#gripe gripe gripe shaking my fist at a cloud here i know

[soullistrations]

okay making a separate post bc it's bad etiquette to complain about fandom trends on someone's beautiful gifset but anyway this scene is why i haaaaaaaaate navy seal buck. like, the whole point of this scene is that buck does not want to become a person who shuts off their emotions for a job. he also specifically juxtaposes 'being able to help people' with 'being a navy seal' like buck does not want that lifestyle! he doesn't want to be that person! and if he DID want to be that person--if he DID want to cut himself off from his emotions and take on jobs that his government mandates but that don't necessarily help people, then he wouldn't be buck!

[lollytea]

Hi, I was wondering since it was valentines that you can write a little fluff/romance of louie x ty

If you want to, you don't have to

(It is no longer valentines day. v sorry about that. but anyways I found this in my docs and finished it.)

Louie could appreciate the white noise of rain pelting an overhead surface. It overcame him with an understated peace, brought upon by ten-hour YouTube videos trilling a gentle ambiance as he lay awake in pitch darkness, his shakes beginning to subside.

Fortunately, the bus stop was built with a roof. He had a feeling he would like the rain a lot less if he were to be standing directly under the shower.

He was slouched forward on the bench, numbly mesmerized by relentless droplets that kept puddles rippling. One hand fiddled with the handle of his rucksack, the other being a fidget toy in itself, courtesy of the boy seated next to him.

Messing with Louie’s fingers to keep himself somewhat alert, Ty was clearly still in the process of early morning activation. He had a sharpie haphazardly tucked behind his ear, his eyes were bleary and he didn’t have much to say. The irony of the situation was that they both could have slept in an extra hour if Ty hadn’t read the bus schedule wrong.

Louie figured he should get Ty talking to kick his brain into action.

“So, lemme ask, so I know what I’m getting myself into. Is Cape Suzette crazier than Duckburg?”

“Define crazy.” Ty yawned.

“Is this week with your grandparents gonna be normal or are we gonna get ourselves into some life threatening shenanigans?”

Ty didn’t answer immediately. He scrubbed his eye with the heel of his hand.

“I mean...” He began, uncertain. “If we’re gonna be hangin’ out with grandpa, who knows. I guess the city isn’t that weird, compared to here. ‘Course, there’s air pirates. But y’know the thing about those guys?”

“They’ve got “Air” in the title.”

“On the money there,” Said Ty, shooting him a finger gun. “Me and you are gonna be stayin’ on the ground. Y’know, where stuff is at least sorta normal. So, we should be fine. Why? Ya scared?”

“Ehhh, ‘Scared’ is usually my default feeling about this stuff. But I was thinking more along the lines of just wanting to take it easy. Imagine a boring, uneventful week with lots of naps. For me, that’ll be a treat.”

Ty was nodding along, lacing and unlacing his fingers through Louie’s, as if amazed that they continued to slip so seamlessly into place every time

It was when he made to scratch his ear, that the sharpie dropped into his lap. Ty blinked.

“When did that get there?”

“You put it there while you were still half asleep, genius.”

“Huh.”

Ty picked up the pen, looking to be marveling its very existence, and twirled it between his fingers. He turned his newly awoken enthusiasm on Louie. “Wanna tattoo?”

Louie didn’t think twice. “Nope.”

Ty's grin faltered. It was astonishing how a big, hulking slab of a bear could still pull off such an impressive 'wounded cub' expression.

Louie fully blamed whatever God or mysterious maker decided “Hey, here's my brilliant idea for the final touch on this already sly, sneaky, completely diabolical piece of work. Big, soft brown eyes.  I don't think we've given him enough unfair advantages in life. Hey, remember a few months back when I gave that Duck kid a heart melting weakness for brown eyes? Wouldn't it be funny if  he ever met this bear kid I'm working on?”

Ty's head tilted to the side, a tiny wrinkle forming between his brows. He hadn't released Louie from under his gaze and Louie was having a difficult time averting his eyes.

“Please...” He murmured and Louie's resistance crumbled.

A few minutes later, Louie had an entire inked sleeve, courtesy of the dorkiest temporary tattoo artist in Duckburg.

The nerve of this guy too....

“Can ya take your hoodie off?” He had asked a moment ago, once Louie's entire forearm was adorned with doodles.

“Oh, I see the angle here. You want me to catch my death?”

“Pssh. Don't be dramatic, Duck.”

“I get cold easily, Cloudkicker.”

Louie had lost both the little squabble and his hoodie and was exposed in just a t-shirt in no time. Ty had promised to warm him up if he caught a chill.

Apparently a body of snowy white feathers was the ideal canvas, Ty had informed him. Louie would be flattered if being a canvas wasn't just a job for entertaining his boyfriend as they waited for the bus.

“Stop moving!”

“It itches!” Louie griped.

“Canvases don't move, y'know.”

“Canvases--”

“Canvases don't talk either.”

Ty emphasized his point by lightly bumping the end of the sharpie against Louie's beak, smile annoyingly bright as ever. Nobody should be this sunshiny when the weather was so bleak.

Louie made a face at him, features wound up in mock disgust. Ty mirrored him.

They fell into a game, back and forth, each making an expression uglier and thus funnier than the next. At some point, weird noises accompanied the faces. Louie didn't quite know when the objective was no longer to spite Ty but to make him laugh.

He also hadn’t realized that he himself was having fun until he heard his own laughter in his ears and begrudgingly accepted that he was no longer under the influence of early morning grumpiness.

Ty was shaking with giggles too, looking at Louie as though he were silver and gold breaking through rain clouds. He glanced down and stared at their linked fingers. His sunny grin faded until all that was left was the shadow of a quiet smile.

Louie was about to break the silence when Ty readjusted his hold, flipping the small, feathery hand palm up and pressed the felt tip of the pen against it.

When he withdrew the sharpie, Louie was blinking down at his hand, his sleepy brain attempting to process the simple, tiny heart in the center of his palm.

Speaking of tiny hearts, he felt like his chest just utterly exploded with them.

This boy....

This goddamn boy with his cute little doodles and his big bright grin on rainy days.

“Canvases don't blush either.” Ty quipped, the corners of his mouth stretched so wide they were twitching.

“You're annoying.” Said Louie, accepting that his lazy smirk had long since broken into a glow. He knew he was probably looking at Ty like the bear pieced his entire universe together and managed every stitch with adoration for the craft.

He might have considered this an affront to his dignity if there had been witnesses. But the world was still asleep and their moment was muted to outsiders by a song of lashing rain.

Remnants of their moment were curtained by the sleeves of his green hoodie, as the bus arrived and he hastily pulled it on.

All that was left was the heart on Louie's palm. But then he curled up his fingers into a loose fist and it was gone.

Well, no. It wasn't gone. Just hidden.

Louie held on to his secret heart for the entire ride to Cape Suzette.

[axoxtxhxh]

Promise Me - Chapter 2 - The Fight

Summary: Armin convinced Reader to let him out for the day. On their way out, they get into some trouble and Reader gets hurt.

ArminxFem!Reader

Content: Blood, a little bullying, fighting, immigrant-hating (? I’m not really sure what to call it), me failing at using old-timey slang XD

Word Count: ~ 4,500

Armin’s eyes widened with excitement and he jumped up from where he was sitting. He was going to say something, but thought better of it. Standing quietly next to you with a huge grin on his face. He shook his hair out and smoothed it down and you felt a tiny twinge in your chest that forced you to smile. His innocence was always so endearing.

It was probably best that you didn’t both go out wearing scout regiment uniforms and you moved to the few extra articles of clothing you had next to the bed, digging around. The weather in this country was quite similar to Paradis and would have normally been warm at this time of year, but today was colder. The sun was hidden behind the clouds covering the sky and it looked as though there would be rain. If you didn’t actually need to go to the store, you probably would have skipped it on a day like this.

Unfortunately, all that was in the pile of extra clothing were short sleeves and thin shirts, the only clothing cheap enough for you to afford. They would have to work for now.

“What are you looking for?” Armin peeked over.

“We both can’t be out wearing our uniform,” you explained, “it’s bad enough that I wore it. Both of us wearing it together will look bad.”

You stood up holding a short-sleeved t-shirt, quickly removing your uniform shirt and handing it to Armin. He took it from you and folded it, replacing it in the bag while you put on the t-shirt.

“Ready?” You packed the small amount of change you had in your pants pocket.

“Won’t you be cold?” Armin worried. He didn’t mind wearing the t-shirt instead of you wearing it. He looked over your arms and really became aware just how much muscle you’d lost already.

“I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

The walk to the store was only about ten minutes and not that scenic, but watching Armin look around in awe made the experience entirely different for you. He watched the people and cars moving around him quickly with a huge smile on your face and you smiled, feeling pretty happy that he convinced you to bring him along.

Armin couldn’t believe everything he was seeing. So many people, so many different people, all the cars, the food being sold on the street, everything was so new and amazing. He was breathing in the smells coming from the food vendors, barely wanting to blink in fear that he would miss something. He looked up to you and saw that you were smiling.

As you were walking, you thought about how strange it must be seeing the two of you together. You were definitely older than Armin, but not old enough for people to mistake you as his mother, maybe his young aunt. He was smaller than you as well, not just in height, but in build. Somehow, his black scouts uniform made him look bigger though.

The reactions of the people on the street were quite different today than they normally were. Maybe it was because it was a cloudy day and people knew rain would be coming in soon or maybe you did look different with Armin walking next to you, but everyone almost seemed friendlier.

There wasn’t a food stall that you passed that wasn’t saying ‘hello’ with a smile when you normally never even got a glance in your direction. A couple of them even gave Armin a free sample to taste which he accepted with an excited ‘thank you’ and shared with you while you walked. You kept looking over at him as he smiled at everyone with his big, blue eyes. It was definitely Armin that was making the difference. His less threatening face and cheerful look in his eyes was getting the attention of everyone you moved past.

You made it to the store and the lady behind the counter who usually paid no attention to you wasn’t any different from the rest of the town, happily greeting Armin with a welcoming smile on her face. You moved to the back of the store knowing what you needed and quickly grabbing it. There was no need to be out more than necessary. Armin took the supplies from you and you both went back to the counter.

“Looks like terrible weather today,” she said smiling at Armin.

“Rainy weather is nice with a cup of tea.” He smiled back.

“Such a positive way of thinking about it.” She rang up the items. “Are you guys from around here?”

“We’re just visiting,” he replied. You remembered another item you needed and quickly ran back to the aisle in the back, tucked all the way in the corner, ‘feminine products’. It was completely different here than back home. Each time you came back thinking they would restock what you were used to using, but it was only ever the same products. You grabbed a box at random and went back to the front.

“This one is my favorite,” the cashier was saying to Armin, “it’s perfect for days like today.”

“Thank you for the information!” His innocent smile was winning everyone over. She put it in the bag with your stuff and Armin spoke up to protest. “Oh, I’m sorry. We can’t pay for that.”

“No problem.” She winked. “It’s on the house.”

“Thank you!” Armin was beaming.

He looked back to you as you set your box of tampons on the counter, looking at the box, then back to you, concern hitting his eyes. You paid for the stuff and grabbed your bags, heading back out to the street.

“Wait… wait, Y/N.” Armin rushed next to you, taking the two small bags from you. “I can carry these for you. You should rest.”

“What for?” You kept walking.

“Your condition.” His eyes were wide, still full of worry.

“Trust me—” You tried not to laugh at his concern. “—I’m fine. Besides, the bags aren’t even heavy.”

“Even still, I will—”

“What do we have here?” A voice called from a group of older boys just outside the store. Both Armin and you turned to see who they were talking to. “It looks like a couple out-of-towners.”

The group of boys laughed and that’s when you knew they were talking about you and Armin. You turned Armin around to keep walking.

“Hey, blondie. Nice outfit.” Another voice called. You stopped where you were standing. Armin turned to grab your hand, but you stayed there.

“Looks like we got a bearcat on our hands, fellas.” The group laughed.

“Don’t listen to them.” Armin was pulling you, but you weren’t budging.

“Come on, you got something to say?” The boys kept jeering.

“Don’t tell us you’re going to listen to that little guy.” Another boy taunted, throwing an empty can at you, just missing your head.

You turned around quickly, walking over to them and narrowing your eyes.

“Is there a problem?” You asked, taking time to glare at each of them.

There were four boys. They each looked to be around eighteen, maybe nineteen. They were clearly bored and looking for someone to bother. If they wanted a fight, you would give them one. It had been a while since you sparred. Why not take out some aggression on some punk kids.

“As a matter of fact—” the boy sitting on the table stood up, “—there is. We don’t like your kind coming over to our country and stinking it up.” “Our kind?”

“Yeah, foreigners.” He spit whatever it was he was chewing right next to your foot on the ground. “You’re leaving a mess.”

“I think you’re mistaking me for your friend there.” You nodded at the one who threw the can.

“Whatchu mean?” He spit off to the side again and you clenched your jaw.

“The porky ashcan sitting behind you.”

All the boys stood up at that and the spitting one calmed them down, putting his hands up until they settled.

“I think you need to be more careful with who you’re calling a porky ashcan.” He narrowed his eyes and spit, this time right in front of you, the splotch landing directly on your shoe. You moved quickly forward, but Armin was faster, standing in between the two of you and holding you back with his hand.

“Wait! Wait! We will be more careful.” He was looking at you, then turned to look at the boys. “She’s just tired. It’s making her angry. We will be more careful.”

“Looks like the blondie can tame the bearcat.” The spitter smiled an ugly smile.

“We’re sorry to bother you.” Armin nodded and pulled you along. You glared at the spitter until Armin pulled you far enough away and you both continued along the sidewalk.

“Why did you do that?” You griped. “You realize I could take them. Easily.”

“We fight titans. I don’t doubt your abilities.” His voice was low. “But you can’t just lose your temper like this every time you get a bit upset.”

“A bit upset??” You turned to look at him, your eyes wide. “He threw garbage at us, called us names and spit on me. I am more than ‘a bit upset’.”

“Let’s just get back.” Armin’s walked quickly, the smile on his face from earlier was gone.

You sighed as you followed him. Were you getting irrationally angry? It seemed like an appropriate amount of anger to you. They were punk kids that probably needed a lesson anyway. You looked over your shoulder, seeing them following you both. They might actually get that lesson if they stick close.

Before you even had the chance to prepare a plan, one of them ran forward, pushing Armin and he tripped, falling forward into the sidewalk.

“Armin!” You ran down to help him sit up and checked his face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” His cheek was bleeding, scratched on the rough surface of the sidewalk. You were seething, fists shaking, breathing heavily and unsuccessfully trying to control your anger. Armin could see how upset you were and held your hand. “Y/N, I’m okay. Don’t do anything.”

You stood up and turned around, shoving your fist in the face of the first boy you saw, the porky ashcan. His head flew back and he fell to the ground, knocked out. The other boys started getting loud, yelling threats and running at you. You moved away from Armin and drew their attention to the little junkyard area behind you.

The second boy made his way over, fists flying and you ducked and dodged until you got him in the stomach and a kick to the face where he doubled over, falling to the ground.

The next one was coming at you with a misplaced kick and you laughed at him, making him angrier until he was close enough for you to grab his collar and headbutt him, knocking him out cold.

The spitter was last, walking up to you with a confidence you could tell he didn’t earn. You hit him and he quickly shook it off. He must have been hit before, familiar with the feeling and not as shocked as the others were. He grabbed the collar of your shirt and lifted you up. You had to admit, you weren’t exactly a lightweight, the guy had some muscle.

Picking you up was a mistake though. You quickly threw your leg over his shoulder and shifted the weight, taking him down until you were straddling him, one more close hit and he was out too. You smiled, standing up and wiping your hands. You were about to turn around to head back to Armin when porky ashcan tackled you, knocking you down and into a metal shard sticking up from the ground.

“FUCK!” You screamed. You were panting when porky ashcan climbed off of you and the other boys woke up. Seeing what happened and watching the blood soak into your white shirt, they all fled, leaving you lying there.

“Y/N!” Armin ran over, helping you sit up.

“Shit.” Your breathing was shallow and quick, sharp pain stabbing your lungs as you shook, trying to grip the edge of the shard. It wasn’t thick, but it went clear through the side of your lower abdomen. “Is it all the way through?”

You lifted up the side of your shirt to take a look. Armin knelt down next to you, holding your hip and helping you lift your shirt.

“Yeah.” His eyes were wide. Armin didn’t even need to lift your shirt to know it was straight through, the back of your shirt stained with blood.

“Help me get it out.” You leaned forward, resting your head on his shoulder.

His hands were shaking as he reached forward, gripping the edge sticking out of your stomach. He wiped the beads of sweat that formed on his upper lip with the back of his hand and shifted his legs a bit. He didn’t want to do this. He reallydidn’t want to do this, but he couldn’t ask you to do it.

He gritted his teeth, forcing the water sitting in the corners of his eyes to roll down his cheeks and he blinked to clear his vision then pulled. Quickly, and yet somehow so slowly, and with a dragged-out groan from you, the shard was out of your stomach and Armin set it to the side, resting both of his hands on your shoulder to help steady you.

“Fucking shit,” you breathed. “Damn it.”

The cut wasn’t that big, mainly hitting the bulk of muscles you had at your side, but it was bleeding quite a bit. This is exactly what you didn’t need right now. You didn’t need something slowing you down, something stopping you from being at your best. You took a deep breath, Armin still examining how bad the cut was.

“I think you need stitches.” He wiped his eyes harshly on the back of his sleeve.

“I’ll be fine.” You winced as you dropped the shirt back down, lightly pressing on the cut.

“You can’t beat an injury just by being strong, Y/N. You need stitches.” Armin stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Armin, where are you going? Armin!” You called after him, but he was already out of view and most likely nearing out of earshot. You had no idea how he had that much energy, but you didn’t have time to think about it. You couldn’t decide if it was better to stay sitting how you were or to get moving. There was no way you would be able to help Armin if he did get in trouble. The best way to help was not sit around and take your time.

You slowly stood yourself up, the twisting and stretching starting to pull at the cut causing your vision to go white. You stopped midway, wincing and taking a deep breath, then getting yourself to fully stand up. You kept pressure on the wound and walked back to pick up the bags and slowly made your way back to your abandoned building.

You were definitely losing blood. You could feel it pooling in your hand as you held your stomach, but it wasn’t enough to prevent you from moving, though moving was only contributing to the continuous flow of blood to the cut.

It was only a couple more minutes until you would reach the building and you could rest. You took a deep breath, your feet starting to drag slightly as you fought your mind wanting your body to sleep.

You could barely hear Armin’s voice yelling for you behind you. In your attempt to slow down and turn, you lost your balance and started falling. Armin quickly ran forward and caught you.

“What the hell are you doing?!” His face was right in front of yours, eyes bright blue and glassy. His jaw was clenched in anger. “Why are you trying to carry all this and walk when you’re injured? Are you crazy?”

Seeing him yelling at you only made you smile, your vision going black shortly, body limp, before returning and you blinked yourself back.

“We need to get back,” you mumbled. Armin put you on his back and grabbed the bags, moving as fast as he could back to the building. Thankfully, the cloudy weather sent most people inside and walking through the final small streets weren’t as difficult.

Armin managed to get everything, including you, back up the stairs and moved you to the bathroom, setting you against the sink.

“I think this might hurt.” He worried.

“I promise you, I’m already in pain.” You pulled off your shirt. “Just get it over with so I can lay down.”

Armin washed his hands and wet the small rag he had with him, bringing it to the wound and wiping gently, trying to watch your reactions.

“Fuck,” you grunted through gritted teeth. He lightened the pressure of the towel and ran the water through it, squeezing it out and wiping again. You watched as he quickly wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve. “You don’t have to cry, I’m fine.”

