#CW: Fighting

[simmyfrobby]

was feeling a little bit frustrated w the NHL's approach to traumatic head injuries and then i stumbled across some old george parros pictures on getty images and like..

oh yeah true..

[scorchieart]

Second to None

Characters: Belle, Chevalier Michel, Clavis Lelouch, Nokto Klein, Luke Randolph

Genres: Action, Suspense

Wordcount: 2.1k

A/N: This is a quick fic based on @the12thnightproject's Reverse Ask Game challenge! I chose 7 of Spades, and my prompt was “No Beta we die liek men.” I had the idea for this story sitting in my mind for months, ever since I started really craving Chevalier's faction to hang out more, and today was finally the day to execute it. True to form, I set a pomodoro timer for 3 hours and worked straight on this story with zero backtracking. I only quickly read it once over to check for grammatical & spelling errors (I hope I caught them all, those keep me up at night) but the rest is pure, raw Scorchie-brain. I only ask that you don't think differently of me after reading this, though I completely understand if you do...

Warnings: Fighting, mild descriptions of injuries, unedited work.

I tripped on the last step and met a facefull of gravel. I considered myself fortunate that I did not wear glasses, but in my current situation, the fact I wasn’t knocked out cold was a blessing.

Making sure I wasn’t bleeding—a blood trail was the last thing I needed right now—I picked myself up and ran in the direction of the forest. The stables would be too obvious for someone making an escape, and the palace grounds were crawling with soldiers and guards whose loyalties I did not have the luxury of time to decipher. I prayed no one would consider the looks-like-she’s-running-for-her-life woman grounds for suspicion as I swerved off the cobblestone path onto grass that grew grungier the farther I went.

Night frost and thorns pricked my skin as I burst through a patch of gangly rose bushes into the forest, but I didn’t dare stop and catch breath. My heart pounded louder in my ears with each hulking tree, looking more monstrous and mangled than the last. I think I heard an owl hooting from above, but my gaze was preoccupied with making sure I didn’t trip on anything else. I’d read about adrenaline sharpening senses while dulling others in the moment, but this is the first time I’d ever experienced it firsthand. Even if I couldn’t rely on my ears, at least my eyes were working overtime. And I could definitely do without the pain in my no-doubt twisted ankle slowing me down.

Roots and leaves, I told myself, just avoid the roots and leaves. I jutted my head in so many directions to avoid so many crisscrossing branches I was surprised it didn’t fly off my neck. Perhaps it was because my shoulders remained immovably stiff since I hightailed it out of the castle, but frozen muscles were a natural reaction to that lot chasing after you. 

That insatiable lot and their thunderstruck faces all trained on you at once. I’d sooner fall face first into a giant cauldron full of sizzling gravel than wish to encounter them again. But runaways can never count on their wishes coming true.

Perhaps it was the cacophony of crunching leaves beneath my feet. Or that incessant owl hooting overhead. Or the fact that my attention was solely focused on advancing deeper without looking back. Whatever the reason, I was spotted. And I was wholly unprepared for what followed. One moment I was pushing a bramble of spiderweb-encrusted twigs from my path, and in the next I expelled the entirety of my breath out of my lungs in one go, my back knocked hard against the base of a tree, and numbing stars and a flash of red invaded my vision.

“Give it back,” a burly voice breathed onto my face. The overwhelming odor of honey and sweat punched my nose harder than the words. It seemed as though smell was my dominant sense at this time. 

I wriggled my legs in an attempt to kick him away, but Luke surprisingly maneuvered his massive body to avoid most of the blows. The ones he couldn’t avoid hit him softly in the chest, as though they were little more than the beating of a butterfly’s wings. He didn’t get any closer, though, like he was waiting for me to tire and give in to his demands. But I wasn’t going to succumb that easily. As soon as my vision fixed to focus again, I would make a run for it. But just as I could start to make out the frenzied features on his face, a new smell entered the scene: the crisp, tart aroma of freshly plucked vetiver.

I managed to roll onto my side just before Luke was shoved straight into the tree trunk. My entire body vibrated with rising dread as Chevalier grabbed a fistful of Luke’s cherry hair and pulled his body to face him. Flakes of bark chips stuck to Luke’s face as he glared back at his leader, and his angry huffing intensified with each passing second.

“I was here first,” growled Luke, wrapping his hands around Chevalier’s wrist and yanking it off. Chevalier only spared me a passing glance as Luke slowly rose to his feet and reached for his sword.

“If we are ranking validity by seniority, then I have you beat, Jumbo. I had been sitting in the office long before any of your arrivals.” Chevalier cleanly unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Luke.

“And since when did sitting on your lazy behind count as seniority?” Luke spat as the two began to circle each other. The section of forest we occupied could hardly be called a clearing, and my heart stuck in my throat at the thought of the damage they could do if they actually began to fight. I primed my knees and followed their movements, desperate to find an opening to escape before it all went down.

“That hardly constitutes a retort, coming from you,” snorted Chevalier. His eyes locked briefly with mine, a silent command of “I will deal with you later,” but I quickly turned away and focused back on the gallowing trees surrounding us. Just a second… one second is all I’ll need to slip away.

But my pleas were ignored. Luke kicked the ground and lunged at Chevalier, thrusting his sword directly toward his heart. Chevalier effortlessly sidestepped and punched Luke in the gut, sending him tumbling backward, coughing and sputtering. But Luke quickly recovered and launched again, this time aiming his swing for Chevalier’s head. With perfect timing, Chevalier ducked and jabbed the hilt of his sword again into Luke’s stomach, but instead of backing up, Luke released his own sword and wrapped his arms around Chevalier’s neck, bringing him to the ground with his superior weight as they fell.

This was my chance. I steeled my knees and grabbed the nearest trunk to me for support. Chevalier repeatedly rammed his elbow into Luke’s chest only a few paces beside me, and though it looked like Luke possessed the strength of a boa constrictor encapturing his prey, I could see his hold slipping as Chevalier persisted his attacks. I began inching away, my hand plastering to any tree I passed like a lifeline, my eyes glued to the struggle I left behind. I would only allow myself to tear away from the sight as soon as I could be sure they hadn’t noticed my departure, but just when I had passed my seventh tree trunk, a new contender entered the ring.

It was as though what I had been watching previously moved in slow motion. In an instant, something shifted in the trees behind the brawling pair, swift and nimble like an autumn gale. Branches and leaves shook in its wake, and the once hyper-focused Luke diverted his attention to the sound. Chevalier snatched the chance to give a final push and disentangle himself, knocking Luke out in the process, but as he reached to retrieve his sword, he was seized once more, this time from behind.

Nokto’s silver hair gleamed ominously in the pale moonlight as Chevalier stood, the younger prince’s arms firmly wrapped around his shoulders. Chevalier grabbed at Nokto’s hands and tried to pry them off, but Nokto only climbed higher on Chevalier’s back, using his legs to try and push Chevalier back to the ground. 

Chevalier growled when Nokto jabbed a knee into the back of his thigh, but he didn’t yield. Instead, he raised himself to full height and rammed backward into the nearest tree, squishing Nokto into the trunk with all his might.

“Nokto!” I cried, but immediately regretted it. Nokto’s ruby eyes found me in the darkness and glared with the ferocity of a beast on the prowl.

“You… stay—” he wheezed, but before he could get out any more words, Chevalier silenced him with a backward headbutt into the tree. Nokto gasped and tightened his grip, but two more strikes from Chevalier slackened them entirely, and he fell limply to the ground to join the fallen Luke.  

Chevalier wiped his face and stared at me, and I bolted from the scene as he reached for his sword once again.

