#and its only across the street :) like literally just across LOLL

[ihophashbrowns]

me n my brother went to the store thats across the street for the first time n it was so cool :)

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; the Gotham Kid. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kid actually jams the warehouse doors with his TTK, then steps forward into the street. Just–there’s other exits out of the building, obviously. He wouldn’t trap them all in there. 

He just needs to be sure no one’s gonna freak out and fuck up into following him right now, is all.

Kid does find some clay. It’s smeared across the bars of a grate he passes. It’s hard to tell if it’s from Clayface dragging his injured body away into the sewers to hide or just . . . blood splatter, technically. 

Blood splatter, or . . .

Kid doesn’t feel anyone or anything Clayface’s size moving anywhere nearby, but his TTK is still acting up, so maybe . . . maybe he’s just missing him–like, not picking up on him–or maybe Clayface is just already holed up and hidden away somewhere, or . . . 

Or maybe Kid’s just fucking deluding himself. 

Kid trembles, just once, and then fists his hands and locks his TTK around his muscles, and makes himself cross the street. 

No sign of Clayface, aside from the clay on the sewer grate. No blood or body parts anywhere immediately visible or TTK-able. No bodies anywhere, at least not as far as Kid can see or feel. His TTK keeps flickering unreliably, which is–it doesn’t work great against fire or temperature or concussive force and literally all of that stuff happens in explosions and all at once, so . . . probably that’s why it’s kinda fucked-up right now, yeah. He thinks, anyway. 

The street smells like burnt rubber and motor oil and a little bit like almonds, which Clark’s memories say is a plastic explosives thing. They also provide him with a list of search pattern options to use on search-and-rescue missions, which is more, like–immediately helpful, at least in theory. 

Sector search’ll be best, probably, at least right now. He’s not going aerial, obviously, and expanding square is too– 

Something moves. Kid’s TTK is still flickering in and out and only just catches it, but–something definitely just moved. 

He doesn’t run straight towards it, whatever it is. He probably would’ve, before he figured out he was remembering Superman’s memories and lived six months in the worst parts of Gotham, but he knows better now. Rushing straight towards the problem only solves the problem in very specific situations, and “standing in the middle of a blown-up street in Crime Alley while trying to do search-and-rescue without looking like you either have superpowers or know how to do search-and-rescue” is not one of those situations. Not even remotely. 

Kid adjusts his search pattern carefully to work his way towards that hitched little flash of movement and concentrates on getting his TTK back under control enough to feel what’s ahead. Visually, he sees a couple of cars that got blown off the street crashed sideways across the mouth of a skinny alleyway. Tactilely, he feels . . . 

There’s a body in the alley behind the cars, yeah. Physically male, tall and broad and muscular; prone on its back, head lolled to one side and breathing slow and steady and careful, one arm clutched tight to its side. 

It’s Pete, and he’s alive. Injured, definitely, but–but alive. 

So that’s at least one person Kid maybe hasn’t gotten killed, depending on just how injured Pete actually is. 

Kid swallows rough and hard; clenches his fists for a moment and stiffens his shoulders; squares up like he’s trying to scare someone off. Makes himself big, like he used to try to when he was brand-new and in Metropolis and desperate for the kind of attention he didn’t know was dangerous. 

Then he just–makes as much tension as he can go out of himself and tries to just–calm himself, and center himself, and . . . 

Clark could do that a lot better than he can, no matter what he remembers about how to do it, but it’s . . . something, Kid guesses. Just–a little better, anyway. 

It’s . . . a start, yeah. 

He clambers over the cars because he’s not stupid enough to fly–hasn’t flown once since leaving Metropolis, in fact, not for anything and especially not in Gotham–and especially he’s not stupid enough to fly when he doesn’t know who might be sneaking around. The cops aren’t gonna show up for at least a couple hours, assuming they even bother showing up at all, but that doesn’t mean Crime Alley’s empty right now. If nothing else, no matter what happened to Clayface, Killer Croc is still supposed to be out here somewhere. 

Or there could always be a Bat. 

Their response times are a hell of a lot better than the cops’, around here.

[whumpbug]

you know what i need more gene and cassidy physical contact rn actually…..don’t care they can be at each other’s throats i just need it (shaking them in a little jar that is my mind)

HI MELLO i wanted to make this into a fic so. here you go. it was originally going to be a silly fluff fic but then the Voices (lem) gave me an idea and i ran with it.

i was literally Sad writing this. gene is in the trenches, the TRENCHES i say. its so bad. you get small, but meaningful physical touches and Angst.

DISCLAIMER: this is set like. a little earlier in their relationship. this is meant to be The moment that gene started realizing he perhaps Wanted this man. i'll make a timeline at some point bc the stuff i've written is not in order IM SORRY GUYS

cw: drunkenness, period-typical homphobia, internalized homphobia

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

“No. No. Y’get away from me, Deputy Dipshit. Not today.” Cassidy slurred. “You ain't takin’ me away.”

He nearly fell off of the barstool when he turned to shoved an indignant finger in Gene’s direction, catching himself on the side of the counter with a small “woah!”

Gene narrowed his eyes. “Did you just call me Deputy Dipshit?”

Cassidy suddenly let out a loud snort and, this time, really did fall off the barstool with a solid thump. He only kept cackling and clutching his sides.

“Deputy Dipshit!” He cried, breaking out into another round of laughter.

“I really am sorry to bother you Delaney,” Mr. Stetson, the bartender, began. “But he was causin’ some problems and pickin’ fights. Can’t have that in my saloon.”

“Of course, sir. I understand. I’ll take care of it.”

Gene sighed.

“No! Don’t you take one step closer Delaney, I ain’t going with’ya!”

Gene took a step closer. “I ain’t gonna arrest you, Silver. Just gonna sober you up.”

“Hmm.” Cassidy squinted up at Gene, and now Gene could really see how drunk the idiot was. 

His cheeks were flushed. His hair was mussed and his eyes were half lidded and glazed over, but he had this dopey, infuriating smile plastered across his face. He was slowly getting himself to his feet, but his foot caught on a crooked plank in the floor and it sent him listing forward, and Gene rushed to meet him, catching him by the arm.

“Woah.. s’all spinny..”

“Yeah, well, moonshine’ll do that to you. Can you walk?”

“Yep.”

Only Cassidy made no move to take even a single step. Even with Gene’s large hand around his bicep, he was swaying in place, like he was rocking on a ship. 

“Jesus, Silver,” Gene breathed, pressing himself flush against Cassidy’s side and wrapping his arm around his waist. “Come on.”

Cassidy simply hummed softly and put practically all his weight on Gene. The pair staggered their way out of the saloon and into the empty street.

“Where’re we goin’?” He slurred, letting his head loll towards Gene’s shoulder.

“We’re gonna book you a room at the inn so you can sleep this off. Ain’t no point in trying to get you on your horse.”

“Mmh.. yeah.. Scotch don’t like me ridin’ drunk..”

“I’ll bet.”

The two arrived at the small inn down the street with relatively no issue, until they reached the steps. Cassidy's boots must have been made of lead, because the man simply refused to lift his feet.

Eventually Gene sighed, and lifted the man by the armpits and set him on the porch.

Gene adjusted his grip around the man’s middle and stepped up to the front desk. The woman looked up at him, unamused.

“How can I help you, Delaney?”

“Just bookin’ a room for my friend here. He had too much to drink. Anything available?”

The woman flipped through the log book before turning her deadpan gaze back to Gene.

“Third room to the right. Don’t leave a mess.”

“Yes ma’am,” Gene replied, pulling out a few bills from his wallet and depositing them on the counter. The outlaw was going to owe him.

Cassidy let out a soft groan as Gene led him down the hall. He thanked the stars that they didn’t have to climb any stairs, or else he might have had to throw the man over his shoulder like a damn sack of potatoes. 

Cassidy mumbled something unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“I said,” He lifted his head from where it was lazily slouched over. “M’glad you’re here.”

“Weren’t you just telling me not to come near you--”

“Shaddup. I just.. Montana’s not gonna let me back in’ta camp tonight. I pissed him off.” Cassidy hiccuped lightly, letting his head fall toward Gene once again. “Would’ve slept in the woods tonight.”

Gene didn’t know what to say. Part of him felt like he wasn’t supposed to hear that in the first place.

Gene had his fair share of run-ins with Montana. The man was mean and cold. In all honesty, he sort of scared Gene. He certainly couldn't imagine being raised by the man. He was ruthless.

With Cassidy, at least Gene had a certain sense of security that he wouldn’t be shot dead at the drop of a hat. Their relationship had progressed as of late. Gene saw him less as a criminal that needed to be locked away, and more as the complicated man he was. He couldn’t quite explain it.

Maybe it was more akin to companionship that Gene would have liked to admit.

So he said nothing. He simply half-dragged Cassidy into the small room and deposited him on the bed. 

Cassidy groaned and let himself fall onto his back, blinking blearily at the ceiling.

“Why’re you helpin’ me.. in the first place,” He slurred. He didn't look away from the ceiling.

Gene began to work on removing Cassidy’s boots for him. “‘Cause we can’t have a crook out on the streets, now can we?” 

“Mmmh.. then why didn’t’ya put me away.” Cassidy hiccuped quietly.

“In jail? Guess I didn’t feel like walkin’ that far, is all,” Gene huffed. “Sit up.”

Cassidy obliged, squeezing his eyes shut at the wave of vertigo that overtook him. He swayed where he sat. Gene stepped closer, leaned closer, and began to methodically unbutton his coat for him. He could smell the liquor on his breath.

For a brief, fleeting moment, he thought that perhaps this was not something that two men should be doing together. It was intimate. Too intimate, especially for a deputy and an outlaw. 

Suddenly, Cassidy reached a clumsy hand up and found Gene’s large, calloused one. He gripped it firmly and lifted his flushed face.

“D’laney.. You.. you’re a real good guy..” He hiccuped. “Wan’ you t’know that.”

Gene felt the blush creep up his ears.

He averted his eyes. “Stop talking. You’re drunk.”

“Hah. Yeah.”

Gene worked Cassidy’s arms out of his coat and with that, the latter flopped unceremoniously onto the bed. He let out a slow, sleepy groan.

Gene huffed a small laugh and hooked the coat on the bed post. He watched Cassidy blink dazedly for a few moments.

“Turn on your side, Silver.”

Cassidy simply grunted, but didn't move.

“Christ.” Gene leaned over the bed and pulled Cassidy to lay on his right. Some hair fell over his eyes, and Gene reached up to brush it away, but--

He did not expect such a visceral pit to form in his stomach when Cassidy leaned into his hand.

The man relaxed, burying his nose into Gene’s fingers and sighing contentedly. His eyelashes fluttered against Gene's palm.

Gene's heart stopped.

Before he thought better of it, Gene gently, tenderly cupped Cassidy's cheek and ran a thumb along his cheekbone. In the dim candlelight of the room, Cassidy looked something out of a grecian myth.

Never had he seen something so beautiful. Gene thought he was going to be sick.

He snatched his hand away as if it had been burned.  

“I’ll get goin’ now,” He said hurriedly, crossing the room to the doorway in a few strides. He needed distance. He couldn’t be near that damn outlaw, not when it felt like his heart was going to beat out of goddamn chest.

Cassidy was already snoring, curled in on himself and pulling the pillows tight to his chest. He looked peaceful.

Gene felt anything but.

He shut the door behind him and bid the woman at the front desk goodnight before all but racing out of the inn. His head was spinning so much, he started to wonder if he was the drunk one.

A drink didn't sound too bad, either way.

He found a small space between buildings and sank down the wall, lowering his head. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to quell the fire that burned in his chest.

Why did he feel like this? What was wrong with him? Cassidy was a man. Cassidy was a criminal.

And yet all Gene wanted to do was march back into that room and pull Cassidy into his arms and let the world fall away. He wanted to be near him, to be with him, and that thought terrified him.

Gene’s hands flitted to the ring on his necklace. He shut his eyes.

Christ, help him.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[shzmluvrs]

Hi! I saw that you write for Jon, Damian and Billy and decided to take this opportunity to request an imagine-

So basically Reader is wonder woman's daughter and her, Jon and Damian are best friends and form some kind of "Mini Trinity". The boys notice she's been busier a lot more lately and find out its because she's dating someone which is where Billy comes in. This part might be a bit ooc so feel free to ignore it! Damian and Jon ask to meet Billy and Damian is putting on his best "Hurt her and I'll go after you" attitude on while Jon is more on the nicer side but still a bit protective. tysm in advance 💞

OMGOMG I love this idea sm you don't even know!! I already know writing this is gonna be fun for me >:D

Spoiler Alert: This was very fun writing for me😼.

~ Star✨️

Batson and The Bat's Son

Prompt: You should've known you wouldn't have been able to hide it for as long as you wanted. You were lucky you had gotten away with it for this long. Of course, it's not that you didn't want to tell your best friends that you had a significant other. It was... just a lot harder when those friends were overprotective guys, and also literally the sons of Superman and Batman. But like, especially Batman...

Timeline: Post S!:FOTG

TW/Content: Damian being...himself⚡️Tension (both good and bad)⚡️Slight bits of angst, maybe??⚡️Billy loving you so so much⚡️Martian Manhunter cameo😱?!?!

Reader: Fem! She/Her/Hers Pronouns! Wonder Woman's Daughter!

Requested By: Anon

Back to the Master List

"Valkyrie."

"Great Hera...!" You gasped at the montoned demand of your superhero name, jumping and whipping around faster than you could put away your glasses. But upon realizing it was only the infamous Boy Wonder, you relaxed. Letting out a huff and bringing the crucial part of your disguise back into view, you wanted nothing more than to land a blow worthy of launching him across the street onto his chest, but didn't, seeing as you had scoldings to deliver and your questions answered immediately first.

"I've told you time and time again not to do that, Damian! You wander this earth like a ghost, and I scare too easy for you to just...appear behind me like that!"

"I'm surprised you were alarmed at all. I would have assumed you'd known that I was with you the whole time."

Your eyes narrowed, and you pointed an accusing finger. "With me..." You mocked. "You mean you were following me."

"There would be no need for me to do such a thing if you weren't vanishing so often."

Your (E/C) eyes rolled, never once leaving the side of the alley wall. You ignored his words, arms crossing over your chest before your head lolled upwards towards the sky.

"I suppose Jon is here as well."

No response, not that you needed one at this point considering the circumstances.

"Listening in right now." You added matter of factly. "You can come down now, I know you're at least a mile away."

As if on cue, a loud booming sound went thundering overhead, like a canon being let off until Superboy himself came landing right in between the two of you. The gravel shook and cracked at his entrance, completely opposite to his awkward and smiley demeanor the moment his blue eyes focused on your pursed lips and knowing glare.

"...Hi."

"Hello, Jon." You greeted flatly before addressing the both of them. "What are you two doing here? Why are you following me?"

"There needn't be any reason for us to do so if you weren't sneaking around. The question now becomes: What are you hiding?"

"Nothing!" You hissed, trying your hardest to ignore the guilt panging in your chest at his words. "I'm not hiding anything, there's nothing to hide. I'm just-"

"-Avoiding us?"

Another tug at your heartstrings, the gleaming look in Jon's eyes hoping that what he had suggested wasn't truth. It surprised you that the boy would even think such a thing, you quickly expressing this with a swift shake of the head and more excuses.

"What? No! No, no, I'm not...avoiding you. Either of you. I'd never do that. You're two of my closest friends ever, I'm just-"

"-So you're hiding something."

"Damian...!" You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose at his second of the same accusation. And yet, you had no words to truly defend yourself. Hell, you couldn't even deny it! You weren't hiding something. You were hiding someone. But, just as quickly as you realized this, you had also come to the conclusion that they didn't have to know that. Your little secret could still remain just that. A secret.

"Yes, yes, I am. . . hiding something."

"Like what?" Jon pushed, already hovering circles around you in optimism. "Like a surprise type of something?!"

"Don't be naive, Jonathan. If that were the case, I would've found out sooner, and I'd know what it is already."

You giggled at their difference in personality, throwing out a quip of your own in hopes to de-escalate the situation.

"Well, know-it-all, it's good thing it's not a surprise something."

"Don't act as though you're off the hook." He responded curtly. "We're still standing in a desolate alleyway in the heart of Metropolis with no reason as to why, other than you're hiding..."

Flicking his wrist in your direction, he prompted a response from you that you were struggling to come up with. Their expecting gaze wasn't helping, and it left you to awkwardly fiddle with the arms of your glasses until you meekly let out a pathetic, "...Something."

"Something like what, though?" Jon egged further, to which Damian shook his head in dismay.

"More like who. 'Two of my closest best friends'?" He quoted words you hadn't even remembered you said, throwing more of his deductions into your face like this was a game of Clue. And goodness knows, at this rate, he was going to win.

"Two out of who, (Y/N)? Not to highlight your lack of social skills, but the only person you have to consider a friend would be Jon."

Jon coughed, rather harshly, in Damian's direction before he sighed and quickly grumbled, "And I as well, I suppose."

"Uh, rude." Was your only comment at first. Though you were not yet ready to admit defeat, a sigh escaped your lips and you came forward with the most honest demeanor you could throw on, looking into the green eyes of Damian behind his mask and then the blue ones of Jon.

"Look, you two are my best friends in this entire realm, okay? Nothing will ever change that, and I swear, there isn't anyone else."

There was a looming silence, and though Jon was satisfied with your expression of care by showing you another smile, Damian had decided on the more...intense route.

"Do you put that on your mother's life?"

"Dude..." Jon sighed. "C'mon..."

And before you could answer, the sound of metal clanking together immediately threw the trio of you into defense. Jon's eyes glowed a neon red while the 'slinth' sound of a katana being ripped from its case was heard, Damian aiming the pointed end towards the loud noise. And before you could even begin to put your mother's Lasso of Truth to good use, your face went deadpanned and you wanted nothing more than to slap the culprit who was struggling to put the two trashcans back in their places.

"Besides him..." You added to your last set of words, lowering your guard and urging the other two boys to do the same.

"Stand down, it's just..."

"Oh! Oh, (Y/N)! I did not at all see you there; Why aren't you in your disguise, wh-? ... Uh..." The man in glowing red and gold slowed both his actions and his words, his excited face shifting into one of confusion at your unexpected company.

"So, is this what you were unwilling to disclose?" Damian further pressed. "If a partnership outside of us was something you were searching for, I'm sure there were more...suitable... members of the league for you to choose from. Better yet, I can make a phone call, and you'd be allowed to choose."

With your heartbeat increasing at the predicament you had so recklessly caught yourself in, you wanted nothing more than to crawl into a pit and wither away. But, you had to keep level-headed. If you didn't, things would go very wrong in a matter of seconds. You didn't want that for your best friends, or...

"I'm sure you could, Robin, but I chose him. He's perfectly suitable for me, and shouldn't that be all that matters?"

He cocked a brow, further testing both your patience and your judgment while Jon was simply happy to learn that you've made a new friend.

"When did you guys meet?" He began to hover circles around the man dressed in lightning themed Greek wear. "I don't even think I've seen him around Metropolis before."

"I-...Well, yeah," he went to answer for himself. "That's 'cause all the cool stuff happens right here in Philly. You know... wizards...and dragons and such."

"You fought a dragon?!"

"Yeah, I've fought a dragon!" The super exclaimed enthusiastically. "It was made out of wood and spewed blue fire. It was awesome!"

Both you and Damian gave an eyeroll, his of unamusment while you were quick to state one less cool fact about the whole ordeal.

"And then it killed you."

"Wha-?!" He stopped himself, looking towards you before pointing a finger. "Yeah, but then I got resurrected! So it's all good, everything's good."

"Yeah, by my mother!" You added sternly. "Billy, I know you did what you had to that day, but you seriously need to learn to think things through, because I don't plan on having to resurrect you myself anytime soon."

"Yeah, well- I..." He stopped himself from replying to you, suddenly becoming aware of how casually you dropped his real name and how he wasn't supposed to respond to it. And before he could do anything to correct you, Damian had gone back to his analysis on the situation.

"And that's your reasoning for working with him? Because your mother has forced you into cooperation based upon the fact that she...resurrected him?"

"Well, no, not exactly." You attempted to clear up. "It was more of a meet-cute, and-"

"-Dude, do you even watch the news?" Jon interuppted your words, his smile growing bigger with each passing moment until he himself finally realized who this man was.

"He's one of the new superheroes here! He literally saved the world. Twice."

There was a pause in the air, Damian clearly having not paid any mind to the news (at least, not anything relating to whatever was happening in Philadelphia) and was still unimpressed by just the information being told.

Jon went on, this time in hopes to make it all sound just a little more appealing.

"It's not just him. Like I said, he's in a group. The...Philadelphia Fiascos, something like that."

You couldn't help but try and force back a giggle, knowing just how much the title irked the man standing in front of you as he threw and then dropped his arms against his sides.

"No, that is not our name. It's actually one of the stupidest things I've ever heard. It's definitely not my name. My name is Shazam."

And just like that, with a flash of lightning and a bolt of thunder, "Shazam" was now back to the original name you had given earlier.

"Oh shit-...." He cursed, but you struck an arm out before he could run off or say the word to change back.

"Don't bother." You sighed, taking in the surprised look on Jon's face and the expecting one on Damian's (because lord knows hardly anything surprises him at this point).

"This was all inevitable, I might as well get this over with..."

You inhaled, preparing your words of explanation to the three boys you admired most.

"I know I told you guys that you two are my best friends. You guys have been there for me through my worst and my best, and I'm forever grateful for that. My mother told me it was best that I made new friends. And I did. But... she didn't say anything about not having a boyfriend..."

Jon's eyes nearly widened out of his sockets at your words, Damian's stoic demeanor dropping for a mere split second before he slapped it right back on, hoping you hadn't noticed. But, you did, the shift in his aura already making you more nervous than you already were to introduce your boyfriend.

"You guys... this is Billy Batson."

There was a deafening silence, the four of you staring at one another as if someone was supposed to speak up first. And naturally, this troubled you, but you couldn't help but feel such a strong batch of weight fall from your shoulders.

Relief clouded over you unexpectedly and maybe even too soon, Billy leaning over to you with a hushed tone and a worried glance.

"Are...they supposed to know that?"

Sure, it might not have been your place to suddenly reveal his secret like that, but you figured that maybe it was for the best. Not to mention, he had basically done so on his own inattentive accord. It was just even more of a reason to somehow try and make this trio a quatro. A quartet? A...group of four friends, two of which are dating.

Yeah. Totally not awkward at all.

"Well, yeah, I don't see why not. It's the same as how I know that that's Jon Kent..."

And with a simple gesture over to the raven-haired boy repping his father's symbol of hope on his chest, he gave another wave and this time, an unsure smile towards the dude who he was now supposed to accept as your...boyfriend...

"...'Sup."

You turned towards the other, giving another throw of the hand in hopes to make and keep things seeming causal.

"...And that's Damian Wayne."

And though you hoped he'd at the very least show some form of peace, he kept his glare and stoic nature in tact, staring down Billy as if he were some low-life thug from Gotham City. Someone easy to beat to a pulp, should the boy prove he deserves such a fate in any way, shape, or form.

"(Y/N), how do we even know we can put our trust into this...imbecile? I thought you-"

"-You can trust him, I swear. You trust me, don't you?" You cut in before Damian could even finish his light scoldings. "Besides, he revealed himself to you-"

"-On accident." Billy quickly added, already wishing he hadn't. Wishing he was still in his grown, superhero form. At the very least, his own intimidation tactics would come from confidence rather than cockiness and might even actually work.

"But you did it." You reminded. "He did it. So it's only right that he knows who you are, too, you guys." You informed calmly.

"How did you even meet him? How do I know he can be trusted, (Y/N)?" Damian berated further, Jon nodding in agreement as you huffed in frustration. "This is just as reckless as it is dangerous, especially for you. You need to learn that these types of things can lead to your own downfall."

