tinted his brother’s eyes, the same look as when he tried to pull the jerk to safety on the Temen-Ni-Gru. The same stubborn pride that kept him from accepting his twin’s hand. The same arrogance as when he chose to fall deeper into the Demon Realm instead of coming home at last.

When will it be enough? Just get over yourself!

Red leather danced out of the Yamato’s path as it searched for his flesh. It whistled through empty air, Vergil’s annoyed snarl echoing a beat later.

Dante spun on his heel and switched gears, pulling out his latest acquisition, nunchucks imbued with the power of Cerberus. He couldn’t resist letting out a few stylistic whoops as he flung the icy end right at Vergil’s knees.

A sharp hiss slipped through his brother’s clenched teeth as the blow landed. Once, they would’ve laughed over Dante finally managing to hit him. 

Will we ever get back to that?

In a single fluid motion, the legendary devil hunter switched weapons once more to one of his favorites. Rebellion hummed in his grip as he swung it with a mighty grunt at the same kneecap. 

Is it even worth trying to? 

Sparks flew from where the brothers’ blades met, their minds battling as fiercely as their bodies. Red and blue leather rose and fell with every strained breath, sweat dripping from matching brows to mix with the blood soaking into the dirt. Neither would back down, not with the stubbornness they shared.

“Ready to admit defeat?” Vergil spat.

Dante barked a laugh, his eyes hazy with fatigue. “Heh, never… got ya right where I want you.”

The younger man blinked and his brother vanished, as if he never existed at all. Dante lowered his guard, turning in circles with confusion plain in his eyes. Vergil was fast, there was no ignoring that, but to vanish entirely? That was a new trick.

“We playing hide and seek now, or what?”

His panting breath hitched as a cacophonous ringing erupted nearby. Thin lines of sharp steel flashed to and fro in a dance of death on all sides. Dante cursed and lowered the walls within his mind, letting demonic power flood his senses as thick armor blossomed across his body. Ash tainted his tongue but he barely noticed as he felt an answering surge of power.

Shit! He’s right behind me!

He tried to react, but it was too late. A scorchingly hot hand latched onto his shoulder and held him still. A heartbeat later, the all-too-familiar caress of metal sliced through his body as Vergil drove the Yamato home, embedding the family heirloom deep in his side. Copper overwhelmed the ashen taste in his mouth and Dante spat, a thick gob of crimson to join all the rest. No matter how many times he got his sorry ass stabbed, it never got any less painful. 

But he wasn’t considered the best in the biz for nothing. His lips split into a feral grin, teeth stained red as he drew his oldest friends and angled them through his own shoulders as the Yamato vacated his body, already angling for the next jab.

This is gonna suck…

Dante tensed and squeezed both triggers. Ebony and Ivory sang in his grip, bullet after bullet aimed through his body at his brother. Agony rippled across his skin as his scapula and ribs shattered and a howl parted his lips.

Vergil’s barely audible gasp marked his success, his hand falling from Dante’s shredded shoulder. The pain was unimaginable, but he shoved it aside. First things first. 

Dante turned to find his twin on his knees, riddled with holes. His vest darkened as the man in blue took a wheezing breath, glaring promises of death at his brother. Pained gasps forced unnatural pauses in his words, and with each breath his icy eyes flashed with rage.

“I should've expected such... foolishness from you. You never needed... to learn tactics, after all. Not with the life you’ve lived.”

Oh, he cannot be serious.

“What, you think I had it easy just cuz I didn’t end up like you? Do you have any idea how many people, how many friends I’ve seen die?” he snapped back. The wounds in his chest itched already, healing every second he stayed in demon form. He couldn’t hold it much longer, just long enough to keep himself alive.

Vergil scoffed, a derisive sneer twisting his lips. “You weren’t left behind.”

You fucking dumbass.

Dante growled, the urge to strangle Vergil a powerful temptation. But maybe there was another choice. 

He shuffled his feet in the bloodstained dirt, fingers twitching by his weapons in case Vergil made a move. This was a terrible idea, he knew it. He was just going to get stabbed again.

But he had to try.

Someone’s gotta go first. For Nero.

“Yeah, I was! She hid me in the damned closet and ran off to look for you,” he cried. “She never left you behind, Vergil. You’re the one that left us, asshat.”

The moment stretched into eternity. Emotions tugged at Vergil’s expression, none fully revealed but if you knew what to look for… A twitch of the cheek, a tiny furrow in the brow. The smallest of signals, but enough. 

Damnit, this is weird. What do I do now?

He didn’t have a clue. All he knew was that he was tired of fighting, tired of bleeding and really tired of getting stabbed. Enough was enough, and Vergil sure as shit wasn’t going to spontaneously not want to murder him anymore. It was up to him.

Leather rustled as Dante stepped closer, holding a hand out to his brother despite the jangling warnings screaming at him to attack, finish him off while he had the advantage. He might never have a better chance. 

Yeah, for Nero.

Instead of striking Vergil down, Dante spoke. “How about we take a break? You can kill me later.”

Vergil’s conflicted gaze darted to his own, a triumphant curl to his lips. “Are you finally surrendering?”

“You wish, jackass. Consider it a truce.”

Hesitation colored those blue eyes so like his. Suspicion and hope mixed into guarded acceptance as a trembling hand extended to grasp its twin. A heave later, and the two Sons of Sparda stood eye to eye. 

“This isn’t over,” Vergil growled, carefully sheathing the Yamato. 

Dante rolled his eyes and snorted. “I know.”

But maybe someday it will be.

#fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #one shot #DMC #dmc dante #dmc vergil #devil may cry #invictus #invictus zine

[mattzerella-sticks]

A Common Thread, Day 3 of Batflash Week - Spells & Missions

John Constantine awoke to discover one of his old enemies had broken free from Hell again. How? By a bloodstained message left in his bathroom mirror. If he doesn't come to where she wants him, he'll never see one of the best things that had ever happened to him. All he needs to do is walk into her trap alone and everything will work itself out.

Unfortunately Batman throws a wrench into the plan by storming in.

Are they brave and bold enough to rescue Barry?

John Constantine stares up at the faded sign of the warehouse, spray painted in a mess of symbols any self-respecting warlock would spit at. It’s one of many graffitied markers of kids playing with forces they know nothing about. Lucky that none of the sigils were any good sewn together by the hands of a novice.

Except luck runs out. Evident by the dried blood splattering the ground next to a perfect symbol used to summon demons. Kicking over an upturned crate John finds a severed hand clutching a dirty page with instructions on it.

“Doesn’t anyone know,” he mutters, inspecting the spell printed out, “that by tampering with forces you can’t begin to understand there’ll be hell to pay?”

And it’s usually at John’s doorstep they show up, aiming to collect.

Blythe takes what’s hers in blood .

He hadn’t expected her sorry ass to climb its way from Hell so soon, especially since he left her ground under the hell of Neron’s well-polished boot. Underestimating her resourcefulness proved much to dangerous, yet he does it constantly. John thought he learned his lesson when she kidnapped Oliver. In school the teacher always had to go over her lessons more than once before John understood, and the habit’s followed him like a horrid stench.

Now someone else he cares for is suffering under her clutches. John hopes he isn’t too late.

A rustle sounds from nearby. John drops the page, tensing in his squat. Mud squelches underfoot as an intruder steps closer, human from the sound of it. If Blythe wanted to surprise him she wouldn’t announce her presence in such a pedestrian manner.

“Whoever’s there,” he starts, sparks dancing at his fingertips, “I’m half-cocked and ready to fire off like it’s nobody’s business. Announce your presence or spend the next millenium picking yourself from between brimstone.”

“John…”

Sighing, John relaxes somewhat. He recognizes the broody timbre of the man waiting nearby. While it wasn’t a demon, John suspects an ounce of the devil runs through his blood. Why else would someone choose to dress like a giant bat?

“Batman,” he stands, lips thinning into a masked smile, “What brings you around these haunts? I know it must remind you of home but…” John drops the sentence, Batman catching it perfectly from the sneer crossing his expressions.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, skipping pleasantries. Of course.

“Fancy a bit of a stroll,” John shrugs, “bilge water does wonders for the body’s health…”

“ John …”

John levels a glare at Batman, readying a cigarette. “Why should I say what you already know. I’m here for the same’s you are.”

Although for vastly different reasons, John supposes. Batman was his colleague, one of the original seven. A detective who could follow the clues Diana in all her grandstanding glory wouldn’t have been able to notice. Trying to find the bigger picture where there is none. Because this wasn’t some prophecy or plan to take over the world.

It was the consequences of a mistake finally catching up. Doesn’t matter how fast you can run when there’s a blemish on your soul. A dark print where John brushed up against his life, if only for a moment.

Batman peers from behind his cowl, scanning him. “Zatanna send you?”

“Didn’t have to,” John says, “got a direct line from the perp herself.” He snaps his fingers, a photograph appearing instantly. John shows Batman, letting him keep the picture as he drifts closer towards the doors. John memorized exactly what was on it.

Blood smeared across his bathroom mirror in an imitation of a crack. Upon closer inspection, John realized what it was.

A lightning bolt.

He reaches the door when Batman slams him against it, crushing his face against the rusted metal. “Easy!” he whines, “I never got my tetanus shot!”

“This,” he growls, “This is your fault?”

“When isn’t it my fault!”

“What did you do? What did you do !”