My limbs stung as I zipped back through the bramble. Half-broken branches and fallen twigs told me this was the direction I came through previously, but I shuddered at the thought of returning to the palace after what I just witnessed. Now more than ever, I was assured that I needed protection, but could I be guaranteed to find it back at the palace? But with a bloodthirsty Chevalier only paces behind me, what choice did I have?

“I heard a fight. I’m amazed you made it out in one piece.”

I foolishly whipped my head around to the soft voice, and found myself enclosed in a sheath of purest white. My head grew numb as disorienting fragrances of lavender and soil overpowered my nostrils, but two hands firmly gripped my arms before I collapsed.

“Oopsie! My dear, you can barely stand! You look like you’ve just seen a ghost… or worse.” Clavis’s dulcet tones whispered dottily in my brain, and I fought between the urge to rip away or remain trapped in his arms. Chevalier… Chevalier was coming… Clavis could protect me.

“What has you so frightened, little bunny?” he continued, turning me to face him. His golden eyes shone like lanterns to salvation. A safe haven just within reach. “Could it be you encountered something so terrible, so savage, so brutal that you cannot bear to repeat it?” His grip slackened only slightly, like a tamer easing an animal into his care. Into his trust.

“Tell me everything, give it all to me, and I promise I will make it all go away.” His gaze was all-encompassing, and his words comforting and inviting. It was an enticing offer, how could anyone refuse in my situation? I wanted to spill out my heaving guts to him, to pass on the torch of my burden to someone else, and above all take a rest. To leave this dark and foreboding forest before someone else showed up and led me astray, before someone broke this brief respite I somehow called my own…

Wait a moment, wasn’t Clavis one of the people I had been escaping?

I broke eye contact and looked over his shoulder. Chevalier emerged from a thicket of brush, looking seconds away from breathing fire. A hobbling Luke appeared on his right and a bleary-eyed Nokto on his left, the latter’s nose red and swollen like a ripened plum.

It was as if I’d woken up from the most dangerous dream. The dread of my situation resurfaced in an instant, and horror bubbled in my chest as I felt Clavis’s hand rummaging through my pocket.

I clutched Clavis’s shoulders, stomped my heel onto his foot, and jammed my forehead into his nose. Clavis let out a piercing shriek and released me, but as I pulled away, the object he’d grabbed from my pocket slipped out from my skirt and fell to the ground. A single cookie, now broken into dozens of pieces, lay on the forest floor. All four princes stared mutinously at its crumbly remains before turning to me.

I jerked myself out of Clavis’s reach and ran back. The castle was in view now; if I could just make it past those rose bushes and call for help—

Wham!

Something pink and soft collided with me as I reached the thorny bushes and I fell on my backside. Shaking my head from the dizziness, I looked up to see Yves rubbing his forehead, a frilly basket hooked in his left arm.

“Good grief, and I thought my faction was petty over the last sweet!” he said, helping me stand. “If you’d just stayed a minute longer, I was going to tell you I had a second batch in the oven.”

“You couldn’t have said that sooner?” Nokto yelled. My cheeks burned as he and the others caught up to us, their previously angry faces melting into vexation.

“Heh, sorry. Didn’t mean to go all dramatic on you all,” I said, clenching my teeth. Yves’s mouth gaped open as he watched his brothers limp over, and he squeaked in surprise when Luke deliriously walked straight into a tree trunk. How I wished news of this evening wouldn’t reach Sariel.

“You were fortunate tonight, simpleton, but now you know not to trifle with such matters in the future,” Chevalier said, as Luke pried himself off the trunk and dove for Yves’s basket while Clavis and Nokto compared their face bruises like trophies of war.

Yeah, I thought this was really fun. Thanks for the slumber party invite, Impromptu!

Taglist:@atelieredux @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess @venulus @thewitchofbooks @leonscape @rhodolitesrose @venti-tangents @dear-sciaphilia @ikesenwritings @myonlyjknight @ladyofcrowsx

If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me an ask or a message.

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Multitudes - Chapter Twenty

My Obedient Servant...

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov/Steve Rogers

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> Fights bring out the worst in us.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 5986

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) violence, fighting, fakeclaiming, derogatory language, humiliation, lashing out when shamed, accidental injury as a result of pushing, historical SA (emotionally graphic), injury detail, subservience.

𝐀/𝐍 -> Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Please read the warnings, and proceed with caution. You know the drill. Takes place during Magic and Madness chapter seven, and before the start of eight (read seven first, for crossreaders). Masterlist can be found here.

Check it out below, or on AO3 here! The snazzy Black Widow divider comes from @/firefly-graphics and I love it <3 The Multitudes Universe one is our own!

<- Previous Chapter (19/72) Next Chapter (21/72) ->

I sighed good-naturedly at the calls of celebration when we entered the dining room that evening, fingers latched with Clint’s. The table was a mess of food and alcohol – and, if Tony slow-dancing by himself in the corner was anything to go by, the party had started long ago.

“Sorry we’re late, guys. Traffic,” Clint offered, biting back a smirk.

Yeah… ‘Traffic’.

Thor met my partner’s eye, beer flagon raised. “You have finally divulged your secret?”

We exchanged a look, and I nodded. “This isn’t just going to be a birthday party… It’s also a retirement party. For both of us.”

The faces before me became an odd mixture of sadness and delight, somewhere between commiserations and celebrations. Wanda was the first to step forward, her hands finding my free one, tears shining in her emerald eyes. “I’ll come and see you all the time, yes? We can practice my Russian, and talk about boys.”

I nodded, my own tears rolling down my cheeks, and pulled her into a hug. “We weren’t late because of traffic,” I murmured, hiccupping around a sob. “We were late because I got fucked on the hood of Clint’s car.”

Steve choked in the background, and I grinned sheepishly as Wanda pulled away, laughing. “You’re going to miss us really, Cap.”

He rolled his eyes playfully, then raised his glass. “I really am. To Natasha and Clint – the coup- throuple we all knew were destined to end up together.”

Amongst the murmured agreements and clinking of tumblers, I felt Widow swell with happiness. He remembered me.

On cue, Stephen cleared his throat, becoming the next to rise from the table. “If you’re all going to be leaving us… Does this mean we may finally meet the allusive Widow?”

I laughed, smirking as my gaze flicked to his long-healed throat. “You already did.”

He simply quirked an eyebrow, touching a finger to his pale skin. “I suppose I did. Though it may be nice to do so in a less… Terse capacity.”

I hummed thoughtfully, cocking my head. Well? It’s up to you.

I… I don’t know. Maybe. I haven’t spoken to anyone since…

I know. But it’s okay.

I don’t understand why they’d even want to speak to me. I… I fucked everything up.

My heart broke sympathetically, and I winced. You also kept me going, Widow. You’re the reason I – the reason we’re both – alive today.

… Okay. Maybe. But not now. Not with everybody watching like this.

I nodded and smiled fondly, fingers absently brushing the silver arrow by my throat. “Later, I think.” Stephen nodded, returning to his seat, eyes flicking back to Tony with an unreadable expression.

Clint squeezed my hand, and I glanced to him inquisitively. “They’re okay with that?”

“I think so,” I replied uncertainly, ever in some degree of doubt about Widow’s feelings. “Not with everyone watching, though. They-” I interrupted myself with a snort as they muttered, and Clint’s smile switched to one of befuddlement. “They said ‘I’m not a circus attraction’.”

He laughed, placing a gentle kiss to our temple. “Y’all are flexible enough.”

It was halfway through the meal, and several drinks deep, when it finally happened.

Before our hospitalisation, we’d worked hard on smoothing out the transition – the ‘switch’, as Luna called it – when alone in our rooms.

By now it was almost seamless – less like a wrenching, more of a dance, my hand barely hesitating between table and mouth as it became theirs, slamming back a shot of vodka.