“I’m not…” He looked up and met your eyes, sniffling. “I’m just worried.”

“It’s okay, Armin.” He looked back down and continued cleaning the wound with the wet towel before moving to the smaller cut in the back.

He knelt down in front of you, doing his best to stitch the gash closed, thankful it was a clean cut. He continued looking up as he worked, watching as you closed your eyes and your body swayed woozily. He wasn’t the best at medical aid, but you had both certainly stitched a cut or two while out on a mission. As he finished up the stitch, the bleeding slowed and he let out a small sigh.

He had managed to find some stitching supplies at the store and the lady working there was nice enough to give them to him for free. He knew you would most likely need some sort of antibiotic, but hoped the cleaning he did would be enough for now.

He finished up the stitches in the back and helped you to the bed. The second your body hit the blankets, you passed out.

You began to lose track of time as you came in and out of consciousness, each time asking Armin how much time had passed. By the end of the second day, you were more aware and able to stay awake.

“You need to try and eat something,” he suggested, handing you a piece of stale bread.

You refused the food and he leaned over you to check on the progress of healing.

“Please at least drink some water.” He handed you a cup and you went to grab it as he laid your shirt back down.

“G—damn it!” You grimaced. “Don’t push so hard.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He frowned, worrying about how much worse the pain is getting instead of better. He put his hand on your shoulder and you fell back asleep.

You woke up in the middle of the night, sweating and in extreme pain. There was a pulsing heat coming from your side and you were shaking as you moved to sit up, a wave of nausea passing over you as you leaned your back against the wall. It was cold and actually helped the heat you felt pouring over you.

You forced yourself to take quiet, deep breaths in order to not wake up Armin. You could easily fall back asleep. So easily you were fairly certain you hadn’t been sleeping at all, but passing out from the pain. Up until now you had been able to get up and use the bathroom yourself, but right now you weren’t even sure you could stand up by yourself.

You took another deep breath, bending your legs in front of you and leaning against the wall behind you to get yourself to slide up the wall, but it was no use. There was no way you were going to stand on your own. You moved your hand to Armin, trying to call his name through labored breaths. He opened his eyes and quickly sat up, seeing you sitting.

“I need to pee.” You tapped his hand lightly with your own.

“Do you want me to bring a bag or something?”

“I don’t think we’re there yet.” You tried to laugh, but only a puff of air came out. “I just need help to the bathroom.”

Armin nodded and moved closer to you. He hooked his hands under your armpits and lifted as you used your legs to help, whimpering at the pull against the laceration. As soon as you were upright, he wrapped your arm over his shoulder and helped move you to the bathroom.

The building didn’t have the greatest bathroom, but it did have separate stalls which was helpful if you and Armin needed to use the bathroom at the same time. That had yet to happen, but it was still nice. It was also helpful having indoor plumbing, something you both weren’t familiar with.

Armin sat you down and closed the door, waiting sleepily on the other side.

“How long were you awake?” He asked, yawning through his question.

“Not long.”

“Maybe we should clean the wound a little while you’re up.” You opened the door and he turned around to help you to the sink. Armin had been suspecting that it wasn’t healing properly. Pain would have been normal, but not the amount you had been in.

He leaned you up against the cold wall in between the two sinks and lifted your shirt. You could hear his quiet gasp as he looked at wound. Perfect.

“Tell me if it hurts when I touch it.” He leaned over and started just resting his hand on the front of your stomach, far from the actual cut which was closer to your side. He continued moving it, pressing lightly as he slid it more towards your side, but higher up, just under the band of your bra. At this point, it just felt like his hand on your skin.

Armin was doing his best to slowly approach the red streaks that were creeping out from the wound. It definitely looked bad. The scab was big, wider than it was the day before, pus leaking through the cracks in it. Thin red streaks were appearing on the edges. He lowered his hand to your waist, sliding back towards the wound and you winced, your body flinching away from his hand.

“Maybe it’s better if you clean it?” He stood up straight. “I’m worried it will hurt if I do it.”

“It’s okay.” You nodded. “I can handle it.”

Armin quickly washed his hands and you braced yourself over the sink. The moment he brought his hands to your waist, the stinging pain of the water and the weight of the pressure had you gripping the sink so tightly your knuckles were white.

Armin lightened his touch, watching your ab muscles flex as your breathing picked up.

“I’m sorry.” He pulled his hand away to get more water.

“Just… do it… quickly.” You could barely separate your teeth to talk. Armin finished up and patted you dry and you both moved back to the bed.

A couple hours later, the sun had barely risen, small slivers of light shining through the window above you. You were sitting against the wall, having trouble breathing. Armin sat in front of you, his eyes watering and trying to think of anything he could do for you.

Your skin had paled significantly, lips white and chapped. You were constantly sweating at this point and somehow still managed to feel cold and hot. The pain was nearly unbearable.

“I don’t know what to do.” He held your hand, his own hand shaking as he tried to calm you.

“It’s okay,” you breathed, “we need to… if I pass out again… you have to find a way…”

You had no idea how to explain to him that he had to keep going, even if you wouldn’t be able to help him.

“Y/N, no! You have to get better.” He begged.

“Armin, I—"

“Armin?” Both of your heads shot up at the unfamiliar voice ringing quietly through the room. Armin quickly turned around. It was still too dark to see anything farther in front of them.

Armin grabbed a stick from next to the bed and held it in his unsteady hands, aiming at the direction of the voice.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” The voice called.

You still couldn’t see the owner of the voice, but you could tell it was a man, his accent different from the other people in the country.

“Who—who are you?” Armin stepped forward.

“I can come closer so you can see me.” The man took slow steps closer to them, stepping into the bit of light they had. He was maybe in his mid-to-late forties with dark features and tanned skin. Armin squinted a bit, trying to get his eyes to focus on the man’s face.

“Fran—Francisco?” His voice shook and the man smiled.

“Yes, you remember me.” The man stepped forward a bit more and Armin stiffened, stepping back, closer to you. As if right on cue, you coughed. “I can see your friend is sick. I only want to help.”

“How did you know we were here?” Armin asked, his voice firmer than it was before.

“After I gave you those shoes, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” The man stepped forward again and Armin stepped closer, lifting the stick to threaten him. The man lifted his hands in reassurance that he wasn’t there to threaten you both. “I was watching you for the last couple days. I only want to help.”

The man took another step forward, only a couple feet from them now and Armin was starting to worry. He knew this man, but only as much as the five-minute conversation they had to learn each other’s names. He had no idea what he wanted from you both.

“Stay back!” He shook the stick.

“Okay, okay.” The man stepped back and lowered himself to the ground, sitting. “I just want to talk. I can see your friend is hurt. I can help her. I have a friend who’s a doctor.”

Armin’s eyes had been watering and he wiped them on the back of his hand, looking back to you, barely conscious, and turning back to Francisco.

“She needs a hospital, Armin.” His voice was calm. “I can help her.”

Armin couldn’t think. He needed time to think things through. He looked back to you, you were dying. You were definitely going to die if you didn’t get help, but he didn’t know that this man was actually going to be the help you needed. He brought his hands to his head, groaning through his clenched jaw. His mind was running wild. He just needed time to think.

“Armin…” your voice was weak, raspy and tired, barely audible, but the moment you spoke, he turned around, kneeling down to you.

“What do I do, Y/N?” He wiped the hair out of your face.

“We don’t have a choice. Let’s go with him.”

Francisco started standing up at your words, staying back until Armin told him it was okay to come closer. Your eyes closed as you slowly lost consciousness again, but not before hearing Armin’s voice in your ear.

“I won’t leave your side, Y/N. I promise.”

[eatsbop]

Hello bop, please continue your story after Hobin-Bomi wedding. It's so funny asdfghjkl. (especially the taekwondo-karate rivalry part)

By and by they finally convinced Munseong and Taehoon to walk the aisle together. Bespectacled Ji Yeonwoo marching in the room with cold murder in his eyes was all the push they needed.

The ceremony went smoothly after that hiccup. Hobin was so happy he could die but he's had enough tragedy in his life so let's not kill him off like that.

The wedding reception afterwards was just as beautiful as the ceremony.. and without tall people bickering and causing a delay too.. so you could say it was actually better. Like. I don't know about you, homies.. but anything involving food is sexy in my eyes, ahem. Moving along.

There were tears, there were laughter, there were a great many emotions felt throughout the party.. but even greater amount of alcohol consumed. Then a tremendous halt fell upon the cheer. It was time for the bouquet toss.

Now, Yoo Hobin and his friends thrive on fights for survival. No, actually Hobin wants to avoid any fight during his and Bomi's big day. So instead of a regular toss they figured they needed something to settle this dispute quietly. Or at least nonviolently.

First, contenders - I mean, the bachelors and bachelorettes - were selected. Then they were divided into two groups. These two groups are going to battle it out in a good old quiz competition. That's right. Quizzes.

"We can avoid punches this way, right?" Hobin had asked their wedding planner.

"We should have medics on standby, sir. Erh. Just in case.."

Whichever group wins will be declared People with 110% Chance of Getting Happily Married. Losers? People Most Likely to Stay Single Forever and Ever. Life is cruel, children.. I'm taking y'all with me..

"The fuck is this? Can't you just throw the damn bouquet?!" Taehoon gripes, antsy to finish off the entire bar.

"That's easy for you to say when you have the advantage." Jihyeok sulks next to him.

"Like I'd want anything to do with a fucking bouquet?! Take it for all I care!"

Jihyeok sighs. "Then kick Ji Yeonwoo for me, Master Seong! No way I can beat the guy."

Gyeoul moves close to Rumi. "Unnie.. aren't girls supposed to be in the toss in the first place?"

"Oh. Yes.."

Eul scoffs. "In a backwards society maybe! This is what you call equality. If you take on Mangi, I'll find a way to trick Ji Yeonwoo. How about that, Gyeoul? Then we'll decide between the two of us."

Gyeoul glances at Rumi, then her fidgeting brother, before beaming back at Gaeul. "Call!"

"Uh.. they're going through the game. There's no need for a war tactic.."

Gyeoul and Eul hung their heads dejectedly.

The groups were decided. Rumi, Gyeoul, Jihyeok and Yeonwoo in Team Bombom. Taehoon, Eul, Munseong, Mangi and Wanguk in Team Bibin. No one cared that Bibin has an extra member. Ji Yeonwoo has more brain power than an entire congressional assembly. Jihyeok could have died of happiness but no, he won't. He actually has a chance to get married after all.

The game commenced. Each round was hard-fought. Tears were shed once again, mostly Jihyeok's and Mangi's. Is Team Bibin even trying? Mangi pleaded to his teammates, "Guys, please. Don't take my one chance. Please. Pleeeease..." and Eul, who had given up earlier (being stuck with a bunch of knuckleheads), took pity on him.

"Master, are we really going to lose against Karate?"

That flipped a switched in Taehoon's brain.

"Wanguk-ssi! It wouldn't really leave a good impression on Rumi-unnie if you lose here! She likes a capable man!"

That flipped a switch in Wanguk's brain.

"Munseong-oppa.."

"..what is it?" An enormous cloud or sadness.

"Erh. Maybe.. uh.. maybe they.." Gaeul crosses her fingers behind her back. "They'll get a divorce?"

That slightly lifted Munseong's spirit.

Mangi shared a grateful and tearful fistbump with Eul.

Somehow Team Bibin caught up with Team Bombom. Maybe they grew a brain cell with adrenaline, who knows man. Tf is this story. I'm just here in the waiting room writing this in my phone someone give me breakfast lmao.

Surprisingly for everyone, the game had to be settled with a tiebreaker. The audience, the newlyweds, and most specially the players held their breaths as the game host called the names for the tiebreaker match.

"Taehoon-ssi and Yeonwoo-ssi, please step up."

Mangi wails but Gaeul quickly covers his mouth. "Master Seong, you got this! Taekwondo number one!"

"Alright, players! The category for this question is.. math."

"You fuckers, just say you want to curse us to eternal singlehood!" Taehoon's cool completely flew out of the window.

Mangi burst to tears.

Yeonwoo barely managed to keep himself from grinning from ear to ear.

"You can do it, Taehoon-ah!" Wanguk suddenly calls.

Munseong looks at him, bewildered. Everyone did.

"Ah.. he's kind of got.. a cute side to him? He reminds me of my sister.."

Munseong scrunches his nose up. "Do you secretly hate her or something.."

"Listen up, players. Here is your question. Find the value of x in 107x - 102345x * 4588x + 117625x * 11342x + 133x.." The host drones.

"The fuck language are you speaking?!" Taehoon sputters indignantly, slamming his fist on their team's table and accidentally triggering the buzzer.

"Uh." Taehoon blinks as all eyes turn to him.

"You have ten seconds to answer, Taehoon-ssi. Starting now.."

"Eh? Wha-"

"You can do it, Master!"

"Go for it, Taehoon-ah!"

Team Bibin went completely apeshit. Even Munseong was roped into cheering.

"I don't- What- You haven't even finished the ques- 69?!"

Mangi fainted instantly.

"You're seriously going to compare that dumbass to your sister?" Munseong side-eyes Wanguk.

"Is he wrong though?"

"69." The host announced. "Correct."

Just like that Team Bibin secured future spouses.

Epilogue. (Cause I don't know how to write screencuts aaaaaa hahhaa or anything at all I'm hungry.)

"You must he happy, hn.." Jihyeok sniffs, nursing his 45th glass of wine.

Ji Yeonwoo from the next table glances at him before tipping his own wine glass to his mouth, bottoms up.

"Of course! Taekwondo won again against Karate!" Taehoon laughs maniacally, waving his bouquet.

"You must be happy to have damned me into singlehood. Some friend.."

Taehoon scoffs. "Are you seriously stupid? You believe that bullshit?"

Jihyeok glares at him.

Taehoon rolls his eyes. "You're a real idiot. You like the little chick, right?"

"..what."

"Gaeul and I are on the same team. Just make sure you're the one she's marrying. There you go. Problem solved. Drink up."

"Taehoon-ah."

"What'd you call me."

"I didn't say any-"

"Taehoon-ah!" A strong hand grabbed Taehoon's shoulder, forcing him to turn around. "Taehoon-ah!" Yeonwoo repeated for the third time, sporting the brightest smile imaginable. "You're a genius!"

Taehoon scowls. "..right? Are you being sarcastic with me?"

"No! I'm serious!" Yeonwoo chuckles, shaking his head so hard his glasses almost flew. "A genius!"

"Have you lost your mind? Fiiine, if it makes you feel better I just guessed-"

"No! I mean it! You're a genius!" Yeonwoo grins, turning to look at Jihyeok. "Jihyeok-ah! He's a genius, isn't he?"

Jihyeok smirks at him, raising a thumb up. "Always been."

I honestly don't know anon thanks lmao

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Weaknesses

I watched Avatar: The Last Airbender and my hand slipped oops, I promise I have more spidey stuff coming soon!

Zuko is captured while pursuing the avatar gang. They want to know what he knows about the Fire Lord, but they don’t want to hurt him to get him to talk. A hungry Momo enlightens them on how to do just that. 

word count: 6,236

_________________________________

This was not the outcome Zuko had been anticipating. Bond to a chair made of earth, arms pinned behind his back, legs cemented in place, hands and feet encased in rock no amount of wrenching or fire bending could loosen. Caught and subdued by the avatar and his gang when he was certain he’d had the drop on them. Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Toph stood around him, arms crossed and eyes steely. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t move. 

After his uncle had fallen asleep, Zuko had spotted the avatar’s bison flying overhead, and snuck away in the night to track them. When he found their campsite, he moved in to try to capture Aang, being as silent and stealthy as possible. But, much to his surprise, hardly a step and a half into his scheme, an earth bending girl rose from one of the tents and captured him instead, trapping him in his current position. Now, instead of the avatar being in his custody, the banished prince of the Fire Nation was in the avatar’s custody. And he was not happy about it.

“Let me go!” Zuko hissed, pulling at his restraints even though he knew it was pointless. Sokka scoffed.

“We’ll pass, thanks.” He and the others stood a few paces back from Zuko so that he couldn’t reach them with any breath-related fire moves—a threat they had deduced rather quickly. 

“Good work, Toph,” Katara said, patting the smaller girl on the back. “That could’ve been really bad.”

Toph shrugged and grinned at Zuko. “You should really learn how to pick up your feet there, princess. You’ve got the gait of a pregnant sloth bear.”

Zuko fumed with frustration, hating the fact he’d been caught so easily. Now he was at the mercy of his enemies instead of the other way around. Meaning they were free to taunt him to his face with zero repercussions. For now, he thought bitterly.

Aang looked at his friends. “Now what do we do? We can’t just leave him here.”

“But we can’t just let him go, either,” Sokka added. “He’s too dangerous.”

“We could knock him out and leave him in a bush,” Katara proposed.

“Or hog-tie him to a porcupig and send it running into the woods,” Toph offered, pounding her fist into her palm.

Aang shook his head. “Come on, guys. We’re not doing any of those things.”

“Wait a minute,” Sokka said, brightening. “He’s the son of the Fire Lord, right? I bet he has insight into his weaknesses, and how Aang can defeat him!” 

Zuko clenched his teeth. Aang grimaced. 

“What are you suggesting, Sokka?” 

“I’m saying, we should interrogate him! Find out what he knows!” Sokka snagged his boomerang from his bag and approached Zuko from behind. Zuko winced in surprise when the edge of Sokka’s weapon dug into his throat, pinning his head to the back of the chair. “Tell us everything you know about the Fire Lord, Fire Nation scum!”

His tone wasn’t intimidating in the slightest, but the feeling of the blade pressed against his neck was enough to send chills down Zuko’s spine. Fortunately, Aang stepped forward, jabbing his staff against the ground. 

“Sokka, stop! This isn’t how we do things!”

Sokka griped and grumbled, but eventually stepped away, withdrawing the weapon from Zuko’s throat. “Fine,” he said, pouting. “But think of all the juicy secrets he must know about the Fire Nation—secrets that could help us win the war and put an end to their tyranny! We may never get a chance like this again!”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Zuko growled.

Katara motioned for everyone to step out of Zuko’s earshot. The group huddled together beside Appa’s slumbering form.

“Aang, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think Sokka might be right.”

Aang and Sokka gaped at her simultaneously. “Seriously?” they said in unison.

“We have to get him to tell us what he knows about the Fire Lord. Knowledge like that could help us save countless lives!”

“We didn’t even know he was in the same area as us three minutes ago!” Aang exclaimed. “Since when is wringing information out of our enemies a top priority?”

“It’s an opportunity we’ve never been presented with until now,” Toph said. “We should take advantage of it while we can.”

Aang scowled between his friends, shocked by their sweeping consensus on the matter. He peered around Sokka’s shoulder, eyeing Zuko as he struggled pitifully against Toph’s restraints, then bowed his head. 

“No. We’re not torturing someone for information. It’s not right.”

“No one ever said torture,” Sokka said cooly. “Think of it more as...highly effective persuasion.”

“Maybe we could do something really annoying,” Katara suggested. “Like blow your bison whistle in his ear, or have Sokka sing a bunch of Southern Water Tribe nursery rhymes.”

Toph shuddered. “But that would be torture for all of us. Not just him.”

“Hey! I thought everyone loved it when I sang those!” Sokka sulked. “At least, that’s what Gran-Gran always said...”

Aang swallowed and stared at his feet. “I don’t know. I don’t like this at all. Even if he’s our enemy, it feels wrong—hurting someone who can’t fight back so they’ll tell us something they don’t want to.”

Katara could see the weight of the morality at stake clouding over Aang’s eyes. She laid her hand on his shoulder. “Maybe there’s a way we can do it without hurting him. We could negotiate, or try trading something, or—”

“Hey! G-get off!”