“Back… off!” John throws Batman to the ground with a quick spell, eyes glowing when he sees the other hero skittering to a fighting stance. Red edges at the corner of his eyes, driven by a bottomless fury. Curious, if he weren’t on the receiving end. “Listen,” he starts, “you could get your rocks off beating the shit out of me or we can go in and save him. Which do you prefer?”

Batman huffs heavy breaths, thinking. Ultimately he relents, fists hovering at his sides. He strides forward. John plants his feet, hoping the mud will keep him from instinctively flinching backwards.

Stopping inches from his face, Batman growls. “If he’s hurt - in any way - than there’s no cheap parlor trick you can do that’ll save you.”

John scoffs, drunk on false bravado. “You haven’t seen my best cheap parlor trick, then.”

Batman shoulders him on his way towards the door. “Hurry up,” he says, “let’s not waste time.”

A beat passes, John crossing his arms as his cigarette dangles - unlit - between his lips. He curses and flings it down. Stomps over it while moving towards the warehouse.

While barren on the outside, signs of life were more evident inside the cavernous building. Mussed floors, littered with abandoned beer bottles and an amp or two, remind John of his wilder days years ago. Could picture himself and Chaz a few yards away rocking to a cruddy band performing on a makeshift stage. Sees the perfect place to snog, hidden from the view of the crowds. Where you can slip a finger or two in and hide moans under angry screams and shredded licks.

Those thoughts lead him to another time in another place. A bedroom with mussed sheets and hands that scoured every inch of his skin while trembling instinctively. Achieving orgasm was like being struck by lightning.

Sobered, he casts a dim eye towards Batman. The detective scans the room with an objective eye, bouncing from shadow to shadow. “You see anything?”

“No,” he says, “do you sense anything?”

“Not without a little help,” John says. He flicks open his lighter, a small flame bursting forth. Spinning it in small, concentric circles, John whispers Latin until the fire grows in size. It changes from a bright orange to an enchanting blue, hopping off the lighter. Dancing around John, the flame drifts over to Batman and circles him.

“What is this?”

“A little tracking spell,” John shrugs, watching the fire shift dangerously close to Batman’s cape. Only to veer suddenly on a different curve. “Like our own will o’ the wisp. It’ll follow the energy of the person we’re looking for.”

“You sure it’ll work?”

“I believe it will. And with magic that’s half the battle.” They fall into silence as the flame finally flies from Batman. Darting towards the right, it hovers by a faded poster briefly until it charges through it. Burning the poster to a crisp. “Now that’s one way to find a secret entrance!”

Batman huffs, cape fluttering after him while he leaves to follow John’s wisp.

“It was no problem at all, Batty Boy… I can show you how to do it after we’ve wrapped this up… right…”

John chases the detective before he fades from sight.

Past the poster was an ominous staircase descending into the bowels of the Earth. A little on the nose for a demon, but John bets she didn’t have much time to decorate to her liking. If she wanted to cause dread to bloom in the hearts of her enemies, she hit the nail on the head.

Distracting himself from all the horrors waiting for them at the end of the staircase, of what Blythe might have done to him - John guesses why Batman stepped from off his pedestal for such a personal vendetta that didn’t involve him.

From his earlier display John doubts the League knows he’s here. Asking about Zatanna, like she sent John there to fetch the errant hero. Like John wasn’t the whole reason Blythe had a valuable bargaining chip that could fetch her ten kingdoms in Hell. And then the violent outburst at finding out John was at the root of their problem...

John faced down angels and demons alike yet none made him want to cower from the full force of their glare like Batman. If he were able to smite John wouldn’t even have atoms left.

“So,” he starts, voice echoing in the cavernous staircase, “how did you figure out this was the place to find him.”

“Clues.”

“Any elaboration on that or…?”

“ No .”

John sighs, fiddling with his lighter. “Look, I get it. You’re worried… so am I. Blythe she - she’s done this once before, to someone I care about. The first time didn’t end so well and I… I’d really hate it if something were to happen to him. He… he doesn’t deserve it. So you can trust me on this, I’m here to help .”

Batman pauses, John nearly slamming into him. He slowly cranes his neck and reveals half his face in the light of the wisp. John bites back a gasp, surprised at the venom dripping from his features. The words of encouragement were supposed to fling the bullseye from his person, except John managed to tattoo it to his forehead.

“ Care ?” Batman asks, “I don’t know what personal stake you think you have in this but - but you do not get it. Not at all . So stay out of the way, let me save him, and we’ll never have to see each other again. Understand ?”

The wisp snuffs out their light before he can answer. In its place thousands of candles lighting the walls. Reveals the true darkness of the stretch below them, how one misplaced foot could lead to an eternity of falling. Thankfully the stairs end in a few steps.

Right by the door, where they will most definitely find Blythe waiting for them inside.

Batman nearly knocks him over with his cape, closing the distance to the door. “Like I said,” he reminds John, “stay out… of the way…”

John fixes his jacket, glaring at the disgruntled detective. “Seriously,” he mutters, “what did I step in to have to deal with this team-up?”

Closing the gap, they walk confidently into Blythe’s lair - sure that a trap awaits them. On first glance John doubts his first conclusion. Nothing about the gauzy drapery or the lazy river littered with reeds and lily pads seemed dangerous. All the deadliness sucked into the mannequin posed elegantly across a blood red chaise lounge.

“Oh John! I was waiting for you,” Blythe crows, dumping her wine glass over top a stout demon with a tray soldered to his horns. “And you brought a guest! I warned you about that didn’t I… but I guess I’ll forgive it for such a handsome devil he is…”

“I didn’t bring him,” John defends, jerking his thumb at his dour companion, “He and I are after the same thing… separately.”

“Of course. Because that makes absolute sense…”

“Cut the bullshit,” Batman growls, “where is he?”

Blythe shifts her features into faux innocence, tapping a sharp nail to her chin. “Hmm… he … I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about - oh !” The illusion shatters, a shark’s grin cracking her face. “ Of course … how could I forget! He’s been such a lovely guest…” She claps her hands, a figure shuffling from out of the shadows.

John chokes on air as he sees the haggard slump of Barry’s body. Arms swinging while he walks, Barry stumbles into view. His skin lost the golden tan he remembered, instead a sickly pallor that makes his heart stutter.

Batman drifts closer, shaking. “Barry…” he whispers. His shoulders droop for a moment. In the next, they climb back to where they were. Stiff and ready for combat. “What have you done to him?”

“Nothing too noticeable ,” she coos, reaching up to squish his cheeks together. Forcing drool to dribble down his chin. “I think he looks like every other adult his age. Lifeless, hopeless, without a soul -”

“You took his soul?” John yells.

Blythe smirks, revealing a glowing amulet around her neck. It crackles with unbridled power, a wild storm trapped within. “It looks absolutely lovely. I’ll be the envy of every creature when I return with it.”

“Like hell you will!” He spits a quick spell into his hand, summoning a fireball to hurl at her. It passes between her and Flash, Blythe flinching out of its path. Barry remains frozen.

She snarls, “If that’s the game you want to play…” Four more arms erupt from her sides as she stands, green fire crackling in her palms. John curses when she launches all of them like a catapult. He skitters to the side, hiding behind a column.

Readying another spell, John sees Batman opposite him fire two bat-a-rangs at Blythe. She catches them both, only they explode and coat those hands with quick drying foam. “Disgusting!” she screams, “Don’t you know how difficult it is to get this type of blood as nail polish?”

John smirks, “Doesn’t matter what you paint ‘em love, it won’t help you look better.”

Another fireball chars the marble pillar, a few embers too close to his skin. He waits for another barrage of attacks to move. Runs over to Batman’s newest hiding spot behind a large, wooden chest while summoning a line of spectral knives in his wake. They fly for Blythe.

Skidding next to Batman, he sees Blythe dodging knife after knife. “Damn…”

“Pretty good trick,” Batman says, prepping a few more of his weapons, “where’d you learn it?”

“Your girl Zatanna -”

“Not my girl -” “Used it on me after a bad night in Vegas when I wouldn’t leave. Not that it did much good. She’s more powerful than before.”

“So,” Batman frowns at him, “how do we defeat her?” “Usually it wouldn’t be so easy,” John tells him, “I could do a quick banishing spell, send her to Hell like all the other times. But if I did it now, where she goes Barry does, too.”

“How did he get involved in all this?” Batman asks, “Why go after him?”

John finds a loose cigarette in his pocket and lights it, sucking on the bitter smoke. “Because she knew it’d hurt me.”

He can’t explain further, their shield splintering from a concussive force. John hears a splash, Batman no doubt landing in the river. John luckily skids close enough for his fingers to dangle at the edge. Quickly he pulls them close, in time to dodge the piranha-esque demon jumping up to feast on him.

Safety isn’t long. Blythe grabs his jacket, pulling him up until his feet dangle. Tips of his shoes scuffing the floor.

She drags him close enough he can smell the hideous sulfur-and-carnation perfume she wears. See the lines in each hideously sharp tooth. “I could do so many things to you,” she says, “To make up for all the knives you planted in my back -”

“Had to…” he huffs, struggling in her grasp, “Otherwise it’d be the other way around. And I can’t recover as fast as you can.”