They were poured another without asking, and gave Thor a grin as they tipped it back. Yeah… He’s always up for getting people drunk.

Ah, a man after my own heart – he should come around more often.

“Hey, Widow,” Clint murmured, his arm leaving their waist instinctively when he noticed it wasn’t mine. We cocked our heads in unison – mine internal, theirs external.

“How did you know?”

He smiled weakly, a gentle finger caressing the set of their jaw. “You look different.”

They blinked in surprise, flustered. “We are identical – it is the same body.”

He shook his head fondly, taking a shot of his own from the row. “Not to me. I… Can’t explain it. It’s the same body, yes. But I just… See the difference. The way you hold yourselves. The way you look around. The way you look at me like I’m the biggest idiot you’ve ever met,” he added, chuckling, as Widow raised an eyebrow. “You both do these things, but you do them so differently.”

They hummed thoughtfully, clumsily patting the hand on his knee. “Maybe an idiot. But a very, very sweet one.”

snorted in time with Clint, both of us shocked by their words, and he grinned. “I try.”

Wanda was the next to notice.

It took around five minutes for her to begin peering at us, and five more for her eyes to widen in realisation, leaning forward across our desserts to hiss excitedly. “Is it you? It’s you, right?”

Widow simply nodded nervously, toying with the fork in their hand, and Wanda let out a soft, enthusiastic sound. “Awesome – hi! I’m so glad to meet you at last!”

They let out a breath, relieved, and smiled. “I am glad to meet you too, Wanda. I know Nat has appreciated your friendship over these last few months.”

Wanda grinned, then cocked her head curiously. “I’m your friend too, you know?”

I… I’ve never had a friend before.

Well, now you have me. And a whole family, I added, turning our head to survey the table before glancing back to the witch.

“Thank you, Wanda. That means a lot.”

It was Tony who approached us next, steps faltering and unsteady, and Widow tensed instinctively.

Oh God. Drunk Tony is… Do you need me to take over?

I’ll be okay, they replied calmly, hands curling into loose fists at their sides.

Please don’t start a fight.

I won’t start one… But I’ll finish one if he comes for us.

He squatted in front of us, squinting. “… Is it you? ‘Widow’? That’s what the Cap was saying to Vision – super-hearing, and all that.”

His sarcastic finger-quotes made me wince, but Widow simply smiled politely. “It is nice to meet you, Tony.”

He snorted, steadying himself with one hand on the table, the other bringing a bottle of scotch to his mouth to drink deeply. “’Meet’ me. Yeah. Right.”

Their head tipped in fake curiously, muscles slowly tightening. “I’m sorry?”

“Who do you think you’re fooling, Nat? That you can just say, ‘oh, I’m sorry I cut myself and starved myself, sorry I bled out all over the floor, sorry I’ve been violent and terrifying – but it’s okay, it wasn’t me, it was my other personality! And now we’re best friends, so you have to be nice to it’! Nah, that won’t fly with me, Natasha. These idiots may have fallen for your act, but I’m not that stupid. You can’t get away with the things you did just by acting like it was this ‘other person’.”

Widow breathed deeply, the room deathly silent as the gathered heroes awaited their response. “I have made mistakes, Tony. But I am trying to amend for them. Nat has, too – but together we-”

“Here we go again,” he interjected, rolling his eyes dramatically. “’We’. All this ‘we’ stuff is bullshit, Nat. You’re trying to say you’re admitting your mistakes, but you’re hiding behind this ‘personality’. Trying not to own your fucked-up behaviour. Either that, or you really are just delusional.”

Clint growled, but Widow’s hand found his arm, holding him back. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Tony. There isn’t anything I can to change your mind, however, so why don’t we just leave it alone for now?”

His unfocused eyes landed on their hand, and he smirked. “Oh, and that, too. Clint got shot for you, and you still somehow managed to make it all about poor Natasha. God, you’re selfish. And he’s an idiot.”

Widow stood then, eerily silent as they leant over the still-squatting billionaire. “I do not care what you say about me. Nat does not care what you say about her. But we will not tolerate you disrespecting Clint.”

“How do you do it, Legolas?” he slurred, peering under Widow’s arm to look at our partner while I simply sat horrified in the background. “Let’s say even if it’s true – even if this thing exists, which I still think is bullshit - look at all the things it made Nat do. It’s a monster, and it needs to be gotten rid of. How can you stand to be anywhere near it?”

Clint rose quietly behind us, neatly sidestepping our body, and, calmly and precisely, collided his fist with Tony’s nose, sending the drunken asshole sprawling and bleeding.

“Their name is ‘Widow’. They are not an ‘it’, or a ‘thing’, or a ‘monster’. And if I ever hear you speak to either of them like that again, I’ll kill you.”

“It’s not my fault your girlfriend is a psycho,” Tony muttered around the blood pooling in his mouth.

 Clint moved back to his seat with the same eerie, relaxed energy, showing no sign of hearing the comment, and began pouring himself another shot. “Now… Are we celebrating, or what?”

Tony disappeared shortly after, Stephen shooting us a sympathetic glance before following on his heels. Clint excused himself a few minutes later, muttering something about changing his bag, but we could see the residual trembles of rage and distress in his hands, the way he shook his head when we offered to come, telling us to stay and enjoy ourselves.

He didn’t come back.

After fifteen minutes, we bid our goodbyes, feet fast and frantic as we made our way up to our rooms. I’m so proud of you, Widow. What? Why?

You stayed calm. That must have been hard.

It… It was. Thank you.

We skidded to a halt, freezing at the sight of the half-open door and the sounds of retching inside.

No.

No.

Not him, too.

Please say he isn’t.

It's not the answer, Clint.

It's never the answer.

We pushed our way through slowly, halting at the wood that kept us from our partner, the wet, echoing splatter of vomit hitting a toilet unmistakable to our experienced ears.

“Clint?”

Nothing.

“Clint, honey… I’m going to come in, okay?”

When I was met with only silence, punctuated by the occasional gag, I tried the handle and was surprised when it moved easily, feeling Widow recede. I know this is hard for you. It’s okay. You’ve done so well; you can rest now.

“Clint?”

My hand found his back lightly and he whirled, panting, his face stained with tears and sick – and blood.

“Oh, Clint…”

“Get out,” he muttered, his voice thick and slurred around a fat lip.

“Now.”

“Clint, I-”

“Leave!” he snapped, rising to stand over me. I raised my hands defensively, panicked; it was then that I spotted his raw-looking stoma, bleeding freely, the contents of the missing bag splattered against his skin.

“Oh, honey…”

“Nat, I swear to God. Get out of here.”

“I don’t think I can do that. You need help.” My hand came up to his shoulder again, and his eyes flashed a warning.

It was one I should have listened to.

The second my fingers brushed his skin, his hands were on my collarbones, pushing me violently from the room and sending me sprawling. My previously broken wrist bent beneath me, weakened by malnourishment, and I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from crying out.

You said he wouldn’t hurt us.

It took almost half an hour for me to be able to breathe.

Flinching with pain, I dragged my bruised body to the table, curling up underneath it like a whipped cur, seeking some small refuge in the enclosed space, hidden from sight by the hanging tablecloth.

I pressed the button in my ear, wincing as my stomach roiled. “… Wanda? Stephen? Bruce? Is anyone up?”

I hope he doesn’t have his comms on.

“Nat? It’s late… What’s happening?”

Stephen’s voice was soft and sleep-slurred, but a welcome relief, and I had to fight to hold back my tears. “Clint’s hurt. I… I think he got into a fight with Tony. His stoma… The bag burst. He’s bleeding. He needs help, but he won’t let me in.”

