#so i thought 1) cape. over and out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

minnesota-fats · 10 months

Text

Watchtower Tech. Danny

Part 2

Part 1

Dick was excited when Bruce asked if he wanted to go back to the watchtower today after school. Of course he said yes, it was so fun the first time he went last week. But unlike last time, the novelty of being up in space wore off quicker than the first time. Because this time, Bruce had to attend a meeting. Dick sat in his own chair—kicking his dangling feet next to Bruce as he talked about some boring thing or another. Dick looked out the window and watched the stars outside, it was those stars that reminded Dick of Danny—the fellow Gothamite who worked below the lower levels of the watchtower. So when a break was finally called, Dick went up to Bruce and tugged on his cape.

“Hey, B,” Dick asked, looking up at the man.

“Yes, Chum,” Bruce grumbled out as he looked over his notes with a furrowed brow.

“Can I go hang out with my bird buddy down stairs?” Dick asked. Bruce looked at him, trying to recall what the words meant which made Dick sigh, “you know, Danny, the guy I met last time.”

“Hmm.” Bruce said, thinking. Dick has only just started to figure out Bruce speak, but he knew that particular ‘Hmm,” in that tone ment Bruce was weighing his options. After a few more seconds Bruce sighed, “go ahead.” He says in his gruff voice.

“Yes!” Dick exclaimed.

But before he could run off Bruce said, “as long as you are not distracting him from his work. If he is too busy, come right back.” Bruce demands.

Dick let out a groan, “fiiiiiine!” He moans before running over to the elevators and pressing the button to go to the lower floors.

The elevator doors opened to what looked like the hustle and bustle of a wearhouse mixed with an auto body shop. Several employees littered the floor, Some at computer stations, others at work tables while some just sat and ate in the corner laughing with others who were on their breaks. Also unlike last time—now having permission to be there—Dick scampered across the floor looking for the familiar black hair of one Danny Nightingale. After surveying the area with no idea where the older man was, Dick decided to go up to a group of workers near the back corner.

“Excuse me?” Dick says through the crushindo of laughter from the men on their break. They don't really seem to notice him, Dick pouted and jumped up onto the table to make himself seen. “Excuse me!” He shouts.

The group pauses and looks up at him with confusion written all over their faces. Dick smiled, “hi, i'm looking for Danny Nightingale. Do you know where he is?” He asked politely.

Several of the workers looked at eachother, some shrugged and laughed. One of the men spoke up, “where did you come from kid?”

Dick tilted his head to the side, “from upstairs?” Dick said like it was obvious. A few workers gave him a look that he couldn’t really decipher.

“And why are you looking for Nightingale?” The man asked with a cocked brow.

“Cuz we’re bird buddies!” Dick exclaimed enthusiastically with a big goofy smile. The men surrounding the table found the statement funny and started laughing, causing Dick to pout. “Can you just tell me where he is,” Dick demands, now getting annoyed.

Another man let out a snort, “sure kid,” he pointed over to a man who was crouched with his back facing the group, with his upper half obscured by the machine. “He’s over there doing something he’s probably not supposed to.”

Dick lifted a brow, “what do you mean, not supposed to?”

“Look kiddo, that kid’s crazy, but clever.” An older man spoke up, “The tech head, Dale, has him on cleanup detail but the kid keeps sticking his nose into things he's not supposed to. Managed to catch a meltdown before it could happen and Dale was furious. He's too scared to bring it up with the higher ups.” The old man smirked, “guy has it out for Nightingale but doesn't want to risk losing his job for letting the rookie fix something while also not wanting to give Danny the credit.”

Dick let out a hum in thought, thinking that there may be a case of abuse of power here. “How come?” He asked the man.

The man smirks, “the kid’s good, knows it too. It pisses Dale off!” He said with a laugh before going back to his chat with the others around him—unaware of the seed he planted in Dick’s mind.

Dick furrowed his brow, he may have to look into this further; maybe if B see’s he solved a case all by himself maybe he could stay out later on patrol! Dick smiled and waved goodbye to the men, despite them no longer paying him any mind, “thank you!” He shouts before running off towards danny.

He walked closer to the man who was half in the machine; a faint humming came from the man as he worked. Dick smirked, he snuck up behind the man, “hey, Bird Buddy!” He shouts, causing the man to jump and hit his head on the roof of the machine. Danny winced and sat back up, rubbing the spot he hit his head. He looks back with furrowed brows, though his expression changed when he saw Dick smiling up at him.

“Oh, hey Birdy, good to see you again.” Danny says with a smile.

“You too, Big Bird.” Dick said, beaming at his own nickname he made for Danny.

“Ha. Good one, kiddo," Danny paused, “actually aren't robins bigger than nightingales?” He asked, putting his hand onto his chin.

Robin mimicked him, “I don't know…. But it makes sense cuz you're bigger than me!” Dick says, explaining his reasoning.

Danny smirks, “got me there, Birdy. You wander off without Batman knowing again?” Danny asked as he grabbed a rag from his belt and began wiping grease off his hands.

“Nope!” Robin exclaims, “B and the others were having a meeting so before it reconvened, I asked if I could come see you. Batman said that I could as long as I wasn't bothering you.”

Danny smiled, “aww, you could never bother me.” He cood.

“So what are you doing?” Robin asked, head tilting to the side as he leaned trying to peek around danny.

“One of the zeta tubes is on the fritz so I thought I would take a look at it.”

“Do you know what's wrong?” Dick asked as he peeked into the open mouth of the machine.

Danny shrugged, “No, technically I'm not supposed to be working on it.” He explained.

“Then why are you working on it?” Dick asked with a raised brow.

“Because I may have a bird name but I'm not a chicken.” He says with a smirk at his own joke. Dick let out a cackle, “the guy who was working on it went on break and left all his tools out. So I took that as an invitation to finish what he started.”

“Won't you get in trouble?” Dick asked, looking around.

“People tend to ignore me here.” Danny says as he turns to look back into the zeta tube control panel that he was tinkering with.

“Why?” Dick asked, he already started making a mental catalog of everything he has heard so far like how Bruce taught him.

“Well, most people applied to this job directly to the Justice League, it's a very sought after job that takes endless amounts of screening to get. Only one in three people get hired. I, however, was scouted out directly from the dark knight himself.” Danny explained, “people think I didn't earn the job like they did.”

“Really?” Dick asked, “but if B went to you directly, that must mean you're good!” He exclaimed.

“Aww, thanks, Birdy,” Danny cood with a smile as he looked back over his shoulder, “I just have had lots of experience since I was a kid.”

“Your parents let you do that?” Dick asked before remembering what Danny said about his parents last time, “sorry….”

Danny paused and looked at Dick with confusion written all over his face before realization dawned on his face, “oh, don't be sorry kiddo, I got over them a long time ago.”

“But—don't you miss them?”

Danny sighed, turning back away from the zeta tube control panel to face Dick fully, “of course I do, they were my parents…. But they made it clear what their decision was…," Danny says looking down slightly. He sighed again, “it was so long ago that it doesn't matter anymore, I still have my big sister at least, and my two best friends. They helped me a lot and are the reason I came so far!” Danny paused, “and that's what really matters, the people who are there for you. Family doesn't always mean blood. Does that make sense?” Danny asked with a tilt of his head.

Dick thought about it, sure, his parents will always be his parents. But they were not his only family. All of Haly's circus was his family, from Zitka the elephant to Waldo the clown to even Mr.Haly himself! They were his family, but that wasn't all. His mind started to fit Bruce and Alfred into his idea of family. Dick smiled up at Danny, “yeah, that makes sense.”

Danny turned away from him, “good,” he says as he grabs a tool from the bag, going back into the mess of wires. “How was your day today, Robin?” He asked.

Dick smiled, “it was good, school was boring though,” He said with a groan as he threw his head back, “English is hard!”

Danny laughed, “I'm right there with ya, bud,” Danny exclames without turning away from what he was working on. “English was never my strongest subject either, but my favorite teacher I ever had was my high school English teacher.”

Dick lifted a brow, “really?” He asked incredulously, thinking about his own English teacher—who wore the same boring suit every day and would always stop Dick in the hall because he was “out of dress code” because of something he added to the uniform to make it look nicer.

Dick could hear the laughter in Danny's tone, “yeah, surprised me too when I realized it. His name was Mr.Lancer, he believed in me when no one else did. AND he cursed in book titles!” Danny exclaimed.

Dick laughed, “really, how?” He asked.

Danny sat back up and put his hands on his hips and exclaimed in a mocking voice, “Lord of the Flies! Mr.f—Nightingale, what are you doing!”

Dick laughed harder before falling onto his back and kicking his feet up in the air. Danny looked over his shoulder and smiled before going back to his work. The two continued to chat as Danny worked, dick talking about how boring his teacher is compared to the stories Danny had of Mr.Lancer. After thirty minutes or so, the familiar yellow light of the zeta-beam began to glow on the control panel.

Danny sat back and laughed, “Ha. Got it!” He exclaimed, proud he managed to figure out the tech.

“Awsome!” Dick exclaimed, jumping up and stretching his legs.

Danny followed suit and stood up, his joints popping in protest as he stretched. Danny looked down at dick and smiled, “cmon, kiddo, let's get out of here before the first guy shows back up!” Danny declares as he puts everything back the way he found it.

Dick laughed and followed Danny like a duckling as the man went and moved on to his next task for the day.

@cannibalisticphantom @stealingyourbones @akikkobara @spookytragedyshark @jaguarthecat @vythika96 @fae-of-the-wild @spikedlynx @cicibunbuns @redhoneysugarorange @nottmuchtopost @rosecinnamonbun

#watchtower worker!danny #watchtower tech!Danny #danny fenton #cute #fun #dpxdc #dcxdp #ficlit #danny nightingale #fenton nightingale #robin!dick #dick Grayson #bruce wayne #justice league #uwu #fluff #:3 #part 2 is here!

2K notes · View notes

wynnyfryd · 5 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 30

part 1 | part 29 | ao3

cw: Steve Harrington committing unforgivable thought crimes (besmirching LotR)

"Uh," Steve stammers as Eddie tugs him off the couch, because he just propositioned the guy while covered in snot and tears and wearing a blanket as a cape, and now that guy is holding his hand.

Eddie doesn't let go after he gets him to his feet. Their fingers lace together, and his palm is soft and warm, his fingers slightly callused. Steve can feel his own pulse pounding in his wrist.

"Simmer down," Eddie teases, "I'm not having sex with you. Yet," he adds with a lewd waggle of his brows when Steve puppy-dog pouts at him. "This is better than sex, anyway."

"If you're having shit sex, maybe.” Steve rolls his eyes and lets himself be dragged past a messy counter, where Eddie stops to grab a black lunch box and a cassette tape, a tissue for Steve’s face, then down the hall to Eddie's bedroom.

"My kingdom," he grins as he shoves the door open and waves Steve through with a bow.

His room is amazing. Awesome and terrible all at once: awesome, because it looks like someone put Eddie’s essence in a blender and ran the blades without a lid, and terrible, because the place is a fucking pigsty. There’s a bag of bread on the floor.

Eddie tells him to make himself at home, so Steve plops down on the edge of his bed, takes in the explosion of artwork tacked to the walls while Eddie buzzes around the room — swoops and swoons like a drunken bee, kicking shit into messy piles, sticking a cig in his mouth and forgetting to find the lighter, turning on the stereo. He pops in the cassette, and Steve lets out a surprised laugh when he hears the upbeat strumming.

"Rumours? Really? That's your 'better than sex' cure?"

Eddie cranks the volume. "It's workin’, ain't it?" he mumbles around the unlit cig.

Steve tries to frown and fails. "…Shut up."

Eddie snickers at him; gives him the cutest smile he's ever seen, nose scrunched up, eyes crinkled at the corners, then he tucks the cigarette behind his ear and shakes his hair out with a grimace. “Christ, it’s hot in here." His hands move to the hem of his shirt. "Look away or don’t, baby, I’m changin’!”

Steve smiles and averts his gaze, falling back on Eddie’s bed and looking at the ceiling with his legs dangled over the edge. In his periphery he can see Eddie hopping gracelessly around the dresser, trying to tug his foot out of the end of his skinny jeans, cursing under his breath; dropping all the ‘g’s off the ends of his words.

"I like your Southern accent."

"Do ya now?" Eddie throws it on thick, really hamming it up, "Well then, I reckon it's plum near the most attractive dad-gum thing y’ever did hear 'round these here pawrts."

Steve honks a mortifyingly stupid laugh, which makes Eddie laugh like a chime in a windstorm, which just makes Steve laugh even more, and maybe Eddie was right.

Maybe this is better than sex.

He wipes at his eyes, misty for a good reason for the first time all night, and when he looks up again Eddie’s dressed in his pajamas. Dark gray gym shorts, a black cut-off tank, the arm holes deep and loose to expose his armpit hair, his ribs.

Steve’s mouth goes dry.

Eddie’s wiry and pale, firm muscle wrapped around his string-bean frame, and he's covered in tattoos — black line art and gray shading, fantastical beasts and staffs and swords, a crazily-detailed set of serpent scales snaking up his side. But it's his legs that catch Steve's eye.

His legs are covered in words. Words and doodles everywhere, from his calves to his thighs, the lines wobbly and thick like Eddie put them there himself. There are quotes in sloppy cursive, longer ones in blocky print; a few stylized to look like comic book dialog, the words POW! and DANGER outlined in spiky bubbles above his knee. Steve wants to trace the lines; rehearse him like a poem, learn each ink stroke with his fingers until he can recite them all by heart.

Eddie catches him staring and gives a small, pleased grin. “Like what you see?”

Steve’s tongue feels too big for his mouth. “Yeah. I really do.”

The smile widens. Eddie clambers onto the bed, stepping over Steve’s head and plopping down beside him with his back against the wall, one leg drawn up, the other stretched out long and loose.

Steve shifts to lay the same direction, and his shoulder brushes Eddie’s leg, his wrist ghosting against his ankle bone. He doesn’t pull away; likes the look of their skin tones side by side — the smooth desert landscape of his inner arm, accented only by a few veins and moles; the riot of ink and art all along Eddie’s shin. Eddie’s feet are bare, and they’re wide, a little hairy (reminds Steve of Dustin’s nerdy ring book, and he almost says as much, but he knows Eddie’s even more obsessed with that shit than the kids are. He really doesn’t want the dude to pop a brain boner and spend the next four hours lecturing Steve about jewelry lore.)

“What are you giggling at down there?” Eddie nudges at his elbow.

“Nothing,” Steve says, and Eddie responds “All right then, keep your secrets” in a silly character voice. He stretches to the side and grabs a joint off the bedside table.

“Now,” he says, voice slipping into that deep, slow sing-song thing he does — his sales pitch tone, Steve realizes. “This part is, of course, completely optional, but. In my humble, expert opinion—”

“So humble,” Steve teases under his breath.

“—It really enhances the whole experience.”

“The Stevie Nicks Therapeu- thera-” Oh, screw it. “Un-saddening Experience?”

“That is correct.” He holds it out over Steve’s face, wiggling it in offering, and Steve thinks about his conversation with Robin over brunch:

"I can't believe you did coke.” "I can't believe you smoked weed." "I know." "Was it okay?" He hasn't tried weed since... "Yeah," she answers seriously. "Yeah, it was okay. It was nice, actually."

“Okay,” he decides. I trust you. “Let’s do it.”

Eddie puts the joint between his lips and lights it up.

—

part 31

listen i know it’s a quote from a movie that will not exist for another 16 years just let me have this. tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my fic #my writing

708 notes · View notes

tomiyeee · 11 months

Text

donnie had. SO. much concept art lol. i really enjoyed the whole design process though. his base design is very difficult to work with because of the battleshell, but it gave me a lot of chances to get creative and i'm happy with the results :)

(also as a disclaimer so i don't get asked about this: i don't have motivation to finish raph or the wish art for donnie, so i'm just posting what i've got)

i didn't annotate these as much since there'd be a lot to write, but i'll write out some of my thought processes and go into some detail about his final design below the cut if you're interested! (it's long. i'm talkative 😔)

1st row - first iteration; much more literal 1:1 translation of his design into a fantasy setting. very steampunk-y. ended up completely scrapping it because, simply put, he looked more like an npc than a playable character. obviously, several features did still carry over throughout the design process :3 also wanted to imagine his attack pattern cuz i thought it'd be fun to incorporate his spider arms.

this was actually the first design of any of them i'd come up with! i've definitely learned a lot about genshin's character design style since then and i think it shows 😂

2nd row - playing around with the idea of a floating battleshell (rather than a backpack-like one in the the show & first version), inspired by nahida's cape. also hard light constructs/attachments. was leaning too into the sci-fi and rectangular motifs with the design, but i liked the idea.

3rd/4rth rows - concepts for his final outfit and shell designs (the colored/more-detailed pics are the more finalized ones). took a lot of inspiration from sumeru this time around. it's a lot sharper, shinier, and less rectangular than his og aesthetic, but i think it's more in-line with genshin's design philosophies.

5th row - not entirely sure why i went through all the trouble of making a 3d model for this. i mostly just thought it'd be fun and good for reference. i was right, but i don't know what to do with it now lol. can't be bothered to be a perfectionist about it though, so don't look too closely at it 😭

6th row - incomplete thumbnails of his burst/wish art. not super sold on that "wing" design in particular, but i do like the idea of his shell splitting and deploying hard light weapons/rocket launchers/etc sort of like in canon.

battleshell/misc notes - i'm thinking his battleshell is controlled using the pink sensor on the back of his coat, possibly in combination with his headset. it floats behind him by default and is sturdy enough to protect his back, but he can also freely fly it around like a drone if he wants. the holes on the side are mainly for the spider arms and the banners(?) and handles(?) with the blue/pink gradient are made of hard light and only appear when the shell is in use.

i imagine like in the series, his tech here isn't necessarily very reliant on his vision/powers; much of it he likely made himself long before he received a vision and he just uses his vision to enhance it.

his burst is a barrage of missiles from his shell that lock onto an enemy and deal a large burst of electro damage in an AOE. not sure if i want his skill to be a deployable or some sort of electro-infusion/boost 🤔 maybe something that involves deploying his shell to boost his damage while leaving him vulnerable, like a glass canon? though i'm not sure he'd be that sort of risk-taker... 😅 dunno! his signature weapon would totally be his tech bo though.

that's about all i can think of. thanks for reading!

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt au #rise genshin au #rottmnt art #my art #mangastudio #3d #art #process

1K notes · View notes

mysteryshoptls · 6 months

Text

SSR Ace Trappola - Playful Dress Voice Lines

When Summoned: Bright and neon lights galore! Maybe being a superstar is my true calling?

Summon Line: It's awesome we get to go to an amusement park, and it's not even a holiday break. This is no time to be sittin' at a desk doing homework.

Groooovy!!: If I gotta be a part of a show, I'm gonna make sure to stand out. C'mon, hurry it up, you get up on the stage, too.

Home: Just gotta make this the time of my life!

Swap Looks: Man, what's going on?

Home Idle 1: Fellow-san is real friendly and easy to talk with. Totally thought he was a bit sus in the beginning, though.

Home Idle 2: Pretty sure snapping pics should be secondary to enjoying the park... But the pic that Cater-senpai took of me looks totally rad!

Home Idle 3: Found the arcade! Since we're all here, lets play a game together. Nooow, what should the penalty game for the losers be?

Home Idle - Login: Alllright, what should we start with? It's been a while since I've been to an amusement park, so I'm super excited.

Home Idle - Groovy: Oh hey, it's almost our turn. That line was crazy long, but I guess it moved pretty fast while we we were chatting away, huh?

Home Tap 1: What, didja find something cool? A street performance, huh... I mean, cool, but ridin' all the roller coasters should be our main priority!

Home Tap 2: There's salted, chocolate-covered, and cheese-flavored... They've got way too many kinds of popcorn here! But meh, as long as we got Grim, I'm sure that'll be no problem.