Blythe caresses his face with a free hand, nails digging into skin hard enough to draw blood. “You talk big, John. But you’re as weak as every other human. Let your heart lead you even though it hurts itself thousands of times. Provide fodder for the many enemies you create by existing .”

John chuckles, “You been talking to my dad?”

“Oliver was one thing but him …” Blythe looks at Barry, souring his routine. “Do you know the number of demons wanting to carve their name into the soul of a hero ? You’ve given me the best kind of gift I never could’ve asked for…”

He glances behind at where Barry’s soulless body rests, his eyes gazing at him with a frightening emptiness inside. John never prays for himself, and the few times he does it’s for other people more deserving. Barry Allen deserves a miracle, and John Constantine is far from that.

But Batman delivers.

Jumping from the river, he latches onto Blythe’s neck with a shout. She drops John to fend off Batman’s attack, stumbling around due to the other man’s grapple.

“John!” Batman shouts, “Now! Do it now!” He stabs her shoulders with bat-a-rangs, Blythe’s screams shaking the room. Batman drops and rolls away, over to John. “John!” “But what about -”

Batman dangles Barry’s soul in his sand, the chain wrapped around his fist.

John pauses briefly, in awe of the soul. He breaks from the spell when he hears Blythe’s cursing and metal clattering to the floor. Nodding, John stands and begins chanting the exorcism.

“You can’t do this to me again!” Blythe screams, stomping towards them, “Every time you send me there I come back angrier. Tougher. More vicious.” The ground under her feet begins crumbling, hellfire shooting upwards. “You can’t save anyone . His soul was damned the moment he allowed you into his bed!”

Columns fall around them, crushed by debris. Batman turns to him, “What’s going on?”

“This whole place is coming down around us!” he yells over the roar of demolition, “Grab our boy and make a run for it. Otherwise we’ll be seeing more of Blythe!”

John finishes the incantation, watching Blythe’s shadow disappear. He then spins on his heel and follows Batman up the stairs, Barry over his shoulder. Steps crumble as he jumps off them. Racing to the top, they keep running until they’re outside the warehouse where they began.

Panting, John leans against a few crates. “That’s my cardio for the year…”

No time for rest, Batman grabs his lapels and drags him over to where Barry stands still soulless. “ Fix him .”

“All right, mate, the hardest part’s over… Hand me his soul.” Batman carefully gives John Barry’s soul, his inner lighting snapping against the container. Holding it feels like being stung by a thousand loving jellyfish or covered in a large blanket that carries a fantastic amount of static cling. His skin puckers and hair stands on end. “Okay, love,” he whispers to the soul, “time to get you home…”

Muttering a quick spell, John cups the soul ever so daintily in his hand. Then he slams his fist into it, shattering the glass.

Batman jumps him, “What’re you -”

“Easy,” he says, pointing, “look!”

The soul flies around, a storm cloud pulsing with life. It zips between Batman and John - brushing affectionately against the former’s head for far too long - and circles Barry’s body. Growing in size, the soul obscures Barry leaving only a shadow. Glowing brightly, it seeps into his skin.

Barry gasps for breath, life returning to him. “God,” he sighs, collapsing to the ground, “what happened?”

“Wouldn’t bother asking Them, love,” John says, lighting his third cigarette of the hour, “They had nothing to do with where you were.”

Batman helps Barry to his feet, arms wrapped around his sides protectively. Barry leans into the embrace, resting against the brooding hero. John watches with interest as Gotham’s knight speaks in the softest of whispers against the shell of Barry’s ear, the speedster nodding every few seconds.

Feeling ignored, John clears his throat. Both of them turn to him. “Listen, Barry,” John starts, scratching his neck, “I want to apologize for what happened back there -”

“John…”

“If it weren’t for me, Blythe never have pinged you on her radar -”

“John -”

“And I’d understand if you’d never want to see me again -”

“ John .”

He casts a baleful gaze at the other man, shocked at the warmth coloring his features. “John,” he continues, “it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But, but…” the smoke drifts off his cigarette, “if we’d never… and I hadn’t… don’t you regret what we did?”

Barry shakes his head. “No, of course not.”

Their silence is charged with the infinite possibilities of what could have been. John’s heart fills with memories of when their ships passed each other all those nights ago. Docking briefly at the same port, tied to the same post.

Now Batman interrupts, glaring at John. “What are you talking about?” he asks, “Why did that demon want Barry?”

It’s an awkward and intimate conversation, to be handled delicately. John steams through it with his stubborn charm. Reveals how Barry and he first met when he followed a trail of bodies to Central City on the hunt for a demon. Guessed the next bar he would target for his next victim. Only the demon wasn’t all he found waiting there.

Barry escaped to this place, even though alcohol wouldn’t affect him, for peace of mind. Where John goes, peace never stays. John didn’t realize who he was at first, and chatted him up while waiting for the demon.

“I looked miserable.”

“And hot .”

While distracted, John missed the demon slither away with another villain. After figuring out who Barry was, he convinced Barry they should work together to take the monster down. It took all his best charms to win the argument.

“Ran out,” John shrugs, “Couldn’t even attempt to get him to carry me everywhere in his big, strong arms.”

Barry laughs, shoving him weakly. “Shove it.”

“Gladly.”

Throughout their investigation John continued flirting with Barry. Noticed with each new compliment the walls were crumbling. When he thought he had a chance, though, the demon appeared and grabbed Barry.

“Found him, though,” John says, “Wasn’t hard to track him… Got to him in good time, too. Not many people can resist the wiles of an incubus.”

When John found them, the incubus’s mirage had faded. Leaving the horned, crocodile-faced killer striking at places Barry stood. He joined the fray immediately, firing off a lightning spell that electrocuted the demon.

Together they sent the demon to Hell. “And without thought,” John tells Batman, “I asked if I could shower off the skunk of the demon’s final attack. Real stinker it was.”

Barry agreed, showing John where he lived. After a steamy shower and a low-slung towel, John tried one last flirting attempt.

“And the rest was history…”

Batman scowls, glaring at him. “You two slept together?”

“Only once,” Barry says, rubbing Batman’s wrist, “I was questioning a lot at the time… and he really helped me figure out exactly how I felt about... certain things .”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?”

“John…”

Batman’s expression twitches with the faintest traces of curiosity. “What?”

He grins, tapping the excess ashes off his cigarette. “Ol’ Barry was hung up on some daft loon he didn’t know he had feelings for. Wasn’t sure if what he felt was attraction or friendship and… what was it? Wanted to see if you could be attracted to another guy, yeah? I think I helped you sort through those things mighty well given the three orgasms you had.”

“Three,” Batman chokes, gaping at Barry, “you had… three ?”

Barry blushes under the scrutiny. “So?”

Delighting in the other man’s embarrassment, John continues poking. “And we cuddled. Little ol’ spoon, he is,” he winks, chuckling. With Barry’s face beet red, John lays off the nipple twisting. “In the end, though, he let me know where we stood. His heart belonged to some other luckybastard…” Smiling, he asks Barry. “Did you ever tell him how you felt?”

Nodding, Barry glances at Batman. His hand rubs his chin affectionately. “Yeah… he knows.”

John drops his cigarette, shocked. Batman’s face shifts into a smug mask as he tugs Barry closer to him, pressing their faces together. Presses his lips against Barry’s cheek as a claim. “Oh,” John says, “um… congratulations?”

“Thanks, John,” Barry says, pulling away from Batman. Stretching, he continues talking. “If you ever need me, feel free to reach out. Even if it’s just for coffee… I’m not going to hold this against you, and you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it.” Barry speeds over to Batman, scooping him in the blink of an eye. “Get home safely!”

They disappear, leaving a dust cloud to put out the smoldering embers of John’s cigarette.

As it clears, John feels a seed of happiness blossoming in his heart. Because while Barry might not be his, he has someone who can love him the way John can’t.

And that’s all that matters.

#Batflash #batman x flash #Batman/Flash #bruce wayne x barry allen #Batman #Flash #Bruce Wayne #Barry Allen #John Constantine #Batflash Week

[avengerscompound]

Bringing Home Kobik - 6

Bringing Home Kobik: A Winterhawk Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton

Word Count:  2239

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Smut on the series (M|M, oral, anal), the aftermath of torture, PTSD, mentions of child abuse

Synopsis:   When Bucky decides to try to get legal custody of Kobik he meets resistance due to him being a single man. Clint steps up as a co-parent to help with the process.

Art by @bexlie-draws

Chapter 6

The kiss changed things.  Much more drastically than Bucky had expected.  If he’d realized how much he might have waited until Kobik was more settled.  Now he was juggling being a new dad to learning how to be a boyfriend again. Clint was not exactly what you’d call ‘good boyfriend material’ either.  He had issues almost as long as Bucky’s which was saying a lot.

He was also really handsy which was something Bucky wanted to be again, but he definitely wasn’t there yet.  Each time Clint put his hands on him it felt like an electric current shot through his system and his body didn’t know how to react.  Having to explain to him he needed to back off made him angry with himself and HYDRA.

Clint seemed to be running at two speeds because Bucky’s issues were setting off his own.  He was only ever, full speed ahead or full breaks on. The go-slow thing seemed to be something he didn’t seem capable of and Bucky started to doubt if they were even compatible.

Kobik though was a whole different story.  She settled in immediately. He already knew how much they loved each other, but she took to Clint immediately.  Clint was the soft touch who gave in to almost every whim she had. Icecream for breakfast? Sure why not. Mess with Sam while he was doing flight maneuvers?  Great plan. Bucky both loved it and found it extremely frustrating. Like he’d suddenly adopted two children instead of one.