Alarmed, the gang spun back toward Zuko. In the midst of their discussion, Momo had pounced on the fettered prince and was eagerly sniffing his midsection.

“Momo!” Aang cried. “Get away from him! He’s dangerous!”

“Get your stupid pet off me!” Zuko snapped. He moved as much as he could to try to shoo the lemur away, but it continued to snuffle around his torso, its nose prodding his stomach. The feeling took him by surprise, making his breath hitch and his muscles seize. He fought not to react, fought to keep his expression cold and his demeanor colder, but the insufferable little creature would not let up. It was after something underneath his shirt. 

Uncle’s lychee nuts! he realized. Iroh had a habit of stuffing his nephew’s pockets with the things in case the teen ever found himself lost, alone, and without another source of food. Although Zuko would never admit it, he appreciated the gesture—his uncle’s intuition had saved him from starvation in more pinches than one. 

But now was not one of those times. 

Zuko’s face began to burn as the corners of his lips twitched, threatening to turn upward if the lemur didn’t stop. He had to get it off! 

“Agh! S-scram, flea-bag, before I fry you to a—AH!”

To his horror, Momo pulled back his collar and darted down the neck-hole of his shirt. Paws scurried across his torso, a wet nose poked and nuzzled his belly, and a long, fuzzy body wriggled between his skin and the fabric of his clothes. Zuko yelped and sputtered, the heat in his face turning to fire, the laughter he’d been battling back suddenly barreling up his throat like a volcanic eruption. To his dismay, high-pitched giggles started slipping from his lips faster than he could stop them.

“Wha—ahack! Hehey! Get out! Gehet out!” He tugged harder than ever on his bonds, twisting and shifting to try to scare the varmint away, but all it did was make Momo weasel faster and wilder inside his shirt. The lemur’s long tail brushed under Zuko’s arms and wiggled against his neck and ears, sending goosebumps shooting across his skin. He squirmed and thrashed, shaking his head from side to side.

“Gehet it off me!” he squealed.

The four friends blinked as they watched the bizarre scene unfold. 

“Uh…” Sokka said, glancing between the prisoner and his team. “Should we do something?”

A few moments later, Momo crawled out of Zuko’s collar and perched on his shoulder, purring as he nibbled on a handful of nuts. The flustered prince puffed out his cheeks with a shudder, breathless and wide-eyed, his face tinted pink. He could feel his enemies staring at him, digesting what they had just witnessed, and he started to sweat.

“I—I’m gonna k-kill this thing if you don’t get it away from me,” he stammered, trying to feign some semblance of composure. But Momo’s tail continued to swish against the side of his neck as he spoke, making the task exceedingly difficult. He pursed his lips while straining to evade the feathery touch. 

The gang looked at Zuko, then each other, then back at Zuko. The realization dawned on all of them at once.

“Were you laughing just now?” Toph asked.

Zuko cringed, averting his gaze. “W-what? What are you talking about?”

“Oh man! You were!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh before,” Katara said with a snort. “I didn’t think it was possible. And even if it was, I expected it to sound more…I don’t know. Evil?”

“Right? It’s so cute and squeaky!” Sokka snickered.

“I was not laughing!” Zuko shouted. Then Momo’s tail brushed his ear, making him wince and crack a smile.

Aang’s face lit up with delight. “It’s Momo! He’s tickling him and making him laugh!”

In unison, the gang turned on him with wide grins. Zuko bristled.

“What?”

“No way! Prince Zu-Zu is ticklish?” Toph cupped her hands over her heart and tilted her head to the side. “Awww. That’s adorable!”

“Quit patronizing me!” he roared. He tried to knock Momo off his shoulder with his head, but only managed to lightly nudge him. Momo responded by nuzzling into Zuko’s neck, purring loudly as he tucked under his chin and whisked his tail along his collarbone. The prince squawked, hiking his shoulders to his ears.

“Ehaha! No! G-get away!”

Toph crossed her arms smugly. “That’s what you get for trying to capture our friend.”

“Zuko: ticklish,” Aang giggled, as if his brain was having trouble comprehending the idea. “It just seems so out of character for him, you know? It’s funny.”

Katara chuckled in agreement. “I think Momo likes him.”

“No—Momo likes food,” Sokka corrected her. A sly smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Which gives me an idea.”

He marched across the opening to stand at Zuko’s side. The banished prince didn’t notice him; he was too busy biting his lip in attempt to stay quiet, but couldn’t wipe the silly smile and embarrassing blush off his face. Sokka placed his hands on his hips.

“Zuko, tell us how to sneak into your father’s evil lair, or else!”

The request hardly made sense—his father lived in a giant palace, not some secret underground wolf bat cave. Even if he wanted to offer some kind of answer, he doubted he could speak more than a sentence or two before bubbles of laughter swallowed up his words. Still, he had to try to look unfazed. 

“Or ehelse what?” he shot back. His voice came out shrill and brittle, causing his blush to deepen. The stupid lemur would not give his neck a break!

Sokka cocked a threatening eyebrow. Then he extended his arm.

“Momo, look! I think you missed some!”

He opened his hand, revealing another pile of lychee nuts. Before Momo could snatch them out of his palm, Sokka dumped them down the neck-hole of Zuko’s shirt, making him leap.

“Ah! What’re you—w-wait!”

Instantly, the lemur dove back into his shirt, writhing and scampering all over his tummy. Try as he might to fight it, the sensation tickled too much to bear.

“Nohoho!” he giggled, twisting and bucking in protest. Whatever dwindling scraps were left of his facade fell away within seconds. In his hunt for the lychee nuts, the fuzzy little beast pawed and nibbled at Zuko’s bare skin while his ears and tail tickled him like feathers, leaving the poor prince in stitches. His cheeks flushed a shade pinker as he realized how ridiculous and pathetic he must’ve looked at that moment—and in front of his enemies, no less. Zuko’s current disposition was a far cry from his usual grumpy, scowling self, and there was nothing he could do to shake it. The smile spread across his face at that moment was so uncharacteristically bright, the gang couldn’t help but mirror it. 

“That’s what, fire boy!” Sokka replied fiendishly. “Get him, Momo! Do your worst!”

“Ahaha!” Zuko cackled. “I’ll—tohorch you!”

Aang laughed along with him, turning to Katara. “I guess this way isn’t so bad.”

Katara smiled fondly. “This is probably the happiest I’ve ever seen him. But I guess that depends on how you define ‘happy.’”

After circling his torso a couple more times in his lychee nut scavenger hunt, Momo must’ve gotten sick of being inside the twitchy teenager’s shirt. With a shriek and a warble, he shot out of Zuko’s sleeve and landed on Aang’s head, gorging himself on his findings. 

“Good lemur,” Aang said, giving his ear a scratch. Momo trilled contentedly. 

“Don’t let up now! We almost had him!” Sokka dashed toward Aang and tugged on Momo’s tail. “Come on! Do your duty! Your fuzziness is the key to bringing the Fire Nation to its knees!”

Momo hissed at him and took to the skies, winding through the air before disappearing into the woods. 

“I think Momo’s had enough,” Katara declared with a grin. The group turned back to Zuko, who was panting and smiling and flushed to his core. 

“How about you?” Sokka asked wryly. “Had enough yet?”

Even though he was still blushing, Zuko’s eyes flashed with rage. “Let me go!” he demanded again. “You can’t make me talk!”

“Alright, Appa! Your turn!” Sokka pulled on the flying bison’s foot, grunting with effort. “Go! Get him! Lick him into submission!”

“You know we can do this without animals, right?” Toph said, smirking. She strode toward Zuko, her steps pointedly slow and leisurely. The group exchanged a look. 

“Careful, Toph,” Katara called after her. “He can still shoot fire from his mouth.”

“Oh, I bet he can,” Toph said. She stopped a few paces back from him with her hands on her hips, grinning smugly. Zuko glared daggers through the girl even though she couldn’t see him. In the blink of an eye, the earth bender disappeared under the ground then emerged behind him, making the prince start, her icy voice sending a shiver down his spine.

“But I bet it’s hard to control your breathing enough to do so when you’re laughing.”

Zuko’s throat tightened. He hated to admit it, but she was probably right. He could barely perform the move when he was fully concentrated and not strapped to a rock chair.

He almost wished they were hurting him to get him to talk. That would be a far more honorable defeat than succumbing to the childish threat they were making against him now. If he was broken by a bunch of kids sicing lemurs on him, he doubted he would ever live it down. But Toph seemed to have a different plan in mind.

“G-get away from me!” Zuko shouted. He didn’t know what else to do. He hated not being able to see where she was. “Whatever you’re insinuating isn’t going to work! You don’t scare me!”

Toph clicked her tongue. “Insinuating? I thought I was being obvious!” She pounded her heel against the ground, and a stool made of earth rose underneath her, giving her a place to sit right behind the restrained prince. She plopped down with a smile. “I’m going to tickle you.”

Zuko stiffened. She was talking loudly, so the whole group could hear.

“Does that not scare you? Are our assumptions wrong? Are you not ticklish?”

Zuko looked down at his torso. Toph’s hands were hovering a couple inches away from his exposed sides, her fingers spidering threateningly through the air. 

“And in case you weren’t aware, I can tell when you’re lying.”

The heat in Zuko’s neck bled into his ears. “IhI’m—” he stammered, nervous laughter already creeping into his voice. He squeezed his eyes shut. “No! I’m not!”

The other three approached, the devious delight in their eyes goading his anxiety further. 

“You sure about that, Zu-Zu?” Katara asked. “For someone who’s not ticklish, you were laughing an awful lot before.”

“And blushing like crazy!” Aang added cheerfully.

The teasing was enough to blow his top. Zuko strained against his bonds. 

“Y-you’re all insane!” he yelled. “As soon as I’m out of here, I’ll roast every last one of you like a chicken cow on a spi—AGH!”

Mid-sentence, Toph’s fingers started crawling up his sides, dancing delicately along the skin beneath his ribcage. Zuko gasped, his words cut short, an explosion of giggles already amassing behind his lips. 

“No, go ahead, Mister ‘I’m Not Ticklish.’ Finish it. You’ll roast us how? Like a chicken cow on a what?”

Zuko couldn’t even try to act poised. He’d always been exceptionally sensitive—a fact that irritated him to no end, one his mother used to take advantage of to cheer him up when he was little. Growing up, she was the only person in his immediate family who had ever been physically affectionate with him. His father barely even looked at him; the most attention he’d ever paid his son was when he’d scorched his face in front of the entire royal court. And Azula would never do anything to intentionally make her brother smile. 

After his disgraceful banishment, Iroh had been cautious about showing his headstrong nephew too much affection. He didn’t want to smother him or scare him away. Now, three years into their search for the avatar, he’d thrown almost all that caution to the wind. It didn’t take him long to discover his nephew’s sensitivity, the way he sputtered and flinched when his torso was touched in certain places. 

Iroh was kind enough not to exploit his findings in front of Zuko’s crew; the boy already had a hard enough time commanding their respect as it was, being a moody, exiled sixteen-year-old. But that didn’t stop him from tweaking his ribs or tasering him from behind whenever they were alone. The smiles and laughter these actions elicited were always worth it, despite the loud, long-winded protests that inevitably followed.

It embarrassed him how easy and often his uncle poked fun at his weakness. But he never imagined anyone using it against him as a weapon; a torture method to get him to talk. 

Yet here he sat, bound and helpless, giggling hysterically as Toph’s fingers scoured the lengths of his sides, already desperate for the tickling to stop.

“Hahaha! Quihit it!”

“But you said you weren’t ticklish,” Toph reminded him, scuttling her hands up and down the prince’s twitchy torso. “If you aren’t ticklish, then this shouldn’t bother you one bit.”

Katara, Aang, and Sokka watched in amusement as the once strong and fearsome Zuko dissolved into a squirmy, laughing mess beneath Toph’s wiggly fingers. The color of his face was beginning to resemble the dark red of his shirt.

“Yohou’re—y-you—” Zuko sputtered, grasping for something scathing to say. Toph didn’t give him a chance to find one. Her hands suddenly curled into claws, and she switched from the soft, gentle tickling to kneading mercilessly into both sides of his tummy, driving her fingers deep into his flesh with all the endurance and ferocity indicative of earth benders. Zuko jolted and shrieked, arching his spine to try to get away, his laughter jumping in both octave and volume. 

“AHAHAGH! Wahait—no—s-stohop! I cahan’t—eheeheehaha!”

“Come on, guys!” Toph called, waving them forward. “He won’t bite.”

Grinning, the three friends walked to stand directly in front of Zuko, who was floundering as much as his restraints would allow and smiling as wide as the sun. 

“Not so mean and scary when he’s laughing his butt off, is he?” Katara chuckled. Zuko’s laughter was shrill and happy—two characteristics that completely contradicted his usual demeanor. It was also outrageously contagious; she had to cover her mouth to try to contain her own flood of giggles. 

“I never knew the guy who’s been hunting me all this time could look so cute!” Aang concurred. Watching the Fire Nation prince crumble so spectacularly from such a kiddy tactic was strangely endearing. 

Sokka poked Zuko’s bouncy chest with his boomerang. “Now talk! Answer my question, or Toph will tickle you to death!”

To be honest, Zuko barely remembered what the original question was. Something about fire? And an evil lair? An evil fire lair? His head was too preoccupied with the hands pinching and squeezing his belly to think straight. He couldn’t recall another instance where he’d been tickled this intensely. Being unable to guard himself made the sensation a thousand times worse.

“Goho jump in a lahahake!” he laughed, cursing the cracks and squeaks in his voice. Toph cooed. 

“Aw! Fire Lord Zu-Zu’s trying to be tough!” She drilled into the soft spot underneath his ribs, making the poor prince thrash and squeal. No matter how much he squirmed or what way he angled his body, Toph’s hands stayed glued to his frame, exploring every ticklish inch of his defenseless midsection, targeting the spots that yielded the most frenzied reactions. She noticed the higher her tickle attack climbed up his torso, the shriller his laughter became, coupled with increasingly wilder attempts to escape. Moving maliciously slow, she began scaling Zuko’s ribcage with her hands, her fingers ascending each bone like a rung on a ladder, needling on top and around and in between.

“Ahahaha! Cut it ahahout!” Zuko cackled. She was terrifyingly good at this.

“How long you think you can stand it, tough guy? Five minutes? An hour? I could do this all night!” Her fingers were drawing closer and closer to his underarms, teasing and tickling every rib in between. His shirt did almost nothing to dull the increasingly unbearable sensation. 

Sokka yawned. “As fun as this is, I’d rather not stay up all night, waiting for him to break.”

Toph shrugged, smiling deviously. “I don’t mind. I’m having fun.” She cracked her knuckles and resumed her conquest, her hands inching higher, higher, higher. “Coochie-coochie-coo! Your laugh is so cute I could barf!”

“Stahahahap it!” Zuko giggled. His whole body sizzled with embarrassment; his face hurt from smiling so big for so long.

“Maybe we could help speed up the process,” Katara said, smirking. “If all of us worked together, I’m sure we could get him talking in no time.” 

Zuko was already splitting at the seams from just one person tickling him. If all four of them ganged up on him at once, he would most certainly die on the spot. 

“Ooh, good idea,” Sokka said, wiggling his fingers eagerly.

“Plus, it’d be a fun, benign way for each of us to get him back for all the times he’s personally slighted us.” Katara turned to Aang with a grin. “What do you think?”

At that moment, Toph’s hands reached his armpits. She dug in relentlessly, poking and scratching and prodding, her touch sending shocks through Zuko’s entire skeleton. He jerked and sputtered for a couple of seconds, reeling from how intensely it tickled, before exploding into a whole new caliber of laughter.

“AHANOHOHAHA!” he cried. “GAHA—STAHAHAP—IHI CAHAN’T—AAHAHAHAAAA!”

“Uh oh,” Toph said mockingly, kneading diabolical circles into his underarms. “Did I find your weak point? Prince Zu-Zu’s little tickle spot? You’re in for it now, your highness.”

Sharp, squeaky hiccups began punctuating Zuko’s laughing fit. Aang watched the giggly teen squirm and shriek and smiled sympathetically. 

“Let’s give him a break first. He looks like he’s about to burst.”

Sokka huffed, letting his arms fall to his sides. “You suck all the fun out of interrogating war prisoners,” he muttered. He pointed his boomerang at Toph. “Don’t let up completely, though. If he’s able to focus on his breathing, he might spew another fireball in my face. And I do not enjoy having fireballs spewed in my face.” 

“You got it,” Toph said exuberantly. She moved her hands back down to his belly and started tickling his sides with just her index fingers, changing location and technique every few seconds: wiggling one into his hip while the other poked at his ribs, then swirling one across his tummy while the other fluttered against his midriff, then tasering both into the full length of his torso, lingering in the areas that made him most jumpy, and on and on. 

It was much more tolerable than the previous torture, but still enough to keep him twitchy and giggly. He could never predict where her fingers would tickle him next, trapping him in a constant state of jittery nervousness. As soon as he got close to forcing the smile from his lips, another perfectly calculated poke would slap it right across his face again, paired with a yelp of surprise. 

As he fidgeted restlessly in place, breathless giggles bubbling in his throat, the three kids in front of him stepped closer, looking smug. 

“You ready to tell us how to defeat the Fire Lord?” Sokka asked. 

Zuko wheezed. He had to stall long enough to think of a way out of this. Or at least to catch his breath—as much as he could in his current position. 

“Whahat...does that even...mehean?” he panted. 

“Don’t play dumb!” Sokka snapped. “Your father has a weakness—in his army, his hideout, somewhere. You know what it is. Tell us.”

Toph laughed. “We should try tickling him, too,” she said, giving Zuko’s side a squeeze. “Maybe being super ticklish runs in the family.”

Zuko jolted. “Quihit it! Why would I knohow anything like that?”

“Because you’re his son!” Sokka poked him repeatedly in the ribs. “Evil, Fire Nation, devil spawn!”

“He doesn’t look evil to me,” Katara cooed. “How could someone evil have such a cute laugh?”

Zuko wasn’t sure which was worse: the constant teasing making him blush tomato-red, or the two stiff fingers endlessly probing his ticklish torso. He hung his head to hide his dumb, smiley face. “Sh-shuhut up!”

“Aww, what’s wrong?” Toph asked. “You don’t like being called cute?”

“Who doesn’t like being called cute?” Aang said, boasting a goofy grin.

“Stop wasting our time!” Sokka exclaimed. “If you don’t start talking, you’re going to regret it.”

Just then, amidst her tickling spree, Toph’s hands found the hem of Zuko’s shirt. A smirk touched her lips as she reached underneath the fabric and started scuttling her fingers against his bare sides. The moment her nails made contact with his skin, Zuko yelped.

“Waha! Hehey!” 

“You heard the man,” Toph said smugly. “Answer the question.”

She dragged her fingertips up and down his sides, letting her nails skate across his skin. Goosebumps flared along his arms and neck, spreading like wildfire. It was a gentler kind of tickling, but just as maddening in its own right. She started climbing toward his underarms again, this time with no clothing to dull the sensation. He didn’t think he’d survive if she reached her final destination.

“Ahahastahahap!” Zuko giggled. “I dohon’t know, okay? Yohour guess is as good as mihihine!”

“Liar,” Sokka hissed, looking over the prince’s shoulder. “Toph?”

The earth bender laid her palm against the back of the chair and snorted. “It’s kinda hard to tell whether or not he’s lying like this. His heart’s been hammering the entire time.” She clawed at his ribcage with her other hand, making him squirm helplessly. “But from what I can detect, it seems like he’s telling the truth.”

“No way,” Sokka spat. “He has to know something.”