There was unmistakable sounds of movement, urgent and panicked. “I’m on my way.” He paused only briefly, and I waited with bated breath. “Where are you? Are you ok?”

“Just help him, Stephen. Please.”

I cut the call, and glanced up at the ceiling pleadingly. “Don’t tell him where I am, Friday. Don’t tell him what happened. Please.”

A pause, and then the AI responded, equally soft. “You’re injured, Natasha. You need medical assistance.”

“I’ll get it, I promise. I just… I just need a minute before the questions.”

As if on cue, the tablecloth lit up, accompanied by the hissing and popping of the wizard’s sparks.

“Friday? Where are Mr. Barton and Ms. Romanoff?”

There was only the briefest of hesitations before the AI responded, her soft voice immediately soothing.

“Mr. Barton is in the bathroom, moderately injured and severely distressed. I recommend proceeding with caution. Ms. Romanoff is not currently available.”

I let out my breath, body trembling, wrist throbbing. Thank you, Friday.

“How can she be ‘not currently available’?” he snapped, sighing with frustration as I heard him open the bathroom door.

“Not you, either. Just leave me alone.”

“Clint, even from here I can see that you have a significant mucocutaneous separation, and with the waste both on your skin and possibly being actively released, it is paramount that-”

“I hate this, Stephen.” His voice was soft but I leant forward to listen, the tablecloth brushing my cheek. “I don’t know if I can do this. I can’t let them see me like this. I... I got so angry. Not because I was angry, but because I’m ashamed. I’m a grown man sat in his own shit. I can’t even defend them in a fight anymore. And she- when she came to see me, to help... I couldn’t cope with her sympathy. Her pity. I pushed her, Stephen. I pushed her out of this fucking room and she fell, and I didn’t even check if she was okay. I just shut the door and wallowed in my own goddamn shame.”

“I put my hands on at least one of the two people I love most in this world – maybe even both of them. How am I supposed to live with that? After everything they’ve been through, how are they ever supposed to trust me again?”

“Maybe they shouldn’t,” Stephen muttered, his tone sharp. “I warned you, Clint, not to hurt her – not to hurt them. Haven’t they been through enough? You’re angry, and upset; I get it. Believe me. I pushed away the first woman I loved – the only woman I’ve ever loved – after my accident. I didn’t want to, not really; I was just so, so angry. But I realised, eventually, that the only person to blame for how I took out that anger is me, and Christine was right to leave. Maybe Natasha would be too.”

“Fuck you, Strange.”

“Right back at you, Barton. Now, are you going to come with me willingly, or do we have to do this the hard way? Though I must warn you – a significant part of me hopes you choose the hard way. I’ll treat you because it’s the right thing to do, but Nat and Widow mean a lot to me. I won’t forgive you until – unless – they do.”

There was a heavy pause and a sigh, the sound of Clint getting up off the floor. “You think I don’t know what they’ve been through?”

“No, Clint. You don’t. You haven’t seen what they did to them – I have. It was unparalleled torture.” He hesitated, and then- “Did they ever tell you that Widow attacked me?”

“What? No. When?”

“The day they woke up. I had to check their internal stitches, and, despite having seen the damage they were left with, I was not prepared for the person I encountered – the one we know now as Widow, but who I thought, at the time, was simply Nat, deeply entrenched in a flashback. The things they said when they were remembering, Clint... The terror in their face when they came around... I’ve never seen anything like it.” He sighed, sparks crackling as he began his portal. “And that, Clint, is what you have just forced them to relieve. I don’t care how angry or embarrassed you were; I hope you are ashamed of yourself.”

I lay balled up, sobbing violently, until daylight began to creep through the windows.

“Ms. Romanoff, you still require medical attention.”

I nodded stiffly, muscles tender from my time on the floor. “Can you get Wanda?”

Crawling out and standing up slowly, I shuffled to the bathroom, injured wrist tucked protectively against my chest as I took in the mess. Blood, vomit and waste was splattered everywhere, our floor length mirror shattered and scattered. Kneeling, I brushed one finger against the sharp edge lightly. It would be so easy...

“Nat? Widow? Are you here? What’s going on? Friday just woke me and said-”

The redhead barrelled into the bathroom, hands finding her mouth. “Oh, God...”

I sat back on my haunches, another sob shaking my body. “Wanda... Help.”

The witch held me comfortingly as I recounted the entire horrific story, fingers caressing my hair.

“Nat... I’m so sorry. That’s... I’m so sorry.” She shook her head lightly, dazed and stunned. “We... We need to get you to Bruce, or-”

“No – not Bruce. Please. I’d rather just go to hospital. Bruce can’t know what happened; he’ll kill Clint,” I begged, looking up at her through puffy eyes. “Please, Wanda.”

She nodded stiffly, smoothing my hair once more. “Okay. Hospital.” Standing, she offered her hand to me, but I shook my head, gesturing at the mess around us.

“I need to... He can’t come back to this.”

She let out a huff, but put a finger to her ear. “Vision, my love? Natasha’s bathroom is a warzone. Could you arrange something?” She nodded to herself as he spoke, smiling lightly before replying. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”

Freshly encased in a plain white cast, I couldn’t help but hesitate at the door to the main building.

We’d received the call from Stephen while we were at the hospital; Clint needed emergency surgery. There’d be updates when he had them.

And now...

Lunchtime.

How the hell am I supposed to go and sit at that table?

“We can eat together, if you like,” Wanda offered quietly, seeing my uncertainty on my face.

I waited for Widow to help me make a choice, but there was only silence. Just as there had been since the moment I first hit the floor. “I... I think... I should face them?” I offered uncertainly, unused to making choices by myself. Wands simply nodded, her elbow linked with mine.

“Y’all have got this, Natasha,” She murmured reassuringly, leading me through the building slowly. “You’ve been doing so well lately – don’t let this set you back, okay?”

I nodded, still dazed from the events of the last twelve hours. “I, uh... I-I won’t.”

For what seemed like the thousandth time, the entire room fell silent as I walked in – though this time it was largely to do with the sparse attendance.

“Natasha, are you okay? We heard about Clint… Your wrist… What the hell happened?” Bruce was on his feet as entered, his face a mask of concern.

Tony snorted, his back to me. “Probably got a little too rough-and-tumble. Legolas is tough – he’ll be fine. Strange will get him fixed up and good to go.”

I watched in disbelief as his hand rose and fell, bringing something unseen to his face.

“Are you kidding me?” I murmured under my breath, slowly stalking closer.

The weight gain had done me at least one favour.

I was definitely stronger now.

Tony was picking at a half eaten sandwich, shades on, and half a bottle of scotch in front of him.

“Hey, Tone. What happened to your neck?” I asked curtly, and his hand rose unconsciously to the fingerprint bruises littering one side.

Laughing softly, he shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t remember a thing. Once Clint put me on my ass – for being an ass – I walked out of here, and then there’s... Nothing. I guess I must have made a call.”

I nodded, humming thoughtfully. “And your hands?”

He looked down, flexing his fingers slowly, appearing genuinely surprised at the splits across his knuckles.

“What about your face?” I pressed, tugging away his sunglasses with a growl. He winced and recoiled, snatching blindly.

“I have a hangover, Nat, Jesus.”

He raised his head, and Bruce let out a low whistle. “Nope, you have a concussion – at least if that shiner is anything to go off.”

Tony’s fingers gently probed his swollen cheekbone, and he smirked. “I guess you weren’t the only one who got a little rough last n-”

His words were cut off by my primal scream as I threw myself at him, all professional training wiped from my mind as I fought desperately to claw his eyes from his head, or rip his goddamn tongue out – whichever I got my nails into first.

The table burst into outcry, and Vision stepped up behind me, as the closest one, but I snarled at the hand on my shoulder.