She was happy though.  She didn’t bring up changing things again which was good.  The photo wall added more pics of her. By herself or with them or with someone from the team.  Her being happy meant more to Bucky than anything else.

After a time they enrolled her in a preschool.  That freaked Bucky out more than anything else. All he could think of was one-day Kobik was going to get bullied or receive a detention and she’d alter the universe so the people who upset her didn’t exist anymore, and how would he know if that had happened?

They took a long time to find a school that he thought would work for her.  Standard schooling wouldn’t work because there were too many potentials for catastrophe.  In the end, they found a school that was small, where everyone knew everyone else. Bullying was dealt with through discussion and learning was self-directed.  A huge amount of money was given to them to help deal with her special issues too. Bucky was still terrified the day the three of them drove into the parking lot in the morning.

“Okay, got your bag?”  He asked as they all piled out of the car.

“Yep,”  Kobik said holding up her backpack.  It was a shimmery blue with a unicorn on it.

“Lunch is in it?” He said taking her hand.

“Yes.  Packed inside.”  She agreed.

“Now what aren’t you doing today?”  He asked.

“Using my powers.”  She replied.

Clint moved in front of them so he was walking backward in the direction of the school.  “What are we doing today?”

“Have fun!”  Kobik chirped.

“And?”  Clint said.

“Make lots of friends!”  Kobik shouted.

“That’s right!”  Clint said scooping her up off the ground and throwing her in the air.  She squealed happily and caught him around the neck as she fell back down.

Clint carried her inside and held his hand out to Bucky.  Bucky hesitated before taking it and holding it tightly. When they reached the classroom they were greeted by the teacher and teachers aid.

“Hello!  You must be Kobik.  I’m Jenny. Are you ready for your first day?”  She asked.

“I sure am!”  Kobik said excitedly.

“Well, why don’t you go hang your bag up and put your lunch box in the crate and you can take a look around?”  Jenny said.

Kobik wiggled out of Clint’s arms and dragged him inside with her.  Bucky stopped and looked at Jenny feeling helpless. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay.  She can fly you know?”

Jenny smiled and shrugged.  “Guess we’ll find out. But she should at least get a chance right?”

Bucky wanted to hug her in that moment.  He let out a breath and felt his shoulder relax.  “Yeah. I just want her to be a normal kid.”

“I honestly wish more parents were like you, Sergeant Barnes.  Way too much pressure on kids to be more than just that.” She said.  “We take a lot of photos through the day so you can see what she’s up to.  And I promise if we’re in over our head we’ll call.”

“Thank you.”  He said.

“Of course.”

Kobik came running out of the cloakroom with a bunch of children giggling, followed by a bewildered-looking Clint.  “She made friends.” He said.

“You gonna come say goodbye, Kobik?”  Bucky called.

Kobik didn’t even stop running.  “Bye, Buckaroo!” She yelled.

Clint came and took his hand again.  “Come on. She’s fine.” He said and started to pull him back outside.

“Maybe this was a bad idea.  She doesn’t have to go to preschool right?”  Bucky said getting into the car.

Clint put his hand on Bucky’s leg.  “No, but preschool is fun. And she only does it a few times a week.  Slowly ease in. It’ll be good for her.”

Bucky nodded and let out a breath.  “Yeah, you’re right.”

“And,”  Clint said, squeezing his thigh.  “We get some alone time. Which we literally haven’t had any of since you kissed me.”

“I - uh - yeah.”  Bucky stuttered.

“You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you?  I wasn’t sure but that’s what’s happened?”  Clint asked taking his hand away.

“No.  No, I swear.  I - I really like you, Clint.  I mean, you’re the first person I’ve been interested in since… before I fell from the train.  You know?” Bucky said. He pulled the car out of the school parking lot and into the street, aiming back towards the compound.

“Oh.  Oh shit.”  Clint said sinking back into the car seat.

“Yeah.  So that’s that.  I don’t…. I don’t remember what it’s like to be a boyfriend.  I’m not used to people touching me. At least not like that. Pretty used to having them punch me and slap me in the face and stuff.  I’ve never been with a guy before. This is a lot of pressure for you, Clint.”

Clint put his hand back on Bucky’s thigh.  “If you can deal with my shit, I can deal with yours.”  He gave Bucky’s leg a small rub. “How about we go home, take a bath.  I’ll wash your hair because you never fuckin’ do it. And …” He shrugged.

“Yeah.  Sounds good.”  Bucky agreed.

“Wow, it really fluffs up when you wash it, huh?”  Clint said running his fingers through Bucky’s hair again.  Something he hadn’t stopped doing since they’d both gotten out of the water and dried off.  It hadn’t taken Bucky as long as he had expected to go from his body twitching every time Clint put his hands on him to practically purring like a cat.  All the build-up to this happening. The time it took for Bucky to realize what was happening. The hand-holding. The kiss and the aftermath of mixed feelings.  They’d all been slowly easing him into the idea of this. Lying together in bed Clint wrapped around him as the promise of more loomed over them.

Bucky looked into the archer’s blue eyes.  “Why do you think I avoid washing it?”

“I don’t know.  Your hair gets caught in the metal plate on your prosthetic?”  Clint teased.

Bucky smirked, trying not to laugh.  “You know what, Barton, I could really…”

“What?”  Clint asked, his fingers still carding through Bucky’s hair.  “What could you do?”

Bucky crashed his mouth into Clint’s, taking him by surprise.  For a split second, Clint did nothing, shocked at the sudden change.  One split second it took for him to go from bewildered to returning the kiss hungrily.  He wrapped both his arms around Bucky and pulled their bodies flush against each other.

Bucky hooked his leg over Clint’s and rolled his hips against him.  The slight bit of friction, making his cock twitch and begin to harden.  He moaned into the kiss and parted his lips. His tongue flicked out and was met by Clint’s and they circled together.

For every movement Bucky made, Clint matched, making it clear that Bucky was setting the pace.  He had no reason to push himself further than he felt comfortable with. If he wanted to stop, Clint would with no hesitation.

He didn’t want to stop though.  He wanted everything. He pulled Clint’s shirt up over his head and began kissing along the sinewy muscles of his chest.  His tongue would dart out and swirl around, tasting the salt on his skin. Clint let out a strangled moan and nuzzled into Bucky’s hair.  His fingers ghosted up Bucky’s back making his skin tingle and break out in goosebumps.

Bucky’s hips jerk forward and he groaned deeply.  “Fuck, Clint. Need you.” He rumbled.

“I’m all yours, Buck. Whatever you want.”  Clint whispered.

Bucky slipped his hand between them and took hold of both their cocks in his flesh hand.  He began to slowly pump them The soft press of his cock against Clint’s and the way they pulsed and twitched as the hardened fully sent shivers running up his spine.  Clint grabbed the tube of lube from the bedside table and squeezed it. The thick viscous gel drizzled down and splattered over their cocks and Bucky’s hand.

Bucky tensed at the sudden cold on his skin and began slicking them both.  His hand moving a little faster and squeezing a little harder.

“Fuck.  Oh fuck.  Jesus, Buck.”  Clint cursed. He’d started to rock his hips so he was fucking the little pocket Bucky had formed out of his hand and cock.  “Want you. Want you to fuck me.”

Bucky growled and rolled them over so Clint was lying on his back below him.  “You sure?” He asked teasing his fingers over Clint’s asshole.

Clint whined and pulled his knees up.  “Yeah. God, yes.”

Bucky leaned down and kissed him.  More tenderly this time. The thing was, Clint was an idiot.  An annoying idiot a lot of the time. But Clint was his annoying idiot and Bucky loved him.

He coated Clint’s asshole with lube and eased a finger inside of him.  When he met minimal resistance he added a second. Clint grunted and bucked up.  “Yes! Fuck! Like that.”

“You've done this before?”  Bucky whispered.

Clint nodded and made a mewling sound.  “Yeah. Yes. You’re doing great. Just, stretch me out.”

Bucky pushed both his fingers in and out, slowly fucking Clint with them.  Each inward thrust he pushed a little deeper. When the pads of his fingers pressed on the spongy surface of Clint’s prostate Clint made a primal groan and arched up under him.  “Fuck! Yes!”

Bucky slid his fingers out and added more lube to his cock.  He pressed the head against Clint’s hole. Clint pushed back against him and Bucky snapped his hips forward sinking into him.

They both let out long moans and Bucky began to thrust.  “Oh god, Clint.” He murmured against Clint’s throat. “Feels so good.  Not sure how long I’m gonna last.”

Clint ran his hands through Bucky’s hair again his head dropping back as gave himself to the sensation of Bucky’s cock filling him so completely.  “It’s okay.” He groaned. “Just fuck me.”

Bucky moved faster.  Fucking deeper into him.  He trailed his mouth along Clint’s neck and shoulders as Clint ran his hands over his back, sometimes digging them in and holding him.  His skin prickled and pressure built inside him. He felt like it was bearing down on him and he could explode from at any minute. Sweat dripped from his brow and he began to pant.

He wrapped his fingers around Clint’s cock and Clint made a keening sound.  “Oh fuck. Gonna come.” He said, his voice sounding like pleading.