Before you could even give yourself a chance to think of a response (not even wanting to admit he could possibly be right), Billy had spoken up on your behalf, regardless of his outward appearance.

"Hey, look, I know you're super protective of her and all, I get it... but she can totally take care of herself. I've seen it firsthand. So, relax."

As if the atmosphere couldn't grow any thicker, you felt as though you'd choke on your own shallow breaths, watching the two stare down into each other's matching colored eyes with no intentions to back down. Jon quickly threw you a glance, knowing all too well how Damian tended to "appreciate" these sorts of challenges, and you were the last hope at stopping it, both physically and through your words.

You chose the latter, piping back up with a worthy story to back it all up.

"Like I said... It was a meet-cute."

──────────── •⚡️• ────────────

"Mother, I don't understand. I've learned all there is to know about this realm. I've read every book you've given me, and I've seen...so many things I wish I hadn't..." You raved on as you practically jogged to keep up with your mother's long strides.

"What more could I possibly have to gain?"

"Young (Y/N)..." She began, stopping abruptly in order to turn and face you.

"My sweet girl..." You looked up at her with curious eyes, still unsure as to why you two were left wandering the streets of a busy Philidelphia. Deep in the heart, the sea of people wading around your cloaked figures. Shooting you weird glances, but minding their business nonetheless while your mother cupped your chin.

"There is always something more to learn. Much to know, something else to discover. And, if you must take my word, the journey is worth it."

"But-"

"In time, you will see. But, for now, I have a rather important lesson for you today."

You were left befuddled at this bit of information, your brows knitting together as you wracked your brain for what the lesson could possibly be.

"I have completed all of my training. And I wasn't assigned a mission..."

"No, but you're not exactly ready for your tournament on the island, either." She teased with a smirk, leaving you to do sort of a 'har-har' motion with your head at the implication of your later-to-be-done trials on Themyscira. An island you had yet to go back to, having been born there and no memories after that once Diana had made the decision to bring you back to the land mortal man resided on.

"Today is a lesson of cooperation. Teamwork."

"Oh, mother..." You sighed frivolously. "I know how to work with a team. I-"

"I am aware of your allyship with Clark and Bruce's sons. I admire it, actually. You three are a lot more cohesive than what I could ever be with their stubborn fathers. But, I assumed as such. You guys became friends before your superhero duties came into play."

You contemplated such words, and supposed they were in truth. Your mother, Bruce, and Clark seemed to act more like coworkers rather than friends. Unlike the relationship you had with their sons, having bonded and forming a close-knit pact amongst the three of yourselves before having even thought of doing superhero work together.

And when you did, it made your chemistry on the battlefield a lot better; improved your guy's intuitions for the others' next move. Things got done with smoothness, a quick and ease that other teams seemed to have lacked.

"But," your mother continued, intersecting your own thoughts. "I need to know you are capable of such skill and cohesiveness when your partner isn't someone you know. That you will succeed, even if it means working with a foreign accomplice."

"Someone new?" You predicted, suddenly growing unsure of whatever was to come. And rightfully so, the ground suddenly beginning to shake while the crowds around stopped in their hurried tracks. Their gazes went upwards, yours following until the source of such powerful steps came into view.

"Great Hera..."

Your words came out no louder than a whisper, (E/C) eyes widening at the sight of the largest, reptile-like creature you had ever seen. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, your blood running cold the moment you had a clear view to recognize the beast.

The father of monsters, leaving all to see within their complete rights to run away in terror. A creature you had only heard about in legends and folklore, and only the kind your mother had told you as a young girl...

"That's... That's Typhon..." Again, your words dwindled away into fearful breaths, taking steps back hoping to fall into your mother's embrace as though it would somehow help the overall situation. And suddenly, it had grown worse, not able to feel the woman behind you and only realizing she was gone when she called down to you from the air.

"Be strong, my child!" She encouraged with an unchanged smile, flying away as if she was really going to...

Oh...oh no...

"Mom! Mom, no, you can't leave! You- You're literally Wonder Woman, you can not just leave me to die!!"

"You will not die, for you are the one who chooses what perishes and what remains in your wake. My Valkyrie. . ." She reminded you, ending it with a charm you didn't dare forget. "With or without accomplice, you are so much more capable than you know!"

Whatever lesson this was, it was insane. But, surely, your own mother wouldn't actually put you in a position where you wouldn't return, right?

You took in a breath.

'Trust yourself, (Y/N).' You reminded yourself. Just like that, you disregarded your cloak, revealing your superhero outfit/armor and drew your weapon. For now, you were all that stood between this city, and this ravenous-

──────────── •⚡️• ────────────

"Are you done?"

Your voice cut out, your expressive hands and dramatic tone faltering while your eyes shifted towards Damian in disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

"This...really isn't giving me meet-cute vibes..." Jon next to speak as Billy gave a huff and an eye roll at the sudden interruption.

"Well, maybe if you'd let her finish-"

"I don't recall asking you."

Another pause, Billy giving Damian a knowing look to combat what seemed to be a permanent glare etched onto his face.

"I didn't know I needed your permission?"

"In the presence of those more advanced than you are, I suggest you learn to wait until it's given."

Billy's eye narrowed as he started up another petty bicker, Jon remaining unaware of the upcoming fight brewing between the two. He was busy working out his own thoughts...

"I'm still trying to figure out what he has to do with any of this..."

"More than you." Billy scoffed, now stuck in a defensive attitude.

"Enough! I will go on and you two will listen, or so help me, you will get no explanation at all and you're just going to have to deal with the fact that I have a boyfriend and like it."

And finally, there was quiet once more. A subduing, accepting one that left you satisfied, nodding a little in accomplishment before continuing on.

"Thank you. Now, as I was saying..."

──────────── •⚡️• ────────────

You were all that stood between the city, the rest of the world, and this ravenous, ghastly beast. As a result, the creature did nothing more than throw you around and cause more destruction. You were thanking your lucky stars there had been no casualties, and that you yourself were still even alive. But that could change at any moment following after a simple mistake.

One lazy swing of your weapon or step of your foot. One moment of being at the wrong place at the wrong-

"Watch out...!!"

And before you could even process the end of a sharply filed wing coming your direction in hopes to inpale you, a flash of red, white, and gold blurred your vision and suddenly, you were no longer in the path of a painful death. Just left very stunned and confused while the only thing that could leave your lips was a shocked, "Barry, what are you-?!"

"Who?"

Your mouth snapped shut, looking up and staring into eyes that certainly didn't belong to the Flash, even though he was the only person you knew who sported such a combination of colors and possessed super speed. And yet, here you were, being proven wrong and gently set down back onto the pavement.

"N-...Nobody, nevermind."

"Are you okay? You seem...not cut out for this."

This statement caught you off guard. Sure, you were most definitely shaken up and could hardly plan your next course of action without a wave of fear striking up your spine, but...

Not cut out for this?

"That is most certainly the complete opposite of the case, I'll have you know. I do this for a living."

The man gave you a look up and down, a mix of amusement and unsureness crossing his face as he spoke quickly.

"I dunno, you were kinda... If that were true, I don't think I would've had to come in and save you."

"Save me?" You couldn't help but repeat this, truly flabbergasted at such a claim. "Save me?"

"Also, is there a way you can tell me why you're dressed like a Wonder Woman wannabe?" He asked with no true intent to offend, but the more he talked, the deeper the hole he was digging himself would grow.

"'Cause not to harsh your flow or anything, but the original is always better, and I should know because I met her, but you don't wanna hear about that, I mean..."

"I am not-!" You cut into your own loud protest, fighting the urge to discredit any comparison of your person to your mother. You were your own person, no matter the affiliations you carried, and you were quick to make such information known once a breath left your throat.

"My name is Valkyrie, last born of Themyscira and granddaughter of Zeus. And I'll have you know I'd never step down from my duties of protecting the innocent lives of this land, for I am the one who chooses who lives and and who dies. And that beast...?"

You pointed upwards in the relative direction of where it had last been, but the chaos surrounding was enough for both of you to know neither of your jobs were done.

"It goes down. Tonight."

The super in front of you nodded as if he wanted to believe everything you just said but truly couldn't. A little chuckle even slipped through his lips, the man slowly backing away with intent to return to the fight as well.

"Okay, you seem very focused on all of the right things, but since you're obviously way younger than me which makes you more inexperienced, I think I should at least show you how it's done first so you don't get yourself hurt. Alright? Okay."

And with that, he flew off, the short breeze of wind that was left from his takeoff blowing your (H/C) hair back while you stared up in perturbance.

"...Imbecile." You cursed.

──────────── •⚡️• ────────────

"You were arrogant, which made you stupid. And you lacked precision and grace, as well as the ability to properly communicate." You further informed, recalling the way Billy had just as much of a hard time defeating Typhon as you had. If anything, with no training experience, even worse. And when you tried to join in on the fight, he simply remained in your way, and neither of you had ever gotten anywhere for the longest.

"Is that all? Because I'm starting to get a subliminal message that we aren't as girlfriend-and-boyfriend as I thought..." Billy sighed, his face shifting into a light shade of red at your truthful words and thoughts.

He wanted to say how he didn't recall things to have gone that badly at all, but you spoke up before he could.

"No. That isn't all. But, to spare you, I'd like to point out how though you have no mental training whatsoever..."

──────────── •⚡️• ────────────

"...I must admit, you are...very powerful. And your magic isn't like any kind I've seen before." You uttered through heavy breaths, having spent what felt like hours just to defeat such a cruel animal.

"Are you...a god?"

There was a delay, the man trying to work out your question in a way that would make the most sense.

"Demi-God, actually, technically... It's really complicated to explain. My brother would be way better at telling you all about it."

Your head tilted, clearly confused by his words, which only caused him to try and clear it up further.

"Short version, I got my powers from a wizard who said I was like, pure of heart...wise- No, strong in spirit...or whatever, something like that. And ever since, I've been saving the world with my family, which is super cool, by the way."

"And this wizard..." You inquired. "Was he a god?"

"Uhm...no." he answered, again, with a vagueness that caused you to tilt your head once more. It made his heart leap and brought on the sudden urge to tell you more.

"But you know, one thing we do have in common, the whole Zeus thing...that's totally what the 'Z' in my name stands for."

You nodded, accepting the oddly placed information for what it was before sticking out a hand for him to shake. He did so with an eagerness that almost reminded you of Jon.

"Well, regardless of all previously stated about you, your wizard was correct. Your heart was in the right place the entire time, and I admire that. It's...been a pleasure working with you..."

He smiled, hurrying to provide you with a name. Quickly and unthinking, as usual...

"Shazam."

A flash of lighting made you pull away instantly, the thunderous bolt causing you to jump back into a defensive position until the smoke cleared.

What was revealed to you was a teenage boy around your age and looking up at you with wide, emerald green eyes. His brown hair was disheveled, and he practically stumbled over his own two feet in attempts to get away as fast as possible.

"Wait-!" You stopped him, grabbing at his wrist to which he swiftly tried to pull away from. The close proximity only made you more aware of the height difference, yourself maybe only a couple inches taller, which merely added to the fact that he was wildly intimidated by you as a whole. He wanted nothing to do with the consequences of you finding out his biggest secret, especially after all of the things he had said laced in a tone of condescension.

He continued to pull, but you didn't budge. Instead, you calmed, lowering your tone into a whisper that ceased his movements.

"Wait..." You gave a firm nod of solidarity. Filled with compassion, and you were quick to add a smile. "Your secret is safe with me. You have my word."

"Thank you..." He breathed, watching as you slowly released the hold on his wrist. His touch lingered, your fingertips the last to meet before the both of you were now left standing, face to face before you registered the entirety of the situation. Replaying your mother's words...

'I need to know you are capable of such skill and cohesiveness when your partner isn't someone you know. That you will succeed, even if it means working with a foreign accomplice.'

"You were the lesson."

"...What?"

The confusion splayed across his face amused you, a giggle escaping your lips that made his chest fill to the brim with butterflies while you explained.

"Do you recall the Zeus thing you pointed out earlier?"

He nodded.

"Well," you began, straightening yourself out. "My name is Valkyrie, last born of Themyscira, granddaughter of Zeus."

"Yeah, I...caught that the first ti-"

"Also known as (Y/N)," You cut in. "Daughter of this land's beloved Wonder Woman."

"Oh... Oh, my god...!" He gasped, a mixture of amazement and shock in his tone while you gave another laugh and a nod.

"You have revealed yourself to me, so-"

"Accidentally."

"But you did it." You swiftly reminded. "And I have revealed myself to you. So, it's nice to officially meet you..."

"Billy!" He filled in the blank as fast as he could, soon realizing you may want a full name before awkwardly adding the rest.

"Batson...Billy Batson."

"Hm." You hummed in satisfaction, your smile never once faltering as you gave a nod. "I...look forward to working with you in the future. Preferably, not under the circumstances of another lesson."

You pointed upwards, the large body of "Typhon" shape-shifting into one Martian Manhunter, staring at the two of you from high above with Wonder Woman at his side, the two giving nods of content.

"Holy moly..."

──────────── •⚡️• ────────────

"Oh! I see now...! Meet-cute." Jon expressed as Damian gave a disappointed shake of the head.

"Careless." He huffed, to which you ignored in favor of only responding to Jon's positivity rather than Damian's negativity.

"Exactly. And then, a few weeks later, I took him out for a date."

"Which I think went pretty well, by the way." Billy added, smoothly lacing his hand with yours (completely ignoring Damian and his icy glare as well).

"Mmm..." You hummed with a tone that begged to differ, leaving it clear you and Billy remembered your first date very differently...

──────────── •⚡️• ────────────

"Wait, so...you really can't fly?"

Though the question may have seemed jarring, the bustling crowds of the inner city masked such an odd remark. It left you two free to converse on topics of both citizen and superhero life. Or whatever else came to mind.

Hopefully, all that came to mind, seeing as your time together was limited for the day.

"Unfortunately, no. Just because I am my mother's daughter doesn't mean I inherited all of her capabilities."

Billy shrugged, making sure to keep pace with you in order to actually be by your side. And, as a courtesy tip from Mary, keep himself on the outside towards the road and yourself inwards. 'Just in case' she had said, which confused him. Not that he doubted, though.

"I guess so. I just thought that maybe since you're her kid-"

"-I'm not a carbon copy, Billy. I am my own person, you know." You informed.

"Yes, of course, I totally get that! But, if you can't fly, and if you're not immortal...what powers do you have?"

Such a question left you to think for a moment, your lips pursing up until you were finally left to shrug yourself.

"Well, I wouldn't really consider them powers. Unlike your abilities, I-..."

A gasp cut into your own words, your mood boosting upwards just like your eyes towards the pink neon sign above.

"Oh my gosh, oh my-! I've heard of this, I've always been so curious to try, but it seems there's never any time..."

At first, Billy was confused by your jolt and burst of excitement, staring at you in muddled amusement.

"Huh?"

You grabbed him by the chin, between your thumb and index finger, and forced his gaze up where yours had been. Quickly, he now understood and looked back down at you in bewilderment.

"You've...really never had ice cream before?"

"Well, with my training and all, on top of my studies and hero duties, I never really...get the chance to do much of anything considered downtime." You explained before giving an obnoxious sigh.

"Hell, if only you knew what I went through just to convince my mother to let me out today. And don't even get me started on my best friends..."

"Your...best friends?" Billy inquired, nudging you with his shoulder in a teasing manner. "Thought I was your best friend."

"Yeah, you are." You admitted, casually nudging him back, which struck up bashful giggles between the two of you. "But, in a different way. They are...my first friends. My first superhero friends, normal person friends...my first best friends. So, naturally, getting past them is like attempting to look a gorgon right in the eyes and not turning to stone."

Though he hadn't caught onto the last bit, the analogy something foreign to him, he'd had come up with a plan instantly to both woo you and to simply give you the experience you deserved.

"Tell you what, (N/N)..." He began, using a nickname he had come up with a short time ago.

"Hm?" You chirped in response, eager for his solution as your walk continued on as a gentle and slow stroll.

"I'll take you for a fly around the city. Watch the sunset, maybe grab some food on the way; Ice cream for dessert..."

You face grew hot just thinking about such an ordeal. It was ideally romantic, and it did end with you getting the treat you had always wanted to try.

"It'd be killing two birds with one stone."

His own weird analogy had caught you off guard, taking in a dramatic inhale as a hand flew to your heart.

"Billy...!" You almost scolded. "I do not wish to kill any birds! Especially not with a stone, that's terrible."

He couldn't help but laugh, though you were having trouble finding the humor in his statement as he pulled you into him, an arm around your shoulder providing a cheesy type of comfort you couldn't help but fall for as well.

"It's...an expression. Just means getting two things done at once." He explained cooly, only for you to pout.

"It's a terrible expression."

He huffed, sending you a deadpanned expression.

"Do you agree to the idea or not, (Y/N)?"

You pretended to think about the offer, though you had already come up with your answer. You just didn't want to come off as too desperate, especially considering this was your first date. Sure, you asked (er, more or less commanded) him out, but that didn't mean it wasn't any less nerve-wracking. And natrually, your mother was not the best of help, pushing and pulling the whole situation.

Encouraging you to show strength and pursue the love that pleased you. But, as instinct to protect their child, as any living creature would, often told you no when it actually came down to you wanting to spend time with Billy.

But, you were here now, and that was all that mattered. Matter of fact, you swiftly realized how silly it would be to hold back on maybe a once in a lifetime experience.

"...I suppose." You finally hummed, to Billy's excitement before you quickly added, "And...don't call me (Y/N)."

"What?"

"To you, I am (N/N)." You instructed, having grown fond of whatever little nickname or petname he had given you. "It has been decided upon."

"Okay, (N/N)."

It wasn't long before you two had wandered into a more desolate area, being thorough that the coast was clear before a bolt of lightning was struck and a pair of glasses came flying off.

"Are you...sure this is safe?" You began to hesitate. No, you weren't afraid of heights. But you were definitely afraid of falling, and while of course you trusted whenever Jon would carry you or when your own mother would, Billy had proven himself a tad more...

Distracted? Nuanced? Impetuous? All could be applicable, really...

"Yeah, of course I'm sure! It'll be fun, c'mon, no stress." He urged, beckoning you over with the wave of his hand while now in his superhero alter ego.

"Do you..." You didn't want what you were about to ask sound silly. You were practically indestructible. Falling should be the last thing you were worried about. And yet...

"I'll fly low through the city; and I won't even go my top speed, I guarantee no building crashes." He further pushed with a hyped up grin.

"Do you promise not to drop me?" You rushed, almost embarrassed with how meekly it seemed to come out. Not like you at all, but Billy couldn't help but find it endearing as he walked forward and placed a comforting palm on your shoulder.

"(N/N), only an idiot would drop someone like you."

And that was all the more convincing you needed, ignoring the butterflies in your chest while he lifted you into his arms in bridal fashion.

He made sure to handle you with the utmost care, keeping his promise having never once even let you so much as wobble or slip from his grasp. And, his plans had proven worthy of the hype, the city lights a whole different view to behold while flying so low. Even as the sun began to set, you had no intentions of returning home anytime soon, regardless of curfew. You couldn't leave now!

Not while you and Billy (now back to himself) sat atop of one of the highest points in the city. Cooped up together on one of the bridge towers while he taught you the proper way to eat a philly cheesteak.

"No, no," He scolded, teasing and light as you let your sandwich rest in your lap, giggling at his example. "You gotta' do it like this. The experience isn't true if you don't get cheese like... literally all over your face, watch..."

And he did just that, leaving you to shake your head as laughter escaped your lips.

"Billy, that seems...unnecessarily messy."

"Well, fine then...!" He challenged, his mouth still full as he gestured towards you. "Lemme' see you try and take a bite without getting cheese or toppings anywhere else."

"Bil-"

"Go on."

You huffed, pursing your lips and narrowing your eyes in his direction before giving in to his petty challenge.

. . .

"It's good, right?"

"It's messy, like I stated..." Your words could've very well been chokes if you weren't careful, your mouth just as full of food as Billy's once was while dots of cheese lined your lips.

"Well, then, congratulations. You did it right. You've made me proud." He announced smugly, handing you an honorary napkin to clean your face with.

Once you had managed to swallow it all down, you couldn't help but admit you were left satisfied.

"How...often are cheesteaks sold?"

He chuckled at your question, now left genuinely proud that he had seemed to have successfully transferred his food addiction onto you.

"Don't worry, we'll get you more another time."

He reached to the side of himself, picking up two small cups filled with the icy treat you had even forgotten you'd gushed about. It left you happily surprised once again as he handed you your own.

"For now, I think we should start you off with the most basic flavor. It's really sweet and really cold, so I didn't wanna overwhelm you."

"What flavor is it?" You were practically bouncing with glee, anticipating its taste before he could even tell you what it was. He didn't even get to get the word out before you had shoveled a bite into your mouth.

"French Vanilla."

"Oh...my gods..." You sighed, savoring the taste on your tongue as the ice cream began to melt in your mouth.

"I'll get more of this sooner as well, right?" You hoped aloud, Billy nodding but encouraging you to "slow down" before you ended up with a "brain freeze", whatever that was.

Speaking of freeze, the chill that passed by was certainly enough to calm you down from the ice cream, your arms littering in goosebumps as the two of you stared deep into the sunset. It casted a glow against the horizon on the water, and though it was growing more and more chilly by the moment, you couldn't help but comment on the beauty of it all.

Billy was swift to agree, not that he was actually looking at the sunset. Too busy admiring your features, the way your hair fell, and how your eyes practically sparkled. The tone of your skin making any scars and beauty marks pop against it with the glow of the sun highlighting it all in gold.

He had to refrain from grazing a hand against your arm, his brain starting to convince him that he was dreaming or that you were an angel of some sort, unreal until he could prove otherwise. And, without really thinking about it, he made moves to do so.

"(Y/N)?"

"Hm?"

"Are...you cold?"

You thought about it, even though you didn't really have to. Not to mention, there was a feeling rising in your chest. A feeling that you knew where this was going, and of course, you wanted nothing more than to experience that.

"Yeah, kinda."

And in a solid flow of motion, the boy beside you had taken off his flannel to drape it across your own figure. Eager to pull you closer into him, practically on his lap as you two watched the remainder of the setting sun. Well, tried to, your focus still shifting towards Billy every now and again as if you had to make sure, convince yourself, that he was still there.

"You're gonna miss it..." He pointed slightly in the direction of the golden ball of light, his voice practically a whisper when he saw you look back at him for what seemed like the miilonth time. Even so, he couldn't help but smile, one matching your own as you shrugged.

"That's okay..." Was your only response before you felt yourself leaning in closer. It was like you were metal, and he was a magnet, not that he seemed to mind before mimicking your actions. You-

──────────── •⚡️• ────────────

"Oh my god, are you telling us about your first kiss? I don't wanna hear about that..." Jon brushed away the mere thoughts of that with a wave of his hand, his actions only humoring you and Billy as you swayed up against him.

"Yes, the first of many~."

"Stop, oh my god...!"

"You're so immature." You chided at the boy's revulsion. "Can't you just be happy for me?"

"I don't blame him." Damian insisted. "I, too, find it hard to be content when this 'relationship' was merely established a few months prior. Especially without us knowing."

"Well, maybe this is exactly why I didn't want to tell you." You spat before gesturing towards both boys. "Either of you. You don't get it."

"Oh, I understand. Trust me." Damian scoffed at your vehemence. "I understand that if you expect me to allow this to continue any further, I must see whether or not he's actually capable of keeping you safe. And that he can be proven worthy of, not only your time and efforts, but to be trusted as well."

And when his green eyes met with Billy's, it was clear he had no tolerance for the boy whatsoever. If anything, it was almost like there was a purposeful intent laced within his words to gain some sort of a rise out of him. One which he got, expectingly.