Home Tap 3: I'm getting sweaty from all this walkin' around. I'm definitely doing the water ride next! Gonna get soaked in water to cool off.

Home Tap 4: The embroidery on my outfit and the cape is super detailed. It's pretty cool, but... I'm a little worried I'm gonna snag it on something～

Home Tap 5: What, tired already? Oh hey, they're handing out drinks over there, so why don't you go get one? And then bring me one, too!

Home Tap - Groovy: Pfft, your hair is all over the place from all the wind. Sooo laaame… Eh, mine, too!?

Duo: [ACE]: I'm gonna trounce 'em all, Vil-senpai. [VIL]: Oh my, show me what you can do, Ace.

Requested by @thelonepearl.

#twisted wonderland #twst #ace trappola #vil schoenheit #twst ace #twst vil #twst translation #twst playful land #mention: fellow #mention: cater #mention: grim

496 notes · View notes

pisupsala · 1 month

Text

Hitchin' a ride

Or two times you told John Egan no, and the one time you said yes.

Part 1 of Are You Going My Way?

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader Words: 7k Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, hospitals

It gets dark early in winter in East Anglia. By the time you leave the ward, it’s pitch dark despite it barely being past dinner time. Huddled in your dark blue wool cape, you trudge along the side of the road, holding a small torch to light your way. There’s a cold, biting wind tonight, and it feels like it’s going through every layer you’re wearing, straight through your bones. Breath shuddering, you pick up your pace, the gravel barrier between the road and the grass crunching under your standard-issue brown boots. The faster you get back to the nurse’s barracks, the faster you’re out of this wind and soaking your sore feet and cold toes.

Thorpe Abbots sprawls strangely, but you usually don’t mind. The quiet walk at the end of the long shifts in the operating room, rounds on the intensive care ward, cleaning, and inventory is your moment of solace. A moment where you can finally let the smile fall off your face, where you can grit out the curses you've bitten back all day, the crinkle in time when you are allowing the tears to well up and drip down your face silently.

There is no textbook or training to prepare you for the horrific reality. Torn flesh, burns, and the blood. The fear and agony. The pained screaming. The blind panic.

You have never felt more that you are where you need to be, yet you are so completely and utterly powerless.

A light catches your eye, reflecting on the trees around you in a ghostly flicker. Glancing over your shoulder, the light floats through the darkness, gliding towards you. The soft ding of a bicycle bell pulls you out of your reverie. Turning fully, the light casting off your torch finally illuminates the figure on the bicycle.

“Major Egan,” You greet him, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice. He has no reason to be here. There’s nothing down this road but the building with the nurses’ quarters. It’s not the first time you’ve encountered Major Egan somewhere he has no reason to be. But you, as an army nurse and merely a first lieutenant, are not about to question him on that.

“You shouldn’t be walking here alone at night, lieutenant,” He tells you, stopping next to you. You stop, too, taking a good look at him—because why wouldn’t you—as he gets off his bike.

A little too friendly, a little too forward. His bright, sharp blue eyes are contrasted by luscious dark curls and that devilish smile. Tall, broad-shouldered, and moving with a confident grace, he is hard to miss. And if you were to somehow overlook him in a crowd, he commands, demands, attention. There is something dangerously magnetic about him, something electric.

You best keep your distance.

“Don’t worry about me, please, Major,” You reply politely. “It’s not late, and I know the way,”

“Are you done for today?” He asks conversationally, smiling, his eyes crinkling happily. The tips of his ears are red from the cold. In the middle of a quiet road, in the dark, in freezing temperatures, it’s an odd place for polite conversation.

“Yes, I’m heading back to my quarters,” You smile. “Long day,” You add, hoping to cut the conversation short, desperately trying to suppress the full body shiver from the cold. You notice with some envy that Major Egan seems wonderfully unbothered by the biting wind in his sheepskin jacket. You nod at him, turning back in the direction you had been heading, gingerly taking a step. Hopefully, he gets the hint.

“I could give you a ride,”

You stop dead in your tracks, looking back at him wide-eyed.

“I’m heading in the same direction, so you’d get there quicker,” He beams at you with that brilliant smile, patting the carrier at the back of the bike. Instinctively, you start shaking your head, trying to keep yourself from vocalizing your thoughts.

You’d be out of the wind. You’d be in the warm faster. You’d have to get close to Major Egan and hold on to him. You bet that that sheepskin jacket is nice and warm. You bet Major Egan is nice and warm.

“Isn’t that the bike you almost lost an eye for?” Your sense of self-preservation is stronger, has to be stronger, than any magnetic force or joking flirtation from Major John Egan.

“Almost?” He seems surprised you brought it up but recovers quickly. “I remember it differently — it was a bullseye, not my eye,”

He looks at you like he’s expecting you to laugh with him, but you just blink in disbelief. That’s an awful joke. For a mere second, in the reflected light of your torch, you see his smile falter—he’s smart; he knew that was a dud. You purse your lips.

“I suppose I like my rides without stories of near-eye trauma attached,” You muse. It’s such a flimsy excuse.

“Do you think it’s bad luck?” It’s a chillingly honest question, and all cheer has suddenly disappeared from his voice. You pause to think. It hadn’t really occurred to you that Major Egan might be a particularly superstitious man; somehow, he didn’t seem the type. But in these times, superstition creeps up on even the most staunch rationalists.

“Luck has nothing to do with it, Major,” you finally admit, eyeing him carefully. He frowns, suddenly unsure of the gravity of the conversation through his own too-candid question. “I would just hate to encourage any of that sort of behavior,” You add lightly.

“So, you would have accepted if I had a different bike?” He sounds on the precipice of hopeful, but the laughter in his voice is evident again. He changes so quickly and bounces back from everything in a mere second — it’s all a joke, after all. He’ll do you a favor and then jokingly ask for a kiss. And then maybe another. And then he’ll move on to whatever or whoever catches his eye next.

You wrinkle your nose. No. You’re not interested, you repeat to yourself. If you were, you might as well have stayed at home and practiced your good graces at dinner parties. You joined the Army Nurse Corps because you wanted to do something, mean something.

“I’m going now,” You clench your jaw to stop your teeth from clattering. “Good night, Major Egan,”

“Suit yourself, lieutenant,” He grins, undeterred, as he watches you turn on your heel, huddling into yourself to protect yourself from the wind. Truthfully, Bucky wasn’t expecting that you would accept his offer. If anything, he wanted to see how you’d react: your replies are always calm and composed, so very proper, but you have a bad poker face. From the way you scrunch up your nose in annoyance to how the corner of your mouth sometimes threatens to pull into a smile at his jokes. And Bucky notices that your gaze lingers just slightly longer than would be polite, although nothing coming out of your mouth would corroborate that. It’s adorable. It’s intriguing. And he knows you won’t make it easy on him.

But that’s not why he keeps thinking about you. That’s not why he goes out of his way to look for you.

You suddenly took root in his thoughts only a few weeks back. It had been a bad day. Worse than Bucky had seen in a while, there had been many bad days lately.

Being Air Exec has some perks, mostly that other people don’t really question why he’s wandering the halls of the infirmary at the dead of night. In the hallway, set up on provisional cots, medics are asleep, still fully dressed. They just collapsed on the first soft spot the moment they could. He can hardly blame them.

His footsteps echo through the dark rooms. The wounded men in the beds are fast asleep — it’s eerily quiet except for the occasional snore.

He’s not sure why he’s here. Maybe it’s to assuage some of the guilt he’s feeling — he’s fine after all. He didn’t go up with them, after all. Maybe because he needs to see the pain with his own eyes, afraid that he’ll forget.

The doctor on duty is doing rounds, his desk empty, when Bucky slips through the swinging double doors to where the heaviest casualties are put up. The air in the room feels different—heavier. It’s not quiet—labored breathing, raspy, sometimes gurgling, groans of pain in artificial sleep. He really shouldn’t be here.

All beds are full.

It’s been a really bad day.

It’s there that he notices you first: sitting on the floor, arms crossed and tucked up against yourself, head leaning against the wall, and legs bent at an uncomfortable angle. In the first second, he thinks someone fell out of their bed. But as Bucky gets closer, he recognizes you — the seersucker cotton dress, the matching cap now crumpled and skewed on your head, and the clearly scuffed and dirty white oxfords. You are one of the OR nurses.

He’s seen you around, just in passing. In chaos between casualties, just from the corner of his eye. Sometimes, you showed up at dances or parties, and Bucky had noticed your cute laugh from across the room, the way your entire face lit up when you smiled. And he knows he’s not the only one who has noticed the delightful sway of your hips as you walk, evident even through your dress uniform. But you made damn sure to make yourself unavailable by sticking with your girlfriends. He’s never seen you accept a drink or dance with someone.

Your mouth is slightly open as you breathe deeply, your form cast in the pale moonlight peeking through the sides of the blinds. Bucky wouldn’t let a woman sleep on the floor in normal circumstances, but in this case, waking you up would be cruel — there isn’t a bed free in the whole hospital. And even bad sleep is better than no sleep.

He moves past you carefully, mentally putting names to all the men here. Those that made it. That’s a good thing, right? They made it. Bucky doesn’t recognize the figure moaning in pain louder and louder, hands desperately grasping at the neatly tucked-in covers — his entire head is covered with a thick layer of white bandages, not even leaving a slit for his eyes, just a small opening for his mouth. He hesitates before his curiosity takes over and moves by the side of the bed to look closer. It’s a good thing, right?

He should do something to help him.

Bucky is so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice you brushing past him. He almost jumps out of his skin when your torch suddenly clicks on at the foot of the bed. You are bleary-eyed, blinking rapidly as your eyes fly over the patient chart.

“He is due for a new round of pain medication,” You state softly, voice still thick with sleep, before looking up at Bucky. “Major,” is all you say in acknowledgment of him.

“Nurse—lieutenant,” He mumbles in reply, increasingly on edge from the patient’s distress. “What are you—” Before he can start running his mouth in confused ramble, you trust the torch at him.

“Hold this, please, Major,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, yet it cuts through the noises easily in its steadiness and calmness. The small torch is now in his hand, your fingers brushing over his palm unintentionally as you move through the dark. It’s like a small spark burned the spot where your fingertip touches his skin. “Up, please,”

Bucky complies, shining the light from a high angle as you prepare a syringe. You look exhausted, but nothing in your movement betrays that. Clinical, precise, and so calm. He watches you speak softly to your patient, your free hand wrapped loosely around his wrist, a syringe poised in the other. But the patient is struggling harder, too panicked, and in too much pain.

It happens in a split second.

The patient sits up so quickly that Bucky almost stumbles back in surprise. The patient now has an iron grip on your lower arm, white knuckles, moving in a blind frenzy, pulling you clean off your feet, half over the bed. You yelp in as much surprise as in pain as your knee collides with the metal bed frame. Your face is contorted in pain as you struggle back, trying to regain your footing.

“It’s okay, I’m here to help you,” You keep repeating patiently. Never let them know you are scared: they can’t calm down if you are not in control.

Your voice doesn’t waver one bit. Bucky clenches the small torch between his teeth, trying to free your arm from the patient’s grip.

“N- no” You breathe, clearly in pain now. “Please, Major, just help me to hold him still,”

You are still holding the syringe, poised to strike. Grabbing the patient by the shoulder and forcing him back against the pillow. In the struggle, the torch falls from his mouth. It clatters on the tile floor and rolls away. He is so focused on his task that it’s almost by surprise when the struggle ends within a few seconds, and the patient drifts off again. He never saw you give the injection.

You both stand there, breathing heavily. Bucky bends down to retrieve the torch from the floor. It’s still shining, although it flickers uncertainly with every move. When he straightens back up, he catches you looking at your arm, the brown sleeve of your vest rolled up messily. When you realize he’s looking at you, you pull the sleeve back down and busy yourself tucking the patient back in. But Bucky has seen the angry red fingerprints imprinted on your forearm.

“Thank you, Major Egan,” Not a quiver in your tone, although your breathing has barely slowed down. “It’s probably best you go now,”

“Are you alright?” He cannot help but ask, gaze traveling to your arm. He can’t help but notice you must have been issued a vest a size up, as the sleeves are a bit too long on you. It’s adorable.

“Please don’t worry about me,” You reply, smiling, but it’s clearly a deflection. The corners of your mouth are quirked up, but your eyes just spell tired. “You should try to get some rest, Major. The sun will be up soon,”

There is a certain sense of irony in you telling him that. At least he has a bed to go to, you think wryly. You start walking towards the ward exit, signaling he should follow you.

“Will you be okay here by yourself, lieutenant?” It’s not his place to worry about you, but you are just… you. And these men are in pain, scared, and -

“The doctor will be back from his rounds soon,” Your soft voice pulls Bucky from his thoughts. You stand at the door, holding it open for him. If he hadn’t just seen that chaos happen, he would have never guessed by your demeanor anything happened. As he passes you, you salute him. He salutes you back, gazing over to you. The tips of your fingers are shaking.

The thought is sudden and overwhelming: he wants to lace his fingers through yours, pull you against him, and hold you until you stop shaking.

“Goodnight, Major,” You whisper with a pointed look. You want him out of here so you can check on your throbbing knee and painful arm away from his prying eyes.

“Goodnight, lieutenant,” He replies, tearing his eyes away from you.

***

In early spring, it seems like the rain never stops, from semi-permanent drizzle to raindrops rhythmically ticking against the window pane to the torrential downpour you find yourself in now. The drab-colored trench coat is putting up a valiant fight to keep you dry.

You’re holding your purse over your head but to no avail. The cold trickle of water from your sodden hair travels down your spine. You’re trailing behind your friends, who are making good time through the storm. Water sloshes in your left boot, making it heavy, the drenched woolen sock rubbing painfully against your foot.

Then you hear it. The all too-happy ding of a bicycle bell.

You try to walk faster, gritting your teeth, but Major Egan has caught up with you in just seconds. You don’t stop to greet him, just glancing over at him with narrowed eyes. Gracefully, he jumps off the bike, matching your pace by foot easily. His dark curls are plastered to his forehead, his cap sagging under the weight of the water it must have absorbed. He shouldn’t look this good, sopping wet, especially when you feel so wretched.

“Lieutenant, I could get you where you need to be a whole lot quicker,” he calls out.

“No, thank you, Major,” Your tone is polite, but you keep walking, falling behind further and further from your friends as your left boot squelches with every step. You know he noticed.

“You’re really not going to take me up on the offer? Even in this downpour?”

“Most drops miss,” You can’t keep the scowl off your face as you march on.

“You are so unbelievably stubborn,” He laughs. You don’t think you’re stubborn; you just don’t like feeling like your hand is being forced.

“I don’t need you to save me, Major.” You tell him evenly, finally stopping and turning to him. You know your friends noticed you stopping but probably figured they were doing you a favor and kept going.

Bucky regards you carefully — you look miserable. The curl has long been rained out of your hair; rivulets of water running down your face, dripping on the collar of your trench coat. The steep downturn of the corners of your mouth pretty much just seals the deal. But despite all the evidence, you would never admit you’re anything but fine.

“Save you?” He sounds incredulous. Like the thought never even crossed his mind.

You bite your lip — you might have said too much. But you are afraid that he might ask you for something if you owe Major Egan a favor. He will ask you for something. And you won’t be strong enough to tell him no maybe because you want him to ask. Who wouldn’t?

You’ve seen him look at you from across the room before, and when you scrape together the courage to meet his gaze, it’s like electricity. Short, intense, and almost painful. And then he looks away, his attention turning so fleetingly. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Forget it,” You mumble, clearly embarrassed. Closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, you wish nothing about this moment was happening right now. When you peek through your lashes at Major Egan, you note he looks concerned.

“For what it’s worth,” He clears his throat, not a trace of humor in his voice. “I never considered you to require saving, lieutenant.”

You keep looking at him sharply, finally shaking your head. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

There is something deeply absurd about the whole conversation. Just tell him no. Just bid him goodnight and leave. Why are you even entertaining him with your feelings on this? And it’s clearly entertainment to him.

“I’m going to my quarters now, Major,” You state, feeling the need to be polite despite your increasingly impolite feelings about the situation. “And you’re going in the wrong direction,” You add pointedly as you start walking again. It feels like you have an entire puddle in your boot now.

“So what would you prefer, lieutenant? A more classic approach?” That devastatingly handsome grin is back on his face again as he walks beside you. How is that what he took from your last statement? Your shoulders sag when you feel the butterflies in your stomach. “At the next dance, I buy you a drink and sweep you off your feet on the dance floor?”

“I might be more agreeable when it’s not freezing or raining,” You sigh like it’s paining you to admit it. Maybe he’s imagining it, but Bucky likes to think he saw the shadow of a smile pass over your face as you say it, even though your voice is painfully neutral.

“Is that a yes?” Again, that hopeful edge.

“No,” You reply curtly, but you feel bad the moment you say it because you see his smile fall — he’s staring at you somewhere between confusion and growing frustration. It’s making you feel bad. A horrible little selfish part of you wants him to only smile at you. Major Egan could light up a room with that smile — he regularly does. The selfish little monster in you wants to be the reason that he smiles like that.

“Ask me again at the dance, Major,” You amend carefully.

The way his face breaks out in that broad, beaming smile makes you weak at the knees.

***

Bucky is on pins and needles tonight. Even Buck, usually so even-tempered, is getting irritated with him. Drumming his fingers on the bar, tapping his foot not to the beat of the music but to blow off some of the anxious energy. People are flittering in and out of the hall, but there is no sign of you yet. He’s going through his whiskey too quickly, and it’s doing very little to calm his anticipation.

After an hour of only half-listening to the conversation going on around him, constantly glancing at his watch, he finally sees the pack of nurses come in. Bucky’s heart drops a little because you aren’t with the group. You’re always with that group. Knocking back the rest of his drink, he resolutely makes his way to the table now occupied by five gossiping nurses. All eyes are on him as he approaches.

“Good evening, ladies,” He smiles, eyes searching the table. All chairs are occupied — clearly, your friends aren’t saving you a seat. A chorus of good evenings and giggles comes in reply.

“How can we help you, Major Egan?” A blonde nurse asks, peering up through her lashes.

“I’m actually looking for my favorite nurse,” He replies easily, holding his smile despite feeling mildly annoyed. When he mentiones your name, another chorus of giggles.

“I thought I was your favorite nurse,” One of the girls pipes up. The girls burst out laughing.

“She’s on the night shift,” An earnest, young-looking nurse cuts in, pushing up her glasses. Bucky doesn’t really recognize her — she must be quite new. “I asked to switch shifts because I haven’t been to a dance here before.”

“You should have found someone from the afternoon shift,” the blonde nurse sighs in a bored tone. “The poor girl is putting in a double shift now,”

“No one else would switch with me,” The bespectacled nurse defends herself with a small voice.

Bucky should be annoyed. Did you scheme this out on purpose? You run so hot and cold between your lingering looks and thinly veiled barbs. But then again. Of course, you would switch shifts with the new girl out of kindness. You slept on the floor to stay close to those most needed care. Doc sang your praises in the officer’s mess regularly for staying late to finish inventory, covering in emergencies, and keeping the OR running smoothly. Kindly caring for everyone around you.

He should be annoyed. But instead, he feels jealous. It’s a horrible feeling. But you cared more about the new girl than him? Is it really so bad that he wants your kind attention aimed at him? That he wants to be your choice? You wouldn’t even give him a shot.

It just won’t do. But now, at least, he knows where to find you.

At the end of the dark hall, a faint light. A lone lamp on a lone desk, with a lone nurse sitting at it. You hear him coming, of course. Your bright eyes look straight at him as he emerges from the darkness. You are already getting up out of your chair, ready to greet him, notes and medical textbook forgotten on the desk.