Bucky took it as a cue, he relaxed, giving himself to the sensation running through him and with one final snap of his hips he emptied deep inside Clint.  Clint groaned and released with him, spilling over his own stomach and Bucky’s fingers.

Bucky slipped from Clint and collapsed on his back.  “God, that was good.” He sighed, his chest still rising and falling as his breathing evened out.

Clint grabbed a tissue and began cleaning himself off.  “Yeah, it was.” He said and rolled over nuzzling into Bucky’s neck.

“We should go again,”  Bucky said, propping himself up and looking down at Clint.

Clint laughed and pecked Bucky’s lips.  “Sounds good. And we will. But right now we gotta clean up and go get our daughter.”

Bucky shot up.  “Oh shit. Yeah.  They didn’t call. You think it went okay?”

Clint climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom on Bucky’s heels.  “Either that or we get there and the school has been replaced by a giant hot fudge sundae.”

Bucky chuckled and shook his head.  So he may not have gotten a wife and the four kids and the house with a white picket fence.  But he did get a boyfriend, a daughter and a big apartment he didn’t have to pay any rent for and that was pretty great too.

~ END ~

#bucky barnes #clint barton #hawkeye #the winter soldier #winterhawk #bucky barnes x clint barton #winterhawk fanfic #hawkeye fanfic #the winter soldier fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #fluff #bringing home kobik

[lickstynine]

Misadventures of Kit: Chapter Thirty-Two

written with @ocsickficsideblog

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The walk to the park wasn't far, and the sun was sparkling on the snow-topped trees. Kit took a deep breath even though it burned in his lungs. The air felt fresher so far from the city, with a hint of the scots pine scent he'd come to associate with Siofra. For some reason, the cold air stinging his cheeks wasn't such a bother today.

"The snow is beautiful out in the country, don't you think, Al?" He asked.

“Definitely. It’s not all gross and brown like in the city. I wish we lived in the country.”

"I wanna live in a village near the city. So ye can have a peaceful cottage out in nature, but still get to a real doctor or somethin' if you're dyin'." Siofra said.

"I think we have a country house somewhere like that in France…" Kit mused.

“Kit, the boy who’s so posh he forgets where his holiday homes are,” Alistair said.

"Well, I know we have a few in France! I just can't remember if there's a country home there or just one in Italy." Kit protested.

Siofra guffawed. "You're not helpin' yer case, lad."

Luckily for Kit, he didn't get a chance to make more of an idiot of himself because they'd arrived at the park. Cillian and Riagán were already throwing snowballs at each other, while Finny ran around them, boofing happily.

“Come on, Kit, let’s see if you can actually hit anyone,” Alistair teased.

"It's not likely, but at least I'm the smallest target." Kit laughed. He'd barely finished the sentence when Cillian nailed him in the back of the head with a snowball. He shrieked, dropping dramatically to the ground and crying, "Avenge me!"

Siofra dutifully chucked a snowball at her brother in retaliation. He tried to duck, but it exploded against his shoulder. She whooped victoriously, barely dodging a snowball thrown by Riagán. Alistair joined in too, with surprisingly good aim. He’d always been the pitcher in PE because he was so bad at everything else. A snowball splattered against Riagán's broad back as he ran behind a tree. He and Cillian could throw powerfully and precisely, but they were still massive targets. He cried out as if the snowball had actually hurt, when in truth, he'd barely felt it.

"Cilli, they got me!" He groaned, slumping dramatically against a tree. His brother just scoffed.

"Nut up an' get 'em back, then!" He yelled, chucking a snowball at Alistair and diving behind a tree.

It hit Alistair as he turned to run, making him squeal. “Fuck, it went down my back!”

Siofra snorted. "Bet you've said that before," she teased, earning herself a snowball to the face. "Oof! Bitch…" she grumbled, but she was grinning. She dodged the snowball Cillian threw at her, but it put her right in the trajectory of Riagán's next throw. She yelled and rolled with the impact, chucking several snowballs back at her brothers in quick succession. Most missed completely, but one slammed into a tree between the boys, exploding and hitting both of them with frosty shrapnel.

Cillian and Riagán yelled as they were sprayed with snow, charging into battle with their arms full of snowballs. Siofra ran to hide, reaching to pull Kit out of the line of fire, only to find he was no longer hiding behind her. Alistair was too caught up in the competition to notice now, managing to scale the lower branches of a large oak tree hanging over Cillian and Riagán. He jumped up and down on it, hanging onto the trunk, sending a showering cascade of snow onto the boys. They bellowed in surprise and rage, trying to shake him out of the tree. Siofra laughed, chucking snowballs at them while they were distracted. They spun around to attack her, distracted just long enough for Alistair to escape.

Siofra cackled when her brothers saw Alistair running away, only to get a huge snowball to the gut. "Wankers!" She yelled, grinning and chasing after them.

Alistair finally noticed he couldn’t see Kit anywhere. “Oi, Siofra! Where’d princess go?”

Siofra spun around, completely ignoring the snowball that hit her in the back of the head. She was starting to look worried when a whistle came from deeper in the trees. Kit was standing a ways into the forest, waving at them.

"Over here!" He called.

Siofra went over to meet him, followed by her brothers. They were all a little afraid he'd freeze to death if left alone too long. As the weight of several Raffertys stomped through the snow, it suddenly gave way, and they tumbled through a layer of branches, carefully placed and concealed with snow. They only fell a few feet, into a small dip in the path, but Siofra cursed loudly, laughing as she landed on her ass in a heap of snow. Cillian and Riagán looked baffled, sitting in the snow and staring at one another, still trying to process what had happened.

Kit stood under a nearby tree, safely out of the way of the trap he'd laid. He laughed uproariously as Siofra and her brothers climbed to their feet, but his expression quickly shifted to panic as Siofra scrambled out of the trap and charged after him.

"Crafty bastard!"

Kit shrieked, darting off through the trees with Siofra (and Finny) hot on his tail. Alistair laughed and ran after Siofra. “I’ve got your back, Kit!”

Siofra was gaining steadily on Kit, and she nailed him in the back with a snowball. He yelped and kept running, only to trip on a tree root. The momentum sent him flying and he landed face-first in the deep snow. Siofra paused for a moment, then ran over with a much less vengeful urgency. If it were her brothers, she would've laughed and kept throwing snowballs, but Kit… She was half afraid he'd broken his neck when she got close enough to see him trembling. Shit. Was he crying?

"Fuck me, that was a tumble… are ya okay?"

She knelt down, pulling Kit out of the snow as carefully as possible, while Finny snuffled worriedly at his legs. To her surprise, Kit was laughing when she dusted him off.

"I'm fine! I'm wearing enough coats to survive a fall off the Eiffel tower." He snorted in a manner far less dignified than any noise he normally made. "I did get snow in my nose, though."

Alistair was less sympathetic, laughing his ass off. “Nice one!”

"Arse." Kit thumped Alistair with one snow-covered glove, but he was grinning. He thought he'd hate being out here, mind the chill stinging his cheeks, the cold air burning his lungs, the slush trickling down his back, but he didn't care. His heart was pounding, and he was gasping for breath, but he was having a great time. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so good, especially not sober. He got lost in his thoughts, staring off into the trees with a ditzy smile.

“It’s nice to see you smile like that,” Alistair said, grinning too. He had snowflakes in his eyelashes and hair, and had somehow lost his hat and one glove during the snowball fight.

Kit shook his head at his cousin. "You still can't play outside without losing clothes. If we stay out here too long, you'll go home nude." He teased.

“Oh yes, my pants are constantly just falling off without warning,” Alistair said sarcastically. “Wait. That sounded weird.”

Kit laughed again, his eyes sparkling with genuine delight. "You're an idiot. But I'm really glad you came with me."

Alistair went pink, looking pleased. “It’s nice to be able to spend the holidays with you.” He was suddenly engulfed in his cousin's arms, which, thanks to the dozen layers Kit was wearing, felt about like hugging a sentient mattress.

Siofra grinned at the boys, "That's gay."

"You're gay," Kit mumbled, his voice muffled in Alistair's jacket.

"Does that make ye my girlfriend?" Siofra asked.

Kit huffed, but he was chuckling into Alistair's shoulder. "Oh, fuck you."

"I know ya want to." Siofra stuck her tongue out at him, only to get smacked in the face with a fresh snowball. Riagán was already running away laughing as she sputtered and chased after him.

Kit watched them run, Finny bounding along beside Siofra, and he smiled.

"Al?"

“Yes? By the way, all of that between you and Siofra was painful to listen to. But go on.”

Kit shoved his cousin lightly. "You're painful to listen to. But I was saying, I think… I think things are going to be okay."

Alistair looked at him properly. “Really?”

"Yeah, really. Don't make me think about it too much, I might change my mind." Kit was grinning even as he said it.

“No way.” This time Alistair hugged him, too tight as usual. “I’m so glad you feel that way, Kit.”

Kit squawked as he was squished in his cousin's grasp. "Can't keep feeling that way if you suffocate me."

“Sorry! I’ve never been able to stop that, have I?” Alistair laughed, releasing Kit.

"Never. But I love you anyway."

“I love you too,” Alistair said earnestly.

Kit smiled back, and it looked like he might say something else when a snowball nailed him square in the face. He shrieked, and Siofra laughed.

"That's called payback, bitch!"