"Um, allowed?" Billy repeated, not at all liking the idea of being told what to do by anyone other than his parents, much less another boy his age. And chiefly when it came down to you.

"First of all-"

"Oh my gods, here we go..." You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose once more in complete detest for more of the bickering about to occur. It seemed as though no one was willing to listen to your words, Jon able to sense this when his eyes left your dejected figure and took notice of the forming tension between Damian and Billy.

"You guys...!" Jon cut in, putting out the spark where it began. "Maybe...she's right. Maybe this could be a good thing?"

"Of course I'm right!" You gasped the minute Jon had come to your defense. "Look, I understand that you guys just want to protect me, but... I can't learn things if I don't ever make mistakes. My own mistakes." You emphasized, knowing how quickly Damian liked to swoop in to take over your own, potentially dangerous, missions. And how often Jon managed to talk you out of different situations with charisma you sometimes lacked.

"And, to be fully honest, I don't believe Billy to be a mistake." You added, looking him in the eyes and then turning back towards them. "I really, really want this, okay? And I don't care if you guys don't trust him or... even like him. I like him. I trust him. And that's it."

A final act of silence fell between the lot of you, Damian trying his best and failing at avoiding your pleading (E/C) eyes. Failing, so, he gave up.

More accurately, gave in.

"Very well." He huffed, never one to fully let his guard down, but doing the best he could to provide some sense of acquiesce.

"But, should there be any trace of even a minor slip up," he worked in his own version of compromise, sporting a final death glare in Billy's direction. "I will kill him."

"Oh, please..." Was his only reaction to the threat which left you to step in with your own word of reassurance.

"He won't."

"If he knows what's good for him."

"He won't kill you, he's just saying that..." Jon laughed. It was awkward, a sign of attempted lightheartedness before he went on.

"But really, please don't do anything that will make us regret trusting you. I think it'd be cool to have a new guy around!"

And naturally, Billy was a lot more inclined to warm up to Jon, giving him a nod of respect. It all finally left you able to wind down, knowing that though it wasn't today's plans or intentions, you had successfully integrated your best friends with your boyfriend.

A group unlike any other.

One you... still couldn't come up with a name for.

AAAAH I feel like this took me way longer than it should've, or that maybe the story itself is too long, but, either way, I hope you liked it!! I can't wait to figure out a face claim for Jon and Damian, btw, that's still sumn I gotta do.

~ Star✨️

Back to the Master List

[seokmingiggles]

solace ‘till morning.

@lunatens​ requested on 210315: "hi lan!!!! happy 3 months omg 🥳🥳🥳 thats so exciting !!!!! :D can i perhaps request prompt #33 with uhhh surprise me with any svt member !!! <3 i hope ur doin well n congrats again !!!"

Song lyric prompt 33: “I find solace riding in your front seat ‘till morning.” Dizzy; Joshua.

Find the rest of the prompts here!

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x gender neutral reader

Genre: fluff, light underlying angst, somewhat of an ambiguous relationship (it’s not an established relationship, perhaps one-sided pining?), bittersweet?

1.07k words

No warnings.

"It's late night at stoplights... The night a medicine; by the time it's the morning, my mind is quiet.”

Alternatively, beneath each of the three colours supplied by the passing traffic lights, Soonyoung still looks beautiful illuminated by every one of them.

A/N: Hi Luna! I initially wanted to write for Joshua for you, but I ended up getting two other requests for him so I hope you don't mind me picking someone else for you. (Also, omg, you literally chose the song titled 'Joshua,' lmao.) In my notes for preparing this drabble, I had picked Jeonghan immediately. And then something happened as I was falling asleep one night and suddenly Soonyoung screamed at me that he wanted to be in this scene instead. How could I say no to that? And in the lyrics of the song you chose, the singer describes a Gemini, so how could I resist Mr. Gemini himself? I hope you’re doing well, too! <3

(I should also probably mention that I had written this before Spider’s release... so don’t expect that Soonyoung here, lol I’m sorry)

Here is the song that I used to inspire this fic, along with its lyrics.

•• Just beyond sunset—that's the time when there seems to be the most magic in the air.

The tiny raindrops speckled onto the car's windows reflect the last of the golden rays like little orbs of sunshine gathered and dispersed in the water: liquid sun, collectible and accessible at your fingertips.

You sink into the passenger seat while the sun dips behind the horizon. When the last of the sunbeams disappear, the rain instead turns an electric coral upon landing on the glass, the hue of the buzzing neon sign of the shop ahead of you. (The store's face promotes used books; it's a quaint shop that you've visited with your friend on more than one occasion.)

Sometimes you wish Soonyoung's car had a sunroof so you could check to see if the stars are already shining above.

Although, the thought fades as the said boy suddenly appears at the car's side, getting into the driver's seat. His sweater is speckled with the rain—a temporary polka-dotted pattern on the oversized fabric.

"Sorry, they were sold out of your favourite."

The sight of Soonyoung's pink cheeks from the neon sign is already sweeter than any dessert he could have bought you.

"No wonder it took you so long," you giggle at his sheepish grin. "You didn't have to get me anything."

Soonyoung hands you a crinkling bag, the paper also decorated in the brisk kisses of raindrops.

"Nonsense," he says.

The car starts; the engine hums to life beneath you, and Soonyoung backs out of the parking spot and merges onto the main road once again.

At the first stoplight you reach, you take in your friend's profile. His head leans back against the car seat's headrest, platinum blond bangs falling haphazardly across his forehead. His eyes lazily gaze ahead at the road; the round tip of his nose reflects the redness of the traffic lamp's beaming light.

You reluctantly look away about as fast as it takes to examine him. With your grip tightening on the paper bag, you, too, lean back against your seat, now taking in the scene beside you.

The wet pavement glows beneath the mixture of the overhanging street lamps and the even brighter moon beyond your line of sight. There is red from the traffic light, red from the taillights of the car ahead of you. Your vision is red; is it because of the annoyance crawling beneath your skin that you can't seem to admit your feelings to the boy sitting beside you, or from the rose-coloured glasses you can't seem to take off?

Everything at this stoplight seems to freeze in time. If you could, you would press pause on this moment just to savour it for a little while longer; the way your cheeks are filled with heat from the car's vents; the way the specks of rain continue to patter tiny dots on the glass; the way Soonyoung is less than an arm's length away.

You could reach your hand out to–

The car creeps forwards at the sudden change to green, and slowly, time begins to tick onward from the unexpected stand-still.

Just like that, your minute of peace vanishes along with the redness of the traffic signal now fading into the distance behind you.

"Where would you like to go tonight?" Soonyoung asks, eyes trained on the road lined with moonlight.

Anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere with you.

"Just the usual place, I think," you mumble, refusing to turn your head from the window because you know how hard it is to look away from him.

The rainfall continues, lulling you into a strange haziness amidst the changing colours of your surroundings.

There are some moments where you could describe Soonyoung to be a bright, fiery red like the stoplights you keep stumbling upon. It's in the way he carries himself, in the way his lips curl into his signature eye-smile, giggling to himself unabashedly at some joke you know isn't very clever.

But tonight, at this self-proclaimed magical hour beyond the sunset and now with the moon in its full glory, Soonyoung shines more mellow than his traditional red. You consider, for a moment, that you wouldn't mind sitting here next to him until the first signs of daylight break beyond the horizon's line, washing you in a different kind of light.

Your grip on the pastry bag loosens. Your head slowly lolls to the other side.

Soonyoung is already peering at you, bathed in the scarlet of another traffic light.

You can feel his effect on you just from meeting his eyes: it begins in your chest—in your heart—the feeling lurches for a moment before swelling and bubbling up to the surface through your throat and out your mouth in a hushed "You're beautiful."

The boy's face morphs into a gentle smile—that same eye-smile you're so familiar with (though now, could it be a smile out of pity?)—until the light turns green, and he has to look away.

You can't seem to pull your gaze from him. Not right away, at least.

Soonyoung is soft, glowing delicately in a way you can't quite comprehend.

Maybe this hour is magical because it's with him?

The raindrops on the window alternate from amber yellow to red to green from each one of many traffic lights on the way to your destination, steadily rotating their trifecta of hues.

Although the specks of rain have long since dried on Soonyoung's sweater, he continues to carry their colours, shifting his just as frequently as the streetlights guiding you forth.

And forth you continue to go. The falling rain creates a buzzing conversation outside of the car while you and Soonyoung proceed to sit in quietness. The silence only continues to grow like an ambiguous melody between your bodies—a concert crescendo's swelling strings at its finale.

But, perhaps, the fanfares are all in your head.

Onwards and off the main road until there are no more street lamps and traffic lights to paint Soonyoung in his designated colour; the two of you belong to the moon and the stars now, allowing them to guide you on your way.

The night comes and goes, but the magic only grows at the first signs of morning, still sat in the front seat of Soonyoung's car.

His eyes are locked ahead at the rising sun.

You reach your arm out towards him.

••

[thecrimsondandelion]

Richie has a bad habit of just taking in animals — he’s got five cats who were previously strays and three dogs he’s found while driving home from work — that he finds outside, and one night he finds this dog, lets say a husky (have u ever heard that thing like women get dogs that represent the men they’re attracted to and men get dogs that represent themselves?? i think eddie would unconsciously do the first) that got out while Bill was dog sitting for Eddie while he was away for a weekend for work or smth. Eddie gets back, finds that his dog is missing, and like a smart owner, tracks it from the chip.

He walks up to Richie’s front door and when Richie opens it, the first thing Eddie says is “You stole my dog.”

“No I didn’t.”

Eddie goes up on his toes to look behind Richie, and sees his dog staring back at him, tongue lolled out of his mouth, just having the time of his life.

“That’s literally my dog right behind you.”

He goes on to explain that Bill sucks as a dog sitter but never has any plans so he was the only person available last minute and that he’d really appreciate it if he could get his dog back because “Man, he is basically my emotional support dog. I fucking need him back unless you want me to cry on your front porch. I’ll do it. Right now.”

omg yes!!! like

Bill probably hoped he’d be able to save Eddie the stress (and himself the absolute bollocking Eddie would give him) and find the dog himself, he has Mike and Ben out to search too. Maybe Eddie got back home earlier than expected, and he’s excited to see his dog. he missed him, and missed the routine

And at first he thinks that Bill must be out walking him, even though it’s not the usual time he goes out (he left a very detailed list and schedule) but then Bill comes back, face red, out of breath, panicked look on his face - especially when he sees Eddie’s home early

A moment of silence…

“Bill. Where the fuck is my dog.”

Richie? hes walking one of his bigger dogs, one that needs a little more exercise than the smaller ones, and a husky is suddenly bounding towards him, shaking its butt in that way dogs do when they’re excited. Maybe he smells like his dogs, maybe it’s the treats in his pocket. It doesn’t have a collar on, and so he whips out a spare he carries, just on the off chance that he comes across a stray (what’s he meant to do, just ignore collarless, sweet little animals on the street??)

He gives the dog a treat and goes the rest of his walking route. then takes him home. and he has a grand ole time!! he takes the cats into another room, just in case the husky isn’t a cat person? a cat dog? if he doesn’t find an owner he’ll slowly introduce them all

of course, he does plan to try and find the owner, he’s not a dog snatcher, but he’s just back from a long walk, he’s tired, and he has a (what seems to be a pure breed) husky in his house?

he wants to play with this dog!!!!!!

he finds out it knows a shit ton of tricks, when he pours our food for him the dog sits there staring, and after 5 minutes Richie realises he has to say “go”

and later in the day there’s a pounding on his front door, and a very angry looking, short, cute man glaring at him accusing him of stealing his dog

and he goes on his tippy toes to look over Richie’s shoulder, which he finds so fucking cute

before Eddie goes on his ramble. Richie teases the hell out of him, probably stalling so he gets to talk to the guy for a little longer

“how do i know he’s really your dog, huh?” though there really isn’t any doubt about it, “he didn’t have a collar on, you got some way to prove it?”

Eddie pulls up his instagram and sure enough theres pictures of himself and the husky (also smoothie bowls, gym pictures, and one of him at pride 👀) and Richie also gets to find out the guys name

“i swear he usually has a collar on. Bill was watching him - and Bills my best friend, but he’s an oblivious idiot, and i had nobody else to watch him while i was away. Man, he’s basically my emotional support dog. I fucking need him back unless you want me to cry on your front porch. I’ll do it, right now. I’ll cause a scene.”

Eddie absolutely knows he sounds like an idiot, but his chest is heaving with worry, and he wants his dog back

Richie can tell somethings up, and drops being an asshole, he invites Eddie inside (and quickly goes onto instagram to follow him) and it’s adorable how he drops to his knees and lets the husky lick at his face, just holds him close and murmurs cute nonsense. and as excited as the dog has been the entire time, it’s suddenly very still in Eddie’s arms except for the tail whacking against the floor

like it knows exactly what Eddie needs

obviously they do fall in love, and Richie does end up having to introduce the dog to his cats, Eddie usually hates cats but it takes very little convincing to get him warmed up to them

richie @ bill like “thanks for being such a shitty dog-sitter, my guy”

Mike, Bill and Ben all also notice how similar Eddie’s dog is to Richie, just a huge bundle of energy, smiley, big, and a little shit at times. and they tease Eddie endlessly about it

[hale-13]

Hold Fasts

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 11 - Whipping

“Is that really all you got?” Peter asked, spitting out a mouthful of blood and one of his incisors in the direction of his kidnapper. A few droplets of blood landed on the man’s hands to mix with the blood that was already dripping from his brass knuckles. The tooth clinked across the floor until it landed beside his foot - Peter really hated when his teeth got knocked out but at least this time it was one of the fake ones that had already been replaced and not one of his actual teeth.

Words: 2220, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Peter Parker, Tony Stark

TW: Whipping, Torture, Kidnapping, Blood

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Is that really all you got?” Peter asked, spitting out a mouthful of blood and one of his incisors in the direction of his kidnapper. A few droplets of blood landed on the man’s hands to mix with the blood that was already dripping from his brass knuckles. The tooth clinked across the floor until it landed beside his foot - Peter really hated when his teeth got knocked out but at least this time it was one of the fake ones that had already been replaced and not one of his actual teeth.

“Bored already?” The man asked in a light voice, punching Peter across the face again and opening up a cut on his cheek from the sheer force of the hit.

“I have a short attention span,” Peter croaked, blowing another globule of blood out of his nose to drip down onto his already ruined shirt. Masked Goon Number One’s mask crinkled in obvious disgust and Peter smiled at him. He could tell by the coppery taste in his mouth that his remaining teeth were covered in blood – surely making for a gruesome image.

Peter, definitely the unluckiest kid in Queens and maybe all of New York, had been snatched literally right off the street on his way to school the day before. Unfortunately for him as well, his kidnappers clearly had a modicum of common sense because they had not only divested him of all of his tech but they had to have disposed of it somewhere on the way to their cliché super secret base (read: abandoned warehouse – so unoriginal). At least that’s what Peter figured since Tony hadn’t burst in within a few hours of him being missing.

Even more unlucky – they had figured out he had enhanced strength and had compensated with heavy duty cuffs that kept him chained against the concrete wall. So far there had been no mention of his arachnid alter-ego so he had to be thankful for small miracles he supposed.

“If you would just answer the question-,” the man started, an edge of frustration to his voice.

“Not gonna happen.” Peter said firmly, his tone filled with steel in juxtaposition to the light smile on his face.

“Stubborn,” the man in front of him muttered before nailing Peter in the stomach. He grunted but didn’t make another sound, he really didn’t want to give them the satisfaction when he had been doing so well at controlling himself. So far their questions had ranged from wanting information on FRIDAY’s systems to the blueprints for the Arc Reactor. Peter had played dumb for a while until they made it clear that they knew about his connection to Tony and them he just started denying them outright. “Why don’t you think on it for a while. We’ll get back to you later.”

“Won’t change my answer,” Peter snarked back as the man left the room, slamming the door in an odd display of irritation and leaving Peter in darkness. Finally alone, Peter let himself dangle from the chains holding him, his shoulders screaming in protest and his back spasming as it took his weight.

“C’mon Tony,” he thought, letting his eyes slip closed. “Where are you?”

——————————————

“My guys tell me you’ve been pretty uncooperative. And after we provided you with such luxurious lodgings – this is top of the line you know,” a new man said, pushing the heavy steel door open hard enough it hit the wall with a bang and startled Peter awake from his light doze.

“Eh they’re pretty average,” Peter said shrugging and trying to keep the sleepy slur out of his voice – he really didn’t need to sound any younger than he probably looked. “Maybe a four out of ten on Yelp. I could be persuaded to bump it up to a five if you’d take these cuffs off though. A six if you offered a decent room service selection.”

“Tempting,” the man told him. “How about a trade? You tell me how to get past Stark’s firewalls and I’ll let you out of the cuffs?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Come on Marty! How many times do I have to tell you assholes no before it sinks through your thick skulls?”

The man blinks at him in surprise and confusion. “Marty?”

“You look like a Marty,” Peter shrugs. “It’s not like any of you have introduced yourselves. Its pretty poor manners you know.”

“They told me that you were intelligent but you clearly aren’t smart enough to save your own skin,” Marty told him nonchalantly. “Either that or you have no self-preservation instincts.”

“The second one,” Peter agreed with a nod, Mr. Stark had told him the same plenty of times when he was patching him up after patrol.

“Right then. Well we’ll just have to up the ante a little. Get him prepared.” Peter’s eyes narrowed as two of Marty’s henchmen came into the room and wrestled Peter until he faced the wall, arms twisted uncomfortably, and cuffed his ankles to the floor. “Just remember: we can stop at any time, all you need to do is answer the question.” The man turned and left the room, pausing at the door. “Oh and its Nicholas by the way, not Marty.”

“Don’t get your hopes up Nicky!” Peter called after him as he left the room, grunting when he was punched in the stomach.

“God I wish we could gag you,” Henchman One said under his breath as he efficiently slipped his knife into the back of Peter’s shirt and cut it clean down the middle, leaving it hanging open in the back and slipping down his shoulders to pool in the crook of his elbows. Every hair on Peter’s body stood on end as goose bumps rose up on his arms and neck and he let out an involuntary shiver.

“What are you doing?” Peter questioned, renewing his struggles and trying to break the cuffs or pull them out of the wall. Neither man answered him. “Hey shit-stick I’m talking to you!”

“You know? I’m really going to enjoy this,” he heard one of the men mutter before there was the sound of something cutting through the air and then his back lit up in a sharp sting. Peter gasped in a breath as his lungs seized. “Well that shut you up.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Peter croaked as his back lit up on fire again and his knees went weak.

“I’m sure you can figure it out you little brat,” Henchman One said, just barely popping into Peter’s peripheral vision as the whip cut across his back again. “Scream if you want to answer the question and make it stop.”

Peter grit his teeth and tried to hold in the scream that wanted to tear out of his throat when his back was hit the fifth time. By the seventh he could feel blood start to pool at the waistband of his jeans. He nearly bit through his lip on strike number twelve and he lost count after that – he’s unsure when he finally gave in and started to scream.

———————————————

“Come on Pete, focus up buddy,” a warm voice said just on the edge of Peter’s consciousness. “This isn’t a good look kiddo.”

Fingers tapped on his face incessantly and Peter groaned, allowing his head to loll back on his neck in the opposite direction to get away. “G’away,” he mumbled out, unable to speak louder than a whisper without his throat throbbing in agony.

“No can do Bambino,” the voice said, hands running through his hair and maneuvering him to be more upright, his chest leaning against something warm and solid. “But if you open your eyes for me I’d be willing to negotiate getting you out of here. What do you say?”

Peter huffed out a breath of exertion and slit his eyes open. Everything was a little blurry but he could clearly make out the comforting blue glow of the Arc Reactor from where the Iron Man suit stood sentry behind Tony Stark. The man was leaning Peter’s chest against one of his shoulders to keep him upright and was staring down at him with a pinched expression.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” Peter said, letting his eyes slip closed again and leaning more fully into his mentor’s side. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“I’d ask if you frequented dumps like this but I’m honestly afraid of the answer,” Tony told him lightly, trying to joke but falling flat. “Think you can stand buddy? I can’t really carry you and I figured you might protest the gurney.”

Peter let out a huff and let his head drop to rest in the crook of his mentor’s neck. “I can walk.”

“Try to lean as much weight as possible on me okay?” Tony told him before beginning the complicated maneuver that they had both nearly perfected so that Tony could get his hands under Peter’s armpits and lift him to his feet. Once standing, Peter’s vision pulsed and went grey around the edges and he fell forward to rest against Tony’s chest as the room spun around him. “Whoa there Pete! You’re alright, just take a few deep breaths okay?”

“Dizzy,” Peter breathed, his vision still fading in and out. “Need to sit…”

“Need to…?” Was all Tony was able to get out before Peter’s vision failed completely and he started sliding back down toward the floor. “Oh shit! Can I get some help in here?! Pete? Peter! Stay with me!”

But Peter didn’t. The darkness was a lot more comfortable than being awake and he was pretty sure Tony would forgive him if he took a little nap. There was a lot of confusion and shouting around him and he was just so tired. With that thought swirling through his head, Peter let himself pass out.

————————————————

Even without opening his eyes, Peter could recognize the plush feeling of the MedBay bed and the sharp smell of betadine and chlorhexidine and industrial cleaner in the air. It tickled his nose and made him want to sneeze but he manfully held it in, burying his face a little more firmly into the plump pillow. He was resting on his front instead of his back like normal and he could tell by the slowness of his thoughts and the heaviness of his muscles that he was on his super strength painkillers and probably some sort of sedation as well.

His thoughts were murky and hard to get through with the pain relief on board so he didn’t try to think too hard for now and, instead, blinked his eyes open slowly. The room was dim like it was late in the evening even though warm light filtered in through the barely cracked blinds. There were two chairs beside his bed – the closest one held May’s purse and scrub jacket and the second had his mentor.

Tony was leaned over his tablet, one elbow propped on the arm of the chair and eyes half lidded as he read through something on the screen. He looked tired but, Peter supposed, he always looked that way when Peter ended up in the MedBay. “Mr. Stark,” he muttered out, blinking his eyes and barely managing to get them back open through his exhaustion.

Tony jumped and launched his tablet to the floor but was quick to recover and stand up so he could lean over Peter and run a cautious hand through his hair. “Hey Bambino,” he said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Peter answered, letting his eyes close again. “High.”

“Yeah I’ll bet,” Tony agreed with him, a touch of amusement in his voice. “You should go back to sleep, you’ve got a lot of healing to do. You want anything before your nap?”

“What happened?” Peter asked, slitting his eyes open to look up at Tony’s worried face.

“When I asked if you wanted something I was thinking water or ice chips,” Tony told him pointedly but Peter didn’t let up on his relentless, woozy eye contact until Tony sighed and settled into May’s chair so he could hold Peter’s hand and continue to massage through his hair with the other. “You were kidnapped for information on me.”

“I didn’t give up anything right?” Peter asked, worried. He could vaguely remember some hazy memories but nothing was really clear through his tiredness and the drugs coursing through his system.

“Not one bit,” Tony confirmed, pride and concern warring on his face. “We’ll have a much more in depth discussion about that later and how you should always save your own skin over a couple passwords,” he promised, “but, for now, all you need to know is they messed up your back pretty good. Cho and Bruce estimate a full recovery with no scaring but you’ll be out for a bit while you recover.”

Peter searched his grey-tinged and sluggish memories before letting out a little hum of understanding. “They whipped me.”

“Yeah kiddo,” Tony confirmed. “They did. But you’re going to be just fine. I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got me,” Peter agreed, letting his eyes slip shut again. “Gonna nap now,” he said groggily, “night.”

“Night buddy,” Tony whispered and Peter fell asleep to the feeling of warm fingers carding through his hair and a calloused hand holding his.