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Aang ventured to say.

Toph’s hand slowed to a stop on either side of his ribcage. All ten of her fingers rested against his skin without moving. Even though she wasn’t currently tickling him, the imminent threat of her nails pressed into his defenseless torso kept him on edge. 

“I dohon’t,” Zuko whimpered. He dropped his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes, smiling listlessly. “The only weakness he has is one you already knohow about.”

The gang looked at each other blankly. “Which is…?” Sokka began.

Zuko scoffed, nodding towards Aang. “Him, of course. The avatar. Why do you think my family has been searching for him for the past three generations? Why do you think my father has had me hunting him down since I was thirteen?”

The three kids in front of him exchanged frowns. Toph’s hands slipped out of his shirt. 

“He was definitely telling the truth that time.”

Sokka palmed his forehead. “Aw, man! So we got nothing from all this? No new information?” He stuck his finger in the prince’s chest. “What’s the point of you being the Fire Lord’s son if you don’t know anything about him that helps us?”

“At least it confirms what we already know,” Katara said, wrapping an arm around Aang’s shoulders. “Aang needs to master all the elements and defeat the Fire Lord to end the war.”

Aang smiled and shrugged. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Fantastic,” Zuko grumbled. “Now would you let me out of this stupid chair? My feet are going numb.”

Katara hinted a grin. “I think I like you better when you’re all giggly and smiley.”

Zuko blushed and stared sideways. “I don’t.”

“If we let him go, how are we going to keep him from attacking or chasing us?” Aang asked. 

Sokka tapped his chin, then cracked into a smirk. “Maybe we should give him a taste of what we’ll do to him if he does,” he suggested. “Avatar gang style.”

The four kids turned on Zuko with a mischievous gleam in their eyes. A fresh rush of heat washed over Zuko’s body.

“W-what?” he stammered, his gaze darting between them rapidly. Dread seized his throat as they approached him from four different sides, making him squirm with anticipation. “But—but you heard Toph! I told the truth! You’re not supposed to punish me for that! You’re supposed to let me go!”

“Don’t think of it as a punishment,” Sokka said innocently, rubbing his hands together. “Think of it as...I don’t know...a warning?”

“Plus, only Toph got to tickle you,” Aang added, forming his own rock stool next to Zuko’s right side. “I want a turn!”

Katara joined Toph behind the chair, leaving over the back rest. “And this is probably our last chance to hear your adorable little laugh,” Katara said. “You know, before you go back to being a moody grouch bent on chasing us to the ends of the earth.”

Zuko burned inside and out. There were four of them and one completely restrained him. He didn’t think he could take it. “W-what if I promise to leave you alone tonight? I’ll go back to my campsite and not bother you until morning. That’ll give you a big head start!”

“I thought that was a given,” Toph said, snaking her hands back under his shirt, her fingernails grazing his tummy. Zuko bristled from her delicate touch. It was already too much to bear. What remained of his fiery resolve crumbled away. 

“Aha! A week then! I wohon’t mess with you for a weeheek!”

“Aww. He’s trying so hard to negotiate his way out of this.” Katara’s fingers brushed both sides of his neck, making him cringe. “Sorry, Zuko. But this is too much fun!”

“Here, Sokka,” Toph said, retracting the earth up his ankles so that his feet were exposed. “Maybe you should try tickling some feeling back into his feet.”

Sokka grinned and sat on the ground, pulling off the prince’s shoes. “Good idea!”

“Noho!” Zuko yelped. He pulled at his bonds and curled his toes in protest. “Thihis isn’t fair! Guhuys—wait—AHAHAGH!”

Aang started poking around his torso, testing and teasing different spots with his soft but frenetic touch. This cued Toph to jump back to his underarms, her fingers fluttering lightly against the hollows. At the same moment, Sokka began gliding two fingers up and down his arches. All of them were tickling him relatively gently, aware of the fact that if they each gave it their all, Zuko might explode. Regardless, having eight hands prod and stroke the most sensitive areas of his body all at once was absolutely maddening, launching him into a hysterical giggle fit. 

“Ahahahaheehee!” He threw his head back, twisting and bucking frantically. “Guhuhuys!”

“This is what we’ll do to you every time you try to capture Aang,” Toph told him, giggling as she tickled the undersides of his upper arms. “Think about that the next time you’re feeling kidnappy.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able take regular ‘ol grumpy-pants Zuko seriously ever again,” Sokka chuckled. “Even when he’s back to shooting fire at us, all I’ll be thinking about is his silly little laugh and goofy smile!”

Hiccups started puncturing his giggles again. So many places on his body were being tickled at once, his brain couldn’t decide which one to focus on. Zuko didn’t care about trying to feign toughness anymore; he just needed this to end. 

“Stahahap! No mohohore! Pleeheehease!”

Katara spidered her nails against the back of his neck, making him shrink into himself with a squeak. “He did say please,” she pointed out.

Just then, a twig broke in the woods, followed by a figure emerging from the tree line. The four friends ceased their attack and glanced up fearfully.

Although he was still dizzy from the onslaught of tickling, Zuko lifted his head and spotted the silhouette as well. The person’s shape was oddly familiar. He realized who it was before the telltale voice rang across the clearing.

“Prince Zuko?” Iroh called, stepping out of the shadows and into the pale moonlight. “Is that you?”

“Uncle!” Zuko cried, relief rushing through him. He thrashed in place. “Hehelp me! I’m trapped!”

“What are you kids doing to my nephew?” Iroh asked, stopping in front of the five of them, although his tone wasn’t particularly angry or concerned. It was more intrigued. 

“We haven’t hurt him,” Katara insisted. “Toph caught him sneaking into our camp and restrained him. We were going to let him go, but then we thought he might have some information on the Fire Lord. So, uh…”

She felt weird about explaining the rest. Fortunately, Aang jumped in for her. 

“So then we tickled him!” Aang said, giving Zuko’s side a couple pinches. The prince flinched and giggled. “We wanted to get him to talk without harming him.”

Iroh smiled at the sound of Zuko's laughter and the happy expression on his face, neither of which had made an appearance in a very long time. They reminded him just how young the banished son of the crown truly was. He shook his head amusedly. “Poor Prince Zuko. It would seem your friends have discovered your weakness.”

“Thehey are nohot my friends!” Zuko cackled. “Just help me, Uncle! Gehet me out of here!”

“He has a very cute laugh, does he not?” Iroh chortled. 

“Disgustingly cute,” Toph agreed, poking his armpit. Zuko squirmed and squealed.

“And an even cuter smile,” Iroh observed. “It’s a shame I don’t get to witness both more often.”

“Uhuncle!” Zuko pleaded, spiraling into giggly shambles. Iroh smiled at Toph.

“Would you please consider sparing my nephew and handing him over to me? I promise he will not cause you any more trouble this evening.”

Toph turned toward the others, waiting for any objections. When none came, she offered Iroh a nod. 

“All right. Stand back, everyone.”

The rest of the group did as they were told. Once they had moved a safe distance away, she punched her fists toward the ground, and the chair fell apart, along with the rock cuffs on Zuko’s hands and feet. He hit the earth with a grunt, flustered and panting.

Iroh approached him and helped him stand. Zuko hugged his midsection with a moan.

“Uhugh...my sides,” he whined. His skin felt tingly and his belly still bubbled with hundreds of giggly butterflies, making it difficult to keep from smiling. He wanted to snarl at the group, to swear they were going to pay for what they’d done to him, but he was too exhausted and embarrassed by the whole situation to summon the energy. Iroh wrapped an arm under his shoulders to support him.

“Thank you for not harming my nephew,” Iroh said to the four kids. “I owe you all a great debt.”

“Don’t...th-thank them,” Zuko huffed.

“But I must,” Iroh retorted. He tweaked the young prince’s side. “They reminded me how to brighten you up whenever you’re being a downer.”

Zuko flinched away, trying to look angry but betrayed by a giggly grin. “Ahagh! Ehenough already!” He whirled around. “You’re all crazy! I’m leaving!”

Zuko stomped toward the woods, smoke hissing from his fists, blush burning through his face and ears. The group laughed.

“This was fun, Prince Zu-Zu. Let’s do it again sometime.”

Sokka waved. “Visit again soon! Next time, we’ll have Appa join the fun!”

Zuko did not like the sound of that. Although part of him found some tiny flicker of release in laughing authentically for the first time in almost three years, he was perfectly fine with waiting another three years for the next instance to occur. After all, he had a reputation to uphold.

[imthecaretaker]

G/t Mech AU One-shot Go!

Sounds like a bad Power Rangers ripoff, haha. Or some kind of anime attack. Anywho, I managed to whip up a one-shot based on the G/t Mech story written by @unicornofgt ! If you haven't already, go check it out, it's pretty darn good!

Now, without further ado, here's my AU one-shot!

"Team Two, this is Base.  Reports put target at the south corner of the quarry."

Ares keyed his headset.  "Team Two copies, Base."  He smiled at his monitor's camera, linked to the video feed in his partner's helmet.  "Look alive, kiddo.  We're going hunting."

"What are we hunting?"  Carter asked as she gave a quick glance at her own camera.

"A widdle wabbit," Ares chuckled as he engaged a few switches in the cockpit and throttled up the secondary power.  "Gonna blow him to smitheweens."

The 83-foot-tall Carter Hopkins, decked in her full 'mech' armor, strode over the seven-foot fence at the northwest corner of the old slate quarry.  Her footsteps were heavy and purposeful, her boots shaking the ground and kicking up small clouds of dust.

"Team Two is in the quarry.  Going quiet," Carter reported into her comm.

"Acknowledged, Hopkins.  Your target is still in the south corner.  Good luck."

Ares sighed.  "What, no goodbye kiss for me?"  He griped to his partner.

Carter reached up and gently tapped the armored cockpit on her suit's chest.  "I'm sure Mom sends her love."

"Pft, not likely," Ares scoffed.  "Not after I fleeced her at checkers.  Told her I'd play again with my left hand.  She beat me that time, and was real happy for a few moments."

"What happened?"  Carter asked as she looked around, scanning her surroundings.

"She got mad, flipped the table, called me a clown bast- hold on, we got movement.  Target is on the move, headed toward us."

Carter tensed, ready for the encounter with their target, a Class 3 Xeno that dropped from a portal that opened over the quarry.  It hadn't made a move on the general populace yet, possibly getting its bearings still.  This was the best chance to-

"I think it knows we're here, Carter.  It's getting closer, picking up speed," Ares warned.

"I see it," she replied as she watched the red blip approach their blue blip.

With a screech, the thing came around the final corner and launched itself at the armored giant.  They collided with a solid thud, Carter being pushed back as she kicked her foot back to stay upright.

She had both hands around the creature's neck trying to hold it back.  Taking one hand away, she made a fist and punched the side of its head.  It was knocked away, but its claws had hooked on her chest plate.  She was dragged to the ground, landing on her side.  Carter quickly rolled to her back as the Xeno pounced on her, screeching in her face and scrabbling at her armor, attempting to peel her open.

"Pikachu!"  Ares bellowed as he rammed a lever forward.  The air crackled as Carter's armor was electrified with many thousands of volts.

The Xeno roared as the current ran through its body, electricity arcing over its inky-black skin.

Carter quickly pulled her knees up toward her chest, getting her boots against the creature's body, and pushed hard.  The monster was launched into the air, before painfully landing over fifty feet away.  Scrambling to her feet, Carter aimed an arm-mounted cannon at the creature.  "Fire!" she barked.

Unfortunately, the Xeno recovered quickly and managed to dodge every shot.  It scrambled around a corner where it was sheltered.  Carter pursued it.  "Nice shooting, Elmer Fudd," she remarked into her comm.

Whatever Ares' response was, Carter didn't hear.  The Xeno launched itself around the corner at the giant.  She was expecting it though, quickly raising her left fist and driving it into the monster's chest.  Dropping to one knee, she followed her target to the ground, before beginning to pummel it with both hands.

"Beat it like it owes ya money!" Ares crowed as he ramped up the suit's back-mounted power plant.

Claws scrabbling, the Xeno scratched and tried to tear at anything it could reach.  It managed to hook a hydraulic line in Carter's shoulder, snapping it with a hiss of draining fluid.

Carter's right arm grew heavier as the hydraulics began to run dry.  She'd still be able to move, but now the suit was slowing her down.  "Got a problem," she told Ares.

"Yeah, I hear the alarm," he responded, quieting the 'Hydraulic Failure' notification.

The creature knocked Carter off balance and the pair tussled before coming to rest with the giant on her back.  The Xeno roared at her again.

Suddenly Ares' voice yelled, "Dump truck, on your nine!"

Turning, Carter saw the big yellow truck sitting within arm's reach.  Snatching it up, she crashed it against the Xeno's head as hard as she could.

The monster stumbled back, disoriented.  

Carter sat up and raised her left arm.  "Fire!" she ordered.  The round flew true, hitting the creature and knocking it back.  "Fire!" she called as she got to her feet.  Every round hit home, driving the Xeno back until it hit the quarry wall.  Carter looked up.  High above was an overhang of stone.  She smiled as she took aim.  Ares needed no order this time.

* *

Carter was reclined back in her hangar berth as her armor was being removed.  The chief mechanic gave her a dirty look at the broken hydraulic hose.

Ares was leaning against the guardrail, chatting with his giant partner, when Commander Costelnock strode toward the pair, her heels clicking on the walkway.  Ares snapped to attention, which the Commander waved off.

She turned to Carter.  "Mission accomplished, Hopkins.  Pretty good fighting out there."  She glanced at the beaten armor.  "Pity you couldn't keep your armor in better shape," she said with a small twinkle in her eye.

Carter wanted to shrug, but couldn't while she was being worked on.  "Occupational hazard, ma'am."

The Commander looked between Ares and Carter.  "The bitch-slap with a dump truck was a nice touch, by the way.  A bit unorthodox, but desperate times, right?"

Ares nodded.  "Yes ma'am," he agreed.

"Oh, and Ares," the Commander continued.  "I got a phone call this morning.  Mom and dad wanted to fly out and visit next week.  You'll be there, won't you," Skyla Costelnock not-asked her brother.

Ares chewed his lip.  He hated times like this.  "Count on it, ma'am," he sighed.

Skyla smiled.  "I knew you'd pull through for your big sister."  She patted his cheek playfully before leaning in to whisper in his ear.  "And they want you to bring your special somebody," she whispered, gesturing with her eyes toward the giant watching them with a smile.

Commander Costelnock saluted the pair.  "Dismissed," she said before taking her leave.

Ares groaned, "Damnit.  Can't get out of this one.  Shit."

Seeing the engineers were done with her upper body, Carter reached out to the platform and carefully carried Ares in her palm until he was near her face.  Her short dark hair framed her face beautifully, and her whiskey-in-sunlight eyes gazed down at him.  

Ares felt his knees shake and his heart speed up.

"Don't worry, I'll be there with you.  Besides," she whispered with a smile, "I just got fitted for a new suit that I've been dying to wear."

Ares stared at his giant partner for a few moments, before collapsing in her palm with a nosebleed and a lovestruck, dopey smile on his face.

[bbq-hawks-wings]

BBQ gripes about fanon Hawks

Not even gonna put this in the character tags aside from the spoiler one I use just for the anime-onlies on my blog. I'm salty. I just wanna vent. I want to keep the general character tags fun because it was awful when I went looking for new content and found so much Not Fun material a while back; and I don’t want to become what I hate. Basic point - my blog, my vent, and unless it’s reblogged (which you are welcome to if you like) this post dies here.

Please know this isn't a callout post or me claiming that others are being fans of Hawks "wrong" because they disagree with me. I am a huge proponent that (with very few exceptions) fiction and fandom should be free to be enjoyed, reinterpreted, or otherwise indulged in however the individual fan prefers; and if I don't like it, I let them have their space and go do my thing elsewhere and leave them alone (hence why this not going in character tags). I just have been annoyed with the rampant mangling of Hawks' canon  personality/characterization - that is, confusing common fanon interpretations of him with how he’s actually written/portrayed and then getting angry (like, actually-angry-spilling-into-publicly-dragging-real-people, not just disappointed) when he acts like canon Hawks in canon. Non-canon is open season and by and large has my blessing, it’s just frustrating when it gets dragged into discussions about the manga. 

This has been going on a long time, but I just want to get it out of my system in my personal space. All this is, is my "Overthinking Tumblr blogger Shakes Fist at Cloud" moment.

#1 Hawks is a sociopath/unempathetic.

I just... I... You can't be reading the same manga I am if you genuinely come to this conclusion about who he is in canon. A man with nothing to gain by looking like this when considering the depths of the suffering inflicted on others that he bears some amount of responsibility in...

...cannot be called unempathetic.

"But he killed Twice and Best Jeanist!"

Twofold counterargument to this one, starting with BJ - we don't actually know he's dead. There's a body, there's a disappearance, and we have no idea wtf happened, but we also don't know wtf happened. It's drastically ooc for Hawks to murder someone in cold blood. For someone who places emphasis on speed specifically "because when two sides keep fighting and won’t give up, someone eventually has to die" it makes no sense for him to not have had a plan and simply ambush a man in his own home - this goes doubly since he was in contact with the HSPC and had time to "premeditate" anyway.

And as for Twice: Hawks ran out of options. He wanted to detain Twice and keep him from escaping and helping the MLA. He was able to do so when alone, but the moment Dabi cornered him Hawks had a choice to make - probably die in the fight and let Jin go or make absolute certain he can’t and still probably end up dying because he's in bad shape and still probably won't make it out of this, regardless. I don't need to harp on this - it's been said a couple different times now by several people. Even in 266 when Dabi initially ambushes Hawks, Hawks thinks to himself that he’ll carry Jin out of the building to keep himself and Jin safe before Twice retaliated and Dabi literally forces Hawks into a corner.

Jin's loss was a blow, but the chips on the table being wagered are human lives, not feelings. Up until that point, Hawks did everything he could despite the weight of his decision. Human life is human life, and Jin’s life isn’t more important than the may more who will be saved by quashing the MLA’s revolution. Simply equating “could kill someone” with “unempathetic” is fundamentally flawed, and mistaking someone who is pushed to kill despite every attempt to avoid it as unempathetic and even sociopathic has missed the point to the extreme - the mere fact he avoided lethal force for so long alone proves he possesses empathy.

#2 Hawks is a compulsive liar.

He is a good liar, but he does not like lying. He does twist the truth, but always when forced to keep a secret. Even then, his lies are predominantly spun from truth and omitted details instead of outright fabrications. He doesn’t gaslight, and he doesn’t make up stories/details if he can help it.

When Hawks told Endeavor his dreams for the future, that was the truth. When he told him he thought he was cool at the hero billboards, that was the truth.  When he tells Tokoyami to focus on his strengths instead of merely covering his weaknesses to be a better hero, that was the truth. When Tokoyami asks Hawks for his weakness and even why he took him on as an intern in the beginning just to ignore him, he tells him the truth.  When he tells Jin he "doesn't belong in a cage" and that he considers him a good person, that was the truth. When he recognizes he’s profoundly wounded Jin for deceiving him for months, he tells Jin the truth. When confronted by Dabi and he doesn’t need to lie anymore in this fight to the death, he tells him the truth despite not actually needing to in hopes to learn the truth behind Dabi and Shigaraki.

I don't have a better segue, so I'll just mention that a lot of folks who believe this also believe the next point.

#3 Hawks is unapologetically emotionally manipulative.

The context makes a huge difference and we need to look at when and why he manipulates others as well as the fact that he does.