“Vis, leave her. That fucker deserves it," Wanda muttered coldly, and the touch hesitated before backing up, clearly seeing something in his lover’s eyes that convinced him.

“Widow, what the hell! Get off him!” Cap’s voice grew louder as he scrambled around the table, but I simply screamed again, my hands so close now around Tony’s desperately flailing arms. Three more millimetres, and I’d have his eyes.

A firm arm around my waist yanked me backwards, and I howled, fingers stretched desperately as my prey shuffled back. “Let me go! I’ll fucking kill him!”

“Widow, what-”

I rounded on the super-soldier, squaring up to him, spurred on by rage. “What, just because I’m angry, I’m Widow? Don’t be so fucking simplistic, Rogers. Widow is gone. I haven’t heard from them all night, and it’s all because of him!”

I whipped back around, intending to finish the job, but Steve’s grip was immovable, securing me against his chest.

“I- What?” Tony’s hands were raised defensively as he shook his head. “I know I was a little out of line, but come on – I was just kidding. I mess with everyone, Nat. You know that.”

“You really don’t remember, do you? You alcoholic piece of shit,” I breathed, almost amazed by his power of denial.

“Hey, now,” Tony warned, then paused. “Remember what?”

I rolled my jaw. “Clint came to confront you. For the things you said about us. And you beat the shit out of him. He’s in emergency surgery right now, because you managed to hit him that hard that his fucking stoma detached.” I spat, low and venomous. The arrogant asshole blinked in shock, face paling, eyes on his hands as he fought to remember.

Cap’s arm loosened minutely, and I attempted to seize the opportunity, propelling myself forward, but he just gripped me tighter, his other arm coming up to find my collarbones. “No, Nat. This isn’t the answer.”

“Steve... Get off me,” I whispered, a familiar nausea rising in my stomach.

Not now. Not alone. I can’t do this alone.

“I know what he did is horrible, Nat, but I can’t let you-”

“No, no no no no,” I murmured, hands coming up to find my hair. “Not now. Let me go. Just let me go.”

“I-”

“Let me go!” I screeched, thrashing harder, throwing my head back in a blind bid for his nose.

A hard arm across my collarbones, and another at my waist, holding me tightly.

The sound of bone crunching was satisfying, but it didn’t stop either of the men. The one holding me merely grunted, while the other dug the knife in a little harder, cutting flesh as well as fabric.

“Do you like it when it hurts, is that it, Natalia?” the second laughed, his English heavily accented by something further north than here. “You’re a little young for such tastes.”

I roared hatefully, and was rewarded with a heavy blow to the abdomen, making my stomach roil and my head spin.

They’d touched me before, of course. But I knew what this would be.

My Breaking.

There was no light touches now. Nothing that could be even remotely pleasant, or at least not painful.

There

was

only

burningstretchingrippingtearing

I felt like I was being split in two, and the more I fought, the worse it hurt. Eventually, my body was limp, without even the energy to tremble, jerking like a ragdoll as they thrusted into me.

Smooth, cold fingers caressed my cheek from behind as a fat tongue forced its way into my mouth.

“That’s a good girl, Natalia. You’re such a good girl... You’re loving this, aren’t you? Taking it like such a good girl.”

“You’re so good when you obey.”

You’re so good when you obey.

You’re so good when you obey.

A hard arm across my collarbones, and another at my waist, holding me tightly.

“Nat? I’m going to let you go now, okay?”

I blinked blankly, not moving as the grip around my waist slackened and then vanished, head low.

“Nat? Are you okay?”

I nodded immediately, moving to sit at the table. After all, isn’t that what is expected of me?

“... Nat?”

I looked up at the kindly redhead beside me, a worried smile on her face. “Yes, Wanda?”

“Are you... Ready for lunch?”

“Of course,” I replied smoothly, turning back to face the table. “... What should we have? There are so many options.”

Everyone’s eyes were on me, so I simply smiled wider.

I’m fine.

Wanda gestured at a plate of sandwiches, stuffed with cheese and onion. “How about a couple of sandwiches?”

I nodded quickly, moving to my feet and carefully serving her, and then myself. She watched me carefully – no doubt ensuring I didn’t make a mistake – but I got through it without dropping anything, despite the subtle tremor in my hands.

Regaining my seat, I glanced around at the cluster of individuals nervously. “Would... Anyone else like anything?” I cursed myself for my hesitation, fingers finding the soft skin on the back of my thigh and pinching hard. There was a murmur of dissent, and they tucked in their food, while I sat, straight-backed and patient, my eyes low.

The only sound for several minutes was that of chewing, until Wanda touched my arm gently. “Nat? Are you gonna have some food?”

I blinked, looking down at my plate. “Yes. Of course,” I replied hesitantly, carefully picking up the first sandwich and taking a polite bite. My jaw moved automatically 1-2-3-4-5-6-7 before I swallowed, and repeated the process.

A Widow should chew anything seven times before she swallows. Widows don’t stuff their faces.

We were just finishing lunch, with only Steven and Wanda still eating, when Clint limped in the door. My head was low, waiting patiently for the others to finish to I could begin to clear the table, and I only looked up at Steve’s sharp intake of breath.

“Damn, Barton. You look like fresh hell.”

Following the soldier’s eyes, I briefly took in the pale, sweaty archer, his face coated in a litany of splits and stitches, one hand pressed protectively to his stomach. My gaze lingered for only a second, respectful – it wouldn’t do to be caught staring, after all – before dropping once more to the now-empty plate before me, waiting without complaint until I was of use.

“Feel like it, Cap. You all know what happened?”

Wanda nodded, sliding the last of her sandwich into her mouth. “Yup,” she mumbled, muffled by the bread. “Tony was an asshole – sounds pretty in character for him.”

“Nat tried to claw his eyes out,” Steven added, inclining his head toward me as he chewed on his last slice of grilled cheese. “Took more of my strength than I expected to hold her back… Pretty sure she broke my nose.”

I winced, head dropping lower, a low tremble starting in my core. Why would I do that? I’m going to pay for being so aggressive.

I felt the eyes on me, and blinked hard, trying to stay as still as possible.

“What… What’s going on?” Clint murmured, moving closer behind me. My breathing stuttered in my chest, but I fought the urge to bolt. It’ll be worse if you run.

“We don’t know,” Wanda admitted, her voice low. “She… She’s been this way since… Since she attacked Tony. She… Well, see for yourself. Nat?”

My head jerked up, eyes instantly on the redhead. “Yes?”

“Could you clear this plate for me?”

I was on my feet immediately, pleased to have been given a task – collecting not only Wanda’s plate, but every other empty dish I could get my hands on. “I-I’ll come back for the leftovers. I’ll put them in tubs; we can’t have them going to waste, not when there’s so many people to feed. You never know when someone might get hungry, and I don’t want them to go without.”

It wasn’t until I was by the sink, carefully running scalding water – hotter is cleaner – with the perfect amount of soap that anyone spoke again. “…What happened?”

“I’m not sure. I tried to get her off Tony; I grabbed her. She was fine – furious, but fine. And then she… She just started telling me to get off her, and then she screamed at me to get off her. But I couldn’t let her go – she was going to kill him. And then she started thrashing and yelling like she was on fire. And then it was silent. And I let her go, but… She’s been like this ever since.”

“What the hell do you think you were doing?! Do you have any idea-”

“Clint, are you really going to try and guilt Steve? After what you did?”

“What I did? What are you-”

“Clint…” Wanda sighed, her voice barely audible over the running water. “Clint, you broke her arm.”

“No… No. I-I just pushed her. It… I just didn’t want her to see me like that. I just… Pushed her.”

Dishes clean, I left them to drain for a while, heading back to the table for the leftovers. Clint looked up at me with an unsual expression on his face. “Nat?”