[crossroadsfossil]

King of cats & the possessed forest

Summary: Hawks had foreseen a thousand different ways for this night to go, but not once in any of those scenarios did he picture flying with Dabi through the air being chased by something that set off his prey instincts. He'd expected the night to be bad - why else would Dabi request a meeting two nights before one of the lesser conjunctions? As if the days before a full moon weren't bad enough on their own.

prompt: Cat, warm, fear

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Sort Of, Witch!Fuyumifolklore, adjacent nonhuman Dabi, nekomata!Dabi, angry lighting dogs, Hawks and dabi are in the wrong place at the wrong time, wacky hijinks, Folklore and quirks, what could go together better

-------------------------

The city seemed to thrum with the night, the lights pulsing slightly as the moon crept across the sky. Another a few days and all both of the moons would be aligned with some of the outer planets. It was driving the city mad and kicking up all sorts of figurative and literal storms. If Hawks had to deal with another ‘murder or animal sacrifice’ case with the police he was going to take that vacation time he had been threatening to use. By now he should have about two months of it saved up. Plenty to wait out this upcoming nightmare storm.

The city seemed to thrum with the night, the lights pulsing slightly as the moon crept across the sky. Another few days and all both of the moons would be aligned with some of the outer planets. It was driving the city mad and kicking up all sorts of figurative and literal storms. If Hawks had to deal another ‘murder or animal sacrifice’ case with the police he was going to take that vacation time he had been threatening to use. By now he should have about two months of it saved up. Plenty to wait out this upcoming nightmare storm.

A pack of cats darted across the street, slinking around the edges of the streetlamps. Hawks raised a hand in greeting, seeing several of the animals pause. Their strange heterochromatic eyes flashed in the dim light. Tails flicked in his direction, an almost wave from the clutter of cats, then they began to move on. Only one stayed behind, waiting until their companions were half a block away before it stood on its hind legs. Hawks grinned and waved harder. The cat dropped into an elaborate bow before falling to all fours and almost trotting to catch up to the others.

“It’s not wise to be on such familiar terms with Old Tom.” A voice rasped near Hawks’ elbow. He glanced down. At first glance, it looked like one of the cats from the pack, but he knew better than to assume he piebald at his heels was a member of that courtly clutter. This cat had something the others didn’t: a second tail that twined about the first one, occasionally untangling to lash back and forth.

“Dabi.” Hawks greeted, lifting a wing so the nekomata could curl under it. A moment later there was a sound like the echo of a sneeze and a tall, lanky young man sat under his wing. Hawks rolled his eyes and lifted it higher. He had been expecting a chat with the cat, not the man.

The man shot him a sharp smile and leaned into his space obnoxiously.

“Hawks.” Dabi purred back. “I’m serious, you shouldn’t be so friendly with the king of cats. The Tildrums and the Toldrums aren’t very nice.”

That caused Hawks to laugh, giving Dabi a gentle shove. He hoped it’d keep the cat out of his space a little longer, but all it seemed to do was goad Dabi into getting even closer. He felt claws digging into a shoulder as Dabi threw an arm around him.

“Neither are you, but I don’t mind your company.” Hawks replied. Part of him wanted to ask about the names the cats wore, if there was any significance to using the same four or six over and over again. He knew none of the kings were related to each other, so perhaps it was a title? Although he had known the current king of cats since they were a kitten (not that Dabi needed to know that), and they’d always had that name. Did cats come into this world already knowing their name?

Then again, Dabi was a nekomata, not a proper cat, so he might not know. Dabi let out a contemplative rumble, not quite a purr but also not a growl either, staring up at the moons above like Hawks had been doing before he’d gained company.

“How’s the rest of the colony?” Hawks finally asked. Dabi snorted, lip twitching up in an aborted snarl.

“Quit calling the league that.”

“Well, stop acting like a group of colony cats and I might.”

“I swear to the gods, Hawks- I will-” Dabi’s voice cut off as they were both illuminated in bright, almost yellow light.

Light arced in the near distance, dancing over rooftops and fracturing like lightning through cracked glass. Both Hawks and Dabi tensed, watching as it slowly coalesced into something vaguely dog-shaped. Bright eyes latched onto Dabi. Immediately the nekomata shifted back, skin melting back into fur, his hackles raised high. A low yowl starting up, sounding just as much like a cat as it did like something distinctly other. The creature was too far away to hear the warning, but it cocked its head as if it could.

Shit.

Raiju weren’t common here and if one was stumbling about, it was because something, or someone, summoned it. Hawks really, really hated conjunctions, be it of planets or starts or shot glasses.

Hawks made a split-second decision, scooping the nekomata up and taking flight, wings beating at the air as he tried to put as much distance between himself and the raiju. Dabi squirmed in his arms, claw digging into the leather of his gloves. He had gloves that rivaled a falconer’s glove, and still, he could feel Dabi puncturing them.

“What gave you the bright idea to fly?” Dabi spat, “It’s a creature of lightning, you idiot.”

“Yeah, and we’re squishy. If we stay over thirty feet up, we’re far enough up that lightning won’t hit us. Just, trust me firebug.” Hawks said, not paying attention to the way the nekomata squirmed in his arms. He wanted to give Dabi a snarky lecture on the fact that he had wings and had been flying since he was four - he knew more about the sky and the air and winds than Dabi did.

He didn’t, because those winds he knew so much about were picking up, no doubt the doing of the dog-thing chasing behind them in great leaps and bounds. It wasn’t flying after them, so it was either very young, very old, or injured.

He hissed as Dabi found purchase, climbing along his arms until he pulled himself onto Hawks’ shoulders, tucking himself between the collar of his jacket and Hawks’ neck, looking like a fancy scarf.

“Go left!” Dabi shouted in his ear, whiskers tickling his ears since his headphones were still around his neck. Hawks wasn’t sure what the fuck the stupid cat was talking about, left was-

Dabi bit his ear and he faltered, falling left just in time for something vaguely lightning-like to shoot past. The raiju.

Well, shit.

He flapped harder, deciding that yeah, sure, left was fine. Left was great.

They were only going to swap one problem for a different, potentially bigger problem. They were headed towards the cursed forest that had claimed one of the old school districts. The trees were nasty, snarled things, and only the desperate set foot there. The desperate or the foolish. No, nothing as simple as it being cursed or because that’s where the corrupt lived, no, but because the trees there were assholes. Why Dabi decided taking refuge there was a good idea, he didn’t have time to ask. It went against everything he knew about surviving storms and honestly, nesting in trees during lightning was one of the worst things to do.

“I hope you know what you’re doing!” Hawks shouted, tucking his wings close to his body and diving into the clearing beneath them. Branches whipped past, and he could feel several draw blood.

A gash opened up over one eye and he could feel leaves plaster to it, tiny roots already growing into his flesh. He tore at them, trying to keep from becoming a plant while also dodging the trunks and branches in their path.

Eventually, his luck ran out and a branch caught his foot, sending him tumbling through the air, then the branches, then finally the ground. The sudden stop left him wheezing and creaking, and if he came out of this without a broken rib he’d buy Dabi dinner.

The nekomata extricated himself from Hawk’s neck, seemingly unaffected by the trees or the fall as he shifted back. Fingers dug into his brow, pulling the leaves he couldn’t out and setting them on fire before tugging at Hawks’ arm, pulling to his feet. They took off deeper into the forest, the thin light of the city being consumed by the leaves and branches overhead, rendering Hawks entirely dependent on Dabi to guide them through the forest.

He came to a stop at the edge of what had once been a school. There weren’t any trees for about forty feet around the building, but where the branches had extended to their fullest, vines had jumped the distance. It was like walking under a tent entirely made of vines.

The air was thick with moisture and the unsettling stench of ozone. It sent the hair on the back of his neck prickling and the spare fur still on Dabi’s human form bristling.

The clearing lit up as something crashed through the vine canopy and Dabi pushed Hawks behind him. It irked Hawks greatly- between the two of them, Hawks should be the one puffing up and displaying against the dog. He was the hero and he had far more feathers to be intimidating. Dabi had little enough fur even as a cat and he was skin and bones in both forms. Not scary at all to most animals. Hawks spread his wings, two feathers ready as he watched the Raiju, waiting for Dabi to give any type of signal.

The Raiju didn’t look winded at all and its tongue lolled out of its mouth, head cocked to the side as it let out one of the creepiest sounds Hawks had ever heard. It was a croon run through a broken cassette tape. It set off every single prey instinct Hawks had, and judging by the way Dabi’s entire being seemed to puff up, the nekomata was similarly affected.

“Sooner would be better!” Dabi hissed. Hawks wasn’t sure who the fuck he was talking to, but then again, he didn’t really need to ask as a second later a tree came crashing down on top of the raiju, vines and branches and leaves wrapping around it until it was encased in a ball of mud-coated roots that was slowly sinking into the ground.

“Shit.” Hawks breathed out, leaning against Dabi’s back as he caught his breath, his arms and wings falling to his side. Dabi slumped against him, and together they held each other up as they waited for the muddy ball to sink fully under the ground.

A throat cleared to their right, and a disheveled young woman stood, an old-fashioned hurricane lantern in one hand, her other hand clutching a shawl to her shoulders. She had pale hair and red streaks in it and she looked as if she had just woken up.

“Evenin’.” She yawned, “You boys want to come in and get warm?”

“Who?” Hawks asked quietly to Dabi. Dabi shifted, trying to avoid looking at Hawks.

“Yeah, ‘Yumi. I think we will. Sorry for crashing here.” Dabi said, tone soft and as polite as Hawks had ever heard. The young woman waved off his words, then gestured with the same hand. The root of a nearby tree pulled up, showing a tunnel lit with glowing mushrooms beneath it.

“Come on. It’s warmer underground and I’m sure the harpy has questions.” She yawned again and started down the tunnel. Hawks frowned, irked at her words. He wasn’t a damned harpy. Still, she looked oddly familiar and he couldn’t place where he’d seen her face before.

Dabi started after her, pausing to look behind at Hawks. Feline ears flickered into existence and they flattened. If Hawks had to place the expression, he’d say that Dabi was… embarrassed? Nervous?

“You coming, pretty bird? Fuyumi won’t keep the door open all night, and I’d rather not test my sister’s patience before she’s had coffee.”

[gingerwritess]

How did Loki meet their S/O?

shawarma

warning: some violence and descriptive injuries

a/n: HEY HERE IT IS

finally wrote how you n Loki met woop HOPE ITS EVERYTHING YOU IMAGINED

friendly reminder that criticism is NOT welcome here if it’s mean and just because you want to be right and you just like telling other people they’re wrong!!! :)))

i know the ending is a bit sudden but don’t WORRY we’re entering slowburn territory folks enjoy

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

The feeling of coming-to is a strange one.

Normally it goes with eyes opening to darkness, then you blink a couple times and start to remember where you are.

This time is no different. The blinks come painfully, powdered cement probably catching behind your eyelids, but you pry watering eyes open to glance around.

Your office, destroyed. Only one desk still stands, unfortunately not yours, computer parts litter the floor, half the ceiling appears to have collapsed—a pair of heeled feet bend at an odd angle from under the rubble.

You scramble away, dust settling in your throat with each heavy gasp before you manage to pull yourself to your feet. Something warm trickles down your cheek but you can’t feel it, staring in horror at your humble little office: the new intern, Mark, lies over in the corner, clearly dead.

A pencil sticks halfway out of his neck.

One of the janitors who’s name you hadn’t gotten to know yet is writhing at the top of the stairwell as you stumble past, moaning in agony and clutching her face, something red dripping from behind her hands.

The first step down the stairs sends you retching and you vomit over the handrail.

Fresh air, fresh air—

It’s not much fresher, but you fall to your skinned knees and take in lungfuls of dusty, smokey air.

More bodies. This time both human and alien. Ugly purplish and scaly and distorted, like every alien you’d ever imagined would drop from a portal in the sky.

The scent of charred flesh hits your nose and you double over once again, heaving the bile from your empty stomach onto the stained streets.

“That was dramatic.”

You nearly fall over with a start, heart leaping from your chest—oh god, to hear someone else actually speak, be alive—

“You.”

One of the alien’s staffs is sticking into a corpse just a few feet away; you take a quick step and pry it from the body, trying not to retch.

He cocks his head.

“Are you going to kill me?”

You take a shaky breath and point the spear at his chest. “I-I’m considering it.”

The god lifts his head, turning his face to the sky and closing his eyes. The throat now bared so plainly to your pointed end of the spear is bruised, you notice, yellowing purple spots starting to appear on the once perfect skin.

“Kill away.”

Awkward and heavy in your grip, the spear shakes with the trembles of your hands as you stare. No, don’t kill him yet—you’re still not sure what you’re looking at.

That face has been plastered across news channels for hours; you’d seen a warning this morning and thought to yourself how freakishly blue his eyes were, not paying much mind to the “dangerous persons” warning that came after the photo.

It’s never a worry, you always think you’ll be fine, but then it happens.

Now this “dangerous person” is sitting on a curb, flakes of rubble and dust on his caped shoulders and in his dark hair, leaning against a stop sign with a hammer of some sort on his knees.

“Why are you just…” you move the end of the spear down and back up. “Sitting here?”

“Would you rather I do something else?”

The pointed tip of the staff meets the hard armour on his chest. “Don’t,” you hiss, fingers tightening around the cold metal. You should just do it, end him now, it’s the least he deserves—

“Please,” you add after a moment, voice coming out much more cracked and desperate than you intended. “No more, please don’t.”

“Then kill me, mortal, we don’t have much time.” He lifts his chin again, this time not closing his eyes, just staring at you down the bridge of his nose.

You can’t move forward, can’t push the spear through the hollow of his throat; your feet won’t move.

“Do you have any idea,” you choke out, pushing the staff against him a little harder, “how many people you killed?”

“Enlighten me.”

It all happened so quickly that looking back, it’s a blur.

You know you cut him, somewhere either along his jaw or his neck—mostly out of self defence, you’ll tell yourself later. It was almost as if he’d known you would strike him when he said that; he bared his teeth and snarled, lunging at you just as you brought the spear down near his neck with a shriek and a set of handcuffs yanked him back into the stop sign with a crash.

So he is a prisoner.

You point the spear right back in his face, trying to slow your pounding heart—good.

“Stay back,” you order, but it comes out in a pathetic whisper.

“Or what?” The god’s lips curl at the corners. “You’ll…kill me?”

Why does he sound hopeful?

A door to the left of you slams open and before you have a moment to even blink, Iron Man is pointing a glowing palm at you, a bag of takeout in the other hand. The other god you’d seen on the news, the good one, Thor, steps in front of your more evil god, blocking that haunting smirk from view.

And Captain America’s hand is on the spear, a burger in his other hand, lowering the weapon from pointing at the two gods and slowly taking it from your trembling hands.

“No one else needs to die today,” he murmurs, tossing the spear to the ground and giving you a small smile.

Your eyes meet for half a second before you crumple to the floor, shaking and curling in on yourself.

You almost killed him.

* * * * * * * *

Stark Industries hired nearly every displaced employee after the attack, adding wings to the tower and new job descriptions to fit everyone he could help.

You’re grateful for the job; it’s not like you had much elsewhere to go. Dumping all your savings into a little apartment put a new roof over your head, but sure as hell drained your wallet for the next few months.

And so begins the rebuilding process.

The god, Loki, you’ve learned is his name, is being held in the tower, too, for who knows how long. No one will say. You don’t see much of the Avengers, besides getting out of their way in hallways and rec rooms and giving an awkward half-wave whenever the Captain looks your way.

It’s not like he stopped you from nearly skewering a man.

You see Loki, every once in a while, just in passing. First time, he was being escorted to a holding cell by a few armoured shield agents, and you had been heading up to your office.

Those freakishly blue eyes caught yours.

He smiled.

If you could even call it that. The concept of an “evil grin” was something you’d figured out only happened in movies, no actual person could have an evil grin—until that.

That…was an evil grin. Full on Disney villain smirk, you half expected him to offer you a poison apple.

A shudder ran through your whole body and he disappeared around the corner, handcuffs clanking with each step.

Rumors about him start circulating within days, whispers heard of a second attack, a plot to tear apart the Avengers, assassination attempts on Thor…even mind control. But he has fans, you discover after agreeing to an after-work outing, a lot of your coworkers actually find him attractive—

No more truth or dare four drinks into the night.

“You know that wasn’t really him,” one girl had snorted, swaying in her seat. “He was being brain-played! No, no, m-m…memory…mind controlled!”

She’d snapped her fingers in your face with a laugh and you’d rolled your eyes. “I doubt it, some people are just…” you had paused, trying to capture everything wrong in the world in one word. “I don’t know…hateful.”

“But he’s hot.”

You left early that night.

And a couple days later, you see him again. This time he doesn’t look like himself.

He’s stumbling down the hallway, past the break room with one hand clutching the side of his head, the other leaning his weight against the wall for support. His eyes screwed shut, a look of pure pain twists his face.

Good, he deserves it.

You cringe to yourself as you watch him struggle—that was a pretty malicious thought—and he punches a fist into the wall, leaving broken drywall clouding the air as he shakes his hand out and punches the wall again, clawing at his head with the other hand.

What’s this act for, this time?

Thor comes running, catches Loki’s fist that was about to shatter a window, and slams him into the wall with a shout.

You peek your head out the door and for the first time hear Loki whimper, a pathetic, refreshingly weak noise in the back of his throat. He’s hurting.

“Need me to call for backup?”

The blond slings Loki’s arm over his shoulders and lugs him up against his side. “I have this under control,” he smiles, hoisting Loki’s limp body higher. “We got through him this time. Once more and he might be back to normal.”

“Is normal…” you gesture to the lanky god. “Is normal any better?”

“A bit,” Thor grunts, lifting one of Loki’s eyelids and studying his rolling eye. “He’s a bit less…genocidal.”

“Oh, goody.”

His eyes fly open and he jerks towards you, snarling like a rabid animal.

“YOU—”

Barely stopping a scream from ripping from your throat, you shrink back against the wall and shut your eyes, hands covering your face and yelling until Thor takes him by the throat and slams his head into the wall again.

“You should’ve—” Loki’s voice dies in his throat and he slumps, head lolling.

“What the HELL—”

“Cognitive recalibration,” Thor sighs, dragging Loki upright. “He’s…unstable. Teleported himself right out of the lab before we could stop him. My apologies.”

Chest heaving, you nod and try to catch your breath. “Don’t worry about it. Just, uh, please don’t let him kill me.”

“To be fair,” Thor chuckles, “you did nearly murder him.”

“He literally blew up half of New York.”

* * * * * * * *

There’s a guard now, a shield agent with a clunky gun and who probably sleeps in a bulletproof vest, following a few steps behind you everywhere you go.

Apparently Loki had asked for you a couple days ago while he was still being held in the lab. Well, maybe not so much asked rather than demanded Mr. Stark bring you to him.

Mr. Stark said no.

Thank god.

They asked him why and he wouldn’t give any answer more than “even prisoners are allowed their toys,” which upon hearing, you’d tried to quit your job.

The captain, Steve, and the others told you you’d honestly be safer here, where they can keep the recently brainwashed god on a tight leash and keep a protective eye on you—hence the guard.

You’re scared out of your mind, naturally.

He’s sweet though, the guard.

He holds doors open for you, asks you how your days are going, compliments your outfits in a way that’s actually not creepy for a change, and only once brought up the fact that you managed to get yourself on a god’s hitlist—you know, the usual small talk.

But there’s been no talk of Loki the past few days, though, it’s been kind of nice. Nothing to worry about.

Your “special agent” seems to think so, too; he’s getting comfortable.

After another day standing by your office door with a gun in his hands, he yawns and stretches, arms over his head. “I’m gonna get a coffee,” he announces. “Ain’t nobody makes it like I do, sweetheart, want one?”

You laugh and politely decline, going back to your work as the door swings shut.

Sweetheart. That’s new.

Someone clears their throat.

Loki’s leaning against the door, arms crossed and staring at you, hair a wild mess and leather shirt in shreds.

You scream for your guard and nearly fall out of your chair, scrambling to find the gun set under your desk.

“He won’t hear you,” he drones, rolling his eyes and raising a hand.

“No, no, don’t—”

“Relax, sweetheart, I only want an answer.” He takes a couple steps towards you, eyes dark. Cold. Immensely threatening…you have to find this gun.

“Stay away from me.” Finally feeling the cold metal under your fingers, you shoot to your feet and point the gun at him, ignoring the shaking of your hands. “I will shoot you in your fucking face, if you take another step—”

“It’s like you read my mind.” He taps a finger to his temple and stalks towards you, staring down the barrel of your gun.

“Wh-what is that supposed to mean??” You take a couple stumbling steps backwards, keep the gun trembling in his face.

The god pauses in front of you, staring at your gun. Or maybe more so your hands; they’re shaking beyond control now. He raises a finger and pushes the end of the gun, watching it weakly wobble in your grip.

“Finish the job.”

It’s barely a snarl and he makes a sharp, sudden movement towards you; you shriek, squeeze your eyes shut, and pull the trigger.

Gunshots are louder than you imagined.

Once the ringing in your ears has stopped, you don’t want to open your eyes. You’ve seen enough blood, dead bodies, and bullets through the head to last a lifetime—thanks to this guy, though.

The thought slightly comforts you and you crack one eye open.

“So you would have done it?”

His breath is cold on your neck and you whirl around with a shout, pulling the trigger again and again with no direction, no sight, no idea where he is, just needing him gone. No more haunting you, or rather…no more hunting you.

He’s in front of you when you open your eyes again, twisting his head around and rubbing his neck with a quiet groan, the bullet holes in his pale skin sewing themselves shut.

The smoking gun falls to the floor with a clatter.

“Damn,” he grunts, bending to pick up the gun. “You like to see me hurt, hm?”

He moves towards you, one hand behind his back as the other twirls your gun around on a long finger, and you can’t seem to break eye contact until the backs of your thighs hit your desk and you fall to your ass with a dull thud.

A smirk turns at his lips and you swallow hard.

“Next time,” he murmurs, handing you back the gun, “take the coffee.”

“No—w-where are you going??”

He pauses with a hand on the door and turns back to your raised gun. “I got my answer. Worth a try.”

The door swings open before you can ask what that is and your guard walks in with another yawn, two cups of coffee in his hands and a donut balanced on each one.

Needless to say, he was a bit surprised—and confused—to find you a babbling, trembling mess, sitting on your desk in an empty room, pointing an empty gun in his face.

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

hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me ideas!

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug  @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15 @mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @blue-automne @galaxycharmed @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @wester-than-west @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective @poetic-nikolai @moonduhsted @kerri-masson @iamverity @innaminitus @spnbarnes

[tightropenuzlocke]

Tightrope: a Y Storylocke

Chapter Three: Bring Wings to the Weak and Bring Grace to the Strong

Neuvartault was larger than Quarellis and far busier even at this early hour. The streets were straight, regular, and lined with stately townhouses that smelled of musty old money. Clearly the municipality contained hordes of wealth deep enough to have the flagstones relaid all neat and flat, enough to maintain the wall around the old city and the château on the hill that still reigned over them long after the lord himself was gone.   Aisling would have to hold out hope for Illumis because none of it held much appeal. However, since looking it up, she had come to appreciate the curving vine motif of all the signs, lampposts, and public benches leftover from the city’s Art Nouveau period. They did a lot to counter the rigidity and dullness of the place. She’d never spared much thought for it before, but maybe there was something to this decorative arts business.