Kit spit out a mouthful of slush, laughing as Finny came galloping over and tackled Alistair into the snow. He looked around at Siofra and her brothers, shouting and laughing and throwing snowballs, then back down at Alistair, rolling in the snow with Finny. This wasn't so bad, he decided. Life definitely wasn't perfect, but it was going to be okay.

#misadventures of Kit #kit #raycraft #siofra #riagan #cillian #rafferty #alistair #collab #ocsickficsideblog

[ladyemberswrites]

"A Touch Is All I Ask"

-

Summary: Basically, an Au of Au wherein an accident Lotor ends up traveling through the rift only for him to met and fall in love with Allura from another reality, but because life refuses to give him a break the rift creatures destroy both that Allura and her reality along with her leaving Lotor to travel the rift for centuries trying to find his way back home. Fortunately, he ends of being saved the Princess Allura from his reality. Which makes things all the more awkward as Lotor has to force himself to differentiate between this Allura and the Allura he had loved. The plot only thickens once Allura starts to develop feelings for him as she nurses him back to health.

Rating: T and Up

Words: 2k

Chapters: 1/?

-

He had lost everything in a single fleeting moment. A breath, a heartbeat, and soon nothingness consumed him. It ate away at the flesh and the bone, and pierced his dreaded, cold heart. His fingers reached for nothing, tiny cosmos, stars that have already long passed, and they bleed through his fingers. His fingers, these hands that have done nothing but bring about horrors, that only bring about destruction. Perhaps they were right, he is a curse. A blight on the world, a filthy obstruction. He felt the world around him drown, his body as heavy as lead and as weightless as a cloud. In space-time is obsolete. His mind and memories fragmented, and the voices that haunt him whisper in his ears in continual repeat.

The rift is relentless, a cruel, twisted mistress. An abomination, an unknown horror and they like a siren singing sailors to their deaths upon the steep rocks sing to him too as he wanders, and he drifts to nowhere. Howling, and lulling sweet tunes that fill the silence of his travels where there is nowhere and no one, and as the presumed days go by they fill the aching silence. He‘s long tuned them out-but-

~Lotor~ their eyes are amber like hers. Their hair a dark silver like hers had once been. Though, he had never heard her voice, he assumes that must have been what she sounded like. But, he knows that they aren’t his mother. Their image of her is picture perfect, not a single detail missed, but he knows. He’s no fool. He knows their games he knows their lies. They hiss when he pays the cheap imitation no mind, growling, and sneering.

~How dare you!~ they screech in union, a kaleidoscope of dissonant voices. His ears run red when the shrieking refuses to come to an end, but again he disregards them and simply keeps going, he keeps moving because he does not know when to give up. Because death is too easy, no matter how tempting it is to just collapse and sleep an endless dream. But, dreams offer him no repute, no reprieve instead they are nothing more than a reflection-a mirror world-a gateway to his own insanity. There is no peace. So, he must walk even though there is nothing.

~ 

“That's absolutely disgusting, Lance!” Pidge grimaces, her nose wrinkles as she spat out her tongue.

“Yeah, well, try actually being there and seeing it in person" he leans into her, his shoulder, bony and sharp, cuts into her side "let me tell ya, that changes a man" 

“Just because you experienced it, doesn't mean I want to hear it” Pidge mutters into her palm "and can't you sit on your side of the ship?" she shoves him.

He brushes aside her last comment making himself comfortable “I thought we were friends, Pidge? Besides you who else do I have in this big lonely castle?" 

"Why can't you bother, Hunk for a change" the girl surfs her screens in boredom.

"I would, but he's been too busy with his new girl-friend" he emphasizes his point by making quotation marks with his fingers "to hang out anymore-I mean whatever happened to the bro-code!?" 

Pidge rolls her eyes "so, what? He can become a lonely, desperate misogynist, womanizing jerkhole?"

"I prefer the term lover man, Pidge" 

"I think you missed the entire point of that statement..nevermind-the point being is that there are other men on the ship you could socialize with" 

"I rather get stabbed in the spleen again than hang out with Keith out of my own volition" 

"I wasn't talking about, Keith." 

"Shiro's way too serious to do anything fun with. It's all Lance stop. Lance your drinking way too much. Lance you can't spike people's drinks. Shiro's awesome and all, but he doesn't have a single fun bone in his body" 

"I don't think perpetuating liver damage is something I would personally consider fun" 

"It's not about the drinks, the drinks are just secondary, where there's alcohol there's hot women, come on get with the program Pidge"

"Shiro's gay" 

"I was gonna hook him up" 

"With a dude?" She rose a dry brow. 

"Of course a dude, unless he goes both ways, I can get him both" 

"...Y'know it's a wonder why your single?"

"Is that sarcasm?" 

"What about Coran" she dodges the question " he's a guy"

"Coran's fun-until he goes overboard. Y'know like the time he nearly killed us"

"That was your own fault y'know"

"How was I supposed to know pot would drive him into a murderous rampage-" The hiss and beep of the bridge door interrupts him. Hunched and bleary eyed, Allura wanders onboard in a complete daze, her heels clicking against the paneled walkway. Her characteristic bun hung lopsidedly off the side of her head, her ends frazzled and uncombed. Her eyes sunken with dark bruises and her favorite white jacket hangs haphazardly off her one shoulder.

Lance whistled “Boy, you look awful, Princess-or is that a new look your aiming for” 

Allura snaps her head towards him with lethal speed,  barely restraining the urge to strangle him 

“I’m far too tired to deal with your nonsense this morning, so please do shut up unless you’d like be placed on toilet duty again” 

The threat hangs in the air for a few minutes before Lance snorts, brushing her off awhile tugging at the hem of his turtleneck sweater in a nervous bout “Y-yeah, but no thanks, Princess, I've cleaned enough toilets and vomit to last me a lifetime" 

Allura didn’t bother to comment but casts him one last warning glare before turning back to the teleduv, reaching out she taps it lightly bringing the ship's screens to life. The skies were all clear except for a bach of asteroids floating in the distance, but to her relief so far no enemy ships or anything remotely suspicious, as they travel the cosmos to Planet Greta off hidden on another less known side of the galaxy.

Even so, she didn't wish to take any chances and made sure to double check her assessment, while ignoring Pidge and Lance's continued conversation  Bits and pieces dribble into the forefront of her thoughts here and there, but there's nothing she can make sense of being that the topic relates back to Earth. 

Her checks repeat nothing new-Sighing, she cuts the feed to rub her face in annoyance. Everything hurt. Her body aches in a way that's more aggravating than truly painful. But, sleep has been hard to come by lately, the moment she closes her eyes-the nightmares began again. Her father’s blood upon her hands, splattered upon the blue silk of her gown, the sight of his mangled corpse lying at Zarkon’s iron boots. His face darkened, indistinguishable from the other bodies that littered the marble floors-

 She clenches her fingers listlessly fearing that if she didn’t pay attention she’d find his blood on them again.  Her skin burned, having spent the night trying to scrub the red away. Now, they just itch, the skin of her hands rubbed raw and dry. And yet, there's that lingering feeling of wetness  that she just can't shake, despite knowing that it isn't there. Yet, she kept scratching her wrist as she stared out over the bridge watching nothing but stars pass them by.

“Lura?” she didn’t hear Pidge pace up to her. She turns in the girl's direction “you okay there? You’ve got that dead look in your eyes again?” 

“I’m fine, Pidge. Don’t worry” she wonders if her voice always sounded hoarse, or is it just her, and she’s hearing things again. Whatever the case she just shakes her head attempting to ignore it. That and the throbbing headache that pounds at the back of her skull.

“If you say so….” Pidge didn't  know what else to say or do other than offer the woman her space, and awkwardly returns to her seat.

"What's her problem?" Lance whispers.

"....I don't know. She looks sick-"

"She's not going to pass out again is she because-"

Perhaps, it’s time to give up and ask Doctor Alibhe for some sleep aid? Her nose wrinkles at the prospect, but what else can she do. She's tried everything: training until she's exhausted to the bone. Meditation only abandons her to her own traitorous thoughts which only leads to exasperation and a wish to lobotomize herself. So, no that was a no go. She's tried tea, acupuncture, oil massage. Worse case scenario, well, partially out of desperation a chiropractor who only charged her an exuberant amount of money and a nasty crick in her neck that took weeks to go away. Trial or error aside, she can't continue like this; people will notice, people are already noticing, if it keeps going the questions will never end. Pressing a fist to her brow, she huffs-if only the night didn't dreg up past horrors-

*Ping*

*Ping* 

Her temples throb, cracking her eyes back open Allura finds herself thrown from her musings back to reality. The pinging of the teleduv continues causing her to pause and blink for a moment flicking the scanners back on.

"What?” out of bloody nowhere something pops up upon the monitors signaling a disturbance in the area. Brows tightly pinched together, she didn't see any ships-

“Enemy ship?” Lance asks in a brief moment of seriousness. Both his and Pidge's eyes dart from her to the screens above, bracing themselves for impact.

“It’s-" she squints "no” she shakes her head 

“whatever it is-it’s far too small to be a ship-it’s-oh, 

no” her heart plummets to the pit of her stomach. 

“Oh, no what?” 

“It’s another rift opening….” 

“Well,  that's just flipping fantastic!” Lance barks “More rift creatures! Is it bad that I rather deal with Sendak, heck even Zarkon himself any day over dealing with those walking-talking living embodiments of nightmare fuel!” 