At the hero billboards, Hawks plays the heroes on stage as well as the crowd. He's trying to shift the mindset of, "oh yeah, just another hero ranking" to "wake up, mf's, things are changing and you better be ready to change, too!" Rocking the boat is a huge no-no in Japan. Despite being part of his “persona” there is still real social risk involved with this move but one that he deems necessary to turn heads and get gears turning. This is not just an elaborate ploy to get under Endeavor’s skin, but an effort to reach a wider audience while he has them captive.

He does use the public crowd around him and Endeavor before the Hood fight as an excuse for its appearance, but the original intent was to mentally prepare Endeavor for what was potentially (and proved to be) the fight of his life without outright telling him so he could maintain his undercover status. When he realizes he’s part of the reason for Endeavor’s permanent scar and life-threatening injuries, he feels remorse.

He lies to Jin to get information out of him, but linking back to #2, when calls Jin a good person and offers him a way out, he’s telling the truth. He does feel guilt for having to manipulate an otherwise well-meaning person and betraying them, especially given his long-running history of being used and the ongoing issues he suffers from because of it.

When he meets up again with Endeavor to drop his clues about the League’s movements, he squirms when he realizes the interns don’t know him well enough to know he’s blowing smoke because he does NOT want these kids to actually buy what he’s selling. This espionage mission is hard to navigate, and he has to tread carefully lest he setup the dominoes in the wrong places.

This is all to make the point that Hawks is more than capable of emotionally manipulating people, but it’s not in his nature or something he does to any and every person he comes across just because. We haven’t had much opportunity to see him operate outside of the HSPC’s orders which is where the bulk of the instances of his manipulation comes from - those orders requiring him to operate covertly and thus, by nature, necessitate lying, manipulation, and strategically withholding information. 

If anything, when he’s making an appeal to someone else as his own person - not as a hero on a mission- we actually see a level of vulnerability and transparency we don’t otherwise catch.

Though it’s technically canon-adjacent and not necessarily canon in and of itself, in My Hero Academia: Team Up Mission where he works with Bakugo and Midoriya he operates on a level of transparency with them we’re not used to seeing; and my theory is he took it as an opportunity to operate without ulterior motives and build report instead of bucking back against “training up the next generation of heroes” like he initially did with Tokoyami.

Which now actually segues better into the next point.

#4 Hawks never lets people get close to him.

There’s a surprising amount of evidence that Hawks wants the ability to be an open book. Back at Team Up Mission, the restaurant staff note he regularly takes people he likes to their establishment - so we’re basically told outright this is a special place to him reserved for enjoying himself and only people he likes get to share it with him - so we already know what that says about how he sees those two despite their sparse interactions. We already know he’s taken Endeavor there when Endeavor made no move to input as to where he wanted to have the lunch meeting.

Though he kept Tokoyami at arm’s length initially, we have at least three canon instances of him sharing personal interactions with him with other canon-adjacent indications he cares for and values his intern. We’ve readily established that while Endeavor may not consider himself close to Hawks, Hawks does hold Endeavor as near and dear to his heart. While his only mission regarding Twice was to get information out of him, he still made a genuine effort to help and save him because he wanted to and considered him a friend despite the circumstances.

We still don’t know very much of Hawk’s past, his personal relationships outside of work, etc.; but despite the HPSC’s extensive efforts to strip him of his identity he not only possesses a faceted, complicated personality but seems to want to share that with others readily when and in the ways he’s able. Getting into the truly squishy, vulnerable parts of him may take a while, but on a scale of closed to open, he seems to lean towards open.

#5 Hawks is hopelessly in love with Dabi and will abandon everything up to this point for him.

This isn't to throw general DabiHawks shippers under the bus. Most of them know VERY well at this point that canon has sunk that ship, and they're just having fun with it at this point - and you know what, power to you! They look great together! In another life, the character chemistry could have been incredible. There’s a lot of great DabiHawks shipping content I thoroughly enjoy despite not shipping it myself.

It just isn't canon. It never was and never came close. Even now, with the Endeavor reveal being very much imminent, Hawks' view of Dabi is one of a lying, malicious, callous, murderer. Though he’ll likely be crushed at the revelation of what Endeavor’s done, that doesn’t equate to him defecting (especially not immediately) and falling into Dabi’s arms.

And Dabi hates Hawks just as much.

Again, this is not anything against the ship or the shippers - just an annoyance I have with some who were so wrapped up in the ship they were genuinely mad when the ship sank and they dragged that frustration out into the real world against real people when canon didn’t align with fanon. 

Ships are some of the most stupid things to rail against creators and fans over, and the amount of harassment they receive now over shipping has me ripping my hair out when I know it’s a mere fraction of the total pool of shippers who are frothing at the mouth while the rest are super cool and happy doing their own thing and keeping to themselves.

Ship what you want, regardless of “validating evidence” and have fun. Don’t make it others’ problem when it isn’t canonically validated.

#6 Hawks is a dirty cop.

Only half upset with this one because it comes down to the nuance and lack of precise definition of this phrase I have a problem with. Lots of people hate cops for very real, legitimate reasons. Police forces - being a voluntary, government-employed force enforcing government rule - are notoriously prone to corruption of every kind.

It's implied the HPSC is itself corrupt, though to what extent we don't know. (Granted, buying a young child from his family to raise as your personal puppet is pretty high up there.) By continuing to follow orders from the HPSC and not vehemently fighting back, many see him as reinforcing a corrupt institution and at least partially liable for their continued hold on society. 

Fair enough, but... The issue I have with this is it reduces Hawks to his job.

I believe a huge chunk of this take comes from my experience as an armed service member spouse, but it's easy for me to empathize with a guy

Who was promised the moon for himself and his family in exchange for his service not realizing what was actually being asked of him

Is praised outside the organization for "being a hero" and "upholding this country's core values" while first-hand witnessing the corruption of it when inside

Is viewed as a cog valuable only in services rendered instead of being treated like a human by said organization and worked into the ground because of it

Is frustrated by the insistence to keep the status quo instead of improving procedure/infrastructure/environment because egos need to be padded over real, human problems being solved

Has his autonomy or otherwise ability to operate under his own judgement restricted in favor of maintaining organizational control at the cost of effective action

Has DEPENDENTS who rely on his continued work to provide for them and is thus unable to refuse an order, even when it's morally reprehensible and even outright illegal

Whose cries, both those calculated and desperate, to the organization (who have placed themselves as the sole resource he can turn to) for help (even for his own body/mind) fall on deaf ears until he breaks to the point of becoming unusable or dangerous - and even then minimal effort/responsibility is taken in favor of keeping him functioning in the organization as long as possible.

Hawks fights back against the HPSC constantly. He raised concerns over letting civilians suffer to get him in with the League of Villains and then still defied orders by reducing casualties to zero. Despite orders to keep his mission top secret, he's informed Endeavor of his motives/movements independently from the rest of the heroes. He had long refused to take an intern (read: fresh meat for the machine) to train until this year, and even then sought to minimize his encouragement of Tokoyami for as long as possible until he realized Tokoyami was made of the real mettle people needed in a hero and not just another youngster endangering himself on a pipe dream.

He even takes initiative to keep his personal to-do list from the HPSC to a minimum by squashing problems before they come knocking asking him to fix it for them. He knew of the League of Villains and anticipated the escalation of their movements immediately after the USJ incident as well as has a network of informants and connections with local police forces to stay in the know.

His methods for apprehension of criminals are, and continue to be, to react and detain them so quickly they can't retaliate or endanger others in the struggle, thus minimizing human loss and injury despite the insinuation the HPSC has told him that gloves are off in the current situation.

He might be "a cop" depending on the definition we go with, but he isn't a dirty cop. He doesn't plant evidence. He doesn't shoot first and ask questions later. He doesn't blindly take orders. He largely doesn't see "villains" as dirt under his shoe but as people pushed to extremes. He's a morally convicted individual trying to rebel within the system instead of tearing it down outright. He may be wrong in the assumption, but he genuinely believes he can do more on the inside of the system than outside.

#7 Hawks is a manwhore.

Ok, this one is not serious and actually just to end this all on a lighter note after ranting until I'm blue in the face. 

I'm 100% guilty of this myself. Something about that chicken makes me and many others salivate - either for themselves or to watch him with someone else. We love dressing him up slutty, portray him as flirting unashamedly, and placing him in as many overtly sexual scenarios possible.