Aisling passed by the grand square with its patinated copper Roselia fountain in favor of the little park on the quieter east end of the main boulevard while Cináed continued to snooze on her shoulder. The Neuvartault Gym was a far more modern building than most of the others, but the architect had been sensible to its surroundings and created a design that reflected the park around it as well as the older buildings across the street. The front was large, regular stonework with tall, arched windows while the back was an enormous glass dome held up by a webbing of steel. “Why exactly are you doing this now?” Cináed asked with a yawn. “I thought for sure you’d want to show off for your new friends.” “Because I want to be first and Serena will wake up any day now and realize she’s more than ready. I can show off the badge to them later.” Cináed eyed her. “Suit yourself.” Aisling glanced down at her belt to turn her face away from him and brushed her fingers over the pokeballs there, settling on the one with a little Lepidopteran motif engraved into the top. It turned out that shininess did not influence the coloration of Vivillon wings beyond giving the scales a more intense iridescent sheen. Dáire had the same deep blue and white of any other polar pattern variant. But her body had stayed a pale cream rather than turn gray, which complemented her wings quite nicely. Which was why Aisling sent her out as they approached the bug-type gym. Although she was now significantly larger than Cináed, Dáire fluttered nervously to Aisling’s other side to avoid his gaze. At least she hit hard since evolving. “I was thinking—” Aisling began. “Dangerous,” Cináed cut in. “What if you battled for the badge?” “Aisling,” he groaned. “It would be so easy for you! You’re already way strong enough and you have every type advantage in the book! We’d be in and out in minutes!” “Aisling, I’m not your pokemon.” “We can go to the Pokemon Center first and get you registered!” He turned away from her. “We’ve been over this. I’m not a battler.” “But you could be!” “I don’t want to.” He took off and landed on a nearby bench. She skipped forward into his line of sight. “But we’ve never even battled against any trainers together. Just one gym and then if you—” “I’m not doing it, Aisling!” He flared his wings for emphasis and his clear note struck her quiet. “I said I’d see you to the first gym and I have! After I watch your match, I’m going home.” Aisling clenched her fists, but couldn’t make her tongue form any words. Dáire fluttered by her shoulder. Aisling could never get a read on that stiff face of hers, but she was watching now instead of hiding. “You’ve got jitters.” Aisling had thought it, but it was Cináed who said it. He bowed slightly, placating. “And I understand, believe me.” She remembered how nervous he had been when they had first started battling, how much she’d needed to reassure him, how she’d punted that one Bunnelby herself when it wouldn’t get off him. “But you don’t need to be. I helped you put this team together and they’re strong enough. They’re ready for this badge. And you have your own strength too—I’ve felt it.” He gestured to his chest, to their bond, to the energy she poured into him when they battled. “That will take you anywhere you want to go.” He was right, she told herself, but she wavered. “You could stay on as a companion pokemon. I wouldn’t make you fight anymore.” Cináed sighed and shuffled his wings. “This move and then this trip with you is more than enough for me. I miss Grace and Raleigh and home. I wasn’t made for adventure.” Her eyes fell and her jaw clenched almost painfully. His white wingtip flitted in front of her nose as he pointed to her. “But you, you’re destined for greatness.” She let her gaze be guided back up to him and he puffed, standing up on his toes with his wrists up to look as big as possible. “You’re gonna show this region things they’ve never seen. You’ll bring them to their knees and carry them on your shoulders. And I’ll be watching. We’ll all be watching you the whole way.” She wasn’t going to cry… And she wouldn’t insist anymore either. “I’m going to miss you terrible, Cináed.” “Same here, Rough Rider. But you’ll call home, won’t you?” “O’course.” “And you can wear my feathers, so I’ll always be with you.” Aisling smiled and sat down on the bench next to him. Cináed hopped back onto her shoulder and nuzzled up against her cheek. She tickled him and then slumped in her seat, letting her head loll back and exhaling a long sigh. Cináed chuckled good-naturedly and Dáire alighted on the lampost to their left. Aisling should never have let her out before she talked to Cináed. Would Dáire say anything to the others? What would she tell them? “Excuse me, Mademoiselle, is that your Vivillon?” It was a gorgeous woman, probably in her thirties, with a pen tucked behind her ear. She wore a short-sleeve jacket with a generous opening at the top and one of those asymmetric, short haircuts that were practically illegal for straight women. “Why yes, she is, Madame.” Those silver jeans should have been illegal too. “I’ve never seen a shiny one before. She’s just lovely!” Aisling hummed and nodded in agreement, sparing not a glance for her pokemon. “Are you going to challenge the gym?” the woman asked, indicating the imposing facade to her right. Aisling straightened from her comfortable sprawl. “Oh, uh…” “You seem like a capable trainer.” A damn sight more than capable. “Why not give it a go?” She could still do this. What the hell was she even worried about? “Yeah, alright.” Cináed snickered on her shoulder, which was fair honestly, but she still brushed him off. “Excellent!” the woman declared, fist raised triumphantly, and Aisling hopped right out of her seat to that rallying cry. “This ought to be good. Let me walk you in.” That seemed a bit odd, but Aisling wasn’t about to argue. “I’m Alexa by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She eagerly accepted the hand offered her. “Aisling. A pleasure to meet you too.” Alexa put her hand on the small of Aisling’s back and she let herself be guided inside and right up to the front desk where she handed over her trainer card to whoever was working there. Cináed alighted beside her and she glanced over her shoulder to see Dáire almost get clipped by the automatic doors for her hesitation. She turned and slouched back against the counter. “Come here often?” “Like a second home,” Alexa said brightly, paying more attention to her registration than Aisling was. “Oh, is this your first gym battle?” “Yeah.” The clerk placed Aisling’s trainer ID back in her open hand. “The first time is always the most exciting!” Alexa leaned on the counter too, resting her chin on her palm. “Are you going to use your Fletching?” “Oh, Cináed?” she asked, pointing her thumb at him. “He’s just a friend.” Alexa laughed at that and Aisling laughed too. Holy shit, she was doing it! Aisling declined the opportunity to battle other trainers first and made sure Dáire was following as Alexa took her past the photo gallery to the middle of the greenhouse where there was a packed-earth battlefield. The air was heavy and full of buzzing wingbeats. Another woman emerged on the other end of the field in a white tank, dull green cargos, and heavy hiking boots. She had an expensive professional camera slung around her neck. “Hey Vi, look what I found!” The woman’s face fell into her hand at the sight of Alexa with her arm around Aisling’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, I hope Al didn’t drag you in here—” In an instant, exasperation and embarrassment gave way to purest excitement. “Is that a shiny Vivillon?!” “Sure is!” Aisling declared with almost as much enthusiasm. “I’ve only ever seen one before, and he was an elegant variant. The shininess plays so much better against the blue here. She’s gorgeous!” Aisling was sorely tempted to say the same thing about the woman in front of her, who was somehow even more attractive than the one she’d come in with. But flirting with the Gym Leader was a bold move even for her, so she just said “thank you” as if it was a compliment about her own appearance… Oops. Viola’s hands were already on her camera. “Would you two be open to some photos?” “I’d be honored, Maîtresse.” “Vi, shouldn’t—” Alexa began to interject. “Right!” Viola let her camera fall back against her chest. “I’m sorry. You’re here for your first badge.” Aisling nodded with somewhat less enthusiasm. “We can talk about my hobby after the match.” “I’d love to.” “But where are my manners?” She offered her hand. “It’s great to finally meet you, Aisling. Xoana and my daughter have been talking about you non-stop. I’m excited to see what you can do!” WHAT?? Why had no one told her this? They probably had and she just wasn’t paying attention. She should have realized it the moment Viola came in. She was literally an older, hotter Serena. Same pale blonde hair and blue eyes, same cheekbones, same perfect hands, same broad, dark eyebrows. The resemblance was uncanny. And now that she had been pulled back to reality, they also looked a lot like the woman she’d come in with. “You gonna stay and watch, Al?” “Of course! Wouldn’t want to miss my big scoop!” She gave Aisling’s shoulder a squeeze before retreating to the edge of the arena. “You’ll have to forgive my twin her terrible journalism jokes. She works for Illumis Press.” Twin? No way. No fucking way! Well, fraternal twins were a thing so it was actually totally possible— For once she stopped her mind from going down that road. She couldn’t afford it right now. She felt hot all over and she couldn’t tell if it was the humidity, confusion, embarrassment, or other feelings anymore. Probably all of it at once. She only barely caught Viola mouthing some kind of reprimand to Alexa as her head stopped swimming. Viola smiled awkwardly to cover it and Aisling was saved from having to try and continue the conversation by Viola’s own readiness to move past it. “Let’s begin!” Viola paced back to her side of the battlefield and put her hands on her hips. This family was going to be the death of her. She could feel it. “Ready Aisling?” It was going to take days. “You know it!” Viola pulled a ball from one of her many pockets and released a Surskit onto the field. “Alright, Dáire, let’s go.” The Vivillon dipped in the air and turned away from the field to look at Cináed, perched on a branch. Her antennae bobbed nervously and then she shook her head at Aisling. “Come on, not now,” Aisling hissed. “You’ll do fine!” Dáire backed away and shook her head even more emphatically. “You’re embarrassing me!” Aisling whined as quietly as she could. Dáire beat her wings, blowing air in Aisling’s face, and let out a chirping click. “She’s not going to do it Aisling,” said Cináed. Aisling glared at her for another beat and the Vivillon didn’t budge. “Fine.” But they were going to have a talk later. “Everything alright over there?” Viola called. “Fine! Dáire’s just a bit sensitive about getting wet. I’ll use someone else for the Surskit!” Aisling considered the other options on her belt. Emer was willing, but couldn’t take a hit worth a damn and couldn’t really deal one either. Bree could probably handle it, but her accuracy wasn’t great yet and she had a type disadvantage. Gobán had the least experience, but the Dunsparce had proven hardy. Aisling let her out. “You ready to win the badge for us?” Gobán looked between Aisling and her opponent, and her wings vibrated. She did one of her little spins that meant she was not only ready, she was stoked. Good. “Gobán use Rollout!” The Dunsparce covered herself in a rocky shell and barreled forwards like a runaway tire. The Surskit was fast and light on her feet, so she waited until Gobán was almost upon her before dodging easily out of the way. By all accounts Rollout was a bit crude in the hands of a beginner and quite difficult to master, but Gobán was almost serenely graceful. She turned on a dime, drifting like a pro racer and kicking up an elegant wave of dirt that Viola captured on her high-speed camera. The Surskit pelted her with explosive bubbles, but it wasn’t even enough to slow her down and this time there was no escape. The torque sent the Surskit arcing through the air and spinning on her antena where she landed. Viola let go of her camera long enough to withdraw her and send out a Vivillon of her own. This one was shades of pink and not really Aisling’s aesthetic, but pretty nonetheless. The palette would suit Xoana well. “Keep up your momentum and wait for my signal!” Aisling commanded. Viola and her Vivillon went for Bug Buzz to weaken and disorient Gobán, but it didn’t matter. When Aisling called, the Dunsparce launched herself into the air with a flick of her tail, coiling again before impact for maximum speed and spin. The Vivillon plummeted like a stone while Gobán glided lightly down on her small, translucent wings, shedding the rocky remains of her attack onto her opponent as she spiraled. The Vivillon fluttered one wing weakly, unable or unwilling to rise. Viola withdrew her pokemon. “Good work as always, Gobán.” The Dunsparce hummed as she slithered back to Aisling’s side. “Fantastic! Just fantastic!” Viola cried, striding across the arena. “You had me worried with that last-minute switch, but it looks like you’ve been working with your whole team.” “O’course.” It didn’t matter that Aisling had made Gobán practice Rollout mostly to improve Bree’s skill with the move. Or that she had never intended to have her Dunsparce in this battle. She had proven herself and so had Gobán. Maybe it was time to consider a new role for her. “I must say that was quite impressive for a first badge match, even with that little snag at the beginning.” Aisling tried not to wince. Of course she noticed. How could she not? “Hopefully your Vivillon will be more up for a battle next time. Pokemon all have their own fears, quirks, and preferences but sometimes all they need is a little encouragement to expand their horizons. Being on a trainer’s team is very different than being wild, after all.” Aisling was beginning to think Dáire might need more than encouragement. “And it’s very important to listen to your pokemon the way you did. I don’t imagine you can understand them perfectly after so short a time, but you are communicating and that’s essential.” Aisling would be doing plenty of communicating with Dáire after this was over. “You and your Dunsparce are really quite in sync for how green you are.” It was a lucky shot, but Aisling was good at those. “Even more impressive considering you have five pokemon already. That’s a lot for a beginner to handle and normally I’d advise against it, but you’re clearly managing them well. Here’s the Bug Badge.” Aisling accepted the bright, beetle pin and took a moment to admire it against her palm. Her insides twisted, but not in a nice way—not the way they should be after being complimented by a gorgeous woman and winning her first badge. “Thank you.” “Now I know your Vivillon wasn’t up for getting doused, but would she be willing to do an impromptu photo shoot?” “She’d love to.” ... Xoana tapped her foot against the polished wood of the gallery floor as she looked up at Aisling’s confident grin. She probably should have known this photo would be up already after how excited Mme Pascal had been at dinner the other night. Xoana always liked coming in here, seeing what Viola was working on and what sort of pokemon had come through. Serena’s attempts at photography had long since been taken down as per her request, though a few were preserved among the family photos in the family’s front hall. A few of Xoana’s were there too. Serena had never really had the patience to follow her mother down that path. Xoana had pursued it for longer, surpassed where Serena had stopped, but she had never done anything for long enough to become truly skilled. Nor did she excel at anything the way Serena excelled at sports and academics and battling. Viola had taken decades to hone her craft, worked until she could capture motion, vitality, and spirit with a still image. It was almost like meeting the pokemon and people in the photographs, except that one had permission to study every detail. Dáire really did look stunning with that beam of sunlight making every scale of glitter shine like a dewdrop. Aisling was in matching colors with gold dust twinkling between her freckles. She looked like a model—or like how a model should look: all self-assurance and pleasure, staring right at the viewer in challenge with just a hint of warmth in her cheeks. “Mme Bellamy,” Andre announced over the speaker, “Gym Leader Viola is ready for your badge battle.” Xoana looked down at Froabble, who blew bubbles out of his nose at her. She took a deep breath and walked into the greenhouse. The air inside was always wonderfully full of life and smells and oxygen. The heat and humidity may have been a bit much for some, like Tessa who yawned loudly to adjust to the change in atmosphere, but Xoana and her Froakie welcomed it. Viola was waiting for them on the opposite end of the arena and Xoana’s friends waited on the park benches on either side. Tierney cheered and the others followed suit. Even Tracie clapped, from the safety of her oversized hoodie and legs pulled up inside her skirt while Tierney hollered next to her. Serena felt obliged to pile assurances atop Tierney’s from her perch beside a comfortably sprawled Aisling. “I’m excited to finally face you, Xoana,” said Viola warmly. “Are you ready?” “Yes, Maîtresse!” Xoana didn’t breathe until her first opponent was released—a Karrablast. He brandished his horn, thick carapace gleaming in the sun. “Go Tessa!” Nothing happened. The Teddiursa wasn’t paying attention. Viola didn’t wait for Xoana decide what to do about it. The Karrablast charged. And suddenly, barreling right for her with violent intent, it wasn’t cute anymore. This was crazy! What on earth was she doing here? What should she do?? Fortunately, the Karrablast’s aggression did hold Tessa’s attention and she planted herself between Xoana and the oncoming beetle, teeth bared in an uncharacteristic snarl. She grabbed him by the horn and threw him to the ground. The Karrablast rolled right back to his feet but by then Xoana had the presence of mind to issue an actual command. The two pokemon boxed back and forth with Fury Swipes and Fury Cutter, neither gaining the upper hand—or paw. Tessa was slugged repeatedly but she stayed standing and kept herself between Xoana and her opponent with a relentless and wild fervor. Tessa’s usually round face pulled into angry lines as she bellowed. Her once soft paws stretched into claws. Her cuddly frame knocked the Karrablast to the ground like a battering ram splintering a castle gate. Xoana yelled encouragement even as her gut twisted up watching it. Was this the same pokemon she had befriended? It couldn’t be. Tessa wouldn’t be here without her. She wouldn’t be battling at all. She wouldn’t be rearing and smashing the Karrablast into the dirt over and over until he squeaked in defeat. Just like that, she was back—limping back to Xoana with a cautious smile and soft eyes searching her face, making sure she was okay. Xoana kneeled and hugged her and told her how well she had done. Tessa snuffled her ear and patted her between the shoulders. But the battle wasn’t over. Froabble had already taken his place on the field and Viola sent out a Vivillon—a garden pattern decked in warm shades of green. Froabble leapt the same moment she called to him. The Vivillon’s Gust missed but made Froabble’s Bubble go wide. The Vivillon dipped back and forth, re-evaluating, and when Frobble leapt again, she anticipated his move and hit I’m dead on with Infestation. Froabble hit the ground hard, writhing as the tiny insects swarmed him. There was nothing she could do to help him. The Vivillon hovered over him, eyes glowing as she urged her minions on. “Come on, Xoana!” Aisling was sitting up now, both feet planted and leaning towards the edge of her seat. She met Xoana’s eyes boldly, poured something into her with that stare. Heat coursed through her. She could help Froabble by finishing the battle, by winning. She had a strategy. Last night Serena had noticed the nervousness in her face and shoulders and addressed it in that almost tactful way she sometimes had. She had endured Xoana’s babbling and frantic pacing with the patience and equanimity she kept stored for her friends and pokemon. She had been gentle where she could be, direct when she needed to be. And now Serena was there cheering for her. She always was. Xoana commanded Froabble with borrowed confidence and turned the battle with borrowed smarts. Froabble zigzagged with his signature speed, dodging any further attacks and getting close enough to repeatedly soak the Vivillon’s wings. She sunk under the added weight and when she was low enough, Froabble leapt above her and bore her to the ground. The infestation left him, signaling the Vivillon’s surrender. Xoana’s friends whooped, hollered, whistled, and clapped. The pokemon cheered too. Emer was bouncing high on her tail and squeaking at the top of her voice. Froabble jumped into her open arms. “Nice battle!” Aisling’s compliment somehow rang above the others. “I wasn’t expecting that awesome strat after you and Tessa just brute-forced the Karrablast.” That was because it wasn’t hers. Or maybe she was being a bit unfair to herself. Serena hadn’t actually told her what to do, just steered her thinking in the right direction. “Thanks!” “Well done, Xoana!” Viola congratulated warmly. “You’ve got a great connection with your pokemon already. I couldn’t be prouder.” Aisling smirked at her over Viola’s shoulder, smug vindication smeared across her visage. But the reason for it and the faint glow rising to Aisling’s cheeks forced a grin onto Xoana’s face. She’d yet to stop insisting that Xoana had real potential as a trainer and this battle hadn’t convinced her otherwise. It was tough to be sure about Tessa, but Froabble was a natural battler—that focus, assurance, and pure athleticism. If he hadn’t gone to her, he would have gone to some other trainer. He was going to be great and maybe she could help him get there. “That was fun,” Froabble declared as if he could read her thoughts. “Thank you, Xoana.” Xoana startled all of them with her giddy shriek but she didn’t care. She danced around with Froabble held high, yelling “he talked!” over and over. It was stupid, because all pokemon talked, but she finally understood him. And she couldn’t wait to have a conversation.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Fifty: An Emergency ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, blood ] [ Verse: Oil and Blood ] [ AO3 Link ]

Insomnia is a beast she just can’t tame.

Lying awake, an arm slung over her brow, Hinata stares up at her apartment ceiling. A small strip of light cuts across it from the gap between her curtains that she can never cover no matter how much she finagles with them. The neon city just outside her window doesn’t help her inability to sleep when she should. Part of her thinks to move to a quieter street, but...this one’s so close to her job, and actually has decent rent despite its great location.

...but one of these days, her sleepless nights are going to catch up with her. She’s already starting to make minor mistakes at work, and her supervisor is going to notice sooner or later.

Sighing, she lowers her forearm over her eyes. Maybe she should just...get up and go for a walk. This city quite literally never sleeps, so the action might be enough to wear her out enough to catch a few hours of rest before having to make her way to the office tomorrow.

Such a joy working in the claims department of the largest medical bionics insurance company in their city. There’s always something going wrong with someone’s biocomponents. A locked-up limb, a joint that squeaks, an eye that shorts out. As amazing as she finds the unity of biology and technology...it sure makes for a plethora of headaches.

But then again...it’s those flaws and claims that pay her salary, so...maybe she can’t complain. It’d just be nice to have a quiet day in the office. But so long as someone’s tech is on the fritz, she’ll be there to walk them through the claims process.

Not exactly how she pictured spending her early adult life, but...well, sometimes you have to compromise a dream to pay the bills.

Making up her mind, she swings her legs over the side of her bed, feet planted on the cool floor as she stands and grabs some basic clothes. Tank, sweats, sweatshirt, shoes. Just something to decently dress herself while she tries to run her brain and body a little closer to empty.

Tying up her hair in a makeshift bun, she heads out, a swipe of the chip in her palm locking the door behind her as she heads down a few flights of stairs to the ground floor.

Some things, at least, she likes to do the old fashioned way.

As soon as she steps out onto the sidewalk, it’s an assault on all her senses. Bright lights, flashing and dancing, announce the ever-present night life of a city with little need to sleep. There are just as many businesses - if not more - open for customers at night as there are during the daylight hours. Hinata’s only ventured into the city nightlife a time or two - mostly because of work and needing to be up early - but also the lingering view that only vagrants and the lifeless waste their nights being awake and active after midnight.

She herself doesn’t necessarily believe it - the streets are mostly just as safe at night as they are during the day. While the introduction of the human-machine hybrid has resulted in a slow, steady climb in crime, she lives in one of the more decent parts of the city. There’s rarely any incidents, and most revolve around the tech itself. And beyond her palm inplant for accessing her valuables and her private cellular implant for hands-free communication, Hinata’s refrained from any major modifications. Her lackluster appearances helps her blend in with those deemed less profitable in the grand scheme of things. Her mods are the most basic of the basic, and hardly worth the time.

So, hands in her pockets, she just...picks a direction and starts walking.

In a way, she really does find the nightlife and its lights pretty. The sound is a little obnoxious, but her building is new enough it’s equipped with the best sound muffling tech there is. She barely hears any of it. And she’s grown used to the scents of the city. It’s not as pleasant as a flower-filled field, but...well, the smog’s been fairly managed since new laws were passed a few years back. Otherwise, she has little to complain about on the sensory front.

As she meanders, she peers into shop windows, watching displays shift and change. Rail-thin girls model clothes next to ab-clenching guys, all with some kind of mod visible. New tech shines and glows. She’s not really interested in any of it, has no intention to buy. But it gives her something to look at and think about as she goes. If she wants to tucker out her brain, overstimulating it is probably her best bet.

Passing a small gap between buildings (a rarity these days with the demand for space), something...makes her pause. A kind of inexplicable feeling that something is wrong.

The space - a few feet wide - is nearly pitch black despite the neon lights just beyond. Refuse is piled near the mouth. Overall, it’s a typical alley beyond its narrow size. And yet…

Brow furrowing, Hinata glances back over her shoulder before looking back to the alley. This feels all sorts of stupid, but...her gut is telling her she needs to investigate. So, she carefully steps over the boxes and bags, thankful to feel concrete under her feet. Lifting her access palm, a light shines out from the tiny lens.

For several feet, there’s nothing. Just more cardboard and plastic. But as she lets the light go further...she sees feet.

...ohhh crap.

Gut tightening, Hinata weighs her options. If this is a body...she needs to report it. But if they’re alive...they probably need help. This isn’t exactly a place for someone to just...be. This is where someone ends up.

Hopping over more trash, she comes up closer. Legs bent at the knees and slumped forward with his back against the alleyway wall...is a man. Dark hair is a mess, and once she gets close enough...she realizes his left arm is missing.

It’s not as much of a shock as it might’ve been a few decades ago. Limbs are replaced all the time. Carefully crouching, she shines her light at the stump and finds a socket for a mod. As she suspected. Seems he’s one of the unlucky ones beaten and stripped for parts. But to be this close to a major city street...it’s a bit unnerving.