“Good evening, Major Egan,” you greet him, your voice soft. Your gentle tone carries sweetly through the quiet hall. You didn’t expect him to come find you. It feels far too serious, far too earnest. You haven’t seen or spoken to Major Egan for over a week now, and for your own sake, you decide that he hadn’t been serious—that you hadn’t been serious. It was just banter.

Truthfully, you were slightly relieved the new girl asked you to switch shifts. But as you sat at the duty desk by yourself, blankly staring at the pages of your medical textbook, your stomach twisted painfully with regret.

“Good evening, lieutenant -” you cut him off with a sharp shush, tapping your index finger against your lips. You step a bit closer to him, voice a sweet whisper. “Please keep it down,”

A beat of silence as you’re both clearly uncomfortable in the strange situation you have suddenly found yourself in.

“How can I help you, Major?” You whisper politely as your eyes nervously, guiltily, dart around the room—anywhere but him. He looks sharp in his dress uniform. He smells nice. He clearly made an effort. And you’re standing here in your day-old hospital uniform. Self-consciously, you try to straighten the standard-issue white and brown stripe wrap-around dress.

“I came looking for my favorite nurse,” Bucky replies sincerely, eyes boring into yours.

“Then you must not be looking for me,” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself. Bucky nearly bursts out laughing at the pained look that crosses your face as you clamp your mouth shut.

“I was waiting for you to show up at the dance,” He says with that same heavy sincerity. His stance is casual, hands in pockets and shoulders relaxed. But the way he fidgets — tapping and shuffling his foot — as he waits for you to reply hints that he is not nearly as calm as he’d like to appear.

“I had to stay,” You reply, still avoiding his gaze. It’s a half-truth. You could have said no. But the new girl seemed to want to go to the dance more badly than you did. It felt unfair. And you had convinced yourself quite thoroughly that Major Egan wouldn’t care or notice anyway.

Another silence falls. Neither quite sure where to go from here.

“How are the boys doing?” Bucky asks conversationally, reaching out to the large doors leading into the intensive care unit. On a whim, you grab his hand before he touches the handle, your fingers gently wrapping over the top of his large hand. He stills, and for a moment, you think he’ll shake your hand off his. But instead, he waits in acceptance.

“It won’t help you,” You whisper. It took you a while to figure out why Major Egan was in the hospital that night. When people spoke of him, they spoke of how much he cared for his men — a heavy burden to bear.

“Help me?” His voice is suddenly loud. He is offended at the notion that he’s doing it for himself and offended that you called him out like that. He opens his mouth again to argue with you.

Startled by the volume, your brain misfires fully, and instead of replying, your free hand reaches out to his face, your index finger landing on his soft lips to silence him. He stares at you wide-eyed. You are sure you look as shocked as he does. You try to gather your thoughts quickly.

“I - I understand,” You implore him in an urgent whisper, finally looking at him. Bucky sees his own sorrow reflected in your eyes.

Sometimes, you can only wait. There is no next round of medicine; there is no operation that will help. Waiting for the body to do its work can be frustrating and maddeningly slow.

“But there is nothing you can do now, so going in won’t help you or them,” You swallow. Why is your finger still on his lips, and why is he letting you do that? “They need to rest. You need to rest.”

His fingers lace through yours as he steps closer. It’s inappropriate how close he is standing to you. It’s inappropriate how the tips of your fingers caress the seam of his lips. It’s inappropriate how your hand has latched onto his, his thumb drawing lazy circles on the pulse point of your wrist.

“I don’t need rest.” His voice is soft and close. The intimacy of his lips moving against your fingers is intense, each breath setting your nerve endings on fire. He leans into your touch, trailing from the corner of his mouth to his jaw. Finally, you look at him.

“Then what do you need?” Your question comes automatically. Always looking for how to help. Always so kind. He could melt into your soft touch, warm voice, and how you look at him so sweetly.

“I need to know when you’re done here so I can sweep you off your feet,” His eyes meet yours, keenly following your every move.

You want to take a step back and break the increasingly feverish connection, away from his oddly earnest confession, but Bucky pulls you closer with a small tug on your hand. Your head is swimming; your heart is hammering in your chest. You shouldn’t entertain any of this, but it feels like your heart is pouring out of your mouth.

“My shift ends at 0500,”

Bucky grins at you—not in a teasing way, but with that infectious broad smile—the one you cannot help but smile back. It gives you butterflies. You’re smiling at him now, beautifully, genuinely. It feels like a victory to Bucky.

“I’ll keep the party going if you promise me the last dance.” His voice is low and inviting; he is reeling you in further with every word.

“Don’t torture everyone on my account, please,” You feebly try to inject some levity into the situation. You know yourself well enough: you are no match for John Egan and his attentions. From sparks across the room, now it’s like you’ve touched the live wire, and the current has a hold on you. That’s why you always avoided him so.

“Torture? Darling, it’s a party,” He needles you gently, eyes glinting merrily. “Only you would equate that to torture.”

“Major -,” “Bucky,” He interjects. You blink at him, biting your lip.

“Bucky, please,” The moment you utter his name, so beguilingly, so breathlessly, he presses your palm against his face fully, his hand covering yours. He needs you closer. The golden buttons of his jacket brush against the front of your dress. His lips press against the soft flesh of your hand as he studies your reaction. The hitch in your breath is embarrassingly loud to your ears.

“Please, what?”

“Don’t torment me like this,” It sounds even more pathetic when you say it out loud. And exactly as you’d expect, the admission of your weakness, the slightest chink in your armor, is an in for him.

“How do I torment you, exactly?” His voice is so warm, so encouraging.

“You take far too much pleasure in making fun of me, for one,” You try to play it off in a last-ditch attempt. But under his heated gaze, his breath brushing on the sensitive skin of your wrist, you falter. You frown before you utter in a small voice: “It’s not nice how you toy with me, Bucky, because it’s obvious that… that it’s just a joke to you, and your idea of a joke could get me dismissed, and sent home,”

You look down at your shoes, embarrassed. You want to pull away, but Bucky is not allowing you an inch of slack.

“It’s not a joke to me.” He sounds surprised. You look up at him, unable to keep the skepticism off your face. “It wasn’t a joke from that night I saw how calmly you handled that panicked patient, the moment you saluted me with those shaky fingers, and then every time you denied my help, you stubborn, stubborn girl,” His face is so close to yours now; a finger tracing down the side of your neck, down, just along the collar of your dress, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The way your hand rests on his cheek, you could pull him even closer if you wanted to. “I’ve wanted to grab hold of you, wrap you around me-”

Footsteps. You pull back from Bucky with a jerky movement, who mercifully releases you immediately, stumbling back two steps, almost hitting the desk with your legs. It’s strangely cold suddenly without his hands wrapped around yours, without him so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his body. Blood is rushing in your ears. Bucky looks too collected, but to your relief, you spy a faint blush creeping up his neck.

So it wasn’t just you.

Hands folded, you take another furtive step back behind the desk, making sure there’s a respectable distance between you as the doctor on duty turns the corner. Bucky and the doctor start talking in low voices, but you are not listening. In your mind, you keep returning to his words, trying to put the puzzle pieces together.

That night on the ward. That was the first time you spoke and saw each other in more than passing. That’s when Bucky suddenly formed this habit of popping in places he had no business of being. Places you happened to frequent. You really hadn’t been vain enough to consider that the common denominator in those situations was you. It had to be a coincidence that he had just turned into a joke.

“Nurse,” The doctor turns to you, handing you his clipboard. You nearly jump out of your skin, being so lost in thought. “Please update the log,”

“Yes, doctor,” You nod, trying not to look as flustered as you feel. The men start leaving, still talking.

“Good night, lieutenant,” Bucky turns to you, unable to keep the cocky smile off his face. Before he turns, he winks at you. It makes your knees so weak you nearly collapse back into your chair. Covering your face with your hands, you try to focus, but the smile won’t come off your face.

Seven more hours until your shift ends.

***

It’s a misty summer morning, dew covering every inch. The sun is just breaking through the clouds, and it’s promising to be a beautiful day.

When you leave the infirmary, you blink against the early morning sun. It’s still so early that few people are around. You hesitate. Surely, the party is not still going on. You wouldn’t put it past Bucky to actually do it. Rubbing your eyes and yawning, you’re unsure if you could even stay on your feet long enough for a dance.

Luckily, you don’t have to make a choice.

The sound of the bicycle bell makes you smile now. Bucky’s looking remarkably fresh and well-rested. The party clearly didn’t go that far into the night. He dressed for duty, his signature sheepskin jacket hanging open.

“Are you going my way, darling?”

You purse your lips because you’re fighting to keep the smile off your tired face. You don’t stand a chance. You dart over to him like you are pulled by a magnetic force, the live current arching between you.

Sliding onto the back of the bike, you grab handfuls of the thick sheepskin to steady yourself, trying to find your equilibrium. Bucky’s large, warm hands encircle your wrists and easily pull your hands off his jacket. Instead, he gently nudges you forward by your arms, tucking them under the side of his jacket, wrapping your arms around his waist. The side of your face is resting against his back. You can feel his heartbeat under your palm, resting just under his sternum; you move along with his every breath.

“Ready?” Bucky peers over his shoulder.

“Hm–mh,” You hum in reply, face buried in the folds of Bucky’s jacket. “Drop me off before the last turn?” You mumble, gazing up at him pleadingly. “Matron will be awake and on the prowl by now,”

“Don’t worry, darling,” His free hand wraps over yours, pressing a kiss on your knuckles. “I’m not going to get you into any trouble,”

“I’m holding you to that,” You yawn, wrapping yourself around him tighter. You’re going to make the most of this moment — the quiet morning, the soft sheepskin, the smell of Bucky’s aftershave.

You drift in and out of sleep, even though the trip by bike is tortuously short. After almost twenty hours on shift, you should be allowed this comfort. Whining in protest as Bucky starts to unlatch your arms from him, you feel his chuckle as much as you hear it.

You slide off the back of the bike, ignoring where the metal was jabbing into your backside on the bumpy road, and rub your eyes, trying to get rid of the haze in your vision. A small yelp escapes you as Bucky tugs you against him by the tie at the waist of your wraparound seersucker dress. The bike lays forgotten in the grass by the side of the road. All the tension and anticipation from last night are suddenly back — you feel wide awake again.

Bucky’s fingers are resting lightly against your waist like he is testing the waters, slowly, gently guiding you closer to him until you are inches away from him. Automatically, your hands sneak back up his jacket, running up his sides to the front of his chest. He is so warm against the crisp morning air.

“Are you going to ask me for a kiss now?” It comes out almost naively as you look up at him. God, you hope he says yes.

“I promised not to get you into trouble,” He teases gently, grinning, inclining his face closer anyway, his lips just ghosting over the corner of your mouth. He is rewarded with a shuddering sigh from you — his grip on your waist tightens, prompting you to close the remaining distance between you.

“This, of course, is perfectly innocent,” Only you could be looking at him with those big eyes, full of want, your curious fingers roaming over his chest, and still speak so earnestly. Bucky buries his face in the crook of your neck, shaking from laughter. You wrap yourself around him, head buzzing. It’s like you’re short-circuiting, sparks flying with every move, every breath.

Bucky nips at the sensitive flesh of your neck, hoping to elicit more of those small sounds from you. If it weren’t for the quiet morning, remnants of mist dissolving in the first light, he would have missed the softest moan of his name that falls from your lips. He could do this all day. Just explore every move of your body against his, every way you can say his name, every touch that brings you closer to him. You move in effortless synchronicity with him, purely on instinct.

“Then it’s trouble you want, darling?” Bucky murmurs, pressing kisses along your jaw.

“It’s only trouble if we get caught,” You reply breathlessly.

His finger is under your chin, tilting your face up to him, and finally, Bucky’s lips find yours. For a second, it’s just that: his lips pressed softly, almost chastely, against yours. You push yourself up on your tiptoes to get more leverage, wrapping your arm around his neck. Your other hand stays pressed against his chest, fisting his shirt, feeling how his heartbeat speeds up as you open your mouth for him with a sigh. Bucky doesn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, cupping your face. His other hand is roaming boldly over your back, applying light pressure on your spine so you arch into him, skimming just over the curve of your behind, playfully tugging at the ribbon of your wraparound dress. He knows exactly what he is doing and how to get exactly what he wants from you, and you’re more than eager to please.

Your mouth starts to tentatively explore the column of his neck as he whispers your name longingly, encouraging your little adventure. When your lips touch a particularly sensitive spot right under his ear, Bucky hisses — you can feel his muscles clench. It’s exhilarating; he feels the sparks as much as you do. Bucky doesn’t allow you to bask in your small victory too long, greedily capturing your mouth with his again, wrapping you around him, tucking you against him. His soft touch turns feverish, grasping at your hip. You match in kind, nails grazing the nape of his neck, just along his hairline — anything to keep the tension, the current arching.

You can feel the sunshine on your skin and see it through closed eyes. Breathlessly, you pull away just a fraction — Bucky’s lips are still ghosting over yours.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He asks so softly you’re unsure if you heard or felt the words against your lips.

“I have to go,” You mumble as you move to stand feet flat on the ground again. It’s like waking up from a dream. Time is getting away from you. You’re not ready to pull away from Bucky yet, wanting to stretch the moment out. You gently fix his collar, running your hands over his front once more, as much in an attempt to straighten out the wrinkles you left on his shirt as to feel him move under your palm again. When he steps away from you, you release a shuddering breath. You feel like you’ve just been hit by lighting.

“I’ll come find you,” He winks at you, grinning. Bucky presses a kiss to your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture feels intimate, more personal, than you could have imagined.

It was everything you feared happening when you said yes to John Egan. It was everything you dreamed it to be. As you watch him leave, you know that you’ll have a damn hard time giving that up.

“I’ll be waiting.”

note: this was literally supposed to be a quick 2k words fun meet cute kind of thing, just a quick adventure Morty, but oh god I'm in too deep. forgive me for this detour from Of All The Stars in The Sky, but it was necessary, you understand.

#Or Mila can’t write drabbles #one shot most likely #john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john egan fic #john egan imagine #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfic #john egan x nurse!reader

357 notes · View notes

yurislotusgarden · 7 months

Text

Wearing their Clothes, Part 2

ʚїɞ Separately! Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol, Sigma x Reader

ʚїɞ Keep in mind English is not my first language, so you may find mistakes!

ʚїɞ Part 1 for those who want to read it <3

ʚїɞ word count: 1164 (Fyodor - 329, Nikolai - 368, Sigma - 461)

ʚїɞ Tw's: None! Just pure fluff, pet names used, reader's gender is not specified in any way, probably ooc but I live for soft characters

Fyodor Dostoevsky

No matter what, you getting his ushanka won't be an accident or a surprise for this Man. He probably knew for quite a long that you wanted to try it on.

Probably would make sure that you won't get it for Some time just to tease you and see your reactions to failing.

Once he decided he had enough torturing teasing you, he would leave the ushanka on a chair or the bed, in a way that it looks like he for once, doesn't have it in the bathroom with him (Yes the rat showers even if forced) and just left it there.

So, you obviously had to take your chance and try it on.

////////////////////

"Myshka, what are you doing?"

He definitely came out faster than you anticipated. You spun around, looking like a deer caught in headlights. To say that you took off the ushanka at the speed of light would be an understatement.

"Ehm... Nothing?" A raised eyebrow.

"Nothing you say."

"Yup! Absolutely nothing! Was just looking if my eyebrows are equal!" A dumb response? Very much. Did you care? Not in the slightest, not right now.

"So my ushanka in your hand doesn't exist?" Fyodor started to walk up to you as he said that.

You threw the ushanka onto the bed in a hurry. "I don't know what are you talking about Fedya"

"Sure you don't"

Fyodor picked up the ushanka from where it lies and put it gently onto your head, fixing the few strands of hair that fell on your face. Are you hallucinating or do you see a small smile on his face?

"You look nice in it, Myshka"

“Really?”

“Of course, I wouldn't lie to you after all.”

You looked better in the ushanka than the dark-haired Man first thought, to say the least. And if he told you that you can wear it whenever you want, then no one needs to know, yeah?

Nikolai Gogol

The little shit /affectionate I swear

He probably knows you wanna steal either his hat or his cape, but wouldn't give you an opportunity to steal it just to see your reactions. It's amusing and he wants to see your emotions what can I say?

I feel like the first time wouldn't be an accident but planned by him. Casually kidnapping taking you out in winter or just a colder day without letting you get warm clothes first, resulting in shivering and being cold soon enough.

"Cold?" Came with a teasing smile from the clown. He knew what he was doing and had the audacity to tease. You swear you will hit him with something once you're back home.

"Shut up, Kolya. Why did you even bring me out here so suddenly?" Your confusion was as clear as a clean glass.

"Why, to have Some fun! Time for a quiz, dove!"

"Oh no"

You swear Nikolai loves giving you quizzes that no one but the rat Fyodor could get or guess. You could bet with the dark-haired Man in question and win the bet.

////////////////////

"And you lost once again!"

"I did" You chuckled. As much as you lose, they certainly never feel like ones. "So what happens now that I lost?" A good question as every time you lose, Nikolai manages to make the 'punishment' -his Words not yours- a different one.

"This!"

And before you realized it, you felt something heavy on your shoulders, but it also was warm. Looking at yourself, you see that Nikolai put his cloak over you, and fucking hell if you could you would just curl up in a ball and sleep, or even hibernate in this shit. The material inside is softer and warmer than you thought, no wonder he doesn't get cold.

"Your cloak?"

"Didn't you want to try it on, dove?"

"Is that why you brought me out in this weather in my pajamas?"

"Of course! How else could've I given you the honor of wearing my cloak?"

"..."

"Dove?"

"...Listen here you little shit-"

////////////////////

Next week he whined all around, whether at home or at work, all because of you not cooking his favorite cookies that you do every week.

Sigma

I had to think about what would you even steal from this Man but then I remembered this guy wears heels.

You probably wouldn't need to think of it that much, it would probably be a random idea you got when noticing that he left them somewhere. I feel like he Has a big ass room in the Sky casino, an apartment more like, so getting the heels that would be left by the door wouldn't be hard at all.

////////////////////

You have to say, that even tho the heels don't fit perfectly on your feet, you are absolutely slaying the look.

"I have to steal them more often goddamn" You mutter to yourself, looking in the mirror.

You continued to walk around a little, just for fun, the heels were more comfortable than you thought, and now your confusion about how does Sigma wears these every day and doesn't complain about feet hurting has been cleared up.

"Name? Have you seen my heels?" Fuck.

"No? Why?" From what you know he doesn't wear them after 10 pm (22), since people tend to not come to his office much after if anyone even does, so why is he searching for them at 11:30 pm (23:30)? It's almost midnight for fucks sake.

"They need me down in the Main room, but I can't find them."

"Maybe you left them somewhere else and don't remember?"

"Maybe"

You thought you were safe when you heard him walking away… until you heard him walking directly to the bedroom where you were a few minutes later.

'Shit-' You thought as you realized that and took if the heels, lightly throwing them under the bed so it looks like they were left there after being taken off by Sigma and kicked under by accident.

You went back to standing in front of the mirror just as the Man Opened the door.

"You sure you didn't see them?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"The heels are under the bed" Came the soft reply from Sigma, together with a finger pointed at the pair of shoes.

You leaned down, making it look like you didn't know.

"Oh, sorry love" To your pleasure a barely noticeable blush appeared on his cheeks due to the pet name.

"Don't worry about it" A quiet response this time. Sigma Walked over to get the heels before putting them on.

He stopped at the door before he walked out of the room and turned back to you. "I know you tried them on [name], just so you know." And casually Walked out.

You want to jump from the window. Fuck.

////////////////////

Sigma didn't mind, not at all. In fact, he bought you a matching pair of heels. It’s needless to say that this pair is one of your favorite shoes.