The best part about all of it, though, is that it’s almost the exact opposite of how he dresses/conducts himself in canon. His clothes are loose fitting and high-coverage. He’s personable, but never gives any indication he’s romantically/sexually involved or interested in anyone. The asscourse is real only because we cannot confirm either way due to his baggy clothes. His overall figure/body shape has been hinted at, but only recently confirmed; and his jacket had to be literally be burned off to get a good look at the pattern of his shirt under it!

~~~~~~~

And with that, I release the frustration and move on. 

Enjoy fanon as much as you like - even I do! Just be aware of where canon and fanon diverge, and definitely don’t take the difference out on real people. Please also be aware of how others hold their favorite characters dear before flooding the general tags with negativity and creating a hostile environment for them. People latch onto their “comfort characters” for a plethora of reasons, and when they lose that character to the plot, the fandom, or otherwise, they should still be allowed to grieve and celebrate what they had in a safe environment. 

Retaliation in response to others coming against your favorite is also not acceptable behavior. It sucks, but the most mature thing to do is step away from the general fandom, stick to blogs/spaces you know are safe, and let the storm blow over. Comfort characters do not justify mistreating real people no matter how much they may mean to you.

When “canon gets it wrong” is where fanfiction and pockets of the fandom community comes into play. Leave those people alone and let them be. For those who aligned themselves with canon, they are not free game to take personal frustrations out on. Leave those people alone and let them be. Unfollow the people/tags you need to for your own sake and others’, and the fandom will be a better place all around over time. Venting belongs in controlled spaces away from the rest of the fandom and with enough warning for those who not only don’t want to endure it but who for their own safety shouldn’t.

Fandom is a community, and healthy communities do not endorse members lashing out when they don’t get their way.

[mha-fanfic-writer]

Apology that changed the world

L.O.V & bakugou,todoroki, and midoriya x reader

Here you were, surrounded by the League, You were all mights niece so it was pretty obvious why you were in this situation. Class 3-A and the pros were surrounding everywhere. They had to help you but the league got to you first. Being in your 3rd year and dealing with them since the first year was painful, not because of the fights but because every time you made eye contact with any of them you felt your heart break. They had been through so much and nobody bothered to listen. “Give it up, you're not getting out of here alive” dabi spoke up. “This is getting boring, why do we need to kill them” toga wined. “Shut up you brat” shigaraki spoke. He was standing in front of you with the others circling you. You didn't say anything. “Kid, don't worry we're going to get you out” you heard hawks from above. They could kill you an instant so the heroes could move in right now. “Tenko” your voice was quiet and shaky. He didn't respond.  “What brat” he  finally said. “Im sorry” you said looking down and clinching your fists. You were shaking but not because you were sacred. “Huh” you heard. “What are you doing” bakugou spoke up thorough the ear piece. Everybody who was sent here had one. The to 10 could here you, class 3-A could hear you, Some other heroes could hear you. But you only cared that the league heard you. You took a step forward earring your class to tell you to stop. “I understand, you’ve suffered great injustice so have thousands before you.” you looked up with tears in your eyes. Dabi and toga stood beside him now both ready to attack if needed. You fell to your knees with your head down. “I offer and apology, and one long over due” you felt a tear roll down your cheek. This was being broadcasted live on TV and you were pretty sure they could hear you too. “I am sorry” you looked up with pure guilt in your eyes. Another tear fell. You but your hand over your shoulder. You had had a deep wound that you were for sure going to die from but that was the least of your worries at the moment. Shigaraki reached out to kill you and you seemed so accepting to it. You moved your head up further to where his hand was. “I know were supposed to fight, I reach for kindness in your heart” you were trying ot hold your tears in as you spoke but they kept falling. He moved his hand away and took of the one from his face and looked at you intently. “If you can forgive” as you were saying those words he reached out to your neck. The pros were going to move in but you told them to stop. “Peace can truly live” by now he had four fingers around your neck griping it tightly. He was shaking that much you could tell. He gritted his teeth before removing his hand and putting it to his side. You put your hand on your neck from how the pressure he put on it at the last moment. “I am scared, but ill use my final breath, to tell you that im sorry” you got back up and extended your hand. He looked at it then at you. “Can we end this dance of death” you asked. He could see the sincerity in your eyes when you spoke and so could the others wich is why they didn't move from there spot. “For the centuries of aggany, I offer you my amended this senseless killing ends” you stepped closer and griped his shirt. He didn't move but just looked forward. He flt something, was he felling sad? He looked down at you and you griped his shirt tighter. You moved closer to the point were it was a hug. “Im telling the truth, I know were supposed to giht I know you have kindness in your heart.” you felt his slowly move his arms up and wrap the around you. Tears fell down his face but he didn't look aways from the top of your head. You both fell to the ground, your small form sitting in between his legs as you embraced each other. Nobody was talking, Not the heroes nor your class. “Please forgive me” you muttered. He closed his eyes and in that moment you both felt at a peace. You were still crying but you could see the other members felt something to. You pulled away from him and looked around you at dabi, toga, kurogiri, spinner, everybody around you felt something. They all slowly made there way towards you and they got on there knees. Toga hugged you not even knowing why she did. Dabi put a hand on your head and felt blood on his face. He was crying and didn't even care. Spinner put a hand on your shoulder and the others just closed there eyes. Little by little they ll moved in and the next thing you know, you were boing cradled by people who were trying to kill you 10 minutes ago. You smiled at all of them. “ if i'm going to die, its gonna be with PEOPLE, who actually give a shit” you said earring a small laughed here and there. You could hear some of your class crying. “Please, anybody who can hear me. Stop all of this, we don't need this. This wasn't supposed to happen, not to them. They’ve been through so much and we never bothered to listen or care. Im begging you, all of you, forgive one another. Make a mens and give them a second chance. They didn't deserve this, none of them. Please, let them be human, we never once thought of them like that so im asking you now please do. Let them live there lives noramly, or as normal as it can be.” you were taking breaks between sentences. You were definitely going to die right now. You only had a few for minutes and you know it. “Please, can everybody come here” you asked. You heard people gather behind the league. “Dabi,” you spoke. He looked at you. Go to hawks” you said and gave him a small smile. He got up and walked towards the winged hero. They looked at each other for a bit both with smiles on there faces. They shook hands and pulled each other into a hug. You know these two had a relationship, you were nt sure what kind but you know there pasts. “Tenko” you said. “Go to midoriya” you asked. It took a while but he did. Midoriya extended his hand with rears in his eye. They shook hands and stood by each other. After sending the others off you called bakugou, midoriya and todoroki to you. The three stood in front of you. Bakugou desperately trying to hide his tears but miserably failing. Todorki was trying to do the same and midoriya just let his emotion through. “Bakugou, your going to be a gray hero, I know you don't need to hear it but I know you just are.” you gave him a small smiled. He got on his knees. “I doo need it” he admitted as tears fell down his face. He took off his goblets and wrapped his arms around you. “Todoroki, Be who you want to be, don't let anybody control you.” you said with the small determination left in you. He got down on his knees nest to you. You grazed your thumb over his scar and smiled before looking at midroya. “Midoriya, dint you ever give up. When I see you from wherever I go, I don't want to see you fall ans say there, I want ot see you fall and get right back up. Put that fuking quirk to use” you smiled. He keeled down and nodded. Your relationship with them was strong. You got to know each one, and became extremely close to them. You liked each of them more than a friend, sucks you would never get to tell them. The boys held you in there arms all of them crying. “Bakugou being who he was decided it was now or never. He leaned in and kissed your lips gently. You gave in before you felt a gentle pull to one side. Todorki did the same fallowed by midoriya. “We were planning on tell you later but we think know a good time” todoroki spoke. You smiled at them. “I love you guys” you smiled one last time before everything went dark. At least everything was ok now.

The boys yelled at the top of there lung when they knew you were gone. They didn't want you to br but you were. Pros who barley knew you were crying, your class was too. The league, everybody. You were right, the whole thing had been live on TV for the world to hear. They all saw and heard what one apology could do to the world. How one 18 year old could do so much in so little time. 

The aftermath was just what you wanted. The ‘villains’ were no longer considered villains, they were regular civilians know, and everybody was so expecting to them. Dabi lived with his family again but was usually with hawks. As you figured the two had something going on.  There were less villain attacks and more of them turning themselves in some getting off with a year or two in prisons and then released and other a little more but in the end they all got to live a normal life. Years later the three were all in the top 10, hawks took number 1 after endeavor had to retire due to him breaking ihs back and as it turns out he also had lung cancer. Wonder why. As of right now kirishima and bakugou are officially engaged. And todoroki and midoriya married. It had taken the ma while to move on but after you visited them in there dreams you told them to find someone, that they weren't allowed to die until they found someone and sure enough they did. You watched from the clouds as they all lived on happily. You had ended up being a fricken legend to the kids. Eri and kota were both 10 and 11 and they seemed to have a thing for each other, so that was a possibility when they got older.  All for one passed shortly after the whole thing and shigaraki was living pretty good down there. Toga was happy, she didn't really see her family alot but she was good friends with uraraka and tsu now. “What do you think” toshinori asked as you both looked down at everybody. “Its what i’ve always wanted” you smiled softly.

[toosicktoocare]

It’s been, what feels like, eight years since I last wrote, so forgive me if this is rough. 

After looking at the response from the post I made asking what people want to see, I’m going to go with Spider-Man because a lot of people asked for him, with a lot also asking for Tony or marvel in general. 

There was a lot for DBH as well, but I’m going to go with Spider-Man (Irondad and Spiderson) for tonight. I hope that’s okay!

The snow crunching under Peter’s boots as he approaches Stark Tower only serves as a reminder of his buddy aggravation at the cold, at winter, at his poor immune system that gives out the second the temperature drops below 50 degrees Fahrenheit. 

He picked up a cold a few days ago, but it wasn’t-- isn’t-- bad; it’s just a pesky annoyance really, the sneezing, the back of his throat throbbing lightly, the coughing-- all just enough to have Karen using some sort of advanced technology Peter has yet to crack to keep him from donning his suit. 

“Karen, what the hell is this? Why can’t I grab my suit without getting shocked?”

“You’re ill, Peter.”

“It’s a cold.”

“You have a fever.” 

“It’s just a cold--”

“Peter, you don’t exactly have a great track record when it comes to illness and patrol. Now, unless you want me to tell Mr. Stark that you’ve been neglecting rest to catch up on homework, you will stop pushing and leave the suit alone until you’re well again.”

Peter rolls his eyes as the argument burns in his mind, and a gust of wind has him shivering with a hiss. He quickly hugs himself with a low groan. No suit means no heater, and no suit means he had to walk the twenty-five minutes to the tower because Ubers are expensive, and Ned’s mom won’t let him take the car out alone despite having his license now. 

He tugs on his hood, ensuring it covers his face as much as possible, and coughs weakly, breath clouding in the cold air as he starts up the long flight of steps. 

The doors whir open as soon as he approaches them, and the sudden shift from icy wind to engulfing heat has his nose twitching until he’s turning to sneeze sharply into the crook of his arm. Groaning he swipes his sleeve under his nose as his eyes shift around-- it’s empty, quiet, but if he listens, if he taps into his senses, he can hear faint arguing-- one distinctively British accent against a quiet, tired voice.

He follows the voices until he slips into the second floor lounge, where Loki is leaning against a door-frame across the room with crossed arms while Tony is curled up on one couch, a pile of tissues littering the floor around him. 

“You’re a disgusting pile of snot, Stark,” Loki gripes out before dragging his gaze to Peter. “Good luck with this one.” 

He spins on his heel, stalking out of the room, leaving only Peter and Tony, the latter propped up on one elbow to hack barking coughs into his fist. 

“Mr. Stark!” Peter drops his backpack and coat to floor and rushes to Tony’s side, hovering but not touching-- he knows how Tony is. “Are you okay?”

Tony looks up once he catches his breath and sighs quietly. “Yeah, kid. Caught a nasty cold-- that’s all.” 

With furrowed brows, Peter holds one hand up in silent question, and when Tony shows no signs of objection, he slides his palm across Tony’s forehead, lips dropping into a pressing frown at the alarming heat. 

“Mr. Stark, you’re burning up. FRIDAY--”

“It’s 102.3, kid,” Tony cuts off, voice sounding an octave lower than usual as he shivers slightly from Peter’s cold palm. “FRIDAY’s already informed me, and I’ve already got medicine pumping through the system. Now I just have to wait and rest.” 

Peter gets to his feet, frown still playing prominently on his lips. “Mr. Stark, if you’re sick, why did you ask me to come? We could have--” 

“It’s three days until Christmas, Pete. All we’re going to do is watch stupid Christmas movies. I can handle that.” 

Hesitance plays on Peter’s face, and Tony rolls his eyes through a muttered series of coughs. “Don’t give me that look. Go sit on the opposite couch so you don’t catch this plague and cue up Netflix.” 

Quietly, Peter turns toward the other couch, but he pauses half way, a pesky tickle forcing him to turn and sneeze sharply into the crook of his arm. 

“Unless you’ve already fallen victim?” 

Sniffling, Peter turns back to face Tony with a shake of the head. “No, just the temperature difference from outside to inside. It was a cold walk--”

“You walked?” Tony sits up slightly, his turn to frown at the young boy. “Why didn’t you just swing over? I put that built in heater in your suit for a reason, you know.” 

Peter swallows back a small pit of panic. “N-no, I know, Mr. Stark. I just wanted... I wanted to clear my head. I get carried away with all this hero stuff when I’m in the suit.” 

Unconvinced, Tony sits up a little more. “You sound stuffy.” 

“Everyone is stuffy this time of year, Mr. Stark.” Peter turns back around, grabbing the remote before he flops down onto the couch across from Tony. “I promise I’m fine.” 

Tony holds Peter’s gaze for an extended moment, as if picking the kid apart, but Peter knows that look far too well, so he does his best to look relaxed, at ease, like he didn’t just lie to Tony’s face. 

“Fine,” Tony says before turning to sneeze into the blankets. He glances at Peter, eyes shifting to his own mound of blankets before looking back to Peter’s bare couch. “You warm enough over there? I had FRIDAY raise the heat a little because I’m freezing.” 

“Yeah, I’m good, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, shifting his eyes to the TV. Another lie-- he, too, is freezing. His bones are aching to shake against the chill settling against them, yet his face is far too warm. 

“Good. The Grinch?” 

Nodding, Peter arrows over to the movie and presses play. He keeps his eyes to the screen while his focus is on Tony’s persistent coughing and sneezing. Worry pulls at his stomach, but then Tony grows quiet, and Peter spares a glance to see the older man has nodded off, looking at ease in a light slumber. 

Without eyes on him, Peter presses his mouth to his shoulder and coughs harshly, muffling the cough into the fabric of his hoodie, before he lies down, curling onto his side as a shiver whips like an electric shock across his body. His eyes are drooping, and it’s somewhere between the Grinch’s backstory that he, too, nods off. 

*****

Tony’s pulled awake not by the end song from the movie, but from the sound of harsh coughing coming far too close and not from him. He pries tired eyes open, but the sight of Peter curled into a shaking ball and coughing loudly in a fitful sleep has him shooting up with wide, alarmed eyes. 

The kid looks far too pale, and his brows are furrowed in his sleep. He’s shaking from head to toe, teeth clacking together in between painful coughs, and Tony gets to his feet, swaying slightly but blinking past the sudden haze as he crosses the room to Peter. 

“FRIDAY?” 

“His current temperature is 103.2 degrees, sir. Karen’s patched over his vitals over the last four days. Would you like me to read them to you?” 

“Let me guess,” Tony starts, voice almost a groan. “He went from okay, to bad, to worse?” 

“Yes, sir. He caught a cold a few days ago, and his temperature has been steadily climbing since then due to lack of proper rest. I’m afraid his walk here may have pushed his cold to bronchitis.” 

There are words Tony wants to say, but Peter’s starting to stir awake, and when he blinks slowly at Tony, Tony only cocks his head to the side with a frown. 

“M-Mr. Stark?” Peter rasps out, trying to sit up. “Why’re you up? You should be--” 

“Taking care of your ass apparently,” Tony starts, turning away to muffle a few coughs. His head is throbbing, but the kid looks positively miserable. “103.2 degree-fever, kid? What was that nonsense about being fine?” 

Frowning, Peter presses one shaky hand to his cheek, the heat warming his finger tips upon brief contact. “It’s just a cold--”

“Not anymore, it isn’t.” Tony doesn’t mean to sound as harsh as he does-- it’s a spark of concern that comes out as a wave of anger. He gets to his feet with a sigh, and when Peter tries to stand as well, Tony bends over to gently push him back down. “Stay put, kid. I’ll be right back.” 

From heavy-lidded eyes, Peter watches as Tony leaves the room while chatting with FRIDAY. He tries to follow the fleeting conversation, but the fatigue is pulling him back under, and he slips off again. 

He recalls waking up once to drink something that tasted terrible, and he faintly remembers some rustling, possibly some moving, but the fever keeps his mind hazy and drifting back to sleep, until he wakes a few hours later, a frown playing on his lips because he’s sitting up-- sort of. He’s no longer lying flat on his side, he’s pressed against something-- no. 

He’s pressed against someone because he’s warm, no longer feeling as if he’s close to freezing to death. There’s a blanket over him, and there’s an arm draped around his shoulders. He peers up to see Tony sitting up right, his head tilted back against the back of the couch as he snores softly. 

He can’t remember much, but he doesn’t want to wake Tony to ask. Yet a soft voice, one just barely above a whisper, comes from across the room, and Peter shifts his gaze until he sees Loki perched in an arm chair with one leg crossed over the other. 

“He’s fine,” Loki says quietly, and when Peter mutters a weak “how,” Loki cuts him off. “You're easy to read, kid. Tony’s fever is already going down. Yours, however, is still high enough that I’m forced to sit in here and play babysitter to you two sniffling imbeciles until Rogers gets back.” 

Peter holds Loki’s gaze, blinking slowly, tiredly. “Thanks,” he whispers before dropping his head back against Tony’s side. He thinks he hears a scoff; he’s not surprised, but he drifts off with a smile when he hears a mumbled “you’re welcome.”

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Green Wounds, Ch. 4

And we’re back with Green Wounds! Here’s hoping Tumblr makes it easier to post this one... because I swear to God it should not have been that hard to post the KISS Unsolved story. But we’re not here to gripe about Tumblr. We’re here to see what’s up with Starchild! 

Hoo boy, I am actually excited for y’all to read this chapter. Some heavy shit goes down in this chapter and it was insanely fun to write it! If you guys have seen Maleficent, then you already know what’s gonna happen... 

Read on and enjoy! 

Starchild stayed in the ruins for a month, sending Peter every day to spy on the ongoings of Jendell. King William died after a fortnight—at which Starchild felt a rush of satisfaction—and his successor was to be crowned in some weeks after his marriage to the king’s daughter, Jeanette. But Peter never saw anything of Ace.

Peter flew down behind Starchild, who was staring out in the direction of Jendell. He was often staring out at the kingdom whenever Peter saw him. He wasn’t sure what Starchild did while he was off spying for him, but he hoped it wasn’t just staring out obsessively at the kingdom.

Starchild waved a hand and turned Peter back into a man. Peter immediately crashed painfully to the ground, letting out a groan of pain. He really hated being a bird—it felt like a betrayal to his feline species to have the form of one of their favorite animals to hunt. “Why do I always have to be a bird?” he grunted to Starchild as he picked himself up. “Can’t I be a cat?”

“Flying is faster,” Starchild replied bluntly, not turning around to him. “Did you see anything?”

Peter shrugged. “I saw a bunch of servants carryin’… carryin’ multicolored skin? And some of it looked like animal fur. What was that?”

“Probably clothes. Did you see what they did with them?”

“Uh, no, I didn’t. Other than that, I didn’t see anythin’ else.”

“Did you… see Ace?”

“Uh… no. I didn’t see him.”

He couldn’t see Starchild’s face, but from the way he spoke he sounded like he was frowning. “Fine. Go get some rest, and go back in the morning.”

“What do you even want to know about this Ace guy, anyway?” Peter asked, by this time very curious. “I thought you didn’t like humans.” Why would he? Humans were dirty, inelegant creatures. Not at all like the sleek, civilized superiority of the cats. “Plus, he stole your wings. I would think you wouldn’t want anything to do with him anymore.”

Starchild finally turned to look at him over his shoulder, and Peter was treated to an icy glare. “I don’t like humans. And I also don’t employ you to ask me ridiculous questions,” he said just as icily. “I have my reasons.” He turned back around. “Just… Just leave me alone. Go hunt or something.”

“… Could you turn me back to normal again?”

Without replying, Starchild waved his hand and Peter was (thankfully) turned back into a cat. Peter quickly slunk off to hunt, not wanting to be around the faerie longer than he had to be. 

-*-

What Peter was unaware of was that Starchild did not actually spend all day on a ledge in the ruins, staring out at Jendell. His days were usually spent going around the ruins, sometimes exploring and other times simply wandering. Occasionally he ventured out of the ruins into the fields.

On one such time, he was wandering along the edge of a field nearby a forest when suddenly rustling made him turn his head. There coming out of the forest was a red fox. When Starchild saw the tip of one of the fox’s ears burned off, he realized it was the fox he had encountered at the glade. Had it been following him?

Starchild frowned at the fox. “I thought I told you to go away,” he said to it, even though in the back of his mind he thought, You’re talking to a fox. A FOX.

The fox tilted its head and stared at him, with the same piercing, exposing stare. Starchild wanted to hit the fox with magic again, but this time stopped himself. Instead he tightened his grip on his walking stick and glared back at the fox. For a long, long moment, neither fox nor faerie moved. Then Starchild curled his free hand into a fist, his hand glowing dark purple, and ground out, “Go. Away.”

After a moment, the fox lowered its head, turned around, and disappeared back into the woods.

Starchild turned and walked back towards the ruins. He wasn’t sure why that fox had appeared to him again, but he didn’t like it at all.

As Starchild spent more time alone, away from the Moors, and as his mind descended further into obsession, he gradually began to lose more of the faerie he had been before Ace stole his wings. And as summer turned to autumn and the world turned steadily colder, so did what remained of his heart.

-*-

Finally, after a month of hearing nothing and seeing no sign of Ace, Peter saw something.

He was perched on a window that looked into a gigantic room with a platform on one end, the platform housing two regal-looking chairs. A huge crowd of elaborately-dressed people was gathered in the room, waiting for something.

After a while, the doors to the room opened, and the crowd parted, leaving a path through the middle of the room to the chairs. Men wearing armor marched into the room first, then stood in line on both sides of the path.

Then a beautiful dark-haired young woman entered the room wearing a lavish dress that, honestly, made Peter wonder how she didn’t trip and fall in it. All the people in the room bowed to her as she passed, and Peter couldn’t help but notice that the young woman seemed a little out of her element as she nodded her head in return. She walked up the platform to the chairs and sat down.

More footsteps filled the air, and Peter turned to look at the entrance again. His eyes widened slightly.

It was a man, with dark hair cut to his chin and a rather odd face. He was wearing the lavish clothes and animal furs that he had seen before, but Peter recognized him immediately. This was Ace, the man his master was so obsessed with.

Ace walked up the platform, but instead of sitting down in the other chair, he instead went to stand between them. Another man came forward, carrying a golden crown in his hands, and as Ace knelt down Peter realized what was happening.

The man placed the crown on Ace’s head then stepped back, bowing his head. Another man spoke. “I present to you, the first of his line,” he said to the crowd as Ace stood up. “His Royal Highness, King Ace.”

Excited murmurings went up in the crowd. Ace looked out at the crowd and briefly nodded his head to them, then turned to sit down in the chair alongside the young woman, obviously the Queen.