“...sir?” she murmurs, not daring yet to touch him. “Are...are you all right…?”

For a moment...nothing happens, and she fears he really is dead. But then his remaining hand twitches, and she hears a small groan.

He’s not doing well.

“Sir, um...do you -? Do you need some help? Should I take you to a medical facility?”

With great effort, he manages to loll his head back, and Hinata can’t help a gasp. His left eye socket is empty, clearly missing a mod as well. And given the damage...it’s obvious it was stolen in the same beat down. A bit of blood leaks from a corner of his mouth, staining his shirt.

So engrossed in the sight is she...she almost misses the tattoo just below his collarbone, the collar of his shirt ripped apart, likely from a grip along his shirtfront. A trio of tomoe stand out darkly in black ink against his pale skin...and it all sinks in.

This wasn’t just a robbery...this was yakuza activity. He’s an Uchiha…!

This...complicates things. She can’t bring him to a typical hospital. He’ll be arrested on the spot!

Nibbling her lip, Hinata glances behind her. No one else has found them...yet. In truth...she does know somewhere she can take him to get looked over and avoid the police. It’s just not...wholly legal. A partially underground operation she only found out by accident while working on a claim years back. She’s used it a few times since for her most desperate cases.

“...come on,” she murmurs, buttoning his shirt to hide the ink. “I know somewhere you’ll be safe. Just...just come with me, okay?”

Breaths short and curt, he watches as she stands, offering her hands. Grunting in pain, he manages to grip them with his remaining limb, letting her pull him up only to nearly collapse.

...this isn’t going to be easy.

Maneuvering him against a side and looping his arm over her shoulders, Hinata avoids the main street and instead follows the alley further down. Thankfully it’s only a few blocks to the little medical clinic. One versed in both the biological and technological sides to human health. Hopefully the woman who runs it is awake...or won’t mind being so in a few minutes. Hinata’s already called in quite a few favors, but...none like this one.

“Hold on...it’s n-not too far. I know a place that works...u-under the table.”

The Uchiha gives her a weary glance, clearly at a loss as to why she’s helping him in the first place...let alone going to such extremes. But...well, this is a bit of an emergency.

They’ll figure out the details later.

                                                           .oOo.

     Cyberpunk AU! Something I've actually wanted to do for a while, but I'm shy over the genre cuz I've written VERY little of it, and not with either of these characters lol      Poor Hinata...she goes out for a simple walk, ends up getting tangled up with a gangster xD I kinda wanna do more of this...we'll see if any other prompts fit down the road!      But for now, that's all I got. Tomorrow's gonna be VERY busy, so I better go sleep! Thanks for reading~

[closetcasefabray]

Don’t Make Me Spell It Out For You, Part 2/6

clarke kind of hates her neighbor because lexa hates fun or something. aka & they were neighbors

//

thanks for the reblogs & likes xox

//

2. can’t be explained, but i can try for you

//

A little over a week passes and no knocking, but you also maybe have been talking about how annoying it is to walk on eggshells in your own apartment, and maybe you raise your voice a little when saying it in the living room, which means Lexa may or may not be able to hear on the other side of the shared wall. You think you and/or Raven might have scared Lexa away, but you’re leaving work when you get a text from Raven:

this is fucking war.

On your walk to the L train, Raven explains that Lexa came knocking again but this time there wasn’t a Mets game, a house exploding, or Janelle Monae. Her ex had been over, and they were watching TV “as friends, trust me,” Raven adds.

Once you get home, Raven is no longer fuming but at a mild simmer. “I literally just told her to go away through the door,” Raven confesses with a shrug. “I also loudly said to Finn, ‘If we can’t watch TV, we can just have loud sex.’ I didn’t. Don’t give me that look.”

“I know. You know I just think Finn has the personality of a beige flip-flop,” you say with a smirk.

Raven opens her mouth to argue, then just shrugs. “You’re not wrong.”

//

Shop signs, street lights, and 24-hour bodegas blur into a neon glow as your cab drives you up First Avenue. You see some street art and rushed tags people have used to mark up buildings in the neighborhood. You remember that you haven’t painted in over two weeks, and you sigh as you drunkenly text Raven asking if there’s food in the apartment. Of course there isn’t because you hardly cook and if you haven’t been making time to paint, you certainly haven’t made time to cook.

You’re closing one eye to read Raven’s texts, your vision swimming, when the driver pulls over to pick up the next passenger of your shared ride.

The door opens and you hear a familiar voice ask, “Hi, pick up for Alexandria?”

You watch as she slides into the other side of the cab, a large backpack and a couple books in her arms.

“Oh,” Lexa says, schooling her face to hide her initial surprise, “hey.”

“Hey,” you say, laughing internally at the chances. You had seen your shared ride was on its way to pick up Alexandria, so here you are, sitting a car width’s length away from the Enemy of Fun. “Late night out?” you ask, taking in her black dress and heels, her hair down in well-controlled waves, no glasses for her to push up her nose. 

“Hardly,” Lexa says with a breathy, ghost of a laugh. “Classes, meeting with my advisor, then a panel discussion followed by a dinner with faculty followed by drinks with classmates.”

“You know how to get wild,” you say sarcastically.

“We can’t all party three times per week.”

You snort at the assumption. “We can’t all go to UMD or Columbia.”

“My cousin went to UMD, not me,” Lexa clarifies.

You smirk, knowing she had intended to be contrary but further providing ammunition. “Right. You’re a double Ivy-type. Let me guess, you went to Harvard for undergrad?” You detect a hint of a blush. You let out a victorious kind of laugh. “Am I right?”

“Yale,” she admits.

You chuckle and let yourself feel smug. “Do you really think those are parties we’re having?”

Lexa just shrugs.

“We can be loud sometimes,” you say, shrugging back. “Raven works for Arkadia Tech’s New York headquarters, specifically in their mechanical engineering department. I wait tables, make art sometimes… not enough. We both work a lot, so when we see each other, we like to hang out,” you let your head loll to the side and smirk at her, adding, “If we’re ever having an actual party, you’ll know the difference. Consider this an invite.”

Lexa opens her mouth to respond, probably a witty form of a “no,” when the cab driver slams on his brakes. You’re not wearing a seatbelt, so you’re jolted forward in your seat but feel yourself held in place by a strong arm across your front.

The cab driver curses, gives the stopped car in front of him a brief honk, then switches lanes and carries on. You sit back in your seat as Lexa pulls her arm back and buckles her seatbelt.

You feel a small laugh bubble out of you and say, “Did you just Mom Arm me?”

Lexa flushes again and it makes you angry how she still somehow glows in the darkness of the cab, the streetlights providing flashes of her expression for you to watch like an old film. “Instinct. You weren’t wearing a seatbelt.”

“You weren’t either!”

A little quirk of the lips hints at a smile as she shakes her head. “Instinct,” she repeats.

The inside of the cab goes silent aside from the occasional notification from the driver’s GPS.

You arrive at your apartment building and both get out of the cab. You’re digging through your bag for your keys when you see Lexa holding the front door open for you. You trudge up the steps behind her to the second floor, finding your apartment keys in the process.

“Thanks for the Mom Arm,” you say as you walk past Lexa opening her apartment door.

“Next time, wear a seatbelt,” Lexa says with another barely-there smile before disappearing into her apartment.

“You weren’t wearing one either!” you say loud enough for her to hear through her door.

You swear you hear a breathy laugh on the other side, but ultimately decide you don’t care whether or not you made Alexandria Woods laugh.

//

“But that’s the thing,” you whine, the words feeling strange in your mouth as you look Bellamy in the eye very seriously, “I want to be an artist who waits tables sometimes. Not a waiter who paints sometimes. Y’know?” You pick up your beer sitting beside you on the floor—it’s a thing that happens when you drink; you want to sit and the floor is… there.

“You are an artist, Clarke,” Bellamy says very sincerely, giving you’re a small, encouraging smile.

You remember when you used to have a crush on him your first year of university. You liked his shaggy hair falling in his eyes, his big smiles, his obsession with random topics for a designated month, and, on a very shallow level, his incredible body. Octavia heavily threatened the both of you because “it would be gross.” That didn’t stop you from kissing him on the highest set of bleachers above your university’s empty football field after drinking beer and talking for hours about art and philosophy and things you found romantic at eighteen. You even went on a couple of dates, kissed a few more times, but ultimately decided to just be friends. Other than Raven and Octavia, Bellamy was one of the first people you came out to. He hugged you and opened a bottle of cheap wine, and you both smoked a joint lying on his bedroom floor listening to Joan Jett. He introduced you to Niylah a year later, one of the few girls who played on the intramural Frisbee team.

“No, Bellamy. I am a fraud,” you say, swatting him with each word.

He’s unaffected by your method of communication and sighs.

“Is Clarke having an existential crisis on the kitchen floor again?” Octavia asks, tossing an empty beer bottle into the recycling.

You let yourself fall back to fully lie on the floor, the room spinning.

“Nothing full-blown,” Bellamy replies, “Also she ate half of one of those brownies Jasper and Monty made.”

“They should just move to Colorado,” you say as you watch the small water spot on the ceiling swirl around. “No, fuck that, New York just needs to legalize it.”

“Word,” Octavia agrees.

“And fucking release anyone in prison on stupid drug charges,” you say, raising your hand and pointing to make a point or something.

“We can talk more about this when you’re not lying on the floor. Also, I want another beer,” Octavia says, stepping over you.

Bellamy takes your feet and pulls, sliding you a short distance across the floor of the kitchen and out of the way of the refrigerator door.

You force yourself to sit up when “Juice” starts playing out the stereo and Miller turns it up. There are over a dozen people in your small apartment for Raven’s birthday, and everyone starts singing along and dancing. Bellamy pulls you up from the floor and you both join the dance party.

“Lexa’s gonna be so mad,” you say to Raven over the music.

“It’s my birthday, Clarke,” Raven says, pointing her finger in your face. “I’m working on my juice. I don’t fucking care about our jerk of a neighbor,” she continues, spinning around and grinding up against you.

People start shouting song requests, and Miller cues up a playlist. Raven hasn’t stopped dancing beside you, but you both stop and look at each other when you hear the knock at the door. Fearing for Lexa’s safety and not wanting to lose your roommate for attempted murder charges, you race Raven the few steps to the door. Raven, drunker than you but somehow more coordinated, gets there first and swings open the door.

“It’s her birthday,” you say over Raven’s shoulder, closing the door enough so only you and Raven are visible. You can’t see Raven’s face but you’re sure it’s a glare.

“It’s also midterms,” Lexa adds.

Raven takes a deep breath, as if preparing for a lengthy, snarky reply, but you interrupt before she can get a word out, “I’m sure you’ve been… studying? Writing? Researching? Working? Working. A lot. But remember that invite?”

Raven openly gawks at you as she walks away. You’ll have to explain that one later.

“I’m not dressed for the occasion,” Lexa says, gesturing to her leggings and Yale tank-top.

The apartment door opens again, and Raven appears, shoving an unopened can of beer in Lexa’s hand. “You’re drinking with us. Welcome to the party.”

“Um, I really need to go—”

“I’m not done celebrating my birthday,” Raven says, cracking open the can of beer in Lexa’s hand. “So you can either go back into your apartment and be pissed off about it, or you can have a damn beer with us and take a break from… whatever it is you study incessantly.”

You offer Lexa a reassuring smile, and you swear she returns it briefly before taking a sip of the beer. “I’ll have one drink,” she says with a small shrug, stepping into your apartment.

You look at it from her perspective and it’s laughably a hot mess. Everyone who’s there has been celebrating for hours, involving multiple kinds of alcohol and a good amount of pot. Monty is pretty much asleep on your couch, O and Lincoln are making out because they act like they’re sixteen whenever they get drunk together, and Bellamy and Miller are having a pushup contest with the rest of the group judging. 

“So, uh, these are my friends,” you say, gesturing toward the moderate mayhem.

Raven is dancing again, fresh beer in hand, and Miller tickles Bellamy’s armpit so his arm gives out mid-push-up. The group calls foul, and since Miller loses the apparent bet, he takes his shirt off and Bellamy takes a Sharpie to his chest and writes, Bellamy Blake is a God amongst men. Then adds a small, badly drawn penis because he also is a sixteen-year-old when he’s drunk sometimes.

You just smile at Lexa and shrug. She hides an amused smile and drinks her beer.

“Hey! I know you!” Lincoln says, having detached his face from Octavia’s to get another drink.

Lexa laughs and you blame the pot for the way your stomach flips. “I know you!” You see her white teeth and those lips form into a stunning smile.

“Lexa comes to my gym,” Lincoln explains. “How are midterms going?”

“I was actually studying earlier,” she says, giving you a teasing look, “but Clarke said I should take a break.”

“You should!” Lincoln says, turning to you and adding, “She didn’t show up for spin one week and I thought something awful happened, but it turns out she’s busy getting a doctorate from Columbia.”

“Yeah, I live next door to a genius apparently,” you say, giving Lexa the same smirk you gave her in the cab.

You know it’s a mistake, but you admit to yourself that you think Lexa looks really cute when she blushes. You blame the pot again.

You feel arms wrap around you from behind and lips press to your cheek. “Hey, sexy,” Niylah says with an eyebrow wiggle, arriving late from work. You both laugh as you push her away with your hand smack in the middle of her face.

“Where’s Raven?” she asks, holding up a plastic bag, “I’m gonna Ice her for old time’s sake.”

You roll your eyes, convinced that your friends all stopped maturing at twenty.

//

You’re coming out of the bathroom when Niylah grabs you by the hand and pulls you into your empty bedroom. Your laughter is muffled by her lips on yours and you wrap your arms around her and kiss her back.

After Bellamy introduced you to Niylah, you became quick friends and the flirtations only increased as time went on. An uneventful spring break your second year led to constant texting between the two of you, so when you returned to campus, you were set on kissing Niylah by the end of the school year. It only took a week, a little liquid courage, and a rooftop with the purple glow of the Manhattan skyline for you to kiss her.

You dated for four months—you went on little adventures to the zoos and botanical gardens, went to nice restaurants, cuddled on park benches, kissed on more rooftops, did more than kiss in your dorm rooms—and it was a kind of magic you would paint with yellows and gold. It was wonderful and vibrant, but you were nineteen and only beginning to learn the different kinds of love you were capable of.

It all hit you one night in the middle of the summer, packing your things to move into your first apartment. You drove an hour and ended up at Niylah’s doorstep. You broke up with her and, as Niylah puts it, broke her heart just a little. You stayed friends and overcame the expected difficulties of befriending an ex, but Niylah started dating a girl from FIT and you started to date other people. None of it was very serious, and some of it was a little reckless, so a year after graduating, you were both single and bored and drinking in a dimly lit bar when you both agreed kissing each other wouldn’t be a big deal.

Then you started sleeping together; it’s been a thing of convenience for the past year.

“It’s Raven’s birthday,” you manage to say between kisses.

“Hence why we just did a shot together,” Niylah says, tugging at your shirt. “She’s fine.”

“I should check that Lexa’s okay,” you say despite the fact that you raise your arms and let Niylah pull your shirt up over your head.

“She’s still talking with Lincoln.” She unbuttons your jeans and slips her hand between your pants and underwear, making you moan. “It can be quick. We’ve got some time.”

You’re pants are quickly removed and you’re pulling Niylah by her half-removed shirt onto your bed when your bedroom door opens.

“Shit, sorry.”

You freeze and look over Niylah’s bare shoulder to see an embarrassed looking Lexa, turning and closing the door behind her.

“Okay, so not that much time,” Niylah says.

You shoot her a glare as you pull on a baggy shirt and gym shorts nearby and open your door to see Lincoln hugging Lexa goodbye.

“Hey, sorry,” you say, running up to them. “Got enough beer in you to sleep through the rest of this?”

Lexa’s cheeks are still pink, but she manages a smile. “Yeah. Sorry to uh… interrupt. Should’ve knocked.”

“The irony,” you add with a smirk.

“I try to forget what I’ve walked in on,” Lincoln says,

“Shut up, Lincoln, I’ve seen far too much of you and Octavia,” you shoot back.

“Fair point.”

You redirect your attention to Lexa as she pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “But, uh, thanks for coming?”

“Thanks for inviting me.”

She promises Lincoln to get back to spin class once her midterms are wrapped up. You do an awkward wave goodbye and laugh when Lexa wishes Raven a happy birthday and Raven drunkenly hugs her goodnight. You look at Lincoln who’s suspiciously quiet, and he eyes you and raises his eyebrows.

“Shut up.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“I’m gonna go get laid,” you say with a huff, turning around and walking back to your room.

“Good idea. Me too,” he says with a grin before walking over to Octavia, likely to suggest they head home.

You flip him off down the hallway for good measure. You close the door to your room and smile when you find Niylah still in your bed, stripped down to her underwear, reading an art history book and smoking a joint.

“I don’t know what the fuck these people are talking about,” she says, putting the book back down on your nightstand. “You’ll need to translate.”

You straddle her hips, take the joint from between her lips and take a long drag before putting it out in the nearby ashtray. “Later. No talking is necessary right now.”

//

[chompylycan]

That time that guy I’ve never met sent me a kidnapping story

It's been three days, you think, since the men in balaclavas grabbed you off the street during your evening run and put you in this box. They used enough chloroform to put you out for a few minutes but you had already started to emerge into a groggy haze by the time you felt them cutting your clothes off your body with the box cutters. "No significant damage or marking, Reg." "Good, let's keep it that way, the order was very specific on the bonus structure for condition on delivery." You try to look around you but everything is a bleary haze. Formless blobs of color and motion fill your head as it lolls from side to side in your anesthetized state. You can feel your skin puckering into gooseflesh against the cold steel surface that you're lying on. As you try to lift your arms they feel like giant wet sandbags and they seem to sound the same when you give up and the thud back on the table. "Open your mouth and drink this, sweetie." You feel a tube tickle at the corner of your lips as you try to shake your head no. "Be a good girl and drink the juice for Daddy otherwise you'll make a mess of yourself later. This is for your own good." The latex tube brushes your lips again and you can smell something barely sweet and fizzy at the other end. When you open your mouth thinking you will complain and refuse the tube slips right into your mouth and you feel a strong calloused hand pinch your nostrils closed. "You can breath again when you drink it all down." You feel a flood of adrenaline surge through the cloud of your confusion and you think you are going to sit up and run. You are not. The hands holding your every limb make that clear and in a panic you start slurping the liquid down as quickly as you can suction it through the surgical tube. It is disgusting, bitter masked with a cloying sweetener and carbonated like a soda that's gone slightly flat. As the straw sounds the gurgling of having reached the bottom of the bottle you feel the hand release its grip on your face and pull away the straw. You gasp and sputter. You try to lift your head but it feels like it's been weighed down with bricks tied to your hair. You can't tell if that is what is really happening or if it's a result of the chloroform. It doesn't matter, the result is the same. You are a rag doll. "Right then, that'll take a bit of time to do it's work so why don't you just close your eyes and have a wee rest." Yes, you think. Your eyes are so heavy and the lids move slowly down like a butterfly drying its wings just after emerging from its chrysalis. Dark. When the amyl nitrite slaps your senses back into consciousness you can feel your legs are in stirrups as though you are about to be examined by your gynecologist. You do not think that is what is about to occur. "Just a little more discomfort and then you're going to get a nice long treatment at the spa, doll." You feel a gloved finger ring your anus with petroleum jelly and then dart inside and do the same with your rectal sphincter. "Here comes our little hose, I want you to hold all of this inside until I tell you, you can let go." As the valve opens and the warm liquid fills you it seems you are being inflated like a balloon. Two solid feeling men help you sit up and transition from the table into a wheelchair. One of them pushes you into a chilly room covered in tile and helps to lift you onto the loo. Your tummy rumbles. Oh no, you think, the juice must have been a purgative. "You can let go now." And, so you do. The feeling is like having a thousand demons and evil spirits race out of your body all at once. It is cleansing and exhausting at the same time. When it comes to an end you feel spent and empty. Wrung out like a wet towel. "That's a good lass. Alright, all the bother is done with now. Let's go have a nice bath, shall we?" This time the men walk you across the room to the bidet where you rinse yourself and then to the edge of a piping hot tub scented with lavender and orange oil. They help you step in and ease you down into the water. The sound of a boatswains whistle cuts the air and a trio of female attendants enter the room as the men exit. You are scrubbed and combed, massaged and lotioned. Your legs, your sex, your ass are all depilated. Your fingers and toes are stripped of polish and your nails and cuticles are attended to with expert care. Even if the drug cocktail you've been force fed weren't still working, you feel so relaxed you don't even want to attempt to speak. The women are silent but strong. They guide you out of the tub and dry you from head to foot with the most plush towels you have ever touched. Your hair is combed and braided while you are seated in a chaise-lounge and a mud mask is applied to your face. You drift again into another half drugged slumber only to startle at the sound of the boatswain's whistle again this time a different tune and from the lips of a different piper, the most dominant of the bath attendants. You blink your eyes clear after the facial treatment has been peeled away and it seems now your vision has cleared a bit. In the distance, past the doorway to this harem bath you can make out the dark corners of what seems to be an industrial warehouse lit with work lights of various descriptions. There are several vehicles, including one van that must have been the chariot you arrived in. Some tables are strewn with what appear to be electronic surveillance stations and there is a very large cane corso dozing underneath one of them. "Can you stand on your own?" You're a bit wobbly but you manage it. You are still naked and weak. You know making a run for it is out of the question since you don't know it you can even walk. Someone slips some hard slippers over your feet and you are walked out into the warehouse. In the middle of the floor is a large wooden crate that is open on one end. The work lights are mostly pointed at you so it's impossible to make out the faces of the men, you think they're all men, moving about in the warehouse beyond the lights. "You're going in the box now, luv." It was a Scottish accent, "Don't struggle, you'll only end up hurting yourself. There's plenty of water and a travel latrine you can empty through that valve there. It's going to be some days so best if you try to sleep as much as possible." At this you feel your adrenaline surge again and you begin to struggle in earnest this time but there are extremely strong men on either side of you holding you by your upper arms and you won't be able to free yourself. You insist on continuing to squirm. "Bring a rag, she's going to bruise herself up." You feel a hand close across your mouth and nose holding a soft chamois doused in more of the now increasingly familiar chloroform and your body goes limp again as your mind goes dark. When you rouse you are in darkness. You can hear the sound of an impact drill driving screws into what previously had been the open end of the crate. The crate which you are now inside. You've been placed on what feels like a large and luxuriant dog bed. There are a row of liter bottles lining one wall which you assume must be water. On another wall a bottle latrine hangs from a peg and there is a screw top valve nearby which must have been what the Scot was talking about earlier. As you feel the crate lift off the ground you can hear the muffled noises of a pallet mover's motion warning klaxon. You begin to cry. Quietly, at first, but when you feel the crate touch down on the bed of a vehicle and you hear the sounds of the pallet mover receding into the dark corners of the warehouse you begin to sob. The journey starts with an overland ride. You think to yourself that you should count in order to estimate how long the trip is taking so you can tell a rescuer where you might be but instead you just end up putting yourself to sleep. At some point it feels like you're being loaded into another vehicle. All too soon, as it begins to taxi and then lift off, you realize you are being moved in a plane. Darkness, sleep, startle, wake, drink, piss, empty the latrine, shiver, scream, cry, sleep. It's been three days, you think, since the men in balaclavas grabbed you off the street during your evening run and put you in this box. And now it has come to rest. Motionless and silent for at least two hours. You begin to scream. "Get me out of here! Can you hear me!? Get me out of here..." it dissolves into a crying jag. "Is there someone in there?" You hear tapping on the outside of the box. You start screaming again and pounding from the inside. "Hold on. I hear you, it's ok we're going to get you out." It's an American accent this time; but, still a man. You begin to hyperventilate and try to smash yourself into a corner as far away from the opening end of the crate as possible. You hear the electric drill pulling the screws and then the creak of the wood as a crowbar prises the wood apart and a harsh industrial light floods your pitch black tomb. You are shivering, cowering, crying. You start to piss yourself and can't stop when you try. "It's ok. You're ok. You can come out, you're safe." The voice is calm and warm, masculine but tender. You press yourself even harder into your corner hoping it will open up and swallow you into another dimension. It does not. Your only choice is out through the same hole you went in through.