Notes, comments, reblogs and anything else is greatly appreciated <3

460 notes · View notes

lovifie · 3 months

Text

Her Royal Highness Pt.4

Masterlist

Prologue — Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4

“Mornin’ Princess.” Soap is the first one to see you arrive at the courtyard. He looks at you with a cheeky smile as always.

“Good morning, Johnny.” You greet him smiling as you jog a bit to stand next to him close to the light torch next to the door.

The sun is still not meant to be out for another couple of hours, but because the castle is so far away from the next town, the king decided to leave so early to make it there by nightfall. Last night you packed all your most liked clothes for the travel, leaving out the warmest dress with the warmest cape you owned. But still, being used to being sheltered inside of the castle, the chilling cold of the early hours was enough to make you shake. Soap is quick to take notice of this because he adjusts your cape closing it around you and stroking your arms up and down to warm you up.

“Ar’ ye shaking cause ye cold or cause ye excited to finally be leaving the castle?” He asks smiling, his breath being visible but he remains apparently unaffected by the temperature.

“Both, but mostly the cold.” You admit with a shaky breath. “Where is the Prince?”

“Aw, lovebird dyin’ to see her man.” Soap jokes faking a pout and earning a slap to the arm. “C’mon, I'll take you with him. Take my hand, o’ ye'll fly away.”

You stare confused for a second, wondering if he is joking again. That is, until he opens the door and you feel the cold wind. You quickly hold his hand and stand close to his back so he can shield you from the wind.

If you thought it was cold inside of the castle, you were wrong. And the frozen wind reminds you, feeling like a thousand needles make their way inside your bone. Soap and you soon arrive at the carriage you assume you will be travelling with Ghost, and you pop your head over Soap's shoulder to check who’s there.

Gaz, Price, Ghost and Laswell look back at you. You notice Ghost looking at you up and down from behind the helmet he is wearing, but before you can say anything Laswell speaks.

“Good morning, Princess. Glad I could see you before you left, I was just explaining to Kyle some of the care required for your wound.” She says as she walks up to you and places her hands on your cheeks. “God gracious, child. You are freezing, get inside quickly. I'll see you when you get back.”

She gives you a quick hug with a smile before going back inside the castle, to keep sleeping most likely. You try to turn to the carriage when the cape gets stuck on something opening and leaving you exposed to the cold. When you turn to check it, you realize that is a who and not a thing on what the cape got stuck.

“What kind of shitty cape is this?” Ask Ghost as he plays with the material in his hand. “No wonder you are shaking like a leaf.”

The tone of his voice is of annoyance, making you feel ashamed of having a completely natural reaction to the weather. But when you are going to complain that you can’t help it, he lets go of your cape and moves his hand to undo the clasp keeping his on.

He takes it off himself and smoothly drapes it over your shoulder putting the hood over your head as well. The click of the clasp makes you look down at his hands, noticing they are so close to your face, almost touching you.

You look up from under the hood and make eye contact with him. The words suddenly die in your throat and blood rushes to your cheeks as he quickly adverts your gaze clearing his throat. “Get inside.” He says putting a hand on your lower back and opening the door. He lowers the hand a bit more and pushes you inside with a single hand on your butt.

You are met with a closed door when you try to protest and redeem yourself sitting down close to the door. You play with your hands as you wait for something else to happen trying to listen to anything outside. Keeping the cape close to your body you bend yourself to try and get your ear closer to the door. Almost touching it with your cheek, finally being able to hear the footsteps going away and the voices getting more and more silent.

“What are you doing?” A deep voice grumbles behind you and the surprise makes you stumble forward almost falling from your seat.

“Nothing.” You say quickly as you play with the fur on the cape trying to act completely relaxed with the fact he just caught you being nosy.

A low chuckle can be heard erupt from the Prince as he sits next to you shaking the carriage with his size. Even though you are sitting next to the door, his sheer size makes it impossible to not brush against your knees with his. He knocks twice on the door and almost instantly the horses begin to walk moving the carriage. Next, he sits even more relaxed on his side of the carriage, takes off his mask and crosses his arms getting ready to sleep.

Him taking off the mask mere seconds after beginning the travel was not the first thing you were expecting. So you can't help it but to look at his face, especially since he has his eyes closed and can see that you are looking at him. Surrounding his eyes is some kind of grease or black paint that blends up to his eyebrow. Blonde curls, long enough only to be able to tell they are curls, frame his face in contrast to the rest of him.

He is handsome.

Your soon-to-be husband is handsome.

“Is rude to stare.” A brown eye opens and looks at you, making you whip your head to face the front of the carriage.

“Sorry.” You answer quickly. “Was just surprised.”

“Why?” He said closing his eyes again.

“Because you look good… I mean, you look fine, like, I don't know, I thought you had something you wanted to hide, but everything about your face is fine. Like, you are fine. You look good.” You start mumbling without knowing where to look and end up looking out the window. “How much longer until the next stop?”

A chuckle from the Prince makes you look back at him and when you turn your face you come face to face with him, being a lot more close to your face and keeping eye contact with you as feel one of his arms rest over your shoulder.

“You think I look good, Princess?” He said with his face almost touching yours, so close you feel his breath over your lips. His other hand comes to your neck and undoes the clasp on his cape, you stay making eye contact as you feel the fur fall off your shoulder. With a smooth motion, he manages to take the cape away from you, barely moving you. Then, as easy as he got on your face he gets away taking his cape back. He lays back again and pulls the cape over himself as a blanket.

“There are still at least 8 hours until the next stop, you should rest.” He says smirking and goes back to the position he was before.

You turn back to the door and hug yourself trying to keep warm, but you only feel the heat of your embarrassment.

————————————————————————

There is shouting outside of the carriage when you wake up, so many voices but still unable to figure out what they are saying. Simon must have left the carriage before you woke up, and only his cape draped over you remains.

The unmistakable sound of blades being drawn bolts you awake and you open the door stepping outside. All the men that came with the carriage, ready to attack whoever was brave enough to stop the convoy.

“I have already said that you cannot get through the border, they are closed until there are explicit orders from the next in line. The King is dead, and the kingdom is mourning. So get back to wherever the fuck you are coming, and wait. What is so hard to understand?” The voice from someone you don't know says.

“And I, have already said that we are the next in line. So get out of the way, we need to make it to Auntry City before midday and we are going behind.” The King Price argues back. “So unless you want to get hurt, move!”

“If you want to get through, it will be inside of a coffin, Sir.” The guard says.

You can see the blade being drawn over the heads and it makes you gasp, surprising Ghost who whips his head back (covered with the mask again) and you see the shock in his eyes when he sees you.

“Get back inside!” Ghost barks looking at you over his shoulder just for a second before looking back at the front, but you stay put, curiosity for knowing who is on the other side being too tempting. “Princess, get the fuck inside!”

At the mention of your royal title, begins a round of whispers and mumbles. You are finally able to see who the other people are, and you realize they are your late father's guards, positioned at the border of the town where the castle is located to make sure he knew who entered.

You manage to make your way through the wall of men, and just when you are almost through a hand you recognise as the Prince’s, grabs your arm ready to throw you back inside the carriage. But before he can, you make eye contact with who, if you don't remember wrong, is the captain of the guards.

His eyes widen in shock upon seeing you, and he quickly kneels before you, the rest of the guards following shortly. “My most sincerest apologies, your Royal Highness. We didn't know you were travelling with them, I ask in the name of my men for your forgiveness.”

The same face of absolute incredulity is plastered on you and on the men around you. You quickly smile back at the king over your shoulder, almost like trying to say: “Look how much they like me! Look how different they are treating us now! Look how much I just helped you! Look how much they prefer me over you!”

You turn your head back to the captain kneeling before you, still looking down almost afraid to make eye contact with you again. You lay your hand on his shoulder and when he timidly looks up, you give him your most sincere smile. “Everything is forgiven, captain. You were just following orders.”

“Thank you, princess.” He answers fast, surprisingly relieved to have been forgiven. There is a voice of alarm in your head, that makes you remember what Laswell told you about your father being a bad king.

The guard shouldn't have been so scared of you, you remember him. From so many years ago, you would hide behind your mother's skirt when he would come to update your parents on the new visitors. He would always give you a small smile.

So it wouldn't make sense for that man to be scared of the little girl hiding behind his mon, and he should be scared of you now.

The guard picks up your hand for his shoulder and kisses it on the knuckles. He stands to his full height, the size difference making you feel uneasy about his fear of you. “Princess, allow some of my men and I to escort you into town. As an apology. In case you came into trouble of the remain of the travel.”

“There really is no need, Sir.” You say and you can see the guilt behind his eyes. “But I will accept your offer. Should we keep going, then?”

You turn around to look at the King, and for a second, you see something on his expression that you are not able to read, but the moment he realizes you are looking at him, his expression changes. It softens.

“I will get my men ready, your Royal Highness.” The guard says, kneeling quickly before standing again and turning back to his team.

You turn back to the king, walking a couple of steps that separate you. You notice his gaze following you, and you keep eye contact until you are face-to-face with him. You motion him to bend down so you can actually be at the same height, and he obliges, curiosity taking the best of him. You move closer to the side of his head and whisper in his ear smiling: “Aren't you glad that I tagged along, your majesty?”

Before he can answer, you begin to move back to the carriage; taking a quick last glance, you notice Gaz laughing softly just in time to see the King slapping his arm with a cheeky smile on his face.

You sit on the carriage, closing the door and taking a deep breath.

What the fuck just happened?!

Having to act as an actual monarch is not something you are used to, you have been trained to do so, but never really needed to do it. Mainly resorting to being your father's shadow and echo, always present but never in sight.

And the braveness to talk like that to the king? Of course, you talk back to him in the castle, but that's different! In the castle, you can always run to Laswell or Farah, or basically anyone. But here? You are basically alone, with the King John Price, the Prince Simon, the knight Gaz and Soap and the rest of Price's guard. They don't owe you loyalty, they don't owe you anything.

If the King told them, you will be dead in minutes, no second thought.

“You ‘right?” The Prince asks when he sits next to you, again, too late to hear him coming and only noticing him when he is already seated and removing his mask.

“Yeah! I'm peachy.” You answer letting a sight escape your lips.

“Seems like it.” The Prince laughs softly but without pushing more. “We are a little less than an hour away from Auntry City. You may want to undo some knots.”

You frown at his word and follow his gaze, noticing that he is looking at your hair. You raise your hand to reach the top of your head and notice the unflattering way it is sitting. And slowly it downs on you.

“What must have that guard think of the Princess? Coming out of the carriage she is sharing with a man, hair looking a mess, wearing said man cape…” The Prince chastises his tongue shaking his head in a disapproving manner. “What an improper Princess.”

“Oh, shut up!” You say feeling the heat get to your face as you hear the Prince chuckle. “It's obvious I was just sleeping.”

“You sure about that, luv?” He says resting his chin on his hand, index finger extended to hide his smile behind as he raises an eyebrow.

You whip your head around ignoring him, looking into the pockets inside of your own cape, you pick up the comb and start easing it through your hair. Once satisfied, you braid a couple of locks away from your face; as you braid them, you hold them with your lips to keep them from un-braiding themselves.

Until…

You feel a pair of fingertips graze your lips, caressing your top lip slowly.

“I can hold it for you, Princess.” The Prince asks when you turn to look at him. Your jaw goes slack, mostly from the shock but still effective to let go of the braid letting it fall on Simon's hand. “Atta girl.”

If he says anything else after that, only he will know. Because the only thing you are able to hear anymore, is your blood rushing through your ears. Feeling your heartbeat on your throat, and warm simmer down your body to the bottom of your stomach.

Moving your focus to your hair, you braid quickly the rest of the little braids, leaving them on Simon's hand as you go trying to not touch him directly. Once satisfied with the amount of braids, you pick them back up and join them at the back of your head on a braid-like conjuncture, combing one last time the rest of your hair out of the braids.

Looking down, you try to put the comb away, but once again, Simon's hand find its way around your neck. This time, grabbing your jaw to make you look away from you.

He hums as he draws circles on your jaw with his thumb and looks at your hair. “Quite pretty.” He admits and move your hair again to look back at him. “Quite pretty indeed.”

There is a mischievous glint in his eyes that makes you feel trapped like a mouse in front of a cat. The air in the carriage begins to feel heavy, and the carriage itself feels smaller with each passing second.

And almost like it was meant to be, the coachman stops the horses and the second the carriage stops moving, you jump off trying to take in the very much-needed air.

“Damn, lassie, Ghostie here has ye losing yer breath?” Soap asks as he walks up to the carriage and sticks his head inside sending a wink to the Prince. “Cheeky bastard, can't wait for the honeymoon.”

“That’ll do.” The Prince says behind you smiling at Soap.

You huff a breath looking around and that's when you notice the King looking at you and calling you closer. You walk up to him and look at his face, not seeing any of the anger and displeasure you have grown used to.

“Yes, your Majesty?” You ask, more curious than scared for the first time you talk to him.

“The owner of the local inn has heard about you coming and has offered us enough rooms for everyone. Simon and you in different rooms, we don't want any scandals do we?” He asks smiling softly.

“I would very much like my own room, thanks.” You answer ignoring his innuendos.

“Lovely, they are getting ready a feast for everyone. It seems like they are very excited to meet you, that's why we are spending the night here. Anything you want… ask anyone, I'm pretty sure they will be gladly to help.” He says pointing to the inn with his head. “Oh, and Princess… I wanted to remind you, that we are more powerful together than against each other, all right? Keep it in mind.”

He picks up your hand, giving you a quick kiss on your knuckle without breaking eye contact and without another word, makes his way inside the inn.

The first stop of the travel, and you are ready to go back home.

Hi, lovies!! 💗

How are you? I finally figure it out how to add the Keep Reading thingy and the link for the other chapters, I hope it'll be more comfortable now.

I'm finally letting reader interact with Ghostie, let me know you guys opinions.

Thanks for reading! Have a nice weekend!

Tag List: @kristalhi @strawberrygato @ghostlythots @dumybitch

209 notes · View notes

thebucketpail · 11 months

Text

When You Accidentally Kill a Clown pt. 3

Pt.1. Pt.4 Ao3

Woah part 3?? Crazy, enjoy!

Jason could hardly hold back his grin as Barbara hit play for probably the hundredth time. It was child's play for her to get ahold of a video of the Joker's death, and damn was it worth it. The footage was anything but high quality, which was a given considering it was in a random alley. But the Joker was unmistakable as he pulled a scruffy ravenett off the street at gunpoint. Luckily however, the camera was poised at the perfect position to catch the whole affair, in however grainy the imagery.

Only moments after Danny was pulled into the alley, a short struggle ensued, followed up by a bright flash of green light that threw Joker further into the alley. The video ended on a frame of a panicked Danny crouching by the body, checking his pulse.

“I need you to send this to me,” Jason said, his smile creeping every further.

“Already did,” Babs responded with a snort. “I also sent it to Harley, and I was going to send it to B, but I thought I'd let you break the news” Her own cheshire grin split as Jason nodded.

“Anything new on Danny?” he asked, nodding toward the screen.

Barabara’s expression turned to something more teasing, “I’m not here to get you a boyfriend Jason. But I did get you some surface level stuff,” she said, cutting off his slight protest, as she switched screens, pulling up some documents. “Danny Fenton, He’s an Aerospace student at Gotham U, starting this semester. He just moved here from Illinois. He lives in dorm 206B in the Truman building on campus, and he currently has no occupation. There’s not much on his hometown, there’s some kind of blackout I need to get past, but his parents are scientists of some kind, and his sister and father are both documented metas. Overall I don’t think he’s much of a threat, just a kid who got caught in the wrong place.” Jason Hummed in response, reaching for his helmet.

“Thanks so much Babs, you’re a godsend”

Barbara smirked, turning back to her computer, “I know”

Jason slipped out the window.

---------

Jason didn’t often watch the sunrise. Usually he was too tired, or too busy. But today he was so awake he could practically feel the energy buzzing in his bones as he watched the sun rise over the docks of gotham.

He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling since he found Danny hunched over the dead clown. But something in his chest was pulling at the thought of them. An ache of something familiar yet so distantly unknown filled his thoughts. There was something about that person that had lodged itself in Jason’s brain and refused to leave.

Unfortunately, Jason was pulled from these thoughts by the loud crackle of his comm.

“Hood, report to the cave for debrief,” Jason groaned, just because he wasn’t ready to sleep doesn’t mean he wanted to haul himself across all of Gotham to the Cave. He stood slowly, taking his sweet time to reply and savoring the satisfying pops as he stretched.

“Hood, report”

“Yeah, yeah, don't go getting your cape in a twist. I’m coming. Though I don’t see why it's necessary to pull me across the whole city when an email could do.” he grumbled that last part to himself more than anything.

Jason took his time driving through the city, stopping muggings, taking care of stragglers on their way home from late shifts. And if it took him an hour longer than usual to get to the cave, well then that wasn’t his fault. When he finally got there, though, there was no doubt; this definitely could have been an email.

When he arrived B, Stephanie, Tim and Damian were going over various minor things from their patrols, that didn’t really affect him much to be honest, just the routine; drug rings, arms deal busts, and oddly enough; ghost sightings.

“Finally,” he heard Tim mutter, as Jason killed the engine in his bike. “B! He’s here! Can we start now?”

“Start what?”

“B, wants to touch base regarding the Arkham breakout,” Stephanie said, sending him a withering glare, probably for making them wait so long. “I think he’s just being paranoid because Joker’s been unusually quiet.” Jason had to stifle a snort. If he played his cards right, this would be the perfect time to tell about the new lack-of-threat to Gotham.

“Paranoia and caution are not the same thing,” The bat himself growled from his place at the computer. “It’s been a week since he broke out of Arkham, we should have heard from him by now. It’s uncharacteristic of him to not have a scheme cooked up and in motion by now.”

“Father is correct, we should be looking further into finding the Joker,” Damian said, “If any of you have information regarding this case, I suggest you share,’’ he sneered, and if he wasn’t practically three feet tall, it would have been fairly intimidating.

“We're doing the best we can, Damian, if Joker’s up to something we’ll know about it” Tim said.

Up to this point Jason had been watching the conversation, trying to hold back his laughter, but a few chuckles managed to escape and he folded into it. Everyone in the group froze and turned to Jason as he pulled his helmet off, still wracked with giggles.

When he had finally managed to calm himself down, wiping a few stray tears from his eyes, Damian piped up, sounding wary at Jason's sudden outburst.

“What is so funny Todd?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Jason said, fighting back another round of laughter before schooling himself into a more serious disposition. “Joker’s not up to anything, don’t worry.” He said. We watched as his family’s faces went from wary, to confused.

“And how do you know that?” Damian questioned further, bristling.

And this was it. Jason delighted in the way everyone’s faces fell when he said with icy diction,

“Because that motherfucker is dead.”

And everyone exploded.

-----------

By the time he managed to escape the cave (and the incessant questioning) all his earlier energy had been sapped out of him and Jason was ready for a very long nap. He was heading back to his apartment in Park Row when something caught his eye. Or perhaps someone.

“Twice in eight hours? I know you’re not from here but that’s still gotta be some kind of record,” Jason quipped as he tied up the assailant he’d just knocked out.

Danny Fenton stared down at him from his place pressed against the alley wall. His face set in an indignant frown. His ice blue eyes glinting slightly in the ever growing morning light that had finally made itself through Gotham’s thick smog.

“Well it’s not like I’m trying to get attacked,” He ground out, “I just wanted some fucking coffee.”

“At four in the morning?” Hood responded, raising an eyebrow under his helmet.

Danny’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he turned to collect his discarded belongings. When he spoke his voice was softer, “I wasn’t planning on sleeping anytime soon.”

Oh. Jason had forgotten that, even if it was an accident, even if it was the Joker of all people. Killing was a hard thing to deal with, and this must be weighing on Danny. Jason mentally kicked himself for not accessing them for shock. In retrospect all the signs were there, hidden just slightly behind the shaky facade. It was in the way Danny hadn’t touched their food at first. How they were despondent and their eyes kept drifting between empty and piercing, it was how they sat stiff as a board until Jason had mentioned their major. Until Jason had distracted them.