“Hm?” I turned my head toward him as I started to gather the serving plates together.

“Could you come here for a sec?”

Glancing at Wanda – after all, she’d given the last order – I moved toward him when she nodded, standing before him with my head bowed obediently. “Let me see your arm.”

I winced, offering my uninjured right hand for examination.

I hope this one heals cleanly. I don’t want to have to inconvenience anyone with another hospital trip.

Clint cocked his head, smoothing back the sleeve. “There’s nothing there.”

“The other arm, Clint,” Wanda muttered, eyes rolling audibly.

He reached out to grasp my other wrist, and froze at the feel of the clunky cast beneath my sweatshirt. “… Can you… Could you roll your sleeve up for me, Nat?”

I obeyed immediately, despite the shame burning in my chest.

A Widow must be strong. Even when injured, they show no pain.

He cursed under his breath, tears filling his eyes. “Fuck. I really… I broke your arm. I… I broke your arm.”

“It’s okay,” I offered, smiling. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. And I have learnt. Thank you for the lesson. May I return to the leftovers now? I wouldn’t want them to spoil.”

He glanced at the other two heroes in horror, jaw agape. “Did… Did she just… Thank me? For breaking her arm?”

I waited patiently for him to release me, surreptitiously re-rolling my sleeve, hiding the stark white of the cast.

“I don’t know what’s going on, Clint. But I hope you have more luck than we did.” Steven pushed back his chair, but Wanda simply scoffed.

“You think I’m leaving her alone with him? In this state? Vulnerable? Suggestable? Not a chance.”

“What do you think I’m going to-”

“Gee, I don’t know, Clint. It’s not like you’d ever break her arm, is it? It’s not like you’d ever rape her?”

The silence was heavy, and I waited patiently for him to release me. “… Clint wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh? Maybe I know more about your precious Avengers than you do, Cap. Why don’t you tell him, Clint? Why don’t you tell him how you tied her to a pipe and forced yourself on her?”

“I-It… It wasn’t-”

“Oh, I know. ‘It wasn’t me’. But there’s no Loki to blame this time, Clint. So who’s your next scapegoat? Tony, for beating you up? Nat, for daring to care?”

“I-”

“I don’t want to hear it. I’m not letting that poor girl out of my sight. Did you know she’s alone now? No matter how damaged Nat is – at least she’s still here. She hasn’t heard from Widow all day.”

I waited patiently for him to release me.

“She… She hasn’t? But she can always feel them. Even when they’re not talking, she always knows they’re there.”

“What was it she said, Cap? ‘Widow is gone’?”

The soldier nodded reluctantly, his eyes on the table. “She… Yeah, that’s what she said.”

“There is nobody left that she can trust. So I’m going to make damn sure she can trust me.”

“I won’t hurt her, Wanda. I love her.”

“That didn’t stop you before.”

Clint only winced, and I waited patiently for him to release me. “… Friday?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

“Reinstate full biofeedback for both Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. And override all updates to the surveillance procedure. We want to be alerted if there is any loss of consciousness, blood loss, or pain response.”

“Yes, Captain Rogers.”

“Is that really necessary-”

“I’m still not happy about-”

“That’s enough, both of you.” Steven’s voice was measured and clipped, Clint’s jaw twitching with irritation, and I waited patiently for him to release me. “Wanda, you might not want to admit it, but he has the best chance of bringing our Nat back. I get that you’re angry; trust me, you’re not the only one. But he can’t hurt her and get away with it – and if he tries, I’ll kick his ass myself. But no part of me thinks that he would ever deliberately hurt that girl. He’s loved her for years.”

“Isn’t that what they say about all abusers? ‘Oh, not him, he’d never do anything like that, he’s such a good guy, he loves her’-”

“I’m not an-”

“Enough!” Steven snapped, some of the careful calm slipping, and, to my shame, I flinched. “Wanda, we’re leaving. Clint, we’ll be checking in with Friday routinely. Just… Take her upstairs. Try and find our girl again. Both of our… People.”

When Wanda rose, my eyes cut to her in panic.

She gave me orders but he hasn’t released me but she gave me orders but he hasn’t released me but she gave me orders but he hasn’t released me but she gave me orders but he hasn’t released me but-

“Nat – Natty? You’ve gotta go with Clint, okay?” Her hand found mine, soft and reassuring, and I nodded with a smile.

“Okay, Wanda.”

“I’ll see you later.”

“Okay, Wanda.”

[bear-boi-5]

FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

Cw: Blood, fighting, drunks

So, Collin actually got fired from his job as a bouncer cause he got into a drunken bar fight, a really bad one

Further context will need to be prided from my hands if you want it

[specialagent836]

Eyes. Those were the first sign that they had found where Black Fog was. Chasing the cries of a member of their crew being taken. Floating hands. One clutching Matsuba, holding him off the ground. Bringing him close to a open maw. It had dragged him into the dark as soon as they had gotten too close. And they were too close.

Poisonous gas oozed out of that ghostly mouth. Choking out any breath and creeping into every corner of their surroundings. Any resolve that he had stored within, gone. Somehow, this was way worse than facing any of the Ultra Beasts. This creature was pure darkness. Terrifyingly deadly.

The others mustered their courage and charged the figure. Trying to free Matsuba before he was consumed. Fire burst forth from both Arcanines. Weapons drawn. Each pokemon and person giving it their all.

Ghastly swarming to serve the greater will of Black Fog. Those ghostly hands grabbed and clawed at Nix and Green. Don't get grabbed. Don't get consumed.

Giovanni and Piers would need support being so close to that danger. He had to act. Koga battled to save Nix from another claw grasping at them. Don't hesitate this time. He was afraid.

Then, Green dropped unconscious and the threat was clear. They needed to focus. He needed to focus. He stepped forward and joined the frey, attacking Black Fog directly.

Heavy attacks against the claws and beast dissipated their hold on their cohorts. His friends. Something gnawed at the back of his mind. Ever observant. Shimmering below the low light, the claws were not gone. This was not the end of it. He warned the others of the danger, but did not prepare himself.

Manifesting from those shadows. The claws returned and he was determined the biggest threat. Grabbed. There was no time to react, not this time. The others cried out and he was consumed. Darkness.

The shouts became muffled. The neon lights of the city completely absent. The poisonous gas more potent than before tried to take hold. Touching this creature felt wrong. Something within bolstered him. Courage? Strength? The words from Giovanni earlier came to the front of his mind.

He would not go down here. He would claw his way out if he had to. The urge to shift into something more useful grew. Distorting his body, his capabilities. No. He could do this. Searching for any sign, any clue, any weakness. There. He lashed out. Lights and sounds broke into the darkness. Again. He tore at the gap.

Freedom. He fell out of the mouth he forced open. There was no grace to be had in trying to survive. Black Fog began to wither behind him. Then, it exploded and he was too close. He felt like he should have died, right then and there. But he didn't.

A ball flew through the air at the creature. Light engulfed it pulling it in. Click. It was caught. The battle was over. They succeeded. And everyone was alive.

[asteroidtroglodyte]

5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.

But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.

Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.

For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.

But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.

Happy.

It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.

Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.

It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.

A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.

5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.

It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.

Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.

I’m a Rescue.

She gave me a Home.

And, so, I gave her a Family.

It seemed fair

This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.

don’t give up yet, ok?

It could get good, even.

[barblaz-arts]

Hell's hottest couple fr

[citruscantus]

9 YEARS!!!!!

Undertale's been etched into my soul for almost a decade now... I don't think there's one piece of art i could make to encapsulate how important it is to me... but i CAN make pretty colours about it 🌈💫✨

[paintedcrows]

Some Oldies in the 80s AU sketches! Grunkle Stan and Young Ford this time.