[danielcooperrp]

We’ll Give the World to You

This drabble contains spoilers for Avengers: Endgame.

One would think that when babies are outnumbered two to one, taking care of them wouldn’t closely resemble the all-out war that led to the instantaneous evaporation of half of all living creatures in the universe, but from what Daniel can tell, doubling the number of babies increases their power exponentially, while their power as parents, now that there’s four of them, has only increased linearly. Dinner is a nightmare, as Daniel tries to teach Tony how not to burn pasta, and Ally tries to coax Anna into breastfeeding. Morgan needs no help breastfeeding, but introducing soft foods is still a whole battle in and of itself. Before long, Pepper is coated in mashed peas and carrots, and Ally is nearly in tears because Anna just won’t latch, and Tony has dropped the only jar of pasta sauce they have, and Daniel is exhausted.

They eat forkfuls of cold, sticky pasta as they take turns bathing the babies in the sink. Morgan is great at baths, sits quietly in her little seat as Pepper uses a washcloth to get green mush out of her hair, but Anna is a force of nature. Somehow Tony ends up soaked, and Daniel has to keep a hold on her so she doesn’t stick a foot in the garbage disposal. When he’s done, and Anna’s flailing limbs are safely wrapped up in a towel, the sun is long gone, and so, he and Tony realize, are their wives. They poke their heads into the living room and see Pepper and Ally, each passed out on one end of the couch, heads lolling in awkward directions.

They stand there, each with a naked baby in their arms, staring at each other, until they burst out laughing. It’s a rubbery kind of laugh, one that turns their knees to Jell-O and hurts in odd places. Anna and Morgan start gurgling, the former tugging on one of her father’s curls. “Come on,” Tony says, heading for the stairs.

They head up to the nursery, where a travel crib has been erected next to Morgan’s ornate wooden one. Anna’s only a few months old, but already she can mostly sleep through the night; still, Ally and Daniel usually bring her into their room, mostly because the idea of her being so far way from them for so many hours is hellish.

They take turns diapering and dressing the girls for bed—Daniel picks a Captain America onesie for Anna, just to needle his father-in-law—but both of them are still fussy, so Tony suggests taking them out by the water.

The moon is starting its ascent as the men settle into their lounge chairs, each with a baby on his chest. The night is cool, and the crickets loud, and Daniel takes a few deep breaths as Anna rests her chubby cheek against his T-shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Morgan playing with her father’s arc reactor, and Tony murmurs, “Careful, Morguna, before you electrocute yourself. Or, let’s be real, me.”

Daniel lays his head back and stares up at the blue-black sky. He’s so used to the city, where he hasn’t seen a star that didn’t turn out to be a jet in years. Although, if he’s being honest, with fewer ships in the harbor, fewer cars on the streets, fewer factories pumping out smoke, the night sky over Boston has been looking a hell of a lot clearer lately. But here, by this little secret stretch of lake in upstate New York, the sky is ablaze with stars, the waxing moon nearly a perfect ball above them. It casts a silvery glow over his daughter, whose breathing is finally, mercifully starting to even out.

“Guess we’re not moving for a while,” he whispers, studying the length of her lashes against her cheek. How are they so long? What does a baby need with eyelashes that long?

“This one’s just about out too,” Tony replies, shifting Morgan’s arm just enough so that the metal in his chest doesn’t dig into it. “Jesus, Daniel. Can you believe we ended up here? Like this?”

“No.” And he can’t. He always imagined being a father, of course, a dream solidified upon meeting Ally, but after a literal apocalypse stole his father, his best friend, his dog, and half of the rest of the world, he wondered if he was ever going to climb out of the grief long enough to make something beautiful like this. And the grief is still there—grief is omnipresent now, a part of the human condition more expected than the morning sun, less a feeling and more an activity shared by every stranger one comes across—but here, in this chair, by this lake, with this tiny, impossible person whose tiny, impossible curls are tickling under his chin, the grief feels weightless, unmoored and adrift in a sea of something like the cross between relief and contentment.  

He also never imagined that he would be raising his daughter alongside her own aunt. When Tony and Pepper told them that they were expecting, Daniel was shocked, to say the least. They’re not old, Tony and Pepper, but they’re certainly past what one would consider typically child-bearing age. And then, just after Morgan came into their world, their little miracle, Ally came to him with a huge smile and a white stick, and he was dizzy with the joy of it. So even though technically, yes, the baby with her fist curled around Tony’s finger is his sister-in-law, she’s almost like another daughter to him, someone he would fight and die for as casually and un-dramatically as he brushes his teeth in the morning.

“Does it ever freak you out,” he asks suddenly, “what you would do for them? Like, if she walked out in front of a bus, you would let that bus smear your bones on the pavement without blinking as long as you could push her out of the way first?”

Tony laughs shallowly, careful not to disturb Morgan. “Oh yeah. I thought I was a hero before. Jesus, I knew nothing. Listen, don’t tell Ally, but...having a baby is nothing like suddenly having a sixteen-year-old you knew nothing about. I mean, Ally is the light of my life, don’t get me wrong—don’t look at me like that, I’m not playing favorites—” Daniel snorts out a laugh. “—but...look at this. Look how tiny this thing is! Ten thousand years of human evolution and we’re still making things this fragile?” He falls silent for a moment, and then says quietly, “I think a lot about the what ifs. What if we find a way, what if we can undo what Thanos did, what if....I think about how I’m supposed to be a hero, an Avenger, someone the world, the universe could turn to in a time of crisis, but I know, I just...I know that I could not undo the Decimation if it meant...” He trails off.

“If it meant losing her,” Daniel finishes for him. And he knows the feeling. It breaks his heart, every single fucking day, that his father isn’t going to get to know his granddaughter, but if getting him back meant undoing even a second he’s had with her, Daniel knows that there is no choice. It’s her, or it’s none of them.

He can feel the ghost of her breath as she breathes deeply in her sleep. Of all the things he never could have predicted about fatherhood, he didn’t know loving her could hurt this much. It’s a hand around his throat, squeezing tight every time she turns her too-large eyes on him, like she can see right into the depths of his soul, knows him more intimately than he could ever know himself. It’s a punch to the gut with each new milestone, and even though right now she can barely hold her own head up, he already starts crying at the very thought of her taking her first steps. Everything about her is a tangled knot of joy and love and grief and panic, a monsoon of emotions that he has to keep shoved down deep so he doesn’t freak the fuck out every time he looks at her. He feels guilty, sometimes, feeling this many things when the world around him is barely picking up the pieces of billions of individual tragedies. It feels wrong to hold a beam of light in his hands when everyone else is still fumbling around in the dark. But as Anna clumsily rolls her head to settle on her other cheek, he just...doesn’t care. 

“It feels worth it,” he says, more to the wind than to Tony. “Maybe that’s terrible but...all of it, all the horror and the pain and the sorrow and the death...if it led to her, to this moment, with those women asleep on the couch...it feels worth it.”

Tony just hums, and Daniel has no idea if he agrees or not. But as they sit under the stars, eyelids growing heavy, chests burdened with the glorious task of supporting their infant daughters, he feels more at peace than he has in his entire life.

[imagine-darksiders]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Chapter 1 - Revelations. 

Words: 6840

Summary: You were there when the priest gave his last sermon. This is the story of how you first met the dreaded horseman, Death. 

A BIG THANK YOU TO 913 FOLLOWERS! I’M DEDICATING THIS TO YOU! 

Okay! Wow. I’ve been wanting to do a proper, slow-burn fic for ages now and it looks like I’m finally getting around to doing it. This is predominantly going to be a multi-chapter, Reader/Death story chronicling your journey to aid the horseman on his quest and somehow find your way back home. I hope to pack everything into this fic. I’m talking angst, I’m talking hurt/comfort, I’m talking allies to friends to family, actually building and fleshing out relationships between characters we love the most. Obviously, I relish feedback and if you have any ideas as to where this fic should venture, don’t hesitate to weigh in. 

Love you all, enjoy. X

-----

You’d been at work when the first meteor fell, wholly unprepared to survive the end of the world, especially considering your unsuitable choice of footwear. 

It was strange though, that you didn’t feel afraid. Later, you’d realise that was because the shock had helpfully numbed you to any other sensation you might have felt. Looking back on that terrible day, you’d be hard pressed to recall the exact emotion you had felt when you first saw those strange, unearthly monsters emerge from the steaming meteors and spill out into the street, chasing down any human in sight. But you could say, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was shock that saved your life. For when the rest of your colleagues screamed and hunkered beneath desks or locked themselves in the supply closets, too petrified to move, you somehow found the wit to climb out of a window and shimmy down the fire escape. 

And not a moment too soon. 

A thunderous BOOM! throws you from the last few rungs of the ladder and onto the hard concrete below. 

Coughing and spluttering, you push yourself up onto your elbows and wince at an explosion of pain that blossoms in the back of your head.

“Ah, shit!” You crack your eyes open, blearily squinting up to see your office building engulfed in flames. Every window has been shattered and there’s a gaping hole in the wall, beyond which you can hear a blood-curdling roar and then, seconds later, the haunting cacophony of screams and desperate pleas of your coworkers flow out into the alleyway. For a foolhardy moment, you’re tempted to go back and try to help, somehow.

With a sickening pang, however, you realise that the meteor has warped the metal fire escape and torn it away from the wall, rendering the damn thing completely unscalable. 

Gunfire and frightened wailing reach your ears from the next street over and the hair on the back of your neck raises in response. You grit your teeth, frustration and confusion fighting to be felt under the overwhelming blanket of numb bewilderment. 

There’s nothing you can do, so you do what you can.

You run.  

----

Again and again, you’re subjected to the monotonous warble of your parents’ answer phone. You must have rung home a dozen times whilst you fled, ducking behind over-turned cars and dustbins and generally having absolutely no idea where you’re going. 

As you go, you see....impossible things. Creatures that couldn’t...shouldn’t exist, crawling out of craters in the ground and scrabbling up from the sewers. Fast, canine beasts with elongated limbs and distorted spines scurry around the streets, easily hunting down your fellow humans and pouncing on them like wolves on frightened lambs. Sprinting down another alley, you catch a glimpse of an enormous, brown thing heaving a bus high above its head before it lets out a deafening roar. 

With surprisingly little effort, you wrench your head away from the gruesome sight and just keep running, aimless and defenceless. Originally, you’d intended to run all the way home, distance be damned. But it doesn’t take long before you realise that your only chance is to run in the quietest direction, away from the horrified screams. Though it’s hard to judge, at times because every corner of the city sings its requiem. 

At long last, you stumble, exhausted and gasping, out into an vast, city square. You stand at the edge of the alley, your eyes darting too and fro in search of movement. But the hundreds of fires billowing over the cityscape have begun to choke the air with smoke. When nothing immediately looms out of the murk to attack, you take a few tentative steps out into the open, pause, then dumbly, warily, you venture even further, trying not to cough on the thick, fire-smoke that stings your eyes and clogs your throat. 

All of a sudden, about halfway across the square, you stop dead in your tracks, frozen by the sound of a deafening, strident roar. Slowly, painfully slowly, you inch your head towards the noise, eyes wide and stinging, but you’re too afraid to blink. 

Through the smog, you see it and your blood runs cold, like somebody poured ice water in your veins. 

There, to your right, standing over the bodies of an old man and a little, brown and white dog, is a monstrous, humanoid creature. It must easily tower over ten feet tall, skin an ashen grey and eyes of blazing hellfire. Clutched in its meaty claws is a blood-covered battle axe that’s almost twice as tall as its wielder. The gruesome thing is staring at you and what you assume is a grin pulls its black lips apart, revealing a jaw filled with yellowing fangs. It roars, vile spittle flying from the back of it’s throat and then, it charges. 

Like a bullet, the man-creature leaps over abandoned cars, piles of rubble and broken benches in a mad dash straight at you. 

Terror, the sheer and unwelcome kind, finally begins to seep through the haze of shock. It seizes your heart and roots your feet to the ground. You stand there like a deer in headlights as the...the whatever the hell that is closes the distance between you. 

All at once, a voice behind you cuts through the square and right through your dazzled stupor, snapping you back to reality.

“HERE! OVER HERE! THIS WAY!” 

Throwing your head over your shoulder, you squint through the gloom in search of the new voice, aware of the pounding footsteps that only just drown out your hammering heart. Seconds later, you catch sight of a figure, standing out as a grey blur, darker than the smoke in the square. It’s waving at you. 

In an instant, your legs feel as though they’ve been released from quicksand and you’re off, sprinting like a bat out of Hell towards the stranger. At your back, the beast bellows out it’s defiance, though you pay it no mind because at the same moment, there’s the sound of a bell tolling. It echoes through the city and sends a flock of birds squawking into the sky over head .

‘The church!’ you realise, pushing yourself to run ever faster as the overwhelming prospect of safety gives you a renewed sense of hope. Even with your shoes, it quickly becomes apparent that you have speed on your side, although you wouldn’t boast to be any more athletic than the next person. The creature is clearly weighed down by heavy metal armour and that colossal axe, so you soon manage to gain some headway. 

Wheezing like a demon, you slam full force into the graveyard gate, grabbing the top and heaving yourself over, not bothering to try and undo the latch. You tumble painfully onto the grass, pushing yourself to your feet when something silver glints in the murky light, catching your eye. Your head whips to the side and you see a man, a very dead man with his hand wrapped tightly around the barrel of a handgun, propped up against an old tombstone. In a split second decision, with the hot breath of a literal monster lighting a fire on the back of your neck, you throw yourself on top of the weapon just as it reaches the gate. It takes a hold of the top bar and wrenches it straight off the wall, tossing it to the side as though it were no heavier than a paper aeroplane. Glaring down at your back with that sinister smile, the beast lets out an ugly chortle and tromps forward, raising its axe high into the air. 

On the ground, you release the cylinder, sweat pouring down your forehead and seeping out of your palms, making the whole gun slip and slide around in your quivering grasp. There are five rounds left. Your eyes meet the dead stare of the man on the ground and you feel a soft sigh leave your chest. The footsteps behind you stop, your eyes harden and you suddenly feel a glimmer of courage spark up in your chest.....Though it may just be thanks to the gun. 

Whatever the beast is, it says something. Nothing you understand, but it’s definitely a language of some sort and you’re struck, for a moment, that this thing is intelligent. Or at least, intelligent enough to have its own dialect. 

But the next thing you know, the words are replaced with a guttural growl. So, you do the only thing you can think of, hardly even daring to think of what’ll happen if it doesn’t work - if you miss.

Just as the beast’s axe reaches its apex, you roll over onto your back and aim the handgun right between it’s piggy little eyes. You just have time to see surprise flicker across it’s face before you squeeze your index finger down on the trigger and- 

BANG!

The monster stops dead, eyes roving up to try and see the new hole it’s sporting in the middle its forehead. With a clang, it drops the axe in the dirt behind it and collapses to it’s knees, jaw dropped open and tongue lolling out between blackened lips. You merely watch, gasping for breath as it finally slumps forward, falling into a heap right on top of your legs. 

Screaming, you scramble and kick at it, desperate to dislodge yourself. Another screech erupts from your mouth when a hand grabs you beneath the armpits and hoists you to your feet. You try to snatch yourself free but stop upon seeing an older man with wild yet kindly eyes, dressed in long, dark brown robes. 

“Come, quickly!” he urges, staggering with you towards the heavy wooden doors of his church. 

He all but tosses you over the threshold before slamming it shut with a resounding thud then bending to struggle with a thick, plank of wood. Still in a daze and stinking of rancid blood, you fumblingly stuff the pistol into the side of your trousers and stoop down, picking up one end of the plank. The robed man nods his thanks as you both lift it onto a pair of hooks that keep it secured to the church doors, serving as a crude but necessary barricade. You highly doubt that it’ll stop any of those monsters outside, but as of now, it’s a damn sight better than nothing. 

Panting, you rest your forehead on the door and try not to think about how close that had been. 

“Are you alright, my child?” 

The sound of a friendly voice is a blessed relief. Nodding shakily, you push yourself off the door and throw the man a grateful smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, father.” Feeling the cold metal against your hip, you grimace and gesture to the gun tucked into your trousers. “Ah, sorry about the pistol, by the way.” 

The man - a priest - waves his hand dismissively and places it on your shoulder, returning your grim smile. “I should think, given the circumstances, that our Heavenly father will understand.” 

With a detached chuckle, you brush the sweat off your forehead and turn fully to face the church. 

There are at least another dozen people in there with you. Men, women and children, all tired, frightened and some covered in blood, from head to toe. Their eyes move to watch you but they seem unfocused, as if they’re looking through you, not at you. You know exactly how they feel. 

“Father-” Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a woman clutching two young boys close to her chest, head bowed and humming a soft but trembling tune. Clearing your throat and lowering your voice to address the priest, you urgently whisper, “Pardon my french, but what the Hell is going on?” 

He stares at you for a while, unblinking. Then all at once, he laughs bitterly, entirely without humour and spreads his arms wide as he backs up the aisle towards the pulpit. All eyes are trained on him, some hopeful, as though a man of God would be enough to stop the beasts outside. But most, yourself included, are wary, afraid that he knows something that you don’t. Something that you’ve considered, but daren’t voice aloud, lest it be true and that truth drive you all mad with fear. 

There’s a defeated dullness in his eyes when he looks out over the people and shakes his head, picking up the black, leather bound bible and flipping through the pages, searching. “What on earth do you think is happening?” The question, though rhetorical, pries several hopeless sobs from the congregation, whilst your breath catches in your throat and you share a look with a sharply-dressed businessman who’s clasping his briefcase like it’s his lifeline.

“Let us reflect,” the priest calls out abruptly, disturbing the horrified murmuring, “upon Revelations, six. Verse seven.” 

One of the men throws himself forwards and heaves onto the stone whereas a woman, his wife, you think, leaps from the pew and screeches at the priest, “You can’t be serious!? We need to call the fucking police, not sit here, reading bible verses and waiting to die!”

Despite her hysteria, you hasten to agree. “She’s right!” you speak up from the door, flinching when every head swivels in your direction. “We...we have to...I don’t know! Barricade the windows! Find weapons and defend ourselves!”

To your dismay, the priest simply peers down at you warmly but he doesn’t offer a response.

Slumping against the door, you put your hand to your head, shaking it in disbelief and muttering aloud, “I have to find mum, I have to find my mum,” simply because you can’t seem to think of anything else to say. The situation is like something out of a nightmare and in fact, you’re hoping that at any minute, you’ll wake up in bed. 

As he studies your face, his brow furrows sadly and he clenches the holy book in his shaking hands, pressing it into his chest almost reverently. Inhaling softly, he holds your gaze and begins, “Before the eyes of God.....we have been judged... And we have been found guilty...” 

Something in his eyes keeps your focus and you find yourself unable to look away. 

“Death awaits us all,” he continues, opening the book and tilting it towards the congregation, “just as Revelations claimed it would.”

At that moment, another meteor screams overhead and lands nearby, shaking the church’s foundations and causing decades of dust to cascade down on your heads. All of the children and a painfully young baby start to cry in earnest now and everyone screams when several loud roars bray in the distance like hunting hounds, followed by the banshee screech of a creature flying past the stain-glass window. 

“And I heard the word - in a voice like thunder - say; “Come and see,” and I saw, and behold a pale horse. And his name that sat on him, was Death!” 

The priest looks up from the pages and his eyes light on the wooden door, just above your head. “...and Hell followed with him....”

More crashes and booms rock the church before it all falls silent again, save for the distant rattling of chains and the steady approach of several hundred footsteps.

“Oh christ!” the businessman shrieks, leaping to his feet, “They’re coming! We’re all gonna die in here!” 

The boys clinging to their mother scream and bury their heads in her coat. 

Since you’re leant up against the door, you can hear them most clearly. The same grunting, snorting beasts as the one that attacked you. There’s no denying the pitch of those growls, a sound you’d take to your - apparently very early - grave. To your utmost horror, it sounds as though there are a hundred of the things. 

“Nobody i-is going to die!” you stammer, cringing at how unsure you sound, but you just can’t bear to hear the panicked cries of the kids. Clumsily, you pull out the pistol and show it to the others. “They...they can be killed! I killed one! We still have a chance!”

For a moment, it would seem that your words meant to inspire hope would serve that effect because there are several murmurs and nods of agreement. Until the same man as before suddenly shoots to his feet, fingers clasped into his hair and the briefcase is discarded, scattering papers to and fro. “You have ONE gun!” he shrieks, prompting an older woman to grab his sleeve and try to shush him. He simply yanks his arm free, breathing hard. “They’re all over the city! We can’t - They’re gonna....Oh God.”

As if in direct defiance of his final exclamation, a low, rumbling growl creeps beneath the doors and reaches your ears. Stuffing a hand over your mouth, you scrabble to your feet and whip around to face the entrance. 

The whole church freezes, not a soul dare move for fear of being heard, so they hold their breath. Everyone but the priest, who glares ferociously at the door. 

You spare a glance at the others before swallowing thickly and staring back at the door. If you strain your ears, you can just make out a quiet snuffling sound, as of something big sniffing at the air. 

Cold sweat trickles down the back of your neck and your lungs burn with the desperate need for oxygen but you’re too afraid to inhale. 

For what honestly feels like an eternity, nothing else happens. 

But then, like a death knell chiming to mark your doom, the baby in its mother’s arms whimpers softly, almost imperceptibly, but it may as well have screamed. 

Without a second of warning the creature on the other side of the door lets out a victorious, bellowing battle cry and beyond it, you hear an answering cacophony of roars, howls and guttural barks. 

“And lo!” the priest cries in kind, having somehow found the courage to continue his sermon despite the horrendous noise from outside,“there was a great earthquake! And the sun became black!”

The door abruptly bows inwards when something heavy crashes into it, forcing you a few steps backwards on wobbly legs where stumble on a loose slab and trip over onto your backside. Behind you, the people scream and sob and pray, but the priest’s voice cuts above them all, strong resolute and defiant. 

“And the great day of his wrath has come!” 

You heart has never beat so hard, as though it wants to break out of your ribcage and make a desperate flee for safety and leave your body behind. “This isn’t happening,” you try to convince yourself, regardless of the wood splintering into your face with each thunderous pummel of the door, “this is not happening!” The hinges begin to come loose from the stone and you see beyond the gap in the doors, a hideous, snarling face, dripping wet with saliva and blood. 

And in spite of your fear, in spite of every modicum of logic screaming that there’s not a thing you can do, that you should just give up and roll over, in spite of this, you place your hands on the ground and with a grunt, push yourself up onto your feet again. Because you hate the idea of dying, but you hate the idea of dying on your belly even more. 

At your back, the priest raises his voice to the heavens, issuing his last verse at the same time as you choke on a hopeless wail. 

“AND WHO SHALL BE ABLE TO STAND!?”

“STOOOOP!!!” you scream with all your might, taking a brave step towards the door and holding out a hand, fingers splayed wide as though that might protect the people in the church. 

And to your utter incredulity, the banging does stop. 

Silence settles over the church for all of three seconds before another growl emanates from behind the door, only this one carries the distinct tone of someone who’s more confused than bloodthirsty. You glance back at the priest and the other people, each looking just as befuddled as the beast outside sounded. 