Peter turned around, spread his wings, and flew off back toward the ruins. A large part of him didn’t particularly want to tell Starchild what he’d seen, but he really had no choice. At the same time, Peter also remembered the story his master had told him, about that Ace taking his wings, and actually felt a twinge of indignation. Taking a faerie’s wings so he could have some crown on his head? That was just low, even for a human.

-*-

Starchild had gone very, very still by the time Peter finished his report.

“Someday, y’know, I’ll live there, in the castle,”

Of course. How could he have so stupidly forgotten the one thing Ace had always wanted?

He finally spoke, his voice shaking… with what, he wasn’t sure. “He did this to me… so he could be king?”

He didn’t want to cry anymore. He had cried more than enough tears over Ace and his betrayal. What he felt now was rage.

Deep purple magic began to materialize around him as his anger rose higher and higher. His breathing turned ragged and his shoulders shook. The grip his hands had on his walking stick tightened until his knuckles turned white, and for a moment he imagined it was Ace’s neck.

He turned his head to the sky, and let out a long, primal scream.

The deep purple magic shot up into the air and broke through the clouds, twisting into a column of purple light. Purple lightning bolts shot out of the column and struck stones around the ruins, exploding them all to rubble. For a moment, Starchild stared up at it, frozen, eyes blazing.

Then he lowered his head, and the magic dispersed. Sheer rage was still surging through him, and inhuman growling came from the back of his throat as he breathed raggedly.

I’ll never hurt ya Starshine This is true love Starshine Let me help you I’ll keep you safe

I love you, Starshine.

Lies. All of it had been nothing but lies. And he’d fallen for all of them.

Behind him, Peter spoke up. “What now, Master?”

Snarling like an animal, Starchild turned around, his eyes wild with rage. He wordlessly waved his hand, turning Peter back into a cat, and stormed off. With every step, stones flew out of his path, and as he passed under a still-intact entryway, the entire entryway broke apart and flew in all directions.

“Well, when I become king, we can change all of that.”

“We could really unite the two kingdoms?”

“Sure! We’ll do it together, Starshine!”

He wanted to travel back in time and berate his child self. How could he have been so naïve as to think Ace would be any different than all the other arrogant, selfish humans?

As Starchild left the ruins with Peter bounding after him, leaving them in much worse shape than when he’d arrived, the one coherent thought that broke through the anger consuming his mind was Get back to the Moors.

He couldn’t live like this anymore; hiding away in pitiful ruins (human ruins), scavenging for food, waking up screaming and crying every night from the same dream… and letting Ace go unpunished for what he’d done.

He was tired of humans controlling his life. And he was not going to let another human shatter him again, or take away anything else he cared about.

Get back to the Moors.

-*-

He walked all through the night, and would have continued into the day if Peter hadn’t insisted on stopping to rest. So he begrudgingly stopped and let Peter take a brief nap, before setting off again. The entire time, his anger never faded, not even a little. If anything, it increased. The ground would lightly rumble under his feet, any plant growth he passed would burst into dark purple flames and die, and dark clouds seemed to follow him overhead. He passed between two small divides made of stone, and with every step he took the stones were flung out of formation into all directions behind him.

It seemed to take an eternity, but finally, Starchild saw the familiar standing stones up ahead. He was nearly there. He came to the boulder he had perched on just over a month ago, and climbed to stand atop it. He opened his mouth and began to shout in the tree language, his voice projecting out into the forest. “Border guards! I summon you here now!”

For a long moment, there was nothing. Then he heard rustling and heavy footsteps, and turned just in time to see Gene appear from out of the trees. Upon seeing him, Gene froze in surprise, then began to growl at him, demanding to know where he’d been. Starchild ignored him and looked out into the forest, watching as more and more of the border guards emerged. When they saw him, they all began asking him where he had been, what had happened to him… and what had happened to his wings. They were all especially shocked to see him without his wings.

Their constant questioning about his wings did the most to make Starchild’s rage flare up again. His hand tightened around his walking stick, glowing faintly purple, and he raised it up in the air then banged it down against the boulder. “QUIET!”

Purple magic shot out from the tip of his walking stick, hitting all the border guards. There was instant silence.

Starchild looked out at them all, then began to speak, his voice the most powerful it had ever been. “I know you all have many questions. You ask what happened to me, and my wings? I will tell you what happened. They were taken from me… burned off my back by the same filthy human that now sits on the Jendell throne! He tricked me, made me think he wanted to help me, even made me think he loved me,” he spat out the word like it was poison, “all so he could steal my wings and become the king! He blinded me with all his lies, but I see him now for what he truly is—a greedy, selfish, arrogant piece of filth, just like the rest of his kind! Have any of you ever wondered why we continue letting humans invade our home? For centuries, it has been war after war after war, with the greedy humans forcing us to defend ourselves. At the end of every war, they say there will be peace, but they lie! Not even a month ago they tried to take the Moors again, not even thirty years after the war that took my parents’ lives! They don’t stop… they will never stop!

“Why do we let them attack, and always force us to defend? We have always been nothing more than sitting ducks! Well, I say, not anymore! The Moors cannot survive with us simply trusting in one another; we need clear and strong leadership. And although my wings are gone, I am still protector of the Moors. I can give us that leadership! But I cannot do it by myself. You have all fought by my side in defending the Moors, and I cannot think of anyone better to help me! Join me, and I will make sure the Moors are never defenseless again!”

Starchild looked out at all the border guards. “What say you?” he asked of them. “Who will stand with me?”

For one long moment, there was silence. None of the guards moved, or spoke, only stared at him.

Then…

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Starchild turned his head. At the front of the group of guards was none other than Gene. He held his spear out in front of him, and was banging the end of it against the ground. Then Starchild heard another tapping spear join Gene’s, then another, then another… until every single one of the border guards were banging their spears against the ground.

The corner of Starchild’s mouth quirked up into a miniature smirk. He turned around and walked out of the clearing, the border guards falling into step behind him.

-*-

Clouds rolled over the sun, and the sky went utterly dark over the Moors as thunder rumbled. The glowing lilies floating in the lake one by one winked out. The Fair Folk looked around in surprise and confusion… then turned and froze when they saw Starchild come out from among the trees, the border guards behind him. Gasps went up when they saw the faerie, and someone cried out, “His wings!”

For their protector no longer had his large black wings. And although he looked the same, save for a black jacket and black boots, his features were no longer soft and gentle, and kindness no longer radiated from him. His features were now sharper and cold, and what the Fair Folk felt from him now made them all incredibly afraid.

He walked past them all toward the very center of the large lake island. As he did, the branches on the trees grew longer, growing and connecting with branches and vines that grew out of the ground. The branches and vines twisted together, forming the back and seat of a makeshift throne.

Starchild walked towards the sprouting throne with his head held high, and the look on his face perhaps would have been solemn if his features weren’t so cold and stony. Each step was slow and deliberate, to better make the Fair Folk realize what was happening. He didn’t bother turning his head to look at them as he passed, but could feel the shock and terror radiating from them all.

When Starchild lowered himself to sit on his throne, he understood for the first time in his life why humans loved power so much. He ruled over the Moors now, had a different power that wasn’t magic, that would allow him to get what he wanted… and knowing that made him feel more powerful than he’d ever felt in his life.

Peter jumped up onto a stone beside him, and Starchild lifted a hand to run his fingers over Peter’s fur. He finally turned his head and looked out at the Fair Folk, taking in their intimidation and fear. Every movement was smooth and calculated, and every inch of Starchild gave off the impression that he could easily rip them apart if they even thought about protesting this new reality. To his satisfaction, the Fair Folk all averted their gazes whenever his eyes met theirs.

To his left, Gene pointed his spear at the Fair Folk and growled threateningly, the other border guards following suit. Shaking in fear, one after another the creatures began to bow, until all of them were bowing in respect to Starchild.

Starchild looked out at them all, and for a moment, he felt a flash of something akin to guilt. The old Starchild would have been appalled at the thought of doing this, and would (ironically) rather cut off his wings than impose his own authority on the Moors.

But that Starchild was a fool; a naïve, starry-eyed fool who thought he’d been given true love’s kiss. He had been content to cry, wanting nothing more than to wallow in misery and sob over Ace stealing his wings and ripping his heart to pieces. That Starchild was dead. And this one, this new Starchild, did not want to cry. He would not cry anymore.

What he wanted now was vengeance. 

And he would get it, one way or another.

Lightning flashed, illuminating Starchild’s cold face.

[myheroaizawashota]

[Oooh maybe a little life or Death moment. Maybe a villain attack the renders the reader very badly injured and while they’re sitting there unconscious he confesses his everything!!! This is incredibly doable! Thanks for the ask! I’m sorry this took so long to get done!! I apologize to much hahaha hopefully this lives up your expectations!!! @kweelmusic ]

Emotions were a complex and unnecessary distraction. From observation of others in the field, the pro erasure hero knew that clouding your judgment with things as trivial as feelings only ended disastrously. While it wasn’t frequent that he’d let his emotions take the best of him, when it came to certain people he just couldn’t help himself. Certain people like you. While the uncouth hero acted bothered by your presence, deep down he really did enjoy your company. Despite his constant griping about your over enthusiastic attitude and ditzy behavior, the brutal U.A educator harbored strong feelings of admiration and love for you. Everything about you drove him wild. The way you smiled, the way you laughed at all of Present Mics unbelievably dense jokes. Even the way you cared so much about everyone, including himself, regardless of how nasty they treated you.

He could be so rude to you some days, and when he was he’d regret it the moment you walked away. He didn’t understand why he acted so poorly towards you when you meant so much to him, yet here he was. Undoubtedly an asshole every time you came around. It was embarrassing to say the least. Hes never let his emotions run rapid the way they way they do when he sees you, but against his better judgements he couldn’t control it.

Huffing as he shuffled through the university halls, the ever brooding 1-A teacher made his way towards his class room. His hands balled into fist as he shoved them half heartedly in his pockets eyes casting to the floor. Anyone who wasn’t used to the sight would all but bet something was wrong with the man, but this was just typical Aizawa behavior. His closed off body language was enough to deter most from his pathway, but regardless of how aggravated the man looked you always still went out of your way to say hello to him. Smiling you gave a wave of your hand, finger tips wiggling as you made your way closer “hey Aizawa, are you going to eat lunch in your class room? Don’t you get lonely in there? You should join me and Mic in the break room! We’d really enjo-“

“No. I don’t want to join you and and Mic in the break room. Believe it or not, I enjoy the quite of my classroom with no one screaming or laughing or constant chatter in my ear as I’m trying to take advantage of the very little spare time I have in my life.” Aizawa all but growled blowing his way past you, his lips pulled into a scowl as he hurried faster down his path.

You didn’t understand him sometimes, while it hurt your feelings the other acted so cruel towards you, you still couldn’t help the desire you had to be around him. Maybe you were sadistic and liked the punishment of his cruel tone, or maybe you just couldn’t help who your heart loved. He was cold, uncaring, emotionally vacant, but yet you saw his face, those eyes, that jaw...and you weren’t able to hold yourself back. You came after him like a moth to a light, despite you’re knowledge of his combative behavior. Looking down rather defeated, you tucked your hands towards your chest, stomach dropping as the ever present smile of yours faded from your lips. “Okay...well enjoy you’re break then Aizawa..I-If you change your mind you know where to find us.”

Half heartedly expecting an answer, you couldn’t help but feel just the slightest bit broken when all your offer was met with was the slam of a classroom door. You knew you should get over this crush you had on the aloof pro, but you couldn’t shake the feelings he left you with.

Dragging in a long breath, Aizawa let his back rest against the door of his room, he closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose releasing that breath with a loud sigh. “Why did i just say that? What is wrong with you Shouta.”

His hands moved to roam across his face, palms rubbing and scrubbing the scruff of his cheeks as he tried to regain some ounce of composure. Feelings were such a nuisance, and to his dismay, these feelings were uncontrollable. Letting one hand fall, the other moved to run through the bangs that fell into his face, he scoopin them back and out of his eyes as he dropped his body in his desk chair. Next time he’d do better, try harder, go beyond plus ultra in his attempts to control his irrational behavior every time he saw you. He had to. He couldn’t continue to act disinterested for the rest of your lives, while it wasn’t a hard front to pull off for him, he didn’t like the way your smile vanished when he’d act this way. Was it in his best interest maybe to go apologize? Meet you and Mic for lunch after all? No. That sounded ridiculous and like far to much effort. Groaning in frustration, he tucked his arms tightly across his chest. He felt so immature, childish to be keeping crushes, and bullying the girl he liked as if he was still in grade school. Ridiculous. He was 31 not 13, who in their correct mind would think-

His thoughts paused as alarms began to frantically wail, the building trembling as bits of debris began to snow down onto the black shoulders of his shirt. What in the hell was this about? Another shake, followed by a few shrieks and screams, the sound of stampeding foots steps soon taking over the hall way as the loud speaker clicked on. “Students, please remain calm! It appears we’ve had a security breach! In a calm orderly fashion, make your way to the the closest class rooms, under protections of our pro heros. If you confront the intruders, please do not fight them! We are unsure who our intruder is or what his motives are, but we can only assume the worst of the situation.”

Aizawa throat began to clench, as he listened further to the principals speech, opening his door in an attempt to find his students. He knew class 1-A held a target on top their heads, so the faster he could gather his children the better. Wandering into the sea of students, Aizawa worked to shuffle through the crowd head turning when he heard a huge thunder of commotion, head turning towards the noise. The instant his ears picked up on the sound of your voice, his feet had already shifted gears, his body running down the halls towards the sound of distress. You were strong, incredibly strong, he was confident you’d be fine, but he felt the compulsion to make sure that was the case. He needed you to be fine.

With his heart thumping in his ear he whipped his body around the corner, fists balling when his eyes found your body pinned under the boot of a villain. The intruders eyes boiled to the brim with malicious intent and pure evil, his tongue licking across his lips as his fingers roughly yanked your head up by the hair. “Look at me you hero! Your so proud to call yourself that, but you will never stop me. Pathetic and unworthy of being called such a name! Tell me where he is, and I won’t slaughter every student in this building!”

Struggling against the others hold, tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as you did your best to break the hold of your opposing force. “Id never tell you where he is and i won’t let you hurt my students! Go to hell!” With the last remainder of your strength you pushed your body up off the floor, moving to activate your quirk, only to be immediately flung by the others brute strength and over powered quirk. Your body rag dolled before rolling to the edge of Aizawas feet, his heart stopping as you laid your body curling in on itself rivers of blood draining down the edges of your face. Those beautiful eyes of yours closed, leaving your body seemingly lifeless.

It broke his heart to see you this way, and while he didn’t have the strength to admit it to you, he loved you. His stomach boiled with rage as his naturally dark irises began to spark red, hair flairing as he made eye contact with your assailant. Emotions were dangerous to involve in battle, but Aizawa couldn’t help himself. While he himself was the worlds biggest ass to you, he’d be damned if anyone would ever lay a hand on you. Quickly deploying his quirk, the erasure pro was able to handle the villain with no problems, quickly restraining him while waiting for authorities to arrive. “I’m not sure who you were looking for or what you thought you were going to do, but let’s get something straight. You ever put a hand on her again, and I’ll do more than just bind you.” The terror in his eyes was chilling to see.

The situation was quickly dealt with the motives of the villain attack deciphered and the school back in a state of safety. It seemed to be you were the only one injured. You’d taken the fight in order to protect a group of weaker quirkless students in the general studies classes. That was very much like you. When the students had told the pro what you did, Aizawa couldn’t help the way the edges of his mouth struggled to force their way up. You were pretty amazing.

With the school returning to a sense of stability, the students being returned home to their families for the rest of the day, the 1-A teacher decided to pay you a visit. He was the one who carried you to recovery girl, and he was the one who showed the most concern for your condition. While he was not the only one concerned for you, he was definitely the most concerned. It was odd, no one had ever seen so many emotions out of the man. They all assumed his only moods were tired and grouchy. Drawing a deep breath in, he opened the door to Recovery Girls office. “She’s not awake yet Aizawa. I told you she will need time! While my quirk can heal the trauma, it’s up to the energy her body can produce to decide how long it takes to recooperate” she hummed shuffling her way over towards the towering gentleman. “It’s against policy for me to allow anyone who’s not family to see her right now....but seeing as to how concerned you seem to be, I’ll give you 5 minutes.” She sighed allowing the other access to you.

Relief cloaked over his body, he slowly making his way towards yours. You looked so calm, though his chest surged at the sight of you with all these bandages all over. “I wish you were awake right now....i hate to admit it...but i miss that idiotic smile of yours...” he sighed, moving to brush the hair that hung in your face back. “I don’t know how to say any of the things i should when you’re listening, so maybe saying them while you’re not will be easier.” You held your breath, truthfully you’d woken up a few minutes ago, but the lights in recovery girls office were just too bright so you had to close your eyes a bit more. You wondered if you should tell him you’re awake...but you we’re desperate to know what he had to say. “I’m not good with feelings, and I’m not good at saying things the right way. So here it is, I’ll just be blunt. I like you. A lot. Actually I love you. And I don’t know why I act so asinine when I see you, and I don’t know why I push you away the way I do....but...I’m sorry. When i saw you laying there after the attack, i felt sick to my stomach think I’d never see you smile again. Hm...speaking of your annoying smile, you’d be happy to know all the students are fine.”

Your heart clenched in your chest, eyes fluttering open with the treat of tears as you looked up at him. “Did you really mean all that?”

Stepping back, aizawas own chest began to grow tight, frustration and anger spilling all over his features “you were awake? Why didn’t you tell me.”

You flinched at the venom in his tone, eyes casting away from his gaze. “I woke up a few minutes ago. I didn’t have time to tell you. You just started talking I didn’t want to interrupt you.” You whispered looking up at him “are the kids really all okay? Did anyone besides me get hurt?”

Amazed, aizawa let his anger drop. You were still so caring, even though you were laid up in recovery girls office by no means okay yourself. Sighing aizawa let his hands rub at the back of his neck, “yeah....they’re okay...”

There was a thick silence between the two of you for a minute before aizawa broke it, clearing his throat “how much of what I said did you hear?”

“I love you too..” you blurred out eyes glancing back up at his once more, your lips pulling into a gentle smile.

The ever so stoned faced teacher, couldn’t fight the warmth that spread across his cheeks, the cool grey tone of his skin vibrant with reds and pinks. “I guess I don’t have to repeat any of what I said then huh.” You just chuckled, hand reaching up to cup his cheek, your body cringing as pain settled in to your bones. The aim of your affections cringed at your pain, but still leaned into your palm, his chest a flutter. “Can I ask you something?”

Your eyes were soft as you gave a gentle nod of your head to encourage his question. Gently turning his face he let his lips rest lightly against your palm as he murmured softly “come out for coffee with me? “

You couldn’t help the blush that appear on your own face now, you giving him a smile “coffee it is. But you have to pay” you laughed joking obviously

He just gave a soft huff, lips turning up st the sides “I can agree to those terms...” Who would have thought Shouta Aizawa would have a date. It would be interesting but you couldn’t wait. You hoped for many more.

[spectrumscribe]

Three Days to Live (preview)

hey all, as you have seen on my blog, i’ve been gone a lot lately so i could write a massive new fic for the @tmnt-big-bang that’s coming up. however! the end is within sight and the comp is currently just waiting on artists to claim spots as illustrators for the fics.

i’ve also gotten permission to release a preview of my own fanfic for the tbb, so here you go guys, have some “futuristic dystopian hitmen turned bodyguards” au. (rottmntverse with minor use of 2012 tmnt characters)

Mikey hums softly to himself, pushing the cleaning cart along the plush carpet of the hallway. Even with how many fancy upper-class hotels he’s worked in, each new one never fails to impress him. And this one even has the sort of aesthetic appeal that appeals to his aesthetic. It’s swanky, but at the same time, not as soullessly gold plated as some places are.

Still. He’d mix it up with a dash of street art and thrifty furniture. Kind of like the place he and his brothers live in. Having a good balance of what they grew up with alongside everything they have now is just… aesthetic.

“Room 324, Mike. Coming up on your right.”

Mikey nods imperceptibly, not responding directly to the voice in his ear. As he reaches the suite, he gives his hijab and apron one last adjustment, and then knocks.

“Housekeeping,” he says, modulating his voice to be the right blend of young and old. Harder to identify in recording, even if someone managed to get an audio of this.

“Just a minute!”

Mikey waits patiently, and has a kindly, apologetic smile on his face when the door opens. The young lady on the other side of the doorway has her hair in two pigtails, each a perfect dark cloud. Red rimmed cat’s eye glasses are perched on her nose, almost distracting from the very faint freckles across it. Her outfit, while casual formal, is very obviously expensive.

April O’Neil smiles at him. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t know I was due for cleaning just yet.”

“Oh, no, that’s alright,” Mikey replies, adding an accent in the right places. “We’ve just been quickly today, you see? Everyone on this floor has very clean rooms.”

“I’m sorry to say I won’t be one of those people,” O’Neil says wryly. She steps back from the door, moving inside. “C’mon in, ma’am. I’ll give you my trashcans and take care of everything else myself. I’m not gonna make you pick up my dirty clothes or anything.”

“Thank you,” Mikey replies, ducking his head and pushing the cart halfway inside the room; casually nudging the door to shut quietly behind him. Not standard behavior for cleaning ladies, but standard enough for his line of work. Removing the easiest exit from the room.

He bustles through the suite, admiring the fine crystal of the light fixtures and the sleek design of the furniture. Everything is milky and warm colored, ranging from cream to darker browns. Hints of gold on fixtures really bring it all together, connecting the overall look of the room.

“God, I’m so sorry for the mess,” O’Neil is saying, walking around one half of the small living room her suite has. She’s kicking clothing piles into larger piles, grabbing them up and trying to get them out of sight. “I’ve had such a hectic schedule lately, I haven’t had time to clean anything.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Mikey replies brightly, shooting her a smile. “It’s my job to clean up after you people.”

“Right, right. You better get paid for dealing with messy assholes like me; you definitely deserve it.”

Donnie scoffs. “With the kind of fallout you people leave us to deal with? You bet we deserve a decent paycheck.”

Mikey silently agrees with his brother as he bends to pick up the first trashcan. Man, even the trashcans in this place are better than everyone else’s. He takes the half full can with him as he heads back to his cart, dumping out its contents of meticulously shredded paper and takeout boxes. Interesting mix! Mikey is pretty sure Donnie would have a field day with the paper’s written contents, but sadly, that’s not what he’s here for.

He follows O’Neil’s movements with his hearing, noting that she’s drifting back towards him. She’s making pleasant casual conversation, talking about how the rainy weather lately has been awful for her hair and asking how Mikey’s been dealing with it.

“Oh, it’s not too terrible,” Mikey says, reaching under his apron. “Braids help keep the frizz down.”