They are so funny to me. Like to me Stan is completely secure in his relationship with Older Ford. He has just spent MONTHS alone on the open ocean with the guy. Nothing this Young Ford can throw at him can compare. Ford, still a bundle of ego and grudges, has no idea how to respond. Also Bill is a menace

[bluerosefox]

Assassin Heir? Crime Fighting Furry? NOPE NO THANK YOU!

"Danyal, its time to end this game and return with me."

Danny should had known Clockwork had something in mind when he sent him on this mission. He knew he should had been suspicious of the time keeper when he noticed the little 'this is going to be fun' smile on his face when he sent Danny off into the portal.

"Get back here you demon spawn 2.0!"

But how was he supposed to know that he'd wake up in this world version of himself in a pit full of corrupted (AND NASTY) ectoplasim at the tender age of five or that when he swam up to the surface he'd be meeting face to face with what was apparently a cult.

"-O just spotted him a block away! I'll try to cut itty bitty bridie off!"

An Assassins Cult his, new to him, loving yet a little insane mother was in charge of (though during the few months he stayed in the compound he heard rumors and gossip from maids and others alike that if his grandfather returned from the dead he'll take over once again, no doubt punish Talia for creating another heir after the failure of the last one, most likely was going to kill Danny and that... that was can of worms Danny didn't wanna deal with yet)

"Ten bucks says they try to stab RR when we get the feral thing home"

"...Losers bet...."

Danny had lived with his mother for a while after being brought back from the 'dead' for apparently the first time, it turned out training a five year old with an actual sword and a dumbass hidden revenge seeking teacher was a terrible idea.

"I swear if this one tries to murder me like the others I'm asking Zatanna if there is a curse on me."

He dealt with her high demands of perfection, the endless training, and the constant comparisons to his apparent older brother Damain... Who didn't know Danny, or rather Danyal existed.

Nor did his father (when Danny, using his powers he's kept hidden since 'waking' up in this Realm, he sneaked his way around the base and discovered how he came into the world. And tbh he couldn't blame his mom how she made him, she was an assassin first and foremost, being naturally pregnant would had painted a target on her for to long... but he also felt it was unfair and an asshole move on his unsuspecting father as well)

"As your elder brother I demand you to stop running!"

Now don't get him wrong, he did like his new mother (total badass assassin lady and all that) and he knew she loved him in her own... deadly way. But yeah, she really shouldn't be taking care of kids. He could tell she struggled with wanting to be a normal mother but her first instinct after so many years was to be an assassin first.

Something she was trying to engrave into Danny with as well.

"Ah, hello Beloved. I see you've learned of our Danyal."

"Talia. Back away from him and leave Gotham now."

"I can not do that. The League needs an heir and since Damian refuses to return... I have decided to create a new one and I shall not be leaving until he returns with me."

"Talia."

Hence why when Danny, or rather Danyal al Ghul had gotten decent control over his powers he decided to leave the League. Again nothing wrong with the life his mom leads, to each their own, but he... really, really didnt want to be an assassin. Or an assassin heir.

So here he was, after almost a year on the run, using his powers and training to out smart and out maneuver his mother and her many band of Assassins, in Gotham. One of the last places he ever wanted to run to cause he knew his father and brother lived here.

It was just his luck that his mother had managed to intercept his train ride that passed into Gotham for a few hours and forced him to run into the city...

Add her assassins into the mix and running into Robin, who heard from Oracle his mother had been spotted chasing a young boy across the city, that same night.

After that it became a full on "catch me if you can" chase for not only his mother but for the batclan as well.

And after two whole days of chase, it seemed like the final showdown was about to begin because everyone was on top of this rooftop, his mother and her assassins on one side, his father and the batclan on the other and Danny well... he was right in the middle of all of it.

He just had to hope no one would notice him once the fighting started...

[beebundt]

thinking a little too much abt durge/orin sibling relationship rn. 🩸ft. my durge (briar, they/them)

[larvamars]

this one will leave a mark

[scorchieart]

Hi! For your grab bag event, could you do Licht/#10/Action/3rd pov? Thank you

Character: Licht Klein

POV: 3rd person Genre: Action

Prompt #10: “That's the thing about betrayal. It never comes from an enemy”

Wordcount: 2030

A/N: Thank you for the request, Anon! This was the one I was most excited to tackle from the lot. I had wanted to make the action the main focus of the story, but I got a little carried away with the preamble, so in case anyone isn't interested in the angst and dialogue I'm adding a second divider in between so you can skip to the good stuff ^^

Content Warning: Fighting, Mentions of death

In one fluid motion, Yves yanked Licht into the room and slammed the door shut behind them. The waning crescent moon shone as the only light source, reflecting dully against the gilded furnishings of Yves’s bedroom. Licht only had a moment to rub his eyes to adjust before a terse shove from behind propelled him toward the windows.

“Curtains,” exhaled Yves, and he disappeared into the closet. Licht snatched at the towering curtains surrounding the far wall, shooting anxious glances out the windows as he shut them. The grounds were crawling with guards. His stomach gave an involuntary lurch.

“I had meant to replace the stock for the month, but with so much going on…” 

Yves reappeared carrying a large rucksack, set it on the bed, and immediately began rifling through it. He pulled out several oddly-shaped wrapped packages, a folded bit of parchment, and a plain, drabby navy cloak. 

Making sure the final curtain was securely shut, Licht hurried over to the bed and picked up one of the packages. The moment he unwrapped it, a sickeningly sugary aroma hit his nostrils.

“Yves,” he began, covering his mouth to keep from gagging, “what are all these sweets for?”

“Don’t eat those! They’ll be long spoiled by now,” said Yves, snatching the package and tossing it across the bed. “Oh, what a waste. And what terrible timing…” he muttered to himself, closing the bag.

“Yves—” Licht tried again, but was silenced when Yves turned to him and draped the cloak over his shoulders. The fabric was heavy and durable, factors Yves would never skimp out on for his wardrobe, and yet so dull and colorless that Licht could not believe it was produced from Yves’s closet. 

“They’re not as savory, but the bread and dried fruit should last you some time,” Yves said, working on fastening the cloak around Licht’s neck with shaky fingers. “The guards are probably searching your room as we speak. I’ll head over there, but I don’t know how much time I can buy you. Take the servant’s door from the kitchens, it’s close to the stables. But don’t let anyone see you. And if someone does see you, don’t stop for them. And if they won’t let you pass—Ah! I’m sorry, Licht.”

Licht jerked his head back when he felt the metal fastener cut his chin. Even in the nonexistent light, he could see Yves’s face growing paler by the second, reaching over to him again.

“I’m fine, I’ll do it myself!” yelled Licht, securing the clasp. “Just tell me what’s going on!”

Yves’s lower lip trembled as he picked up the rucksack. “Oh, Licht, there simply isn’t time,” he croaked, handing over the piece of parchment. Licht unfolded it and, squinting heavily through the dark, made out a crude drawing of three figures hugging, the largest in the center surrounded by two smaller identical blobs. It looked like a child’s scribble, one many years old, and frustratingly familiar.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, but you mustn’t come back,” said Yves, now pushing the sack in his arms and gripping Licht’s shoulders like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “Promise me, no matter what, you will never ever set foot again—”

“That’s not for you to decide, Evie,” said a cold voice from behind them. 

Nokto stood in the doorway, sword at the ready, wearing the most mutinous look Licht had ever seen. “Licht’s not a kid anymore. He doesn’t need anyone to tell him what he can or can’t do. He should know right from wrong by now,” he said.

“You know he didn’t mean it,” said Yves, turning to face Nokto and spreading his arms wide like a barrier. “You know Licht would never betray his kingdom.”