Suddenly, there’s a different noise, one that draws your attention back to the door. It sounds like metal scraping against metal, like a sword being drawn or a knife being sharpened. Cautiously, you peer at the door, leaping back seconds later as if you’d been stung when a sharp, blood-dripping blade slices clean through the thick wood, accompanied by a grating howl of pain. The blade pulls free seconds later and leaves a rectangular break in the door, large enough to see through. Something big thumps against the door and emits a watery gurgle before it falls silent. 

Petrified as you are, you can only stand there, staring, mouth agape at the place where the blade had pierced, wind whistling eerily through the gap and echoing down the church aisle. It isn’t until you feel someone brush past you that you blink and snap your mouth shut, watching the priest approach the door with his bible still in hand. Without word or ceremony, he spares you a faltering glance, then he bends to put his face up to the hole and peers out.

Only the baby kicking up a fuss utters any noise while the priest continues to stare outside. In an instant, he lets out a strangled gasp and pulls away, backing up further into the church. 

“What?” you hiss, snapping your gaze between him and the door, “What?!” 

Dark eyes meet yours, dread evident in the way they begin to droop. Taking a quiet breath, the priest places his hands on the bible and hugs it to himself, bowing his head and murmuring softly, “May God have mercy on our souls.”

The not-knowing is killing you. You have the untamable urge to see what he’d seen, so you fling yourself in front of the hole in the hopes that maybe you’ll see something that provides you with an answer as to why this is happening. What you see instead, surprises you.

It’s difficult to make out through the fog, but you clearly see the shape of a man. A very tall man, standing with his back to you in front of a veritable swarm of those hideous brutes. As you watch, he turns to look over his shoulder, ebony hair swaying gently in the hot breeze and you gasp aloud when your eyes meet two pinpricks of blazing orange, although you chalk it up to his eyes simply catching the reflection of a nearby car that’s on fire. He - whoever he is - holds your gaze for a few seconds and then turns back to the army of chomping, snarling monsters. You squint in an attempt to make out what he’s holding in each hand but another blanket of smog rolls across the square and he becomes even more obscured.

“There’s someone out there,” you croak. 

“What?” a man asks from the back, “What’s going on!?”

You aren’t quite sure why you did what you did next. “There! There’s someone - HEY! HEEEY!” you suddenly shout, smacking your hand on the door urgently. “Hey! OVER HERE, HURRY! Get inside!” 

“The hell are you doing!?”

“Get away from that door!”

A pair of gentle but firm hands grip your shoulders and pulls you backwards. Teary eyed, you stare imploringly up at the priest. “There’s a guy out there,” you explain, glancing at the people cowering in the pews, “We can’t just leave him! He’ll die!”

The mother with the boys snaps her head up to glare at you. “If you open those doors, we all die.” 

Biting your lip, you finger the gun in your waistband, pinching your brow and giving the priest a determined, if not unsteady frown. “Father...I have a gun. There’s a lot of them, yes. But maybe I can...I can hold them off while he gets over here-” 

“That is not a person, my dear,” he murmurs, squeezing your shoulders. 

“What?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, confused. “What are you talking about? He just killed one of them! That must mean he’s human! They wouldn’t kill one of their own!”

“How would you know!?” the businessman accuses from his hiding spot behind the furthest pew. 

You try to retort, but your tongue feels dry and heavy, weighed down by the bitter taste of uncertainty and fear. Sensing your indecision, the priest lets go of your shoulders and fixes you with a stern expression. “I am a man of God,” he states resolutely, “and I cannot allow the evil out there to taint the inside of these walls.” Then, he softly adds to you, in a whisper, “Listen, I’m just as astounded as you, believe me. However, now is not the time to stop thinking rationally.” He places his hand on your shoulder again, tilting his head to keep your focus locked on him when your eyes start to wander back to the entrance. “The only thing that awaits you out there, is death.” 

“Look at the door, father,” you whisper, “death’s probably waiting for us in here too.” 

A river of tears streams down your face, cutting through the dirt and sweat whilst you put your hand over his and entwine your fingers with his. “I...I don’t want to die trapped,” you breathe, “Let me out. Shut the door behind me. Bar it - I don’t care - just...” Stopping to catch your breath, you step away from the priest. “Just don’t make me die in here. I have to help, I have to - to do...something! Maybe I can lead them away from here.” 

Your outcry bounces around in the church as people stare. The priest studies your face carefully, searching you for - what? 

Courage? 

God’s favour? 

Luck?

He’d find you tragically devoid of all those things.

Though whatever he does find seems to sway his decision. Lips pulling into a tight grimace, he lets his eyes slip shut. When they open again, he looks about twenty years older than before. “Once you leave, the door will not open again.” Even he doesn’t look sure of his own conviction. 

“I-” you pause, thinking hard. Eventually, you take a deep breath and squeeze your eyes shut before exhaling forcefully. “I know.” 

Two of the men in the church grab the plank of wood and lift it from the hooks, then they each grab one of the round, metal handles on the door, bracing themselves to pull it open. You allowed the priest - Father Michael, he told you - to bless you before you left. He finishes uttering a quick prayer and steps back, away from you and the door. 

“Fly fast,” he tells you. 

With a last look back at the faces of the strangers in the church, you pull the pistol from your trouser waistband, check the chambers and nod to the priest, mouthing ‘thank you,’ as the doors swing open with a loud creak. 

Immediately, you’re hit with the coppery stench of blood and painful sting of smoke in your eyes and throat. Blinking back tears, you venture out into the graveyard, screaming a little when the doors slam shut abruptly behind you. 

Outside is chaos.

You’ve never seen a war zone before - at least, not outside of a cinema - but you imagine this must be what they looked like. 

On the horizon, you gape as a skyscraper comes crashing down to the ground, more and more meteors fall from the sky and set ablaze everything in their wake. You make a mad dash for the low wall that surrounds the graveyard and dive behind it before you’re spotted. Poking your head over the wall, you rove your eyes over the ruined square and your heart plummets into your stomach.

There are gigantic, bat-like creatures zooming through the sky on inverted wings, monumentally tall, shadowy things that tower over the distant buildings, their heads disappearing into the smoke up above but their long, spindly bodies moving slowly like great whales through the murky darkness. Your gaze drops to the battlefield again, searching, either for an gap in the fighting, through which you can make a quick getaway, or for the black-haired stranger. Although judging by the sheer volume of monsters out there, something tells you that he’s as good as dead. “Come on,” you whine, “where are you?” 

A pack of those dog-like creatures hurtle past your hiding your spot, forcing you to duck and flatten yourself against the wall again, though not before you glimpse someone tall throwing himself at a concentrated group of the pale blue humanoids. ‘There!’ you think triumphantly, feeling like you’d accomplished step one in escaping this mess. 

That satisfaction is short-lived, however, thanks to the crushing realisation that you’ll actually need to go out there if you want to help the poor idiot. With a groan, you place your trembling hands on top of the wall and hesitantly pull yourself up, once again. 

The stranger is still there and really giving it his all! You have to resist the urge to cheer for him. He’s a whirlwind of movement. Leaping, twisting and ducking out of the way of blades and claws with perfect ease and timing. At this distance, you can only make out his silhouette, what with being obscured by smoke and the occasional spray of blood. Though from what you can see, the guy is built like a tank. ‘Must be special forces,’ you muse. 

Great swathes of the assailants fall dead at his feet, cut down by twirling, shining...blades?

‘Melee, huh?’ you purse your lips and throw your pistol a dirty look. ‘Unconventional, but at least he doesn’t have to reload.’

As you observe him, a tiny ember of hope flickers to life in your gut, reminding you that hope is still possible despite the bleakest of situations. Although numerous, the monsters don’t seem to be as sturdy as you’d once thought. You’d killed one of them with a single shot to the head and this guy seems to be having very little trouble putting them down. ‘Maybe this won’t be such a massacre after all,’ you dare to imagine, ‘if he can kill these things, why can’t anyone else? Maybe he can help me get home! We can find my mum! And then-....”

And then... what? 

Honestly, you haven’t planned that far ahead. Snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you concentrate on how on Earth you’re going to get the stranger’s attention. After a second, from the corner of your eye, you notice something, only because it’s armour is a stark contrast to the sea of pale blue. It’s another monster, a variant of the others, standing at least a whole head and shoulders taller than the rest and garbed in a full suit of leather, burgundy armour. It’s horns are curved in a spiral and behind it drags a a phenomenally big war hammer, rather than use an axe, like its brethren.

The behemoth stalks through the slain bodies purposeful and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it means to get the drop on your mystery man, who’s currently preoccupied with dodging attacks from about ten other monsters, all at the same time. The huge creature breaks into a slow jog, heaving its hammer into both hands, recognising that its prey’s lapse in concentration will not last forever. Lowering its great, helmeted head, it picks up speed and charges towards him whilst the other simply leap out of its way. Those who don’t, are simply mowed down. 

‘He’s never gonna see that thing in time!’ you realise, bile rising in your throat. 

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you ignore the fact that it did absolutely nothing to help and vault over the low wall, barrelling towards your inevitable death, screaming the entire way. 

The big beast is nearly on top of the man, sending a spike of panic to rocket up your spine. You open your mouth, raise the pistol and holler, “LOOK OUT, MISTER!” Even though your voice squeaks horribly, you don’t have the forethought to be mortified. 

Everything on the square appears to slow down as dozens of heads twist to regard the newcomer and every single pair of eyes widen upon seeing a solitary human lurching towards them, screeching out a broken battle cry that’s far more amusing than intimidating. In fact, several of the monsters take a few, fatal seconds to laugh brazenly. Taking advantage of this, the man cuts them down but you’re too focused on your own target to pay attention to what he’s doing. The behemoth slowed a fraction to glance at you, a move that proved to be its downfall. 

Upon looking to you, it inadvertently exposes the front of its face, the helm no longer proving an obstacle and although you’ve never, ever boasted to be a good shot, apparently, whatever that priest blessed you with worked because when the bullet explodes from your gun, it hits the monster dead centre, right between the yellow eyes and shatters its skull with a sickening crack.

The stranger had raised his head at the sound of your voice and followed your weapon’s aim to the charging beast when the shot rang out, stealing his chance to satiate his own bloodlust. There’s a grunt of surprise. Then, it pitches forward, drops its hammer and crumples to the hard ground, lifeless. 

The other monsters all stare down at their fallen leader, you can even sense the eyes of the man boring into the side of your head, although you haven’t actually looked at him yet. There’s another beat before every creature raises its head to look at you. 

Quivering, you see the closest of them have their lips pulled back over gnashing fangs and they’re snarling at you so raggedly, you almost drop the pistol, again. 

“Crap.”

In a flurry of motion, the creatures all burst back to life and hurl themselves at the insolent human who killed their leader. Yelping, you start ti backpedal, not that you expect it to do much good. You’re far too close. There’s no escaping it this time. 

In a bid to spare yourself from having to see them chew your body to pieces, you squeeze your eyes shut, pushing the last tears you’ll ever cry down your face. Hiccoughing softly, you exhale -

- and squawk when a thick arm snakes around your waist all of a sudden, lifting you off your feet. Your eyes fly open with a gasp and you find yourself draped over a broad, sinewy shoulder. From this new position, you have a lovely view of the monstrous horde, each clawing after you, spittle flying from their maws onto your face. They’re so hot on your heels, you can even smell their rancid breath. 

The man - you assume its the man - tightens his arm around the back of your legs as he darts between cars and across the square in an attempt to shake his pursuers. A shadow falls over you and you glance up, bobbing up and down whilst he runs, to see one of the flying creatures swooping down at you from high above. “Woah!” you exclaim and slap a hand on the man’s solid shoulder blade, “F-Faster! Go! Go! Run!” You’re so concerned about getting away that you don’t even register that his skin is ice-cold, not unlike that of a corpse. 

“Would you rather I drop you? So that you can run at your preferred pace?” the stranger snaps abruptly. 

He may have meant it abrasively, but you could weep with relief. 

Plain english. He’d spoken a human language. Father Michael was wrong. This man may be a little gruff and his voice is bursting with badly-disguised aggression...But he’s definitely human. 

“Nah! I’m good!” you shout, flicking your wobbly gaze above the heads of the pursuing creatures. On the horizon, you can see the old church and when you squint, you notice that there’s something huge landing on the roof. Something with enormous, leathery wings and a long, barbed tail. It’s screech is so loud, you can hear it over the rest of the din. The huge thing begins to bash at the church roof and you watch helplessly as the bell tower falls sideways, crashing through to the floor below. Uttering a triumphant howl, the giant pushes its way through the hole in the roof, following after the toppled bell. 

“He-hey! Wait, wait!” you cry, thumping the man’s back again with your fists, “Go back! The church - we have to go back! We can’t leave them to that - that-” You know, even before he says anything, that it’s much too late. 

“Are you mad, human?” 

 ‘Human?’

“Your church is lost! Earth is lost!” 

He ducks into an alley and skids to a halt. 

Your face screws up defiantly. “YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!....” Several of the creatures that had managed to keep track of you slide around the corner, their eyes zeroing in on you. Realising that he isn’t moving, you start to breathe heavily, wriggling about in his grip. “Why’ve we stopped?” 

No response. 

The monsters slowly stalk up the dark alley towards you, brandishing their axes and licking their chops. 

“H-hey!?” you call again and twist yourself around painfully to try and see what’s going on. In an attempt to keep yourself elevated, your fingers find purchase on something hard, protruding from the man’s back. You gasp at the strange object and your eyes fly down to see what you’d touched, bulging out of their sockets when you realise that it’s his spine you’ve grabbed....It’s sticking out of him unnaturally and....how’ve you not noticed the paleness of his skin until now? Nor how eerily cold his skin feels beneath your touch. 

Dimly, your ears pick up the sound of gentle but cryptic murmuring and there’s a rumbling hum under your body, emanating from his chest and rolling up into his shoulders, where you lay. 

The creatures are barely ten feet away from you now, leering. They know they’ve caught you. 

Licking your lips, you inhale a shuddering breath and ask, “Why um..Why did you call me ‘human’ before?” 

A quiet ‘shing’ draws your attention down to the side, where you notice his free hand - too big to be human - has long, spindly fingers, wrapped up in tight, bloodstained bandages and it’s clasped tight around the hilt of a formidable scythe. 

“...What the fuck are you?” 

Without warning, two of the three beasts roar and surge forwards with raised axes, ready to bring them down on your head. You scream and throw your head down, burying your face in cold skin.

At the very last moment, the man clamps his hand down hard on your legs and then whirls about. With an almighty heave, he launches his scythe through the air, sending it hurtling down the narrow alley which plays to his advantage because it leaves your attackers with no room to strafe. His aim is impossibly true, taking the heads clean off the two closest before it lodges itself in the shoulder of the third. 

You cover your ears when the wounded beast howls in pain and your eyes burst open wide at the sight before you. Now that you’re facing the wall at the back of the alley, you can see what had him so distracted. A pulsing, swirling portal of poison-green stretches across the surface of brick, high and wide enough to fit a person or two. Disturbingly, you find you can’t tear your gaze from the ominous doorway. You say ‘doorway’, because what else could it possibly be?

Even with your hands over them, you can’t stop your ears from hearing the ugly gurgling of a sliced throat, mere seconds later, nor the telltale slump of a trio of bodies hitting the ground. 

Your trembling is out of control now. It’s so violent, you’re afraid your head will fall off. The ‘man’ beneath you hums, clearly irritated as his shoulders heave up and down with his deep intakes of breath. 

Reluctantly, you open your mouth to speak, but nothing more than a tiny croak comes out and he stills, tilting his head to the side as if he’s listening to you. Again, you swallow drily and squeeze your hands into fists. “Please,” you utter breathlessly, “please, put me down. I..I need to find my mum...” Your bottom lip trembles and you choke on a sob whilst he mulls your words over. 

The sob escapes you loudly when he slowly shakes his head, hair brushing against the exposed skin on your back. “You won’t find your mother,” he grunts matter of factly, “I told you. Earth is lost.” 

Slapping a hand over your mouth, you cringe at the feeling of his sharp, alien fingers twitching against your thighs. “Just let me go....”

“Do you want to die?” he snaps, sighing when it pulls a hiccough from your throat. 

You shake your head frantically and weakly reach back to push at the arm holding you down. Delirious with fright and insecurity, you babble several incoherent words before you finally manage to nail down a proper sentence. “Fuuu- I don’t like this!” 

With that, the man turns back to the alley wall which prompts you to begin struggling in earnest, though it does nothing to loosen his omnipotent hold. 

“Oh?” he hums, tone laced with morbid amusement, “Well then. You’re really not going to like what happens next.” 

And without ceremony, without even allowing you the chance to offer up some words of farewell to your home, the ‘man’ takes a few, confident steps and disappears into the green vortex, with you still dangling from one of his strong, bloodless shoulders. 

[ventrue-rosary]

33. This is gonna hurt. (bonus points if you make the two ppl partners :3 helping one another)

Thanks nonny! Autumn is my own, Kevir belongs to @theasexualityfandomI 

This one’s been sitting in my inbox for a while so have it in all it’s undrafted mediocrity 

Ko-Fi

Since that damn fireball Autumn had felt everything far too much. The pain, the loneliness, the guilt–it all piled up until it suffocated her, stealing her breath yet not having the mercy to kill her. She remained in the land of the living, dragging herself from day to day as the agony only worsened with each new morning without Winter, and with the words of her mother’s cruelty driving a dagger closer to her heart, inch by inch. Autumn wanted to feel something, anything else. 

Waterdeep fell victim to a hard winter, driving most people to seek the comfort of crackling hearths and bellyfulls of cheap ale, particularly at evening when even the water froze over. 

It is still a foolish thing to wander through the most dangerous areas of Waterdeep at this time of night, when only the vilest scums braved the cold winds in hopes of finding easy prey. Autumn normally is a far cry from easy prey. But without her weapons or a general regard for her safety, tonight’s a different story. 

Autumn walks without an exact destination in mind, winding through the streets and alleys, letting the cold night air burn her lungs and clear her mind, as much as possible as the sound of drunken voices and music stream from the various taverns and inns. She finds herself drawn to the a particularly raucous one, named The Weighed Anchor. From the open door pours out the orange light from the hearth and the many, many torches and candles lighting the interior. People laugh, talk and cheer, washing away the days worries with celebration. She wonders how many tankards it takes to reach such levels of elation. 

She steps inside, enjoying the rush of warm air, which caves to a small knot of anxiety as many eyes fix on her. Though small in stature, her wings and horns always draw attention. People part for her with nudges, whispers and more than a few snickers. She feels the swell of anger that simmers beneath her skin as she makes her way to the bar.

The barkeeper, a stout hardy human wearing a sleeveless shirt to reveal his heavily scarred, muscled arms to the world takes one look at her and snorts.

‘Think you’re in the wrong place, sweetheart. Castle district is that way.’ He points with the filthy rag he is using to attempt to clean the glasses. 

‘I didn’t come here expecting honeyed wine and polite company,’ she responds, hopping onto a bar stool. 

‘What are you here for?’

‘Looking to forget my troubles.’

He grins, revealing several missing and chipped teeth. ‘You’ve come to the right place.’

Autumn hardly every touches mugs of cheap ale. But tonight she chases them down one after the other, bearing with the grim taste as she looks to the bottom of her tankards for even just a shred of happiness that continues to elude her, but the more the collection of mugs grow, the less cohesive her mind is, and that helps. She finds her mind unable to really focus on anything other than how her vision has doubled and everything around her seems a might shinier. It hits her that now is the time to return home.

Autumn slips off the bar-stool–quite literally, falling face-first into the back of a burly human nearly twice her height and girth, spilling his mug of ale all over his and his friends’ front.

‘Oi, watch it,’ he growls.

Autumn mumbles a slurred apology as she sets out for the door when a meaty hand clamps over her shoulder.

‘What did you just say to me, freak?’

Autumn shakes his hand off. ‘That I was sorry, but I take it back because you’re, quite frankly, a jack-ass.’

His snickering drinking buddies quiet with one withering glare before he sets his sights back on Autumn, rolling up his sleeves to reveal impossibly large forearms bursting with veins and muscles.

‘Someone needs to teach you some manners, little bitch.’

Her irritation grows. ‘Look, I’ve had an unfortunate few days. Do yourself the favour of removing yourself from my company before you regret it.’

He breaks out in guffaws of laughter, clearly unimpressed. 

‘You’re cute, I’ll give you that. I’m still gonna smash in that pretty face of yours.’

Autumn swings first, before he even finishes his sentence. Her alcohol-addled mind misjudges the distance and her first comes up a few inches short. He grabs her wrist, pulling her forward into the knee waiting to slam into her abdomen. It forces a cough from her lips as the air is forcibly knocked out of her. An elbow right in the centre of her spine drives her to the ground, dizzy and nauseated.

‘Hey, no rough-housing in my bar! Take it outside.’

‘If you insist.’ His expression sounds rather smug as she physically lists her from the ground, carrying her through the parting crowd of spectators. Through pain-squinted eyes Autumn sees them cheer, pump their fists in the air or raise their flagons, yet none step in to help, or look even a fraction concerned.

His boot kicks open the door, and with a roar he hoists Autumn above his head before hurling her forward. She raises her wings to try and catch herself midair and swing herself back to attack–big mistake. The momentum of the throw right in the direction of the blowing wind sends her careening into the side of a building rather than a harmless slide down the alleyway, her wings still outstretched. They strike against hard brick and mortar first with a series of sickening cracks that prelude the burst f agony spiderwebbing across her wings and spine. She can’t even scream through the pain, just breathless gasps as the pain continues its merciless onslaught. She crumples onto the ground, rolling on her front to take the weight from her broken wings. 

A series of feet and fists strike her like hammers, but she barely feels the initial impacts over the throbbing back pain, but it is enough for her mind to mercifully shut down.

‘…jy? Dajy!’ A voice calls her to consciousness, but with the spreading soreness across her entire form, she wishes they wouldn’t.

She groans, and tries to roll onto her back from habit–then quickly returns to her side with a cry. Her eyes flutter open, feeling the sting of the cold morning air. Kevir hovers over her, his face managing a weak smile when their eyes meet.

‘Dajy..I was so worried. You were missing all night.’ His fingers trail lightly over her arm, her shoulder, just stopping shy of her wing joint, where her wings both lay pathetic and broken. His expression forms into a snarl. ‘Who did this to you?’

Autumn tries to recall faces, but she can;t. Just muscled arms and mocking laughter. She swallows thickly, her mouth tasting thoroughly awful and dry as carpet. ‘I–I don’t know. Dock ward scum.’

‘If I ever find out who, so help me god…’ Kevir gently encourages her in a sitting position. ‘Can you stand? We should get you home.’

She meekly nods, and with Kevir’s help finds her feet. Her head swims and spins, pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer on an anvil. She lulls against him for support with a dazed moan. She half expects a witty joke accompanied by an easy grin, but he merely winds an arm around her waist and helps her on the long walk back to their manor.

Due to the early hour, they are the only two awake–a small mercy she is thankful for. Kevir sets her down on a chair close to the dying embers of the fire.

‘I need to set the bones before I heal you. I won’t lie, dajy, this is gonna hurt.’

He steps behind her. Autumn’s hands grip the sides of the chairs tightly in preparation.The wood nearly buckles under her grip as he forces the bones of her ings into their proper position. She hears him whisper words of encouragement and affection, yet they are lost behind her howl.

A warm sensation eases the pain as he uses healing magic to mend her injuries, and she softly sighs in utter relief.

‘Thank you, dajy,’ she whispers softly, nearly collapsing back into the chair, her head lolling to rest on the back of it. Kevir comes to stand in front of her, placing a soft kiss on her brow.

‘Of course.’

Footsteps announce the arrival of a sleep-dishevelled Gar as he fixes them both with a half-amused, half-exasperated look. ‘Guys, I’m thrilled for you and all but if you could practice you’re kinky, noisy sex out of ear-shot of the rest of us, that would be great.’