After a long pause that seemed as though it would last forever, Danny sighed.

“I should probably be going now,” He said, pushing past Jason to the entrance of the alley. “Don’t worry, I’ll be more careful this time,” He threw a half hearted grin over his shoulder, disappearing around the corner. Jason couldn’t even get a word in before he was gone.

++++++

Ack! Sorry if Jason is a bit out of character here, I haven’t actually gotten around to reading most (Read: Any) of his canon content yet, and I’m running mostly off Fanon and various character analysis I've read over the last few months.

What are your thoughts? This is only my second ever attempt at writing something to post. I promise I read every comment and they make me so happy to see people interact with my word vomit. Next bit will be from Danny POV. Let’s see what's going on in their head.

Fair warning; I don’t plan on doing tag lists for the future, so this’ll be the only one. If you want to see more I recommend following me (I promise I do other cool things too)

@always-be-a-stranger @dragonfirefeather @thatonegaybitch68 @uraniumwizard @ace-aro-as-shit @rosiea184 @amyheart19 @sadpersonmadeoffruitpunch @dat1angel @tkiesai @idkmrpianoman @crystalqueertea @bianca-hooks123 @blep-23 @stargirl1331 @sjrose1216 @thegatorsgoose @akikkobara @help-i-need-a-cool-username

#dp x dc #danny phantom #dc #dead in main #when you accidentally kill a clown #bucket writes things #dead joker #dont really know what else to tag #jason todd #barbara gordan #batman #red hood #give me your thoughts on this positive and constructive negative

908 notes · View notes

arbiterlexultionis · 9 months

Text

Danny and the Spooks Pt2

This is a continuation of my other post Here

More specifically, this is where I’m dumping my ideas for it that involve crossovers, mostly with DC, as I know that stuff isn’t some peoples cuppa tea, and wanted to make sure it could be viewed and enjoyed by all.

So, I’ve come up with two ways for Danny and the spooks to mix with other fandoms. 1) Danny’s a known entity and (somewhat) trusted ally who is super protective/secretive about the tiny ass town he micromanages and 2) Danny and the ghost issues of Amity are more less unknowns and the hero’s of the verse show up only to be met with a (somewhat) functional crime fighting organization.

I’ll do the first version in this post and the second probably in a different post.

Phantom was one of the founding members of the league, and one of the most mysterious members at that. Although most of them had known about each other and occasionally worked together long before they came together officially 3 years ago to fend of Darkseid and found the league Phatom himself had come out of left field so to speak. Appearing with no warning in his bulky Hazmat suit and barely saying a word for most of the crisis, they didn’t really have any choice but to accept his help regardless of their (Batman’s) skepticism, and that decision to trust him payed out in the end as Phantom, despite being a complete unknown that could stay under the radar at that point, was apparently strong enough to give Supes and Wonder Woman a run for their money. They threw around a lot of theories about the guy, Superman seemed convince he was some type of alien while others thought he was a meta. Batman’s theory of choice was that he was a time traveler form the future with advanced nano technology, using cave paintings and historical records from across the globe that duplicated him as evidence. Aquaman and Dr. Fate think he’s some type of lord of order or God, with a capital G, because there was apparently some strikingly similar being who fought a Chaos deity to try and stop Atlantis from sinking.

But every attempt to actually investigate has ended “inconclusively”, as after Batman finally tracked down which town Phantom watched over he only got a few steps in before he got gently grabbed buy the cape and flew several states away like a misbehaving kitten getting grabbed by the scruff. Flash got the farthest in of anyone, sprinting in and getting about a block in before just appearing in Canada with sticky note attached to his forehead reading “Please stop stalking my grandson. :-) -CW.”

So when they were all in a meeting discussing where to keep the young justice team they were all surprised, to say the least, when Phantom offered to take them in and look after them Inside of Amity. Apparently(supposedly) the main reason he keeps everyone so far away from his town is because no one in the league has the experience and skill set necessary to properly combat his rouges, and gaining the experience and skill would probably include several mind control/body snatching/cloning/imposters/potential world endangering events and that just wouldn’t be worth the risk, especially with all of that resulting in their own rouges getting into contact with his, a recipe for one shitty weekend as he put it. But a little less than a week ago Luther used an intermediary to hire one of phantoms rouges to hunt Superman, which explains the bandage on Superman’s side. So now that the cats out of the bag Phantom want to make the kitty purr and prepare the rest of the heroics community for “the complete and utter nonsensical shenanaganery that he’s stuck dealing with” and The Team seems like a good opportunity for it.

I envision this whole meeting probably being told from Flash’s point of view, as he’s smart and goofy enough for some good humor and exposition but I guess it works for anyone. The Young Justice team wind up in mount justice while the main base of the Spooks, called the Grave or something else suitably on brand, is prepared just long enough to get bored and go rescue Superboy. Then the whole team and some of the justice league step foot into Amity for the first time, and then get a whole PowerPoint presentation explaining the town and its BS and are just Shook when they find out that Phantoms not some meta or alien or time traveling genius inventor but just some dead dude.

The team essentially gets fast tracked through the training for Spooks to make sure there up to snuff and begin patrolling and stuff. At first Superboy just can’t handle working in the R.I.P.D. and then he finds a ghost who whole shtick is “I need to punch shit”, which bridges the gap between the fighting he knows and the negotiations he doesn’t and helps him learn more about diplomacy and chill out, can’t decided if I want the ghost in question to be a boxer, sumo wrestler or really over the top westler.

As practice living a double life and going under cover they all have to get jobs and be Normal, but they all suck at being Normal. It just straight up doesn’t cross Superboy mind that normal people can’t use motorcycles to beat up convenience store robbers. At first he goes for the car, stops and goes wait a second that’s not something normal people can do and I’m Normal, so he picks up a Harley like “Yep, this is completely average amount of strength.”

Wally’s working in the kitchen of a restaurant and keeps accidentally using his super speed. Not enough to glow or spark, but more than enough for people to freak out. But he’s doing the work of 4 people which means management need 3 less people to pay so they just let him do his thing.

Robins such a gremlin that people think he’s straight up a child ghost very poorly disguising himself as a human child, using rafters and vents as short cuts with the justification “it’s not weird if they don’t see me do it” which makes it seem like he’s using invisibility, intangibility and teleportation to get around. He’s so quite when he walks that people come to the conclusion that he’s forgetting to walk and just floating places and/or trying to look like he’s walking like a Perfectly Normal Human Child but not actually making contact with the ground on accident.

All the locals see all this stuff and just go “Kids are kids, ghost, human or ecto-contaminated to hell and back.” And all make a group effort to hide them from the Fentons and GIW. The team, which is actively trying to investigate both groups, becomes convinced that the people they work for are in cahoots with the GIW and hiding their activities, but every time they switch jobs it takes like, a week for the GIW to get to them again(for them to go “oh poor children” and try and keep them safe).

It doesn’t help that the first friend they made in town is a scrawny little black haired blue eyed twink that they saw beat a mothafucka with another mothafucka in an alleyway on the first day of class, constantly pulls off what should be nearly impossible acts and disappears without a trace, further twisting their idea of what is within normal human limits. (They saw Danny fighting Skulker in human form at 3am in the Nasty burger parking lot because he was to lazy to shift forms, and they use the fact that the kid that can nonchalantly throw hands with a nine foot tall T9000 knock off as an excuse to get away with stuff. “Mr. I-fight-death-bots-with-my-bare-hands is the weakling at the bottom of the food chain, so me being able to do this it Normal. Probably.”)

Just a few ideas I had for this, will probably post more later. Drink some water and chill, peace out.

#danny fenton #danny phantom #danny phantom au #dp au #fic prompt #story prompt #writing prompt #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp #dpxdc #dp crossover #full hazmat au

333 notes · View notes

fantastic-nonsense · 3 months

Note

Wasn’t it Alfred who’d made Damian Robin in Battle for the Cowl? Dick must have agreed after the fact, but Alfred was the one who set it in motion.

Nominally yes, in the sense that Alfred is the person who first put the cape in Damian's hands:

"You can't keep me here." "I'll do no such thing. But understand that you've been injured. Severely so." ......."What the hell are you pulling here, Al?" "It's time to earn your keep. If you're up for it." "So long as I'm not wasting any more time in here, whatever." -Battle for the Cowl #3

However, the reality is "not really." Three things to note about this:

One: no one in the story who actually knows what Damian's gotten up to while Dick was tracking down Tim and fighting Jason actually treats Damian as Robin. For the purposes of the narrative and everyone in it, Tim is still Robin, as Squire points out:

"I'm sure Nightwing could use a hand finding Robin. This way, then." -Battle for the Cowl #3

We don't really see anyone else's reaction to Damian wearing the cape in BftC. Even when Damian saves Tim while wearing the symbol, Tim has no actual reaction besides a single exclamation of Damian's name, and he seems more bewildered that Damian is there at all than he is about Damian wearing the Robin tunic. But the people we do see? Don't treat him as Robin. They treat him as an ally who happens to be wearing the Robin tunic for convenience.

Two: within the bounds of BftC, Damian is explicitly framed as being "Dick's responsibility" with Bruce gone. After Jason shoots Damian, Dick has the same conversation with Alfred that Bruce often did whenever one of his Robins was hurt, framed in a way that made it obvious where things were heading:

"Damian...this child...I could have gotten him killed tonight. I have a responsibility to him now. I let him down, Alfred." "Bruce also said the same of you...and Master Timothy, many times over the years." "And of Jason Todd." "Him as well." -Battle for the Cowl #2

Dick has already implicitly accepted Damian as his Robin at this point. And though Dick and Tim have not explicitly discussed it (as we see via their argument in Red Robin #1), it was also fairly clear that Tim would not be Dick's Robin based on how Dick thought of Tim by that point (as his brother, as his equal, as someone who should not be taking orders from him full-time). Tim had already spent time as the Robin to Dick's Batman back in Prodigal, and both boys had come a long way since then. Once Dick decided to take up the cowl at the end of BftC #2, it was inevitable that Damian would be his Robin rather than Tim (for a whole host of reasons I won't get into here). Alfred just hastened that inevitability.

Three: simply wearing the cape does not make you Robin. You are Robin if and only if two things happen: you have been explicitly accepted by Batman as his partner and Dick Grayson has given his blessing. You are a potential Robin. You are an ally wearing a Robin costume. But you are not Robin until those things happen.

Tim was not Robin in A Lonely Place of Dying even though he stole the costume with Alfred's help to save Bruce and Dick. Tim did not become Robin until after both Bruce and Dick had accepted him as such and he went through a training period (he was known as "Little Bat" until then, btw). The same is true of Damian, who wore the Robin tunic at least three times prior to actually becoming Robin (Bruce briefly took him out while wearing it in Batman and Son and he famously wore it during the events of Resurrection of Ra's al Ghul); he was no more Robin then than he was in BtfC.

The costume isn't what makes you Robin. Batman saying you're Robin and Dick giving the blessing of his parents' legacy to you makes you Robin (which. I will freely admit that's a loaded, complicated topic given the history of how the Robin mantle has been passed down over the years. but it generally holds true). Damian properly becoming Robin after BftC was clearly Dick's choice; Alfred can't "make" anyone Robin if Batman doesn't agree.

The core conceptual problem with Battle for the Cowl (well. there's about 5000 problems with BtfC. but you know what I mean) is that it tries to deal with about fifty different things at once, most of which all ordinarily would have gotten their own dedicated space across multiple books or tie-in comics to deal with. Instead, all of these things are smushed into a single massive threeshot event comic with awful characterization and a near-incomprehensible chain of events. In a perfect world, we would have gotten the same kind of build-up and transition between Tim and Damian that we did in the 90s when Tim became Robin after Jason's death. Unfortunately that's not what we got, so we're left to fill in the gaps ourselves.

But textually, Alfred did not make Damian Robin. Alfred handed an ally to the cause a Robin tunic during a crisis specifically for the purpose of rescuing Robin. After that crisis was over, Batman chose to make that same ally his Robin for reasons entirely unrelated to his wearing the symbol during that specific crisis. Dick chose Damian to be his Robin, and that choice should not be looked over just because removing it conveniently lifts some of the hurt feelings and messiness of that transition off of Dick's shoulders.

Dick handled his own legacy, as he should have. And while he did not handle it with as much communication and grace as he should have or probably would have liked to, it was his mantle and legacy to handle at the end of the day. For once, he had complete agency over choosing a successor to his heroing legacy (and his parents' legacy), not Bruce or Alfred or anyone who self-appointed themselves as a successor, and we should acknowledge and respect that.

He didn't pick Damian because Alfred unilaterally gave him a battlefield promotion; he picked Damian because he thought Tim was grown and independent enough to thrive without taking his orders every day and believed Damian needed his direct oversight and the growth opportunity being Robin would provide more than Tim did. Allow Dick the dignity of his choices instead of acting like he had no input or say in the matter of who his Robin was going to be.

#sidenote for my own peace of mind I just pretend that Dick gave Steph his blessing off-panel #everyone else got his on-panel blessing at some point except her so I just. fill in the gaps for her.#dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #damian wayne #tim drake #dick grayson meta #damian wayne meta #tim drake meta #(sort of)#long post #asks #queue

124 notes · View notes

rayassecretlife · 1 year

Text

One last dance

Pairing: Aged up!Neteyam Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

THIS IS PART 3 TO TEACH ME. PLEASE READ PART 1 AND PART 2 BEFORE READING THIS.

Summary: it’s been a month since your fight with Neteyam, and he is to become Olo’Eyktan in only a few days. You thought you could handle him being with another woman, but it becomes clear to you that was just not true.

Warning(s): Mature language, kissing, Alcohol, slight!mature themes, mentions of blood

“Y/N, that’s too tight!” Tuk whines as you braid her hair, trying her hardest to pull away from you without her mother noticing. You shush her, rubbing the spot on her head as you loosened the braid, a sigh of relief leaving her mouth. “That’s better”

“So dramatic, TukTuk” You laugh, ears flickering at the footsteps that approached you both. You look up to the woman, watching her smile. “Her hair is so long and pretty. Gets it from her mom, huh?” You were expecting a response, but when the mothers careful hand laid on yours, your eyes strained. Something was wrong.

“I need to talk to you. It is about Neteyam” Your ears fall at her soft words, and she gently taps Tuk to leave the two of you alone. She quickly scurries out of the empty cave, her braids only being half done. “The ceremony is in two days, Y/N. You two-“

“There‘s nothing to talk about” you speak up causing her to sigh, placing another hand over yours on your lap. “He is marrying a princess. She is a much better choice then me” That was not true. Sure, the girl Jake had assigned him to was a princess of another clan, but you were the only girl Neteyam loved. Every day he spent with the girl was just another day away from you.

“Even if he is not courting you, he needs you there, Y/N” She looks at you with a soft expression, her free hand brushing your hair from your face. “You are his best friend and he could really use you right now” she tries to explain, trying her hardest not to let the conversation fall. You knew she was right, but you also knew if you saw him then you’d fall ten times harder then before.

“That is what his mate is for-“

“They are not mates. Sweet child, why must you make everything so hard?” You let out a small laugh as she rubs your back. It was clear now more then ever that she wanted you with her son and not some princess. The whole sully family loved you dearly, and all bet on you and Neteyam’s future. “The celebration tonight, I have something for you to wear” She stands to her feet, pulling you up with her.

You follow her through the cave till she reached a chest, a huge smile on her face as she pulled it out and held it to you. “Neytiri… oh my god” You take the white clothing set, admiring its beautiful jewels on the chest piece. “This is beautiful” the white cloth was obviously a milky white, slightly see through on some parts. The loincloth was a normal white one with jewels and little chains that fell onto your thigh. It had a beautiful white cape that ran behind you, connecting to the chains on your chest piece.

The chest piece was your favorite part. It was a beautiful all chained and bejeweled top, the jewels that covered your chest making a snowflake shape. “I know you are not talking, but it would mean so much if you were there, Y/N” You sigh as she walks closer to you, pushing a small piece of your hair behind your ear. “If you will let me, I would love to do your hair, too”

Hours later, you still sat with Neytiri and Tuk inside their cave while Neytiri did your hair. You admit, at first you were hesitant but she truly was your second mother, and if she wanted to do this for you then you were going to let her. Things between you and Neteyam weren’t great, but the love you have for his family is unmatched.

“Okay! Done!” Neytiri exclaims, helping you to stand to your feet. The white loincloth set hugged your body perfectly, and it’s cape made it all the more beautiful. “Tuk, how does she look?” You turn slowly, and Tuk’s eyes widen with a loud gasp, squealing as she clapped her hands.

“Like a princess!” She giggles, running to you with her arms open for a hug. “I wanna look like you when I’m older, Y/N” her words make you pout, picking her up so she could sit on your hip. She played with your goddess braids, and Neytiri couldn’t help but smile watching you two.

“You are so beautiful, Y/N” She fixes your hair, and the sound of the deep voice behind her made all three of you turn your heads.

“Tuk! Your friends are looking for…” He trails off, stopping at the sight in front of him. “Y/N…Babygirl, you look so beautiful” You smile so hard your cheeks hurt, letting him take your hand so you could step down. He pulls you into a firm hug and you let out a sigh, his hands rubbing your back gently.

“Thank you, Jake” For some reason, today had been so emotional. Jake and Neytiri, the people you’d call your second mother and father, were clear with the looks they gave you. They knew they would lose you after tonight, they would lose you in their lives as much as you were before. You were no longer their little girl who they’d yell at everytime you and neteyam would run in and out of the cave, or the girl who would come over every Friday night for dinner.

You’d have to go on with your own life now, without your best friend by your side. Neytiri hated it, she wanted you to be with her son and so did everyone else but they couldn’t beg you to stay. They could never hold you back and they knew that.

“Neteyam is one unlucky boy” The voice laughs from behind Jake and you look around him, a small smile forming on your face at the face walking toward you. “This is not goodbye, okay?” She pulls you into a hug and you can only sigh, falling into her embrace.

“I love you guys so much, I just want Neteyam to be happy” Jake and Neytiri look at each other once those words left your mouth, and Kiri just rubbed your back to sooth you. It was so clear they all mourned you in the way they had lost a loved one, knowing Neteyam would never be happy without the comfort of you with him. You couldn’t even imagine the amount of talks Jake had to have with his oldest son just to get him to meet the princess. “I have to go before he gets here, Kir”

The walk out of the cave was the most gut wrenching, sick, and heartbreaking feeling you could have ever imagined. Of course you’d see them still, but it would be so different. There was no more you and neteyam once he was mated, and there was nothing you could do about that. He was to mate before eywa after tonight’s celebration.

The night went on like any other one for you, another day mostly by your self unless you were with your parents or one of the sully’s. “You look so beautiful tonight, Y/N” One of the healers greeted you with a smile, handing you a drink they had just poured. Even while the singers voices echoed through the caves, your mind still felt quiet, and you found yourself back in your cave to distance yourself for when Neteyam was to show. The princess he was assigned to was beautiful, much more fit to be Tsahìk then you. She grew up training, and she had that elegant, classy vibe to her character that the people needed.

She would be perfect for the clan.

“Tonight, we take our time in celebrating the success of my oldest grandchild, Neteyam and his beautiful future Tsahìk!” You heard the cheers outside, and Neteyam’s accent was soon to come forward as you walked toward the doorway to your cave. You could see everything and everyone, but your eyes were only on him. His hair was freshly braided, and his freckles were glowing within the midnight sky. The girl next to him was linked by hands to him, a smile on her face as she watched him like he was the only boy on pandora.