“That’s the thing about betrayal. It never comes from an enemy.” Nokto stepped into the room, guided by the faint glimmer of his steady blade. Though he couldn’t see it, Licht could smell the sweat trickling down the back of Yves’s neck.

“Do you even hear yourself? How can you, of all people, say such a thing?” Yves cried.

“I, of all people, have the greatest right to,” said Nokto, pointing his sword toward Licht. “Once, an accident. Twice, deliberate. I will not let there be a third time. Stand aside, Yves. You don’t need to watch.”

Yves dropped his wall pose and hung his head, his shoulder shaking madly. To Licht, his brother had never looked so defeated. 

“Let’s get this over with, brother,” said Nokto, passing Yves’s spiritless form. “I’d rather not Leon or Chevalier steal the honor from me.” 

Licht froze on the spot, the parchment crumpled in his fist. Was this how it would end? Somehow, he always knew it would be this way, slain at the hand of his twin. But he wasn’t ready for it. Not yet. Not when he still didn’t know what even happened tonight.

Nokto raised his sword, a beacon of light in the shadow-filled room. Licht’s arms were glued to his chest, swallowed by the navy cloak and clutching the heavy rucksack. He had to move, to do something, at least talk to Nokto! But as Nokto’s arm came down, Licht could do nothing but stare and count the milliseconds as they passed, until the blow finally landed.

But it never landed. In the blink of an eye, Nokto was flung across the room, collapsing onto the stale sweets piled on the bed with a mighty groan. He lifted his head, tufts of powdered sugar and crumbs sticking to his hair as blankly stared back.

Yves stood beside Licht, breathing heavily but otherwise rock-steady, his own sword unsheathed.

“Run,” he hissed, and launched. Nokto leaped off the bed just before Yves’s sword impaled the crumpled heap of sheets he landed on. Yves swiftly extracted it and rammed the unbalanced Nokto into a dresser. Crystal goblets and glass containers from the top rocked and crashed on the ground, filling the room with a suffocating mixture of perfumes and sprays. Licht pressed an end of his cloak to his nose and he blinked through watery eyes, but the stinging made it impossible to follow where the two had ended up. All he could hear were clashing sounds and angry voices shouting across the room, and each second that passed by made it harder and harder to breathe. 

Feeling close to retching, Licht slung the rucksack over his shoulder, forced his eyes as far as they could open, and bolted out of the room. The sounds of the fight grew dimmer the farther he ran, but as he gulped in heaps of fresh air into his fiery lungs, he convinced himself to power forward.

This is what Yves sacrificed himself for. You will leave, like he wants. You will not let Nokto become a murderer. They’ll be alright once you’re gone.

“It’s Prince Licht!” a voice called overhead. He had just reached the stairs when he saw them. Half a dozen soldiers were racing down the steps toward him, their weapons held in front of them.

Don’t stop for them! Yves’s words echoed in Licht’s mind. He pulled the hood of his cloak low over his eyes and dashed down the steps, taking two at a time. More soldiers rushed to join the pursuit with every floor he passed, their thundering footsteps growing behind him like an avalanche. He was getting tired fast, and they weren’t slowing down.

Licht gripped the railing and jumped on, sliding down the banister like a chute. He tried not to think of how his sweaty palms made him slide faster, nor the fact that he and Nokto used to play this very game as children. The parchment with the drawing slipped from his grasp and fluttered away, engulfed in the stampede of incoming men. 

The distance between them grew. He kicked off at the base of the handrail and set off down the hall on foot. Yves said to head to the kitchens, that was his best hope.

“Licht!” a familiar voice boomed ahead of him. With torches lining the walls, Licht could make out Jin’s figure instantly, the lines of his distressed expression carrying through the deserted hallway as clearly as the crescent moon.

“Stop! Let’s figure this out,” he called, holding his hands out in front of him. Ready to capture.

Don’t stop for him! 

Licht yanked the rucksack off his back, wound his arm, and smacked it directly into Jin’s chest. The force of the blow coupled with the momentum from his run knocked Jin backwards, hitting the ground hard, but it also meant he had to relinquish his hold on the bag to keep from collapsing too. Swearing angrily, Licht flew down the rest of the hall into a side corridor and burst into the kitchen.

“Out of the way!” he yelled, barreling past terrified cooks and bakers and out into the dark grounds. The cold night air splashed at his face, whipping his hood off, as he ran toward the stables. He felt lighter without the rucksack, and there was no one pursuing him, yet his mind weighed down on his predicament. His sword rattled mockingly at his side, and Licht wanted to chuck it as far from him as possible before leaving. How many more people needed to get hurt because of him?

He tore through the stable entrance and made a beeline for his horse’s stall. Marron was still awake, tossing her head jerkily on his approach, as though she too knew what he didn’t. 

“Let’s go for a ride, girl,” said Licht, reaching to rub her muzzle. But before he could touch her, two large arms clamped around him from behind, and he was lifted into the air. Licht coughed as the breath in his lungs puffed out.

“Jin says you did something bad.” Luke’s voice was shaky as he squeezed harder, and for the third time that night Licht had to resist the urge not to vomit. 

“W-what… bad?” Licht choked. He couldn’t face Luke, and instead kept his eyes trained on Marron, who had begun bucking madly against the door of her stall in an attempt to save her rider.

“Everyone’s looking for you,” said Luke. “Chevie… Leon… all the guards are yelling ‘Bring Prince Licht back alive!’ They say you killed the king.”

Licht’s vision turned white. He heard Luke’s words, but couldn’t quite digest them. Probably due in part to the feeling that everything digested in his stomach was close to spouting back up.

“Nokto,” Luke continued. “He told me to wait here… He said you’d try to escape… Told me not to fail… Then he went to Yves’s room…”

At their names, Licht’s focus resurfaced. He was still trapped, his legs dangling in midair, one arm strapped tightly to his side, his sword forgotten. But Marron was just ahead, stomping even louder than the guards on the stairs, whipping her head, eyes locked on Luke.

Licht’s second arm was still free, the one he extended to pet Marron. The latch to her door was so close. He pushed against Luke’s chest, stretching his fingers as far as he could, the tips just grazing the top of the lock—

Wham!

A pounding headache erupted in his skull and Licht burst open his eyes. It was dark, but not the kind of outdoorsy dark he had just seen. This was a wrenching familiar darkness, one of his own design.

He sucked in a few cursory breaths before realizing his stomach wasn’t being squeezed anymore. He tried lifting his head (when had he fallen to the ground?), only to realize his upper half had fallen off his bed, the rest of him still nestled beneath his covers. His lower arm was outstretched, clutching the bottom hem of a curtain.

He climbed out of bed and hesitantly approached the window. Squinting at the bright sun bursting through as he parted the curtain, he caught a view of a picnic setup outside the rose garden. Seated on a cream-colored blanket were Yves, Nokto, Jin, and Luke, all smiling widely and inviting a girl in a red skirt to join them for breakfast.

*Tosses wordcount out the window* I promise, I'll redeem myself with a happy story for the twins one day.

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[sleepygetou]

BROTHERLY LOVE

JJK S2 E13 - Red Scale

[originalartblog]

Unforeseen learning opportunity!

(wikitionary to explain the scar)

(bonus)

[contact-guy]

(content warning for drugs, scarring, and needles!!!)

This is part one of THE SIGN OF THE FOUR...please bear with the angst, but Holmes and Watson are sooo bitchy to each other in the opening of this story and I wanted to dig into it.

Part two

(this is part of the Watson's sketchbook series)

EDIT since someone asked - these are all direct lines from the book except for the section that starts with "you will have work again" and ends with "I know there have been rumours", which is my little addition to explain certain things