Allura swallows dryly. A lovely start to already dreary day-oh, stars, she's not sure how much more she can take of this insanity.

~ 

“Maybe we’ve been blessed by the Altean space gods!” Lance cries to the heavens “because I don’t see a single thing or y’know I'm not vomiting up my own entrails”

“Not if you don’t jinx us” Keith snaps. As quickly as it had come the rift had immediately snapped shut. Yet, no creatures of the rift made it out through the small opening. No horrifying illusions or imagery, just nothing. Just dead-end silence that did little to comfort her as she stares out among the stars and the blackness of space.

In their rush they took their respective lions on ahead with Allura placing Head Commander Hira at the helm and with the ship on high alert. When nothing assaulted them, Shiro suggested they take a look around by hand. Jetpacks loaded with full and pistols set on lethal everyone disembarked only to greeted by nothing. 

Allura worries her bottom lip out of nervousness, she’s only glad that she hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast or else she would have vomited in her own helmet. Holding her pistol close, she prepares herself for anything by as the minutes trickle on by, besides the cluster of  asteroids, nothing bizarre happens. An hour of searching and checking and rechecking the area's clear of any  potential danger.

“I’m starting to think it was a false alarm, Princess” Keith calls out to her. 

“Yeah, I’ve got nothing. Nada , zilch” Hunk tapped his scanner “besides the glitchy connection, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary” 

“Me neither” Pidge mutters “it’s all just empty space as far as the eye can see.” 

“Same here” Shiro adds, perplexed.

“Same with my end” Matt floats back to them “looked all over those asteroids over there, but like Hunk said zilch. Nada.” 

“Perhaps, something was trying to get out, but couldn’t” Hunk states with an uneasy hitch in his voice. 

It isn't unlikely, and it's probably the case, too. Though that does beg the question-if something were trying to claw its way out the rift what stopped it? Allura isn’t sure if she wants to find out.

“Hunk’s probably right” Allura agrees quietly, holstering her pistol “we should probably head back to the Lions. Oxygen's running low.” They weren't that far from the castle ship, but it's still a pretty good distance even with the lions.

"About time! This place gives me the creeps" 

"Second that-"

“...more like it was a waste of time…” everyone moves on ahead of her as she can't help but linger, taking one more glance over her shoulder she scans her surroundings. It's times like these that remind her how vast the galaxy is. Enormous and all consuming like a sea with no bottom, no end. Left could right, and right, left. Shoving down the existential dread, she moves to to turn and head back until a twinkling light catches the corner of her eye. Stopping, she swivels back to look again-this time the twinkling is hard to miss, she squints, it isn't a star, as the source of the glittering is a top an asteroid closest to her. With bated breath she slowly, carefully maneuvers herself over to it. It's rocky texture is rough, the cold seeping through her gloves. With a grunt she heaves herself upwards, her thoughts oddly quiet as she focuses on climbing and hauling her weight until she reaches the top. Heaving enough to cloud the glass of her helmet, she stills to inhale a deep breath before she decides to lift her head up and freezes-

A massive body is collapsed upon the mountainous structure.

It-can't be-

Galra?

Hesitantly, she crawls towards him on all fours both curiosity and fear churning in her gut. Carefully, she reached over to quickly tap his shoulder to snap it away fearing a swipe of his large hand. Or a lunge. Squeezing her eyes shut she expects the worst, but when nothing came she instead hears a low, pained groan.So, low that if it weren't for her being so close she probably wouldn't have heard him. Placing a hand to calm her erratic heart, Allura steadies herself before gently extending both her hands to flip him on to his back, however it isn't without some difficulty. He's super heavy. With a grunt she manages and once he's on his back she's met with a rather gorgeous face, but unfortunately one she did not recognize. Examining his body, his armor is old. Eroded with rust and dented all over with the color of it faded. His face as handsome as it is, is marred with bruises painted black and dark blue, and dried blood dribbles down his obviously split lip. Yet, strangely enough she didn't find anything indicating his rank. No badge or medallion, no even a family crest holding his cape together. There's a satchel hung around his waist, but it wouldn't be wise to open it out here. He definitely looks the part of a high ranking galra general, but that begs the question, if he is, what is a seemingly distinguished general doing out here in the middle of an asteroid field? Did someone dump him out here?

Frantically her eyes dart around- but, she was so sure she hadn't detected a galra ship in the area-

Breathing heavily, she only finds emptiness. 

-unless-

Her eyes fall back to him-the rift.  Her eyes widen as she eyed him closer now noticing the markings on his face, a telltale sign of quintessence exposure. They weren't too bad, but it isn't something that can be ignored without consequence. Frightened out of her mind, she shouts back to her team over her shoulder.

 “I found something!” drawing all eyes to her. I've definitely found something; she whispers to herself.

#Voltron #oldtron #lotura #lollura #redemption universe

[alastar-wyatt]

Training Yard

written with @kaelenar

 Staring at his sore and red knuckles, Alastar absently stroked one hand, cautiously and carefully. His whole body ached, as it did with any after fight, but this time it was mixed with lingering transformation itches, as he called them. Little pinpricks of fire jolting randomly somewhere along his body, as if wondering if he was still a giant wolf-man. He was not, of course, but it was frustrating to say the least.Ontop of that, his nose was swollen, bruised, and incredible itchy and yet too sensitive to touch. He was uncomfortable. The other parts of him that ached were familiar pains that bothered him little, especially as he down the mug before him.

           He ordered another refill.

As he waited, his mind wandered back to the fight. Wandered back to the beginning of it when a man had approached him with a smile and grin and asked if he was interested in earning a bit more money.

He was. His job as a mercenary was reaching dead ends, especially since his last job showed how unpredictable he could be. It wasn’t my fault, he told himself, I did my job. They just couldn’t listen.

His eyes closed, swung the newly filled mug and felt the alcohol sting along his throat and burn in his belly.

When he reopened his eyes, finding that he was absently stroking his red knuckles again, he could help but reflect on the man he had fought earlier in the day.

With the training yard so close to the Stormwind Stables, the smell of dung permeated the air, which was arguably better than the canal districts. Training dummies lined the perimeter of the largest portion of the yard for individual combatants, while smaller rings were roped off for two or more. Restriction or reserved areas seemed absent, though most of the melee fighters seemed to be practicing as far away from the ranged area as much as possible to avoid, with good reason.

Alastar gave a rough glance back towards the entryway. ‘what exactly am I doing?' He sighed to himself as he caught a whiff of a long black trench coat behind one of the outside pillars. He spun his gaze around taking in a single roped off ring with a crowd gathered around.  

Alastar made his way closer. Not finding it too easy to slide through the many bodies that were bunched up, he proceeded to head towards the stable hands whos hill was just high enough he could see over the heads of people.

A shirtless half elf and a small, dark haired woman were pacing around each other within the ring. The stable hands beside Alastar, who were young and looking pretty dirty and unkempt, much like Alastar himself but in different ways, were awing at the specula.

As the fist began flying, parries, dodges, and strikes following, Alastar caught wind of a few of the stable hands speaking; some were a mixture of awe, “Did you see what happened?” one would ask, while whispers passed on betting silvers and coppers. Eventually, he heard the name of the half-elf. Ghost. Apparently the woman hadn’t worked much of an following yet.

In the arena, the woman lunged forward with a jab, forcing the half elf's guard up before following through with a swift kick to his stomach. The half elf threw his hips back, trying to get out of range, but it wasn't enough to avoid the kick. The half elf doubled over, seeming hurt.

Alastar’s eyes narrowed at the display by the half-elf. He was bruised and bloody, clearly not his first fight of the day. A suscipion blossomed just as the woman took advantage of the fallen half-elf.

Lightning fast, the half elf's palm struck out, his feet in line with his arm as he connected with her sternum. This time, it was the woman's turn to reel back, but she didn't go quietly. With another jab, she landed squarely on the half elf's jaw. Blood and spit flew as his head got whipped to the side.

He staggered back. Heaving out each breath, the half elf straightened and had only time to wipe at his bloody mouth before the woman was on top of him aiming for another strike. Except, the half elf's fist darted in, splattering the woman's nose.

She crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Several of the spectators hopped over the ropes and went to her aid while the half elf retreated to the opposite corner.

Nothing had passed Alastar observation, and with a second of admiration of how quick and deadly this half-elf was, he was frowning; the stable hands beside him were grinning and cheering. Passing remarks of how the elf's ended the fight seemed to be a common move used by the fighter. 'It’s dirty' Alastar thought, despite that a day or so ago he had punched a man in the nose. 'but he clearly was doing more than just ending the fight on good terms'.

As the woman in the arena was being healed and then later helped out of the ring, the half-elf was crouched on the balls of his feet near one of the posts connecting the ropes and drinks. He watched the others around the outside of the ring as he brought the waterskin to his lips, swished the water around and then spit it back out. Eventually, his searching, emerald gaze traveled up to the hill were Alastar and the stable-hands stood.

Ghost, as his name was, brought the water skin up again, still staring in Alastar direction - swished some water and spit it out again. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the half-elf said, "Who's next?"

 Though many seemed to whisper and tag the others around them, no one necessarily stood up or stepped forward straight away. 'Fear?' Alastar wondered dryly before stroking back his neck long hair; only a few fine edges returned to where they had been as he walked down the little hill.