Your heart ached horribly but you kept a smile, convincing yourself for only a second you were happy for him. Your truth never set you free, only trapping you within your mind even worse then before. You hated the way she looked at him, and how her hands touched his body like he was hers. You remember braiding his hair every once in awhile, having to stop multiple times because he was so tender headed. Did she braid his hair? Stop it, Y/N. You shake your thoughts and blink a few times, lifting your hand to tip the cup against your mouth, letting the dangerous liquid run along your tongue.

“Never knew you were a drinker” Your ears flicker at the voice and you turn your head quickly, the boy putting his hands up softly with a small laugh. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. It’s Y/N, right?” The boy leans against the wall, not daring to step closer to you—the girl that was so well known for her bow skills. “My name is Ahi. You probably don’t remember me, but we were in the same training group a year ago? You were my partner” You nod your head and your face softens slowly, back leaning against the wall once you were comfortable.

“Ahi, I remember. The boy who tamed his Ikran on the first try” He nodded his head with a chuckle, a smile tugging at his lips. “How are you? You’ve grown since last year” He shrugs, walking towards you hesitantly making sure you had been comfortable. “Calm down. There’s no bows here” You tease and set your cup on the surface in front of you, turning to face the boy.

“I’ve been good. Officially a hunter now, a warrior sometimes if needed” You smile at his response, matching his already existing one. “You look beautiful tonight, Y/N” a nervous laugh leaves your lips as you lower your head, hiding your heated cheeks from his eyes which he definitely caught. “I guess I was wondering if… maybe you’d wanna dance?” Your eyes relocate to his, and your eyebrows are now raised. Dance? No boy has ever asked you to dance with them except for Neteyam. Maybe it was because they all knew you were Neteyam’s.

You smile at his held out hand, bringing yours to meet his. “Of cour-“

“Y/N? Are you in…” Really! Every time. You quickly remove your hand from Ahi’s as the boys eyes fall between you, his eyes returning to you with a slight glare. “I need to talk to you” You try to retaliate but the youngest sully boy is already pulling you across the room, turning your body so Ahi wouldn’t see you speak. “What are you doing! You said you’d be there for Neteyam today and your in here hiding?” He whispers, scolding your actions.

“Neteyam isn’t my responsibility-“

“Well he’s been asking about you all night so the least you could do is show up, Y/N. Tonight’s already hard enough for him-“

“And that’s my fault?” The brother sighs, rubbing his temples with the shake of his head. You put your hand to him, cutting off his next set of words that were going to leave his mouth. “You want me out there? Fine. I’ll go” Your heals turn and you walk to the Ahi with a smile, grabbing his hand.

“Y/N-“

“Yes, I’d love a dance” the sully boy watches desperately as you pull Ahi to the people, Your hips moved to the sound echoing around you, Ahi’s hands pulling you closer as you made eye contact. “See? Your a good dancer” He remarks and you shake your head with a laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I know I’ve never really spoke to you that much, but I’m glad I did tonight” Your cheeks flush and you suddenly forget where you are, trying your hardest to take your mind off the fact Neteyam had his arms wrapped around another girl somewhere around here.

But then he saw you.

Neteyam couldn’t help but watch you dance with the boy, his eyes traveling down your body along with watching his hands against your waist. His body was fuming, even with his supposed mate in front of him, he couldn’t watch you be touched by someone else—especially when you looked as good as you did tonight.

Neteyam wanted to see you, but he sure did see you now. You looked so beautiful, your long hair swaying along with your hips while the white cape cloth trailed behind your body. That boy was far too touchy for his liking, and it made his skin get hot. “Neteyam, my mate, you are distracted” The princess’s voice pulls him back into reality, eyes setting back on hers instead of you. He only puts on a small smile, shaking his head at her words. The two’s foreheads slowly lay against one another’s, and Neteyam finds himself questioning why he was even here. What point was there to be Olo’Eyktan if you weren’t his Tsahìk? It didn’t feel right, he didn’t feel right. “It’s crazy, in only a few hours we will be officially mated”

“Yeah…” His voice is barely above a whisper, and now your eyes fall on him, heart tearing in two at the sight before you. They were so close… one lift of a head and they’d be kissing. You didn’t have time to focus on that before Ahi turned your face back to him, and you couldn’t help but feel this anger in your body that mixed so confusingly with sadness.

“Your so beautiful, Y/N” He whispers, finger hooked under your chin to lift it towards him. You felt the water fill your eyes slowly as you lean up, memories flooding your mind while you shut your eyes. Neteyam’s eyes were back on you now, and it was like the princess didn’t exist, her voice completely blocked from his mind and ears as he watched you slowly break his heart over again.

Your lips brushed the boys and a shaky breath leaves your mouth, hesitation stopping your while your tears burned the inside of your eyes. “I…” The boy notices your whimpering voice and lays a hand on your cheek, cupping your face.

“It hurts, Teyam” You cry, fingers digging into his arm as he carried you into one of the healers tents. Your cut was gushing down his body, running all the way to the ground.

“I know, I know” he shushes you, laying you back on the table before going to grab the things he needed to clean you off. Your cries only grew louder, even with your hand clasped over your mouth. “Hold on to me, okay Strong girl?” He leans closer to you so you can grab onto him, his eyes still strained on what he was doing to your leg. You knew what was coming, and that’s exactly why you sank your teeth into your finger to suffocate your screams. “There you go, almost done” his free hand holds your face, thumb rubbing your cheek bone to sooth you.

“N-no, wait!” You whimper, nails sinking into his arm. His ears fell at your tears and he held the rag against your cut, lifting your chin so you’d look at him. “It hurts, Nete. I can’t-“

“You can. Just look at me, okay?” You nod your head, letting him thumb away your tears while you kept your eyes on his. “Y/N” You look at him but his lips don’t move, your name repeating louder and louder around you but it wasn’t him calling it.

“Y/N, are you okay?” The voice becomes clear once you blink, and the boys voice brings you back into the sad reality you lived. You realized your tears had fallen down your cheeks now, and with one look over, your eyes met Neteyam’s. It wasn’t real? No. You needed that to be real. “Hey-“

“I can’t do this. I… I’m sorry” Neteyam doesn’t miss how your tears rushed down your cheeks, his hands releasing Raja as he watched you run away from the boy and through everyone else.

“I’ll be right back, Raja” He quickly tells the princess, ignoring her voice as he quickly made his way around the people. He followed your every move until you were away from the people, but just as you were about to enter the woods, his fingers wrapped around your wrist. “Y/N, Hold on” Your head turned at his soft accent, and he was now able to see the tears against your cheeks much better now, releasing your wrist from his grasp. “Are you o-“

“Just go back to your party, okay? I’m fine, just tired that’s all” You fake a smile to try and put on the act but he’s not even listening as his hand moves up to cup your face, thumb wiping your tears clean from your cheeks. “Neteyam, please don’t-“

“Now, we will officially celebrate the new Olo’Eyktan and Tsahìk to be! Please, my grandson and his beautiful soon to be mate, make your way up!” His ears fall at the sound of his grandmothers voice, and before he could say anything else, you leaned up to him, pressing a small kiss to his cheek.

“Go be with your mate” You sniffle, giving him a small close mouthed smile before you turn on your feet, ignoring his calls for you as you ran into the woods away from the crowds. He couldn’t move. His body seemed like it was frozen, almost forgetting about his duty to his people at the sight of you, but he didn’t care. His mate wasn’t out there, she was right here—and he wanted so badly just to follow you into the dark woods.

So he did.

Your legs fell weak once you reached the tree of souls, laying a hand on its bark. The purple lights were enough to enhance the sight of your many tears you shed on your way there, the woodsprites lowering towards you. “Eywa, please just take these memories away from me. I can’t even talk to someone!” You wipe your eyes, fingertips gliding against it’s fibers.

Your mind was still a little hazy from the drinks you had, and your back leaned against the tree, body lowering till you sat on the ground. Hot tears still stung your eyes, and your lips were practically quivering as your pull your knees to your chest, head lowering to encase against your body. “I know it’s my fault, I’m just so tired of going in circles” You could feel the the woodsprites land on you, which only made your tears flow more. Was this were you were meant to be?

The small sounds of scrunching against the ground made you gasp, head lifting from your lap to look for the source of the noise. It wasn’t hard to find of course, seeing as he was already kneeling down to you.

“I thought I told you to go back to your party” You let out a laugh through your tears that was clearly fake, wiping your eyes. His gaze soften and he shakes his head, searching your eyes for some sort of answer you couldn’t give. “You followed me” The realization made more tears fill your eyes and he only nods, laying his hand against the side of your head.

“Always” That same shaking breath escaped your throat again, this time a small whimper coming with it while you let your body fall into his grasp, arms wrapping around his neck almost instantly once his touched your body. “It’s okay, I’m sorry” His hand is lost in your hair, holding your head against him as his other hand rubbed your back. His heart was beating fast once again just at the contact between you two, but this wasn’t the time. “Please don’t cry, Syulang”

“I’m so sorry, Neteyam. I wanted to be there, I really did I just-“

“Hey, hey” He soothes, pulling away to cup your face in his hands. He wanted to kiss you—to make your tears go away, but you were clearly begging him to hold you, just to make sure this was real. “Don’t worry about that, okay? I don’t give a shit about that party anyway” Thumbing away your tears, he leans his forehead against yours and sighs, your shaky breathing filling the silence between you. “Y/N, listen”

“I’m so sorry for ruining our friendship. I never wanted to hurt you or even put you in that position, I just—my body—I couldn’t stay away from you” His admitting words make your spine shiver, your hands finding their way to his face. “I still love you, Y/N. I told you before and I’m telling you now—that won’t go away”

“I just…I feel selfish, Neteyam. I tried so hard to reject you before but when I saw you with her I couldn’t-“ Before you could finish your rambling sentence, he lifted your chin a small bit to connect your lips gently, slightly hesitant that you’d pull away. There it was. That tingling feeling your body did when he was around, and your heart practically started beating outside your chest. You could taste the salt of your tears that fell against your lips, his hand moving up to brush your hair from your face after he pulled away.

“You are not selfish. I get why you didn’t want to pursue me… I probably wouldn’t either-“

“Neteyam” You shush, hands cupping his large face. “Sure, courting the future Olo’Eyktan is scary, but that is not why I denied you” His eyebrows slightly knit together as you sigh, letting go of his face. “Look at me. I’m not a leader, barely even a warrior. I can’t lead a clan, Tey. I can’t love you because I can’t be what you need. I can’t give you what Raja could” Your words stung your chest like a thousand bees, but it was all the truth. You loved Neteyam, no matter how much you tried to deny it, but you just weren’t good enough.

“You think I want to be with Raja? You think I want someone picture perfect for the clan who acts as if they can’t live once in awhile? Y/N, I fell in love with who you are. I fell in love with your mind, your personality, your aura, everything” He holds your face firmly, making sure your eyes stayed directly on his. “You are the only girl who is right for me. The only girl who can give me what I need” His fingertips stroke through your hair, his own eyes now glossed with tears.

“Nete” You smile through your tears, allowing him to gently pull you off him while he stood to his feet, holding his hand out to help you up. You hesitantly take it, standing in front of him while he holds your hands in his own, your head tilted back to look directly to his eyes. “Are you sure-“

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life” He steps closer, cupping one side of your face again. You watched as a tear slipped from his eye, rolling down his cheek while he let out a small chuckle, closing his eyes as your fingertips touched his face to wipe the liquid. “Even if we don’t end up together, at least give me one last dance”

Your eyes soften and you nod your head, watching him open his to you with hesitation. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and his hands almost instantly find your waist, holding you with care but so much fear this would be the last time, leaning his head down to lay his forehead against your own. You could still hear the music from the celebration, very faint but definitely there to the point you could match the movements of its song, body relaxing against your best friends.

Not a word was shared between the two of you while you danced, just embracing each other for the possibly last time. You had tears still running hot down your cheeks and so did he, his arms shaking around your waist to pull you close against his chest. He didn’t know what to think, he just knew he needed to hold you for as long as he could and right now that meant holding back from the heat that filled his body.

Your body was on fire against his, and your cheeks became hot at his contact, nails gently scratching against the back of his neck before letting your fingers get lost in his braids. Your cursed yourself, knowing there was no way you could leave tonight without him by your side. You were terrified to say the least, but you needed him. You needed him and he so clearly needed you. You sigh, removing your head from between his neck to pull your eyes to his own. “I love you, Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan. I’m sorry it took me so long to admit it” His ears perked at your words and his pupils grew big at your smile, taking your chin between his fingers to pull your lips to his.

The kiss was much more passionate then before, his arms pulling you closer even though you were at the limit, and your arms wrapping around his neck to hold him against you. A small gasp left your lips as he lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. You wanted to speak but couldn’t, the heat between both of you becoming unbearable as the kiss deepened.

“Y/N, if we don’t stop I-“ He pulls away from your lips breathless, his nose bumping your own while your hot breath mixed together as you ran your thumb across his bottom lip. You already knew what he was going to say, but you didn’t care. Your body didn’t care anymore.

“I know, I know. I love you, Nete” You breath, thumb pressing his lip as you lay your forehead against his. “Please just don’t stop”

Um hi guys… been awhile🫠. So a lot of people said just fluff and some said fluff and smut so I’m making another part to this where it will have smut! I wanted to give you guys the choice of reading fluff without having to cross with Smut. Please enjoy this while I get to work on the smut! Thank you all for being so patient with me and supporting my writings 💙.

Please keep in mind I will be tagging everyone who asked for a part 3, has been following this mini series or asked to be tagged!

Taglist: @elegantzippercashshoe @amazingnerd @ilovebluesliens @midnightsnakesstuff @inluvwithneteyam @live4lix @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @muthmergya @liluvtojineteyam @littlethingsinlife @jyoungmom @taleiak @arminsgfloll @ellieswifefr @venusssthings @immortalbloodhuntress @neteyamforlife @jjkclub @neytirishottie @yeosxxx @fanboyluvr @bakugounuggets

#avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar x you #avatar james cameron #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x y/n #neteyam x reader #neteyam fluff #neteyam angst #atwow neteyam #neteyam gif #neteyam suli x reader

628 notes · View notes

just-late-roman-republic-things · 7 months

Text

Filmmakers are really sleeping on the potential of portraying Caesar and Cleopatra's affair as a black comedy:

14-year-old King Ptolemy accidentally makes 52-year-old Julius Caesar cry by handing him a severed head as a "Welcome to Egypt!" present

Caesar is now in the incredibly awkward position of trying to get a teenage king to kiss and make up with his sister/wife instead of warring against her

Oh yeah Caesar you just walked into a civil war and now you're surrounded by 500,000+ Egyptians who want you dead WHOOPS

Said sister/wife pops out of laundry bag and immediately wins Caesar's favor by being A) a responsible adult, b) literally Cleopatra, and C) the only person in this country that isn't trying to kill him or hand him severed heads

She's still trying to murder her brother-husband though let's not get too wild lol

Anyway Caesar and Cleopatra sleep together and her 14-year-old brother-husband finds out the next morning and hits the fucking roof

Congratulations Caesar you found the one way to make this situation so much worse

I don't want to know how many complexes that poor child must have

Ptolemy sics his army on the Romans but claims to know nothing about it. Caesar is not fooled but humors him because 1) the kid is 14 and 2) Caesar is still trying to get Ptolemy and Cleopatra to be a normal non-murdery couple. Even though he's still sleeping with Cleo. Yeah.

Cleo and Ptolemy react about as well as you would if you were told to marry your sibling

Ptolemy sends his army after Caesar and now the 4,000 Romans have to hold out against the entire Egyptian army and 500,000+ furious Alexandrians

Did I mention Caesar is also asking Cleo's family for money

Yeah he needs it to pay for the other civil war he's procrastinating on

His enemies still have an army. Caesar's just ignoring them.

Caesar is still trying not to strangle a small child, and won't let Ptolemy or Cleo kill each other in front of him, so the three of them just. Live together for a while. Along with Cleo's 15-year-old sister Arsinoe, who is also trying to kill Caesar and Cleopatra, and her other brother Ptolemy, who's 11 and just trying not to die.

Dinner that night is so horribly awkward that Arsinoe and her tutor yeet outta there and take over the Egyptian army

Caesar now has to Go To Work™️(War) every day and try not to get killed by a teenage girl and a schoolteacher

Said teenage girl is shockingly good at fighting and in one battle Caesar gets beat so bad he has to jump off a boat and swim to shore and loses his Favorite Red Cape

Caesar comes home that night looking like a wet rat and has to explain why the Library of Alexandria is on fire and stop Cleopatra and Ptolemy from trying to shank each other again

Forget the movie. I want a whole sitcom dedicated to the sheer absurdity of this situation.

Various bullcrap ensues, Caesar gets rescued by the son of Mithridates (THAT Mithridates) of all people, Cleo's brother-husband turns up dead and Arsinoe is captured, and Caesar takes a much-needed vacation with Cleo. For several months. Then strolls back into Italy to discover Rome is on fire, people thought he was dead, and oh yeah there's still a ROMAN CIVIL WAR going on

Oops

#this is why i love history #absolute Most Caesar Moment of all time #cleopatra is the only person who comes out of this looking even slightly good #don't worry she still kills arsinoe and ptolemy number two later tho <3 #cleopatra #julius caesar #ancient rome #roman history #siege of alexandria #just roman memes #jlrrt speaks #jlrrt essays

390 notes · View notes

luvfy0dor · 2 months

Note

Omg can I request like a teen reader reaction to fyodors death and how it would play out if they randomly saw dazai in the street after the whole thing?

“You're Not Gone, You Can't Be Gone, No ♡⁠˖” Dad!Fyodor w/ Child!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings; MASSIVE BSD spoilers, death, 5 stages of grief, 1 mention of kidnapping (doesn't happen), cursing

Description; You feel as though you'll never recover from your father's death, especially since he had recently promised that he would be home soon via the vampires. Seeing his rival and murderer in the streets afterwards doesn't help either, even if you've started to come to terms.

A/n; I genuinely don't believe he's dead, there is absolutely NO way. There is nothing that could convince me he's actually dead, not a corpse, not a tombstone, idc, he's alive and Nikolais ability saved him, source: trust me bro

When you had first received word about your father dying from Nikolai, you felt like you were going to die along with him. Your heart had been cracking up with anxiety when he seemingly took his sweet time to return home, and it shattered when you heard. Everything was going as planned up until the very end, when you waited day in and day out for your dad, and he never came back and never would. You were in denial for a while, but it slowly sank in when Nikolai had taken you to live with him. He wasn't around constantly, usually out figuring out what to do with himself, but he watched over you. You loved Nikolai, he was like an uncle to you, but he just wasn't Fyodor. You almost hated yourself for the way your voice became laced with venom and loathing any time he tried to do anything remotely fatherly for you, but you couldn't help it for the first two months. It was too painful to evoke memories of your dad, so you just angrily pushed any reminders away. That being said, you refused to get rid of any of his belongings. His ushanka lived on your nightstand and his cape on a hook on your door, and if you had rejected religion before, you started to embrace it to try and bring yourself closer to him, even in the afterlife.

After experiencing the denial, anger, bargaining and depression, the acceptance came. The thought of him still hurt you, but you were able to go on with your day without feeling paralyzed by your devastation. You didn't mind Nikolai doing fatherly things for you anymore. You didn't decline his offers to play card games or chess anymore. Chess was harder to come around to than card games were, but nonetheless you did it. It honestly felt victorious. You were able to look at the urn that held the ashes from Fyodors arm without wanting to throw up and instead smiled and spoke mindlessly to it about your day, even if you felt a little silly doing it. It helped you cope with the loss of the most important figure in your life, so you didn't see a reason to stop.

A couple months after his death, you spoke to the urn while you got ready for the day. You wanted to go to a bookstore a couple blocks away, so you decided to get up and walk there. You grabbed your belt and shoved it through the loopholes of your pants roughly. "My favorite author put out a new book recently and I wanna go get it today. Maybe afterwards I'll go to the cafe nearby, thoughts?" You asked the urn, receiving a deafening silence. "Great, I'll be sure to follow your advice." You huffed. After putting on and tying your shoes, you grabbed the tote bag that was hanging of your door handle and slung it over your shoulder, exiting your bedroom. You walked through the hall and out the front door having found the house vacant of Nikolai. The sun was shining today, a nice contrast to the previous days rainy weather. Your feet hitting the pavement underneath you made a quiet tapping sound as you walked along the sidewalk towards the book shop. You listened to music through your headphones for the duration of your walk and took in the sights of the city, the tall buildings towering over the streets and casting dark shadows into the alleyways between them.

You quickly arrived at the book store and took off your headphones to hear the cashier better when you checked out. The nice lady handed you your change and sent you on your way. Walking out, you peered into your bag with excitement before you hear a young man yell out. "Dazai- where'd you go? Don't tell me you're in the river again!" You almost froze in your tracks when you heard that. Dazai as in your father's rival, Dazai? It couldn't be. You peered through the people weaving in between eachother and heard another voice reply. "I'm right here Atsushi, jeez, do you trust me that little?" He sounded unserious. Your eyes landed on them, the tall man with overgrown brown hair immediately caught your attention and you could feel fear flood your spirit. Your first thought was the question of whether or not he would realize you were Fyodors child and attempt to kill you, or make you his new rival. Him and the white haired boy he had with him turned towards you and started walking down the sidewalk. Dazai noticed your staring and raised an eyebrow, his slender, bandaged hands shoved in his pockets.

"Are you alright? You've got a thousand yard stare on your face there, kid." He says. You bit your lip and felt your whole body tense as you shook your head 'no'. "You...uhm, I know you." You mutter, backing up a little bit. "Atsushi? Or me? I don't think I recall ever meeting you. Atsushi, was this one of your little orphan friends?" He turns to Atsushi. "You killed my-" Your breath hitches when you realize you were going to make yourself vulnerable to your most current fear of rivalry with this man, but you can't stop your words flowed out of your mouth like a waterfall. "You killed my father." Your voice shook and you held your bag of more books than you had originally came for close to your chest. Dazais raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

You swallowed hard and parted your lips, the words caught in your throat for a second. "Fyodor." His eyes widen again. "Huh...I never took him for a family man. Well, I can't really give you a truthful 'im sorry' because I'm not, but I hope you can overcome your grief. It sucks to lose people you love." He says, his tone seemingly sympathetic, but that only made you angrier. "You didn't have to kill him, though! You could have done anything else- amputate an arm, kidnap him, anything that would have left him alive!" You say, your eyes tearing up. He only signed and stated at you, adjusting the hem of his vest. "What's done is done, it's not like I can resurrect him. One day you'll understand that it needed to be done." He walked away and you couldn't help but feel the anger bubble up inside you. You weren't gonna let that slide. You clenched your fists around the bags handles and swung it up, hitting him right in the back of the head angrily. He let out a quiet "oomph" and rubbed the back of his head. You didn't turn around to see the rest of his reaction, instead bolting away.

You heard your heart beat in your ears, but you couldn't be bothered to stop until you got home. You unlocked the door and swung it open before pulling it shut with just as much force. Your energy was all directly fueled by your anger towards Dazai, you genuinely had no idea how he could be so inconsiderate towards a teenager who had lost their parental figure. You huffed and collapsed on the couch, the adrenaline and energy seemingly fading away instantaneously. You discarded your books on the small table and sniffled, curling your limbs into your body. "It's fine, he's just an ignorant, awful, dick." You mumble, wiping your stray tears away. "All that matters is that I know he didn't deserve to die.." you mumbled and felt your exhaustion catch up to you as you drifted into a sleep filled with dreams of reuniting with your father.

121 notes · View notes

bugeater77 · 7 months

Text

Nandermo things u probably forgot about

not in any order(i wrote them whenever i remembered them)

(scroll down for images, the ones pictured are highlighted) - Nandor holding guillermo up to make him feel like he is flying multiple times (quite possibly nandermo hug)

During the simon the devious episode where nandor once again takes him flying, they hold hands (last image)

Nandor telling guillermo to stay by his side until he falls asleep in the curse episode, then going to grab his hand but stopping (5th Image)

"you'll probably have to take it in the waist and out the shoulders" - guillermo knowing Nandor's exact measurements

Nandor getting so frustrated while talking about the other vampires wanting to kill Guillermo that he kicks and destroys a box

"take a picture of me having fun and then send it to guillermo so he knows how much I do not miss him" - nandor

Guillermo DROPPING EVERYTHING ON THE GROUND when he hears about nandor's engagement

"it's not gonna last." -Guillermo SHIT EATING GRIN after realizing that gale and nandor are not gonna be together

Guillermo PUTTING HIS ARM AROUND NANDOR AFTER THE GAIL EPISODE he thought he had a chance :( (4th image)

Sean calling Guillermo Nandor's boyfriend and lazlo not questioning it not one bit

pulling guillermo back way before he was supposed to after trying to use him as bait for the sire

this was also while he was shaking his money maker if i might add

like the second he did it...

entire scene where Nandor tries to convince guillermo to come back from celeste

ENTIRE HOMOEROTIC FIGHT SCENE

might i mention that nandor obviously thinks guillermo fighting him is hot??!

Guillermo gripping nandor plushie after he leaves (3rd image)

Guillermo has silver lined seatbelts in his car, meaning he was planning to rescue nandor for a while

"traveling the whole world with my nand- master" - guillermo

ermmmmmm glitter portrait ?!!

Nandor wishing to be human the SAME AMOUNT that guillermo wishes to be a vampire, seeing him as an equal

"my furry little friend" - nandor

Marwa, who likes EVERYTHING nandor likes, kissing guillermo all over his face

The wwdits cast interview about nandermo, which to me feels like a deep extreme very canonization

Nandor's pure jealousy after finding out about guillermo becoming a vampire

Him waiting for SO LONG outside of panera bread

Going to guillermos house to look at his baby pictures

talking about his goth phase with his mom...

"if i'm lying, kill me now" - nandor

Nandor being so upset and holding guillermos body after thinking he was dead

Nandor grasping guillermos sweater

speaking out against the baron to keep guillermo safe, which if you watch season 1 again you'll see that he is TERRIFIED of the baron

so excited to talk about guillermo killing vampires.... wtf is wrong with u nandor but we're not gonna get into that

"I will fix"

PUTS ON GUILLERMOS CAPE

he is so excited to kill derek, not to turn guillermo human, but literally just to kill derek out of jealousy

Nandor's face while guillermo is talking about his love life(second image)

Guillermos face after Nandor turns Gail into a vampire (first image)

guillermo hammering the door as hard as possible to wake nandor for his super slumber.

duh nandor knowing every part of Guillermos thank you card

The entire last episode actually?

theres absolutely more but this is all i remember just from my brain

(new additions) In another cast interview, Kayvan Novak says “I think he’s coming to the realization that his type is Harvey Guillén flavored.” about nandors type

Nandor makes guillermo spin around in his wedding cape

Nandor says he got the idea of having a wedding ever since him and guillermo "watched the wedding planner on that rainy sunday together"

ok listen closely, the wedding planner is about a woman planning a wedding falling in love with the groom causing him to leave the bride

he did NOT CARE WHO HE WAS MARRYING. BUT HE KNEW HE WANTED GUILLERMO TO PLAN IT FROM DAY 1

213 notes · View notes

ichorai · 1 year

Text

i was just a kid ; marc spector.

track one of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; marc spector x vigilante!gn!reader

synopsis ; khonshu wanted you dead. marc just wanted you.

words ; 6.6k

themes ; action, mild angst/fluff, vigilante au, thief au

warnings / includes ; blood/injury, cursing, mentions of human trafficking/sexual assault but not at all graphic, marc is basically chasing after reader for half the fic, we're traveling the world in this fic baby !!! khonshu being Annoying, reader doesn't know marc has DID and thinks he's crazy, a steven cameo !! and one (1) mention of spider-man and daredevil <3

main masterlist.

NEW DELHI, INDIA.

The street market was crowded, bustling with chatty tourists, loud salesmen, and traveling vendors. The air was heavy with the sweet, saccharine smell of fresh mangoes, intertwined with the faintest trace of turmeric, ginger and garam masala from other stalls you hurriedly passed by. You would’ve given anything to stop and try some of the food, if not for the terrifying white-suited fucker hunting you down.

The bleeding cut on your cheek he’d given you from when he threw his crescent-shaped boomerang in your direction throbbed. You’d barely been able to duck away in time. At least here, in the busy street, he couldn’t risk hurting anyone else by striking you long-range.

At least, you hoped so. You weren’t entirely sure how far this bastard was willing to go to get you. Sure, you’d made a lot of enemies in the past, but, to your recollection, you’d never met any moon-caped supers keen on taking your life before.

You were quick to duck through the tight-knit throng, panic setting in when you realized the market was thinning away—you were near the end of the street, and you no longer had the advantage of cover on your side.

With agile steps, you sprinted into an alleyway, glancing up the side of an apartment.

Then, you began to climb. You scaled the small grooves in the bricks, expertly balancing your weight just right so you wouldn’t fall. You’d done this a million times before, with much smoother surfaces to climb—after all, that was the bare minimum required of a thief.

You hauled yourself onto the rooftop, laying low so he wouldn’t be able to spot you from ground level.

Only—he wasn’t on ground level.

A shadow loomed over you just as you crouched by the rusted air conditioning unit, and you had but a millisecond to roll out of the way before his foot came crashing clean through the metal.

Well, fuck me, he can fly, you wryly thought.

“Glide!” the man behind the mask gruffed as he grabbed your arm and shoved you against the crumpled AC unit, the searing hot metal digging painfully into your skin. “I glide, I don’t fly!”

“I said that out loud?” you panted with a hoarse chuckle, before quickly twisting and kicking his knee, brandishing a sharp dagger from the utility belt loosely secured around your hips. Up close, his suit appeared to be fashioned from a multitude of bandages, not unlike the cheap mummies from old nineties halloween movies. “Sorry, would it be weird for me to ask why a toilet paper cosplayer is trying to murder me?”

The man offered you no response, only diving forward and landing a good punch to one side of your jaw, which made your vision go blurry with disorientation for a moment.

There was no way you could best him with strength—you needed to get away from him.

With quick, nimble fingers, you pulled two smoke bombs from your belt and threw them onto the ground. Large plumes of ashen white immediately ate up the space between you, and he was left blinded for a couple of seconds. You tugged a grenade out a moment later, pulling out the pin with your teeth before tossing it in his general direction and throwing yourself off the opposite side of the building, where you’d spotted a plastic-woven tarp over one of the stalls by the edge of the market.

You’d crashed straight through their booth, fruits and drinks spilling all over the street’s asphalt. The vendors started cussing at you in a language that was foreign to your ears, but you knew they were saying foul things nonetheless. With a groan, you pushed yourself up, ignoring the searing pain that ran down your leg and began running back into the crowd.

The explosion on the building had blown Marc back several meters, and he cursed beneath his breath as he pushed himself back up. Just as he was about to set back off to track you down, Khonshu’s bellowing voice made him halt in his motions.

“Let them go,” the God rumbled. There was an undertone of mild disappointment that laid stagnant beneath his voice, as if he’d just lost a game rather than a target. “We have more pressing matters at hand. Ammit’s followers are stealing more souls in Cuba.”

Marc’s brow furrowed. “Let them go? You want me to go to Cuba? That’s halfway across the world! I can finish the job, they can’t have gotten too far—”

“We have more pressing matters,” he repeated himself, this time with an edge to his voice. A headache pulsed angrily through Marc’s temple.

“Why’d you want them dead so bad? This target—that person, were they a follower of Ammit? Huh?”

Much to his frustration, Khonshu ignored him completely, merely brushing past his avatar. “Go to Havana,” the bird-skull rumbled over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you there.”

And with that, he disappeared.

ASTANA, KAZAKHSTAN.

A final stream of smoke fell from Elena’s lips as she pulled the cigarette away, dropping it into the floor to stub with her boot. She fixed you with a neutral expression as you made your way to her, though the unmistakable affection in her molten brown eyes gave her away.

“Took you long enough,” she said, glancing at the large black cloak you were wearing. Her demeanor gradually shifted into one of a more somber variety. “Verdict’s been decided. The court decided not to charge—all those police that beat my friends to death… they’re walking away free of consequence. The government’s gone to shit. Everything is more expensive now—riots are breaking out over fuel prices, which means more people are getting killed. Nobody is willing to help anymore.”

You nodded grimly. “What can I do?”

There was a dark glimmer to her eyes as she squared her jaw. “You’re going to help me burn down government buildings. I don’t know how many, but… as many as it takes for them to change.”

A hint of a grin graced your lips as you regarded your past-lover with a nostalgic kind of fondness. “It’s the first time I see you in years and you’re already throwing me headfirst into war.”

She offered you a shrug and a wry smile. “Don’t kid yourself. You live for this kind of shit.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” you hummed distantly. “Where do we start?”

It was pandemonium.

Everybody was yelling—the protestors, the police, the civilians watching from the sides, the sparse firemen as they tried to put out the massive, roaring flames that were greedily swallowing the government building in its entirety. You had to admit, you were rather proud of your handiwork—absentmindedly wondering if Elena would be happy with it, as well.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, a foreign hand tightly seized around your wrist and began to drag you back away from the crowd. Your gaze wildly swiveled around in confusion to the man yanking you along, noting his heavy-set furrowed brows and his frustrated scowl. With as much strength as you could muster, you dug your heels into the ground and halted his motion, pulling against him with all your might. He didn’t relent, only staring you down with dark eyes that held the warbling reflections of the fire you set behind you.

“Who the fuck are you?!” you barked, starting to get more frantic as you fruitlessly attempted to get him to let go of you.

And when he spoke, it finally dawned on you.

Well, fuck me. It’s that bitch that chased me down in New Delhi. Wonder why he isn’t wearing his super suit… probably not to attract attention like last time. The news was all over him.

“You’re just getting more people killed,” he husked, clearly talking about the fire you’d caused, before brandishing a dark karambit knife, one that you swore gave you a cut just by looking at it. “No wonder he wants you dead.”

Fear wove down your spinal column when the blade poked your lower stomach in warning. “I’m sending a message,” you growled in reply, lips curled over your teeth in a snarl as you bristled. “And what about you? You’re gonna fix the problem by killing me? I don’t even know you! Some hero you are—those people protesting out there? They’re better than you will ever be.”

For a moment, his pupils darted back to the rioting crowd, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, and you used the short-lived distraction to your advantage. You expertly kicked the knife out of his hand and landed a quick blow square in the center of his face, feeling his nose break beneath your knuckles.

Not wanting to push your luck—you remembered how fast he was during your last encounter—you gave him one final shove, sending him sprawling into a trash can with a groan and a muffled curse.

By the time he forced himself back onto his feet a second later, you’d already disappeared into the shadows.

Fuck. Khonshu was gonna kill him.

PODGORICA, MONTENEGRO.

Marc still wasn’t sure why Khonshu wanted you dead so badly. Then again, he wasn’t sure about anything when it came to Khonshu.

But he knew one thing for certain—if Marc truly wanted you dead, then you would’ve been six feet under weeks ago. Which meant… he wasn’t actively trying to kill you because he didn’t actually want you dead. All the others that he’d killed for Khonshu felt like they’d deserved it—rapists, abusers, pedophiles… and though Marc didn’t know you very well, he knew you weren’t anything like the people he’d killed before.

Marc didn’t know what he was doing.

Jaw clenched, he pulled the cap lower down his face, shoving his fists into the pockets of his jeans. He followed not too far behind you, silent as a wraith, watching as you merrily strode down the streets of Podgorica.

Finally, when you stopped by a little coffee truck to order an iced latte, Marc stepped forward to stand beside you.

For the first minute, you idly tapped away on your phone, smiling down at the screen briefly before pocketing the device. You glanced at him, thinking nothing of the person beside you, assuming they were just another civilian—

Then you froze.

You knew that face.

After all, you’d broken that very same nose less than a week ago. Strange, it looked just fine now.

Immediately, you hunkered down into a defensive position, backing away from him with quick steps. Then, you ran, sprinting away so quickly that Marc could’ve sworn a trail of dust kicked up beneath your feet.

The man in the coffee truck incredulously yelled out after you, followed by a string of what Marc could only assume was a creative litany of Montenegrin profanity.

Dropping a few shillings onto the truck’s counter, Marc grabbed your coffee and ran after you, shocked at how far you’d managed to get in such a short amount of time.

There was no denying that you were a fast runner—but as the old tale went, the quick hare would always get overly confident. You slowed down to a moderate jog when you glanced behind you, Marc nowhere in sight. With a relieved sigh, you turned the corner and slumped against a building, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.

Damn, you’d kill for that iced coffee right about now.

As if on cue, Marc rounded the corner, catching you by surprise. You were just ready to turn tail and run away again, but his hand shot out and held onto your wrist, not unlike he did in Astana.

You spewed out a myriad of curses, ranging from calling him an ‘insufferable cucumber-dicked motherfucker’ to ‘smooth-brained, butt-faced swine’, wildly trying to get him to let go of you. If you weren’t violently bucking against him with all the grace of a panicked mare, he would’ve laughed at the creativity of your insults.

“Stop, I just want to talk!” exclaimed Marc, dodging when you pushed yourself forward to try and wrap your hands around his throat.

“Last two times I saw you, you tried to kill me!” you breathlessly spat. “Sorry if I don’t quite trust you now!”

“I’m unarmed,” he gritted out, stepping back slightly to allow you to scan your gaze over him. Though you didn’t want to admit it, you knew that if Marc really wanted to kill you, you would’ve been dead long ago. “I just want to ask you a couple things. And look—I brought your coffee!”

A low hiss fell from your lips. “I’m not answering jack shit.”

With that, you lunged forward and shoved him hard—so hard that he stumbled into the jagged brick wall behind him with an oomf. The iced latte sloshed right out of its cup and spilled all over his chest. His head struck painfully against the stone and his vision went blurry for a moment, expression faltering.

You stepped away, watching him with cautious, narrowed eyes.

After a long, pregnant pause, the man blinked in a dazed fashion, seeming confused.

“What? Where am I? What’s going on?” he said, accent suddenly… British. He fixed you with a genuinely miffed gaze, appearing slightly frightened at your withering glower.

You didn’t stay to answer his question.

As you were turning on your heel to run away, you faintly heard him mutter to himself, “Where the bloody hell am I?”

Crazy bastard.

VALENCIA, SPAIN.

Your knuckles were split. Blood dribbled down your fist, a mixture of yours and the man whose face you were caving in.

One of your hands was bunched into the collar of his shirt, holding him down as you rained punches on him. The sickening sound of his bones giving way with your strikes didn’t deter you, and you only snarled and hit him again as he blubbered out prayers in Spanish. Blood-flecked spittle dripped from his busted lips.

“Who are you praying to?” you hissed, releasing his collar in favor of wrapping your hand over his throat, squeezing tight. The dull green of his eyes flashed with panic, legs flailing weakly. “The gods will not listen to the likes of you—I’ll make sure of it.”

A strangled wail erupted from him.

And just as you were about to land another punch, you found yourself being shoved away from the man, and promptly lifted off the floor with the scruff of your shirt collar, shoving you against a wall. You began kicking and twisting blindly, cursing furiously when you saw the man you were beating up scurry onto his feet and haggardly sprint away.

Your struggling was of no avail, and you weren’t at all surprised to see the same person that’s been trying to track you down for months now.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, brows heavily furrowed and dark eyes stormy with anger. “You were about to kill that guy!”

“He deserves it,” you bit out, glaring back at him with just as much intensity. “The fucker’s been stalking a friend of mine and sexually assaulted her daughter.”