He stepped into the arena, though with barely a smile or grin, he eyed the half-elf. "First time," Alastar said, "I'll match you." And with that began to discard his sword, his jacket, the leather enforced bracers upon his wrist, before finally taking off his shirt.

He patted the back edge of belt, and tossed a dagger case over with his stuff just outside the ring. His eyes laid heavily on those around them, daring them to take anything while the fight progressed.

Alastar wasn't built like most humans of Stormwind. He was leaner, held a more agile tone to his body, yet, his shoulders were thicker as if to contradict the first glance. Muscles were refined, but not bulking. Scars littered his body, focused primarily on his right arm where it seemed more tribal in appearance with straight, cut lines ranging from patterns of ones, too fours, depending, all from his shoulder down to his elbow. The rest of the scars were small and silver, short cuts perhaps from recent fights that had healed. Only two prominent scars stood out, one above his left hip, a clear sword cut that was thick and aged with years; second were the numerous lash scars that covered his back leaving very little soft skin to be shown. The tattoos on the other hand covered his entire palm, and back of his hand, depicting a scene, leaving only white skin on his fingers.

With a short flex and stretch of his arms and shoulders, Alastar took in this Ghost character. Ghost's build was that of a swordsman, his shoulders broad and strong but not overly muscular, drawing his strength from his core. The half elf himself bore a host of scars on his skin, the more recent - an 'x' across his chest and his back reaching as far as each shoulder and hip - were still pink, and a yellowish bruise discolored his forehead. The other scars were pale and difficult to see on his fair skin and the worst of them were covered by the sleeve tattoo across his right pectoral down his right arm and over the upper half his back. The ink was made to look like his skin had been ripped away to reveal mechanical parts instead of flesh.

In return, Ghost eyed him with a condescending smirk on his lips. He made no taunting or belittling remarks though; it was spelled clearly on the half-elf’s face that he thought the lad a fool.

Gracefully, the half elf rose to his feet and gave a little stretch as he looked over the many scars and Alastar's general build, trying to pick out any weak points. Motioning to Alastar's sword and having noted the way the lad disarmed himself, Ghost asked, "Are you sure about hand to hand?"

Alastar let himself have a small smile, -so you can disarm me and use my weapon against me- he mused to himself, saying out loud, "I don't want anyone accidentally getting hurt.”

Ghost arched an eyebrow - an expression he made frequently if the fine wrinkle on his forehead above that ebony eyebrow were any indication. "You mean you don't want to 'accidentally' get hurt." Ghost corrected, but didn't bother pointing out that if Alaster took too many hits, he would end up hurt anyway.

“So, who’s striking first?" Alastar returned, relaxing his position a tad, leaving most of his body open for attack. -I'll have to play smart. He'll use cunning and boasting. He doesn't fight fair. He's a street brawler, probably worse,- he thought as he looked Ghost over. Then with a small grin once more finished the thought, -but so am I, I suppose.-

The half elf rolled his eyes at the question and fell into a ready stance. "Who strikes first is whoever is fastest - even if you strike first that does not guarantee you'll actually hit me." Ghost explained as he started his slow, predatory circling of the lad.

 Alastar held himself in check at the taunt and the insults. He heard a few of the men outside of the ring laugh at Ghost’s probing. Alastar snorted watching the traditional predatory circling; a thing Alastar wasn't keen on following. So instead, he kept his back at the edge of the arena, his guard appearing loose, his feet shifted apart. Only his eyes moved.

Ghost paused when the lad just....stood there. Not moving, not attacking. Nothing. "If you're not going to fight, then go home kid." The half elf growled, using the demeaning term even though he wasn't much older - if at all - than Alastar. Shadow magic collected in Ghost's palm, thinking he'd have to get vicious if this one was going to move his feet.

It would seem Alaster's initial speculation that this one did not fight fair was accurate, for in a matter of seconds, the half elf held a small shadowy dagger in his hand that he promptly flipped, caught, and then threw.

The shadow magic sent a shimmering warning within Alastar, a warning as most people would say it, but there was a lust, a need, an excitement at the feeling. For a brief second as the magic was flipped and caught, Alastar eyes glowed a faint amber hue. Then his arm began to emanate a soft blue, and as the dagger came hurling towards him, his arm reached up to meet it only to watch the dagger 'disappear' and sparkle into black dust just an inch from his palm. Alastar gave into his grin. "I thought this was a brawl," He said as he rushed towards the half-elf, a faint buzz of blue energy filling him faster than he should and went for a quick jab towards the man's wounded jaw

Ghost didn't miss the change in eye color, despite his mild frustration with the lad. He absolutely hated it when someone came to spar and then just stood there instead of engaging. The frustration faded, replaced by something else and again that eyebrow came up when Alastar dismissed the magic of the shadowblade - now this was interesting.

Unfortunately, that also meant his guard was down and despite how fast he was, the half elf couldn't get his guard up in time to properly defend against the incoming jab. The already compromised jaw creaked - and possibly cracked - the burst of pain sending spots of bright white and deep black before his vision.

Ghost shook his head and blinked rapidly a few times then swung right back at the lad, stepping in as he angled his fist from down below in an attempt to land a solid blow in Alastar's belly.

Alastar held little back in that blow and he felt the give of the man's jaw, saw the waver in his stance. Eyes grew narrow with uncertainty, a little thought making its way through the adrenaline rushing through him and the taste of magic. Instinct was what propelled him backwards from the moving arm. In response, Alastar gripped the half-elf's wrist stopping the monument of the attack going through air, drew the man in with much more strength than should have been for this young man, and brought the half elf into his own fist that was heading toward the half-elves belly in a swift counter

Ghost let out a grunt and flashed a bloody grimace as he was punched in the gut. Clearly, there was more to the lad than what appeared on the surface, if his sheer strength was any indication. This close though left Ghost with few options as he wrenched his wrist free of Alastar's grip. The force of any punches would be diminished and so he grabbed Alastar by the shoulders and head butted the lad - right in the nose.

An image flickered in Alastar head as the world grew dizzy before him. An image of a long time ago, dark shadows casting everywhere, a female worgen standing before him, hackling him with the same grin and coy remarks as the half-elf he had just meet.  

As the images flickered away, Alastar felt the air escape from him entirely. Blood oozing from his nose, and the air squeezed out of him, he fell limply to the ground unaware that Ghost had kneed him in the stomach.

Except, he didn’t hit the ground. His arm stayed steady; his knee strong against his weight. Then he felt the prickle of strength begging. Alastar closed his eyes, and let that strength blossom into white, hot heat.

In a second, his transformation took place replacing skin with black, grey-tipped fur, fingers for claws, and a long snout with teeth barred. His blue eyes flickered upwards, and he lept back hoping that the half-elf was surprised enough to give him the space.

Ghost was.

The transformation made Ghost pause briefly, but he quickly picked up where he left off. The half-elf’s expression was one of disgust. As Alastar pressed an paw against his own torso, the half elf went into motion, weight placed on an anchoring leg while he spun a circle kick, aiming his foot for the side of Alaster's muzzle.

Alastar caught the blow with his arm, a low grumbling coming from his throat as he then struck out towards the elf’s hip joint with a quick strike

Ghost grunted again as he felt the sudden jolt of impact as Alasatar struck out at his hip. The half elf went stumbling forward in the direction that Alastar pushed him, but recovered his footing more quickly than the lad anticipated for when Alastar came charging head first, Ghost pivoted to the side positioning himself in a way to put himself slightly behind and to the side. The half elf came back in then, slamming his elbow down into Alastar's back.

The shock rumbled through his body, but the pain was no longer an obstacle. Alastar swiveled with a snarl and though he attempted to snap at the elf’s head with his jaws, he went for another jab towards the upper torso.

At least one, if not more of his ribs cracked, giving way under Alastar's knuckles - an injury that, unlike his jaw, he couldn't keep fighting with unless he wanted to risk having a lung punctured by a broken rib. With a broken jaw, his stomach muscles spasming from taking too many hits in his gut, knuckles bleeding and his head swimming from that headbutt he'd delivered, Ghost knew he had to yield.

The half elf made the symbol of 'yield' rather than call it out - he could hardly breathe, - and, keeping an eye on Alastar to make sure he didn't continue to attack - grumpily made his way back over to his corner.

Several disappointed groans came from around the ring from those who'd lost their bets.

Alastar didn’t move for a short time, until, the half-elf rose and began walking away.

The message had been delivered. Dirty tactics had no place if one fought honorable. Alastar backed a few steps before letting the fever of the magic burn away.

Back as a human, he clicked his tongue, rolled his shoulders, as he massaged his neck. “Good fight,” he called out of habit, dull and toneless, as he turned his back.

In return he heard, “Beginnger’s luck”, from the broken half-elf.

Happily seeing his stuff still were he tossed them, Alastar redress himself. Those that had clearly bet against him were far more than those that had, he viewed. With a glance back to the beaten combat, he frowned. -perhaps I made an enemy today, I’ll see him again most likely- he thought and pushed his way through the crowd.

While in Alastar's mind he'd made a point, it was lost on Ghost. To the half elf, it'd just been a spar and whether his opponent fought honorably or not made no difference to him. It wasn't the first time he'd been defeated and wouldn't be the last - it meant nothing.

#rp #story #kaelenar #blood #fighting