There was a beat of silence. Marc’s cross expression seemed to drain away, but he still bore a stern face as he slowly let you go. You slid down the wall and got back onto your feet with a wince.

“Why have you been following me?” you huffed, dusting off your pants. “You think I don’t know that if you really wanted to kill me, I would be dead by now?”

Marc squared his jaw and leveled his gaze on you. “Someone… close to me wants you dead. I want to know why first—he won’t tell me.”

“Sounds like you shouldn't be all that close to him, then,” you snorted derisively.

“Not for a lack of trying,” the man dryly replied.

With a scoff, you stepped forward and wiped your bloody knuckles onto his shirt, leaving a damp trail of darkening crimson. “There’s way too many reasons a person would want me dead,” you whispered, one hand patting his chest. The other trailed down, down, down…

To the high-rise potted plant beside you. You grabbed a fistful of dirt.

“See, he’s not exactly what you’d call a person—”

Before Marc could finish his sentence, you chucked the dirt straight into his face. He inhaled some of the soil and doubled over, pounding on his chest as he coughed it out. With a growl, he frustratedly swiped the remaining flecks of dirt out of his eyes, blearily looking back up. And, to none of his surprise but much of his dismay, you were already gone.

OSLO, NORWAY.

“Why aren’t they dead yet, Marc?” grumbled Khonshu in that grating, gravely tone of his. Even though the God had no eyes, Marc could still feel his stare burning straight through him.

With a frown, Marc was quick to respond, “Because you haven’t told me why yet.”

“You’ve never needed a reason before—always blindly following my orders,” the bird-skull crooned. “What makes them so different?”

There was a bitter taste to the back of Marc’s throat. What made you so different?

“Because I don’t know if they deserve it, alright?” he retorted, crossing his arms to glare up at the tall figure. “You can’t just expect me to kill everyone who mildly inconveniences you.”

Harrumphing, Khonshu snapped back, “They are naught but an inconvenience—they are a disruption to the very balance of nature. Y/N has taken justice into their own hands, and that is a very dangerous thing for a simple mortal to do.”

Marc cast his gaze away in frustration, pacing back and forth. “But that’s exactly what you make me do.”

“Yes, because you are my avatar,” deadpanned the God. “And Y/N is not. Though, they might as well be because you are being a fool.”

He could feel one of his eyes twitch. There wasn’t ever a conversation Marc could remember where Khonshu didn’t insult him.

“They’re doing what they think is right,” defended Marc. “They’re not hurting people just for the sake of it.”

“That is not for them to decide!” bellowed the God, which made him step back just a bit. “They have done terrible, unimaginable things in the past—though mistakes some may be—and they will continue to make them. Take a look for yourself.” With that, Khonshu swept his arm out, gesturing to the large bank across the street, large windows giving him a clear view of what was going on inside.

His heart dropped down to his stomach when he saw you.

You were wearing a mask that covered the entirety of your features, except for your eyes and your mouth. The rest of your body was shrouded with simple, dark clothing, suitable for running.

And, most notably, you had a gun in your hand, pointing straight at the trembling woman working behind the counter. Your mouth was moving and you gestured with lax, calm movements, despite the explicit terror written across the woman’s face.

Marc’s brow furrowed. Damn it.

He watched as you snatched the bag of money the woman slowly slid over, and hightailed out of the bank with the gun still gripped tightly in your hand. You ran the opposite way, before disappearing down another block. Glancing over at Khonshu, only to see that he was nowhere in sight, Marc huffed out a sigh and began sprinting after you.

One downside of Oslo was that their buildings weren’t exactly the easiest to climb—which meant that you had to stick to the ground and trust your speed.

Marc wasn’t as fast as you without his suit, that was for certain. But with his suit—he could glide.

And so that’s how the white-caped figure dropped straight down in front of you out of seemingly nowhere, which elicited a shriek of surprise from you, nearly dropping the bag out of shock. You had pulled your mask off long ago, shoving it into the knapsack shrugged over your shoulders, along with the gun.

This clearly wasn’t your first time doing this.

“You,” was what you incredulously breathed out, eyes wide. “You must be obsessed with me or something.”

Not in the mood to play around, Marc growled out, “Why are you doing this? Give the money back. It’s not yours.”

“Who said it was for me?” you countered, upper lip curled in contempt. You tilted your head at him, eyeing his suit with interest, before returning back to your scathing disposition. “Not that it’s any of your business, but this money’s for the small orphanage a couple miles from here. They’re barely getting by with the money the government gives them. I have a kid there I know.”

With bated breath, Marc willed the suit away, leaving him in a dark sweatshirt and a pair of woolen pants. He eyed you suspiciously, still not too sure if he should trust you.

Sensing this, you rolled your eyes and unzipped your bag. “If you don’t believe me—check my gun. It’s blank.” You fished out the small weapon and handed it over to him with the end pointed towards you so he wouldn’t think you were going to shoot him. “No bullets.”

Marc didn’t need to check it—by now he knew you were telling the truth. But he looked into the chamber anyway, finding it void of any ammunition.

“Can I go now? We both know you’re not going to kill me. The cops will be looking,” you said, voice a bit more gentle than before. He noticed that the anger on your face had melted away, leaving only urgency and another tumultuous emotion that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

When he offered you no response, finally relenting, you nodded once to him, a glimmer of gratitude behind your irises. And with that, you began running again, effortlessly disappearing into the shadows.

“Fool,” thundered a rumbling growl from somewhere above him. Marc looked up, but the bird-skulled God was nowhere to be found.

COLUMBUS, OHIO.

Damn. Nothing hit harder than classic, greasy, American cheeseburgers with a side of curly fries and a milkshake. You shifted eagerly on the sticky red leather of the booths, shooting the waitress who’d handed you your food a flirtatious smirk and a ten dollar bill, which she took with an equally salacious wink.

You grinned down at your food before taking the first bite into the burger, a muffled noise of content falling from your throat.

“Am I interrupting something?” said a frustratingly familiar voice, the man sliding into the seat across from you. “It sounds like you were just about to have the greatest sex of your life—with a cheeseburger.”

You pointedly glared at him, though it lacked any true heat. After about a dozen deliberately slow chews, you finally swallowed down the food. Marc looked like he wanted to say something else, but you merely held up a finger, slurping on the paper straw of your milkshake. He pursed his lips with a mildly aggrieved look.

Finally, you tilted your head at him.

“Is there something you want from me?” you asked him casually, reaching to the end of the table to grab a napkin and wipe at the corner of your lips. “Because I’m not in the drug business anymore, if that’s what you’re looking for. Or is it something else, hm?”

It seemed that Marc hadn’t completely thought this through. Sure, he’d planned out what he roughly wanted to say to you, but now that you were right in front of him, he found his tongue running dry. He fumbled for words, fists clenching and unclenching by his knees.

“I don’t want to kill you. Or hurt you at all, for that matter.”

You scoffed, remembering the instances in which he’d hurt you plenty.

“I just… I want to know your side of the story. I want to know why you do what you do,” he said, a bit quieter.

For a moment, Marc thought you’d just tell him to piss off. But there was a gradual shift to your features, going from obvious irritation to gentle curiosity.

“Alright. I’ll cut you a deal,” you said, popping a curly fry into your mouth. “I tell you about my tragic backstory, and you tell me all about this… thing that’s been wanting to kill me. And before I start—I’m gonna need your name. I can’t keep mentally cataloging you as the toilet paper man.”

And for the first time since you met him all those months ago—Marc laughed. It was deep and gratingly genuine, coming from the very bottom of his chest.

“Well, first of all, it’s not toilet paper. It’s the ceremonial armor of Khonshu’s temple. And second, it’s Marc. Marc Spector.”

“Ceremonial armor of whose what now?” you balked.

A hint of a smile graced the corner of Marc’s lips. “Khonshu—Egyptian God of the moon. I’m his avatar. He’s the one that wanted me to kill you. He called you a disruption to nature—said that you were wrongfully taking justice into your own hands.” As he spoke, the smile began to wane away, and he regarded you in a more serious light. “I want to know why he thinks that.”

You stared down at your plate of fries, stunned. An Egyptian God wanted you dead? You knew you pissed people off, but Gods too?

“And if you don’t like what you hear?” you quietly asked, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Will you drag me out of the diner and strangle me to death?”

Though you could tell he didn’t like saying it, Marc’s face was set in stone when he leveled with you. “I’ll give you a head’s start.”

Another beat of silence. You picked up another fry and popped it into your mouth. The plate slid across the table as you nudged it towards him.

“Alright, Marc. Settle in, have some fries, order a milkshake—it’s a long story.”

And you told him everything. You told him about your childhood—rumbling stomachs, nimble thieving hands, falling off of buildings when running away from cops. You told him about your teenage years—pulling off heists, brokering deals with gangs, breaking nearly every bone in your body being reckless. You told him about your early adult years—falling in love with Elena, getting more comfortable as a vigilante, as you liked to call yourself, meeting other superheroes and helping out on occasion. Marc seemed to recognize Spider-Man and Daredevil’s names when you mentioned them in passing, his eyebrows arching up closer to his hairline.

You told him that you now spend your days traveling around the globe helping people.

By the time you were done spilling your entire life story, your fries and burger were cleanly polished off.

Marc was silent for a long time, as if unsure what to say.

“I was in love once, too,” he said in a tentative manner, gaze trained on the table. “Her name was Layla.”

“Oh, yeah?” you curiously said, sipping on the last frothy remnants of your milkshake at the bottom of the glass. “And how’d that work out for you?”

There was a sad glint to his eyes. “Not so good. We’re divorced now.” He cleared his throat before you could press him about it. “What happened with you and Elena?”

It was now your turn to stare out the window in a despondent manner. “Same as you. Except we were never married. My lifestyle was… too much for her.”

Marc nodded in understanding. “Yeah, me too.”

The two of you stared at the glossy table in silence.

“You still in love with her?”

You lifted your gaze to meet his. “I love her, yeah—I always will. I’m just not in love with her anymore.”

The man across from you hummed. There was a newfound understanding between you two—unspoken, but the both of you could feel it.

“Do you still love Layla?”

A ghost of a smile graced his features, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. “Not in the same way I used to. But I do.”

With a final slurp of your straw, your drink glass was emptied. “Seems like we’re a lot more similar than first meets the eye, huh?”

Marc fixed you with a loose, awkward smile. Without another word, he pulled the bill of his cap lower down his face, and slid out of the booth. It seemed that he wasn’t going to be strangling you tonight.

You didn’t look back when he walked out of the diner, the bell hooked by the doortop tolling with his departure.

YEKATERINBURG, RUSSIA.

The bird skull was saying something. His bony beak was moving. You could feel the vibrations of his thundering voice beneath your feet. And yet—you had no fucking clue what he was talking about.

You blinked up at the God with wide eyes.

“Could you repeat that?” you winced out, having not picked up a single word Khonshu had said in the past three minutes. The God grumbled, and somehow glared at you despite having no eyes within his bony skull. Beside you, Marc let out a muffled snort.

“You insolent buffoon,” the bony figure snarled. “Have you not been listening?”

Despite the bristling God in front of you, you found the entire situation to be amusing. “Sorry, it’s just… your head’s really big. It’s kinda distracting. Just paraphrase yourself—I don’t need all the terms and conditions.”

Marc’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, but he immediately sobered up when Khonshu rounded his pointed beak to him, back straightening.

“This is a gravely serious matter—!”

“You know what else is serious?” you snapped, pulling your thick woolen coat closer to your quivering body. “Catching hypothermia! Did you really have to pick Russia of all places? We couldn’t have met on a warm beach in the Caribbeans, or something?”

If Khonshu had eyelids, you were sure they would’ve been twitching with repressed agitation by now.

A deep baritone of a sigh fell from the lanky God. He leaned his weight against his crescent-tipped staff, as if willing his own patience to hold steadfast.

“I said—” he started again, watching you cautiously, “—that I will be letting go of your past sins. But only because my avatar is so keen on you, and because you show a consistent effort to rid the world of evil. However, if you slip up so much as once, I will personally see that to an unkind descent into the afterlife. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal!” you harrumphed, tucking your frigid nose into the collar of your fur coat. “And I did those things to people who deserved it—which is exactly the same as what you do, you bony hypocrite! Can we go inside now?”

The God grumbled something unintelligible, though you suspected it had something to do with your impertinence, and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“You’ll get used to him,” assured Marc, placing a hand on your back to lead you back inside. “He doesn’t get any better but—you’ll get used to it.”

“That’s reassuring,” you dryly responded, teeth beginning to chatter. As soon as the two of you started to walk back to the small little city hotel, you elbowed his side with a playful grin. “So… you’re keen on me, huh?”

Marc gave you an unimpressed look. Snowflakes danced with the wind and landed in his neatly-combed curls. “Khonshu had to believe that I liked you—the last thing he’d want is a sloppy, grieving avatar.”

“Mmh, I don’t know…” you said, tapping your finger against your chin in thought. “He’d probably like that, considering he’s one manipulative son of a bitch. Maybe he just secretly likes me and wants to keep me around.”

“Yeah,” snorted Marc. He halted in his tracks, forcing down a smile. “That, or I blackmailed him.”

Your eyes widened, frost clinging to your lashes and brows. “You blackmailed an Egyptian God?”

“Let’s just say that he’s had a sticky romance with the Egyptian Goddess of love—ironically, she’s one of the few beings that he’s genuinely terrified of. I threatened to get in contact with her avatar if he didn’t absolve you.”

You kicked at a small build-up of snow by the sidewalk, an excited gleam to your irises. “Crazy how even the Gods have petty dating drama to gossip about,” you commented, turning to him. His nose was tinted a faint shade of red from the cold, bits of white frost freckling his hair and his clothes. “Thanks for not killing me, by the way,” you added as an afterthought, fixing him with a warm smile.

“Just keep out of trouble,” he gently reminded, mirroring your soft grin. The two of you were now standing in front of your dingy little motel—and Marc apparently had something to attend to halfway across the world in Cuba.

So this was goodbye.

For now, at least.

Without thinking, you leaned forward to press your cold lips against the warmth of his cheek, the tip of your nose grazing his cheekbone as you laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks,” you whispered when you pulled away slightly, breath misting into an opaque fog. Marc was regarding you with an expression that bordered on fondness, which was certainly a new look that you found yourself craving for more. “I haven’t really properly talked to anybody in ages so… this was nice. Goodbye, Marc.”

With that, you turned on your heel and headed into the hotel, grateful for the blast of warmth from the overhead heater, though you could still feel Marc’s burning stare bore holes into your back, even as you turned the corner and disappeared from his sight.

ADDIS ABABA, ETHIOPIA.

Blood, everywhere.

Gunshots in the distance.

Snarling men rounding the corner—human traffickers.

Your dagger glinting beneath the hot Ethiopian sun.

A man screaming as you sliced his throat.

Gurgling.

Red on your hands. On your clothes. On your shoes.

Two successive punches—one to your stomach, and the other to your face.

Pain blooming beneath your skin.

A fist around your throat.

Squeezing.

Choking.

Dark spots dancing about your vision.

Your nails clawing into their eyes.

Air.

Gasping for breath.

Wheezing.

You desperately parried away another assailant’s knife.

A song of steel against steel.

More gunshots flying every which way.

You dove behind large metal crates.

Sand in your shoes.

Copper on your tongue.

Crashing. Yelling. Cursing.

Your fingers flexing around the hilt of your dagger.

Bated breath.

You looked around the crate.

Marc fucking Spector.

A ghost of a smile on your lips.

Your name being called out—surprise in his tone.

“Fancy seeing you here!” you shouted.

Marc’s fist curled into one of the traffickers’ collars.

“It’s been a while!” came his mildly amused reply.

A grunt. A punch. A groan of pain.

His white cape fluttered with the wind.

“You down for a burger or something later?”

You spoke calmly, as if you weren’t currently strangling someone with a long power cord.

The man fell limp in your hold.

“Sure—I could go for a burger,” he called out,

Blood trickled down your nose and grazed your lip.

You wiped it away with the back of your hand.

The last of the traffickers was struck down with Marc’s crescent boomerang.

A breath of relief.

Drenched in blood (most of which was not yours), you made your way to Marc.

“You clean up nice,” he joked.

A roll of your eyes.

“Oh, shucks, Marc,” you simpered with a mischievous grin, dragging a bloody hand down his face once he retracted his mask.

He grimaced in disgust, but didn’t push you away.

A laugh fell from your throat, hoarse and echoing.

You looped your aching, bleeding arms with his.

“Let’s go get that burger.”

LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND.

“Ow—ugh, Marc, could you go any faster?” you barked through the dirty cloth wedged between your teeth, glaring up at him with watering eyes. You’d endured pain far worse than this, sure, but Marc was taking twice as long stitching you up than when you’d do it yourself. Though, admittedly, whenever you had to patch yourself up, it was a rather shoddy job and often left a much larger, gnarled scar than it would’ve, had you properly taken care of it.

The man above you shook his head, dark curls hanging loosely over his forehead. “Stop moving and maybe it’ll hurt less,” he replied, the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he worked on your stitches. “You know, just because we work together now and I heal quickly doesn’t mean you do, too.”

With a grimace, you tore the cloth from your mouth, chucking it somewhere across the small motel room to freely speak to him. “It was just a mistake,” you replied, nearly doubling over with a strained groan when he punctured the skin of your abdomen with a small needle, where the deep gash resided, one last time. “I timed myself wrong. Happens sometimes.”

Marc let his eyes roam over your exposed skin, brows divoting ever so slightly upon seeing the multiple other scars littering your body. They were memories of your past, and you weren’t ashamed of them.

“Doesn’t look like it only happens sometimes,” he murmured, tying off his sutures and cleaning off the last bits of flaking, dried blood on your stomach before binding the open wound with thin bandages.

“You worried about me?”

Marc didn’t spare you a response. He busied himself by putting away the medkit and tossing the discarded, bloodied clothes into the bathroom sink. When he came back to sit on the bed beside you, you had gingerly moved positions so that you were propped up against the creaking bed’s headboard.

“How are you feeling?”

“Shitty,” you whispered. “England fucking stinks.”

Marc chuckled, a small smile curling his lips upwards, though you noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The two of you sat in silence for a while.

“Thanks for stitching me up,” you told him.

“Thanks for not dying on me,” he replied. His hand sought yours and your fingers laced with his. “I know we’ve only been working together for a month by now, but I’m starting to really like you.”

With one last painful shift, you moved so that your faces were only inches away. You paused when your lips were just a hairsbreadth from his, giving him time to yank you away if need be.

But he didn’t.

His lips met yours with a tender sort of sadness, pouring months of frustration and anger into the embrace. A warm hand came up to cradle the back of your head, angling you closer, wary of your newly-stitched wound.

Forehead resting against his, you gently pulled away, finding solace in the fact that he chased after your lips just a bit, before cracking his dark eyes open.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he mumbled, gaze darting back down to your parted mouth.

“Okay,” came your broken reply.

And despite it all, he threw all caution to the wind and kissed you again. Again, and again, and again—far into the night, until the two of you passed out on the stained sheets of the motel bed, limbs intertwined and your nose pressed against his throat, where you could hear the soft thrumming of his heartbeat.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Khonshu was hovering on the rooftop, finding himself rather glad that his avatar had finally found someone he could trust—even if that someone was the very bane of his existence.

“I need a new avatar,” the God harrumphed to nobody but himself, knowing full and well that he wasn’t letting go of Marc Spector and his… counterparts any time soon.

#marc spector x reader #marc spector fanfiction #moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfiction #marc spector angst #marc spector fluff #marc spector imagines #marc spector drabbles #marc spector fanfic #marc spector x you #moon knight fluff #moon knight angst #moon knight fanfic #moon knight x you #moon knight drabbles #moon knight imagines #moon knight oneshot #steven grant x reader #steven grant fanfiction

673 notes · View notes