“If I had time and energy for that, I’d probably set myself up with that style again.”

If she wanted braids, she really should have done it before Mikey got here.

Oh well. Maybe they’ve got salons in heaven. Or hell, given her family background.

“I know a good stylist,” Mikey says, “and I could hook you up if you wanted.”

“Yeah? Hit me with the details; I got my phone right here.”

“Sure,” he says, smiling. “But one thing first.”

Mikey turns, pointing the barrel of his handgun and its silencer at April.

Her fist shoots out, diverting the shot.

Mikey blinks- blocks the next attack, tries to realign his shot with the target, has it diverted with a well-timed slap to the wrist, then fails to break the startlingly strong twist to his arm, loses his gun- and yelps as knuckles meet his nose, stumbling backwards as the past two seconds catch up with him.

“Ow,” Mikey whines, feeling his nose spurt blood. “What the hell, lady?”

“You’re saying what the hell to me?” O’Neil says incredulously. Her foot shoots out and Mikey narrowly avoids the kick to the kneecap. April moves fast and brutal- punches aimed precisely and only diverted by the slimmest of margins. Except Mikey is unprepared to suddenly be in such a fight, and feels himself slip up.

Targets aren’t supposed to fight back like this. Pampered rich kids aren’t supposed to fight back like this.

Mikey makes an embarrassing rookie mistake, and trips backwards over a stupid little coffee table. O’Neil stands over him, panting and still holding her fists ready to fight.

“Jeez, girl, you treat all your cleaning ladies like this?” Mikey gripes, smarting in both body and pride.

“Not all my cleaning ladies try an’ kill me,” O’Neil snaps. “Also, your camograph nose is sideways.”

Mikey touches his face. He can’t properly feel the holographic camouflage mask, but the reaction is automatic. He scowls, stripping off the thin microfabric on his features and tugging the hijab off while he’s at it; dropping the façade of a middle-aged cleaning lady entirely.

O’Neil shoots him an extra disgusted look. “And fyi, using a disguise like that is just plain rude to people who actually follow the religion.”

“How do you know I’m not a follower of this particular holy book?”

“Are you?”

“Nah.”

“Well, alright then.”

Mikey is not expecting the crazy lady to try body slamming him, but with how the past half a minute has gone, he probably should have.

He rolls out of the way, getting on his feet and taking advantage of O’Neil’s prone position. He grabs her around the neck and shoulders, hauling her backwards and trying to strangle her. She responds by slamming the back of her skull against his mouth, splitting his lip and sending sparks across Mikey’s vision.

She elbows him in the ribs, wrestling herself free and making for the gun on the floor. Mikey recovers in time to give chase, tackling her away from his weapon and sending them both to the floor all over again. He tries to punch her, and she fucking bites him on the arm. Mikey hisses and swallows a cry of pain, punching O’Neil in the stomach with a quick series of harsh jabs and forcing her to let go- but not without her tearing the fabric of his dress, and leaving a swelling bitemark underneath.

He gets off her, scrambling for his gun and snatching it up off the carpet. When he turns to fire, a vase clocks him right in the face.

His nose is going to be a mess of bruises after this, won’t it?

Mikey feels a hand grab his, trying to wrench the gun out of his grip, and he snarls and fights back- both of them catching each other’s opposite hands as they try and get the advantage. O’Neil is giving him a fierce glare as she fights him, surprisingly strong as they hit a stalemate, neither of them giving an inch as their arms shake with effort.

“You…” Mikey grits out, smiling nastily at his target, “are bein’ a real thorn- in my side- right now!”

“Says the guy- that’s here to kill me!” O’Neil hisses back.

Then, she and Mikey break the stalemate simultaneously, both of them trying to knee the other in the gut and colliding as they do. They rip away from each other, the pistol going flying as O’Neil scrapes her nails along Mikey’s wrist, forcing him to release it as they dart away from one another.

Mikey realizes that Donnie has been talking to him this entire time, but his focus isn’t on whatever his brother is saying. It’s on taking O’Neil down.

Besides, if he can’t salvage this on his own, his brothers will totally bug him about it forever.

Mikey runs for his gun, which has landed under the legs of a plush chair by the wide windows of the room. It’s as his grip closes around it again that he hears the whine of electricity charging.

Mikey whirls, raising his pistol to take the shot, but yelps and has to dodge as what he swears is a bolt of lightning blackens the chair, filling the air with the acrid stench of burning. O’Neil’s glasses shine as she aims the gauntlet she’s retrieved, the palm of it glowing as it charges and fires again.

Mikey keeps moving, avoiding the blasts, thanking his lucky stars that he’s the best gymnast in his family. Even with the gun clutched in his hand and wearing an ankle length dress, he nimbly avoids being shocked by the electricity, vaulting furniture and moving in ducks and leaps. Mikey overturns the small dining table as he reaches it, getting behind it and using it as support as he lines up a quick shot and fires.

O’Neil is on the floor before the gun has even gone off, taking shelter behind the couch. Mikey pants, keeping his pistol trained on where O’Neil’s head might appear. He takes the racing adrenaline inside himself and breathes it out in a slow gust of air, easing the slight tremor in one hand and settling his heartrate.

“MIKEY, god dammnit, ANSWER ME!” Donnie yells in his ear, finally breaking through the storm as it clears from Mikey’s head.

“I’m good, Don,” Mikey says softly, licking his lips as he watches April’s hiding spot. “I just… hit a small snag.”

“I’m sending Leo- and Raph, too, actually. Fuck, fuck it, we might as well all go-”

“No!” Mikey says. “No, dude, seriously I got this.”

“It really doesn’t sound like it.”

Mikey’s face gets hot, frustration rising with his embarrassment. He’s just as capable as his brothers, more so in some aspects, and he doesn’t want to beg help off his older siblings over one measly rich lady getting a few lucky shots in-

Mikey jerks as something flies up into the air from the couch, arcing towards him- he moves to flee before he realizes it’s not a bomb but instead a pillow, but even still he can’t be too careful, who knows what’s inside that pillow-

Mikey realizes his mistake right after, as he leaves the meager protection of his dining table.

The pillow gently hits the carpet floor with hardly a sound.

Mikey hits the carpet a lot harder and louder, shocked right in the center of his chest as his target takes advantage of his stupid choices.

He doesn’t hear Donnie’s voice as his eyes roll up into his skull and he collapses on the floor. Mikey doesn’t hear anything but ringing as he passes out.

.

.

.

.

.......and now we all have to wait for the artists to claim this piece, and for me to finish the latter 20% i haven’t written of this big boy.

[shreddedparchment]

The End of the World Pt.12

Thor Is Gone and Variant X

Pairing: Thor x Reader

Word Count: 2,453

Warnings: No Thor! *GASP*

Masterpost

A/N: Because of the direction that this story is moving, there will be a few chapters without Thor.  Hopefully no more than two or three. You know when authors talk about how a story kinda becomes its own thing and characters do things that you weren’t expecting them to do? Well this is one of those times. All I can say is I hope you all stick with me through it all. I love y’all! xoxo Thanks for reading!

It seems almost impossible to have known Bruce for almost two months now and never have seen him this excited. He was always so calm. He had his epiphany moments often but never like this.

“Okay, you sit here, Y/N and Cap you just stand to the side.”

Bruce takes you by the shoulders and steers you towards a single stool. It's tall so you climb up, using the back as leverage to get your leg up.

“You good?” Bruce asks you, his hands held out towards you as he removes them from your shoulders.

“Yeah. Bruce, when I said I’d do anything, I didn’t really mean anything.” Bring out the Hulk?!

“Good?” He asks again, ignoring you and lowering one hand to point at you.

“Yes.” You assure him feeling slightly annoyed but also curious. You are very hungry and eating pizza with Steve had been something you were looking forward to.

You look for him and find him standing to your left about ten feet away and slightly behind you by the edge of Bruce's work station. He smiles at you, arms crossed over his hard chest.

As you look back at Bruce you notice that he’s standing where the donut table had been. Where was it now?

He rolls up his sleeves to the elbow then clicks a button on a remote and the lights suddenly dim. The large windows that line the top border of the outer lab wall suddenly grow dark as blackout technology obscures the light. He clicks another button and the large monitor you'd noticed when you first saw the lab lowers from overhead and then bursts to life.

For a moment there is nothing but white light and then suddenly the room is bathed in soft blue as the screen is filled with the moving image of a blue, thick, but opaque liquid.

“What do you see?” Bruce asks, his right arm extends towards the screen as he keeps his eyes on you and probably Steve.

You examine the image, seeing the small bubbles and perfect composition of the liquid.

“It's Super Soldier serum.” Steve states. His voice is hard, all business. So much different from the soft tone he’s been using with you. It makes you look at him.

“Right.” Bruce agrees. He points at Steve and adjusts his glasses. “This is the same serum that was used on you, Cap, or a very well imitated one. All the original serum was lost, right?”

“Yeah.” Steve nods, moving a few steps closer so that when he speaks again, he's almost standing beside you. “Did you try to imitate that formula?”

Bruce shakes his head. “I don’t mess with that stuff anymore." He looks to Steve with a grimace. “This is only a simulation based off of old catalogued descriptions.”

He clicks the small black clicker in his hand and the image changes. This one is a video. It moves, never ending, perhaps on a loop. The screen is suddenly filled with a slightly lighter colored liquid, slightly too thick to be opaque, but still blue. In the liquid are tiny veins that flow in complicated patterns, orange in color. A shining, bright orange.

“Alright, so what is this one?” Bruce stares at the video, watching it with fascination on his face and sounding very much like the teacher you used to be.

“That one is mine.” You say, eyes narrowed as you stare at the serum that had put a rift between you and Thor.

“That's what you injected yourself with?” Steve uncrosses his right arm to point at the video while his eyes find you for confirmation.

“Yeah?” You’re confused by his surprise and don’t understand it.

He stares at you, his brow furrowed in a worried focus, for only a few seconds then he turns his eyes back onto the video.

“What are those orange lines?” Steve asks. You want to know more about your serum but you would also rather not think about it.

“They're proof of tampering. Someone messed with this serum, mixing it with something else. Some other serum or chemical. I don't know.”

“So it’s been altered.” Steve agrees.

“Alright, so, now what?” You wonder as irritably you shift on your perch.

Bruce clicks the button again and the lights come back on, the windows clear, and the screen retracts back into the ceiling.

“I’ve been wracking my brain trying to think of why Thor would suddenly go off on you.”

Steve looks at you and you frown at Bruce. This conversation was headed in a direction you did not want to go. Steve senses your distress and tries to steer the conversation.

“Do we know what the serum is called? The one Y/N used?”

Bruce is successfully distracted. He moves to a pile of papers on his desk and rifles through them as you turn a grateful gaze on Steve. He gives you a soft, knowing smile and is close enough that he reaches out and places his right hand on your left shoulder to comfort you. To give you strength.

“Uh, the vials are all labeled with the name Variant X. I’ve been calling it Serum VX. What I can surmise from that is that whoever made Serum VX tried a whole bunch of times before they came upon this one. Assuming that they chose to go down the alphabet to name their experiments.”

“Bruce, I’m sorry, but I’m starving.” You admit and turn away from Steve to look at Bruce. “What exactly does Serum VX do?”

“Well, if I make the explanation as short as possible, it takes latent abilities and enhances them. Or activates them.” He waves his hand as if saying ‘either or’.

“Are you saying that Y/N is not only a Super Soldier now but also an enhanced?”

“Well, yeah. And I think I've got a pretty good idea as to what your enhancement might be.”

You watch as Bruce removes his glasses then hurries to put them aside before running back to the center spot in the room. His face is alight, his hands excited, but there is also the faintest amount of fear in his eyes. He suddenly looks at Steve and nods.

“Protect her, Cap, I don't know what he'll do. He’s still not-I still can’t get him to work with me. He only wanted to see Thor and won't come out again no matter how much I try.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate as he moves around to stand before you. He leaves a few feet between the two of you and your eyes explore his wide shoulders. It makes you feel safe.

You lean to the right to peek at Bruce who sighs and then finds your face. “Okay. Y/N, tell me to change into the Hulk.”

“What? Why?”

“Just tell me, please. I want to show you.”

“Can't we do something smaller like, tell you to jump or something?” You ask slightly desperate. You can’t help but be a little afraid at the prospect of facing the Hulk again.

“I need it to be something that I can't fake. That no one can fake.” Bruce explains. When he speaks again, his voice is more mellow. “Y/N, trust me. You'll be safe. Steve is just a precaution.”

“Are you sure about this Bruce?” Steve turns to give you a glance and seems to get taller as he glues himself to the space in front of you protectively.

“Positive.”

“Just, do what he says, Y/N.” Steve says only loud enough for you to hear.

“Fine, Bruce, change into the Hulk.” You say, offhand, just throwing the words out not caring if they work.

Steve tenses up in front of you, but nothing happens.

“Y/N, you have to mean it. You need to want it. Make me change.” Bruce explains.

You’re not sure how you’re supposed to want to make him change when you really don’t want him to.

“Bruce, change into the Hulk.” You say with slightly more authority.

Nothing.

“This isn’t working.” You gripe. “I’m hungry.”

Steve suddenly turns and closes the space between you. He places his hands on your shoulders giving them a gentle squeeze.

His sudden closeness surprises you and you stare up at him in stunned silence.

“You remember when we were up on the roof and you were so annoyed with me you told me to jump, and I did?”

Your mind races as it tries to repaint the picture in your head, the moment you yelled at him in frustration. “Yes.”

“Channel that. Don't try and convince yourself to mean it, just say it so that we believe you do.” His expression is resolute, stern, and his chin is set and clenched as he waits for your response.

“Wait, is that why you jumped?” You realize.

“I think so.”

As you look up into his eyes, blue like the distant storm clouds of an approaching storm—you think of Thor and the sharp pain in your chest makes you sigh—you see kindness and faith?

“You can do this.” He says.

You nod and Steve returns to his spot. You look over his shoulder at Bruce. You take a moment to gather all of your focus and channel the annoyance and frustration you’re feeling in the moment into your words as you speak again. “Bruce…change into the Hulk.”

Your words are even, your voice stern, and though your fear is great, there's no trace of it in them.

Bruce, whose eyes were glued to yours, is rigid. His hands suddenly clench into fists as his body explodes. He falls back, half falling half throwing himself as parts of him grow large and green. He seems to flicker between himself and the hulk as he shouts and groans, filling the room up with his voice.

Your eyes are wide as you watch Bruce struggle between forms. You slowly slide yourself off of your stool until your feet are on the ground. Your fear guides you forward and you take hold of Steve's shirt at the curve of his back where it meets his hips. He steals a quick glance at you then turns his tactical gaze back on Bruce who finally, with one final shout and two furious pounding fists on the floor which crack the concrete—“That's what it was. I forgot to Hulkproof the lab." Tony says from somewhere behind you.—he becomes the Hulk.

For a very tense moment the room is absolutely still. Hulk's hulking body rises and falls slowly with his massive breaths. He lifts his head and looks around then slowly turns to look the room over.

His eyes find you and there’s the clear illumination of recognition in them. He takes a step in your direction, his face converted into a frightening, teeth baring, grimace.

“Hulk want Thor!” What was it with him and Thor.

He looks over you at whoever is back behind you.

“Tony friend?”

“Hey buddy, yeah. Of course I’m your friend.” Tony still sounds far enough away that he must be by the outer wall, way behind Bruce’s workspace. “How've you been? Not gonna lie, Hulk, we could a used you against Thanos.”

Hearing Thanos's name does something to Hulk. He turns his shoulders away, shouts angrily, and then looks back at you.

“Where Thor?!”

“I don’t know.” You reply quickly, eager to appease him.

He growls.

“I’m sorry.” You realize that Thor is gone because of you. Thinking back on your fight, you remember you told him not to come back until he was ready to really commit to the two of you. Again, your mind races. What if he never comes back? Your hand tightens around Steve's shirt.

“Why?” Hulk paces, shoving objects out of his way as he does. “Why girl sorry?”

“Because…” You sigh, realizing that maybe you lost the reason you took the serum for. What was the point of it all without Thor? “I told him to leave. He left because of me.”

You can hear the despair in your own voice. Steve’s hand is suddenly around yours, the one holding onto your shirt, giving you comfort but in the same second Hulk erupts into a deafening bellow of rage.

You hear his heavy feet falling on the floor as he races towards you. Steve uses the same hand he reached back with to push you, hard. You go crashing over the stool and fall onto the trembling floor.

You look up, pushing yourself up onto your elbows in time to see Steve race forward to meet Hulk but Hulk merely swats him away with his right hand. Steve goes flying through the wall leaving a large hole—"Damn it.” Tony grumbles. where he hit and fell through to the next room.

You rise to your feet quickly and realize that you’re standing right in front of Bruce's workspace. Behind you is the beep,beep,beep, of Thor's scanner. Your heart drops as you realize that Hulk will probably destroy it.

No! That can’t happen. If There doesn't find his people this time he'll need the scanner to keep looking. Desperation fills you as your fear of the Hulk falls away for fear of failing Thor. You have to save his scanner.

You turn to watch as Hulk closes the distance between you and without any forethought you scream, as loud as you can, “STOP!”

Hulk freezes. He skids to a stop, looking confused for a second but then stands with his enormous hands balled into fists. He continues to glare at you. Blaming you.

“I said I was sorry.” You hear him growl at you but shake your head. If this is how it really works then maybe you can learn to control it. You’ll have to learn to control it. “Hulk, change back into Bruce Banner.”

Hulk growls angrily but slowly begins to shrink, restoring the pretty light olive skin tone Bruce has. He stumbles as he falls onto his hands and knees and you turn away as you begin to notice the clothes issue.

As you turn towards the door you notice Tony at the far wall, sitting in a stool of his own as he casually munches on a bag of grapes. “Good going.”

You glare at him. The door to the lab suddenly opens and in runs Steve at full speed. He slows as he notices Bruce and walk the rest of the way to you before he looks down at you. “Looks like you didn’t need my protection after all.”

“Can we go get some pizza now?” You ask desperately.

“I second that.” From behind you.

Steve looks at Bruce then turns those storm blue eyes back on you and smiles.

“Pizza it is.”

@bionic-buckyb, @mdgrdians, @ulired, @biawol, @markusstraya, @queenof-wakanda

[gsremade]

Since you’re open to request could I ask for a lil rhyiona thingy? Maybe something short and sweet? Thanks in advance unless u can’t do it in which case just ignore me lol

They’re standing at the base of an old signal tower, light from Elpis shining down on the flats around them and reflecting off the parts of the metal framework that aren’t rusted to all hell.

“I don’t like heights,” Rhys informs Fiona for what must be about the hundredth time as they both consider the structure in front of them.

He can see her nod in his peripheral. “I know you don’t.”

“Is that why you neglected to tell me until the very last second that the fuse you needed me to replace was at the top of goddamn Barad-dûr?”

“The top of… what?”

Rhys sighs, bringing up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Never mind.”

A cool breeze rolls through, making him shiver. As if it wasn’t already bad enough that Fiona dragged him all the way out here at whatever unholy hour of the night it is right now. He genuinely has no idea how she even convinced him to do this in the first place, considering he has a pile of overdue paperwork collecting dust on his desk and a meeting with a potential investor first thing tomorrow morning.

There’s plenty of other things he could be doing right now. Plenty of other things.

And yet here he is, standing around in the middle of nowhere with his shoulders hiked up around his neck and bouncing on the balls of his feet to try to generate some semblance of warmth like a jackass.

“Sooo.” Fiona bumps her hip pointedly against his. “Are we going up or what?”

Rhys scoffs in her direction, fisting his hands in his sleeves. “Somewhere along the line, I think you started severely overestimating how much I’m willing to risk my life for you.”

“Oh, come on,” she says. “It’s not that tall. You wouldn’t die if you fell. Well, okay, you probably would. But it would be quick and painless!”

He rolls his eyes. “That is sooo not reassuring.”

Huffing impatiently, she stomps around to stand right in front of him and plants her hands on her hips. “Look, I told Sasha I would take care of this before tomorrow because we all know how cranky everybody gets when the radio isn’t working. August opens his stupid mouth way more often and Athena threatens to kill everybody at least twice an hour and Sasha spends so much time trying to pry those two apart that nothing ever gets done. Annoying pop music is the only thing that keeps us all from self destructing.”

Rhys thinks- and not for the first time- that he is very lucky to have his own private office. “If you were going to take care of it, then why am I here?”

“Because,” she starts, and then falters for a moment before continuing, “I… sort of broke it even more and now I don’t know how to fix it.”

He blinks a few times. “Broke… what, exactly?”

“The fuse? I think?” she says, but it sounds more like a question than a statement. “It was stuck in there pretty good so I tried to rip it out, but, well.”

She makes this vague hand gesture that he’s not sure actually conveys anything meaningful, but he thinks he gets the gist.

“I know it’s a lot to ask for,” she continues, “but I could really use your help on this one. Plus we’re kind of already out here and it’s a half hour walk back to base, so.” She steps forward to lay a hand on his arm. “Please.”

Shaking his head and trying to fight back the impending sense of doom twisting his stomach into knots, Rhys motions towards the very unsafe looking ladder on the side of the tower. “After you.”

It’s a long way up, the structure creaking and groaning ominously around them and the metal railing shuddering with every tiny shift of their weight. He half expects the entire thing to come crashing down before they even make it to the maintenance platform, but the structural integrity of the tower remains sound and they get up to where they need to be in one piece.

It’s colder and breezier up here than it was down below, but at least the view is sort of nice in its own barren and desolate way. The flat desert around them is cast in a purpley hue, sporadic gusts of wind kicking up sand clouds all across the landscape. Even the sky looks different, somehow more vast and unending than it had looked from the ground.

The ground that is. Very far away. He can see that once he makes the grave mistake of looking all the way down.

Shit.

He stumbles backwards until his back hits the central beam of the tower to get a safe distance away from the edge. Which might have been way more helpful had the platform they’re standing on right now been made of something solid instead of grated panels, because he can still see just how high in the air they are through the slats. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing his heart to stop pounding and his breathing to slow because dammit, he’s fine, nothing bad is going to happen and everything is fine.

But what if it’s not? What if the supports start collapsing, or what if the rails around the perimeter give way and one of them falls, or what if what if what if-

“Hey,” Fiona says softly as she takes his hands from where they’re clenched into fists at his sides and carefully works her fingers between his. “Hey. Look at me.”

“I don’t like heights,” he tells her again without opening his eyes. “I really, really, really don’t like heights.”

“I know.” She runs her thumb over the back of his knuckles, and her hands are so warm compared to his. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t- I didn’t know this would be-” He can hear her take a breath and blow it back out. “It’s okay, Rhys. You’re okay.”

That’s funny, because they’re, like, hundreds of feet in the air right now, which definitely doesn’t feel okay. But he forces himself to focus on the sensation of her tracing shapes over the back of his hand until he feels less panicky and more just incredibly, nauseatingly anxious. Which, frankly, still sucks, but at least it’s a considerable step down from before.

Once he feels like he’s able to, he cracks open his eyes enough to look down at her. She’s watching him so carefully, so tenderly, green eyes wide and searching as she continues to hold his hands in her own. And then she smiles up at him, a little hesitant, a little crooked, but still full and warm and earnest.

“Better?” she asks.

He’s not sure how to answer that. It still feels the same- the paralyzing fear of being in danger of plummeting to his death at any moment. But it’s also different, somehow. Farther away. Like he’s here with her and everything else is just a step or two behind them, looming right over his shoulder and chattering viciously in his ears but never quite able to catch all the way up.

So. Maybe not better, not in the sense that it’s all magically gone away. Maybe just… easier.

“A little,” he finally decides to say for simplicity’s sake, and then clears his throat a bit awkwardly. “I, uh. Might have to throw up here in a second, but-”

She takes a very generous step away from him at that. “Over the railing, not on me, please and thank you.”

Wow. He guesses he just found the limits of her helpful patience. Brutal. Rhys gives her the flattest look he can muster. “I was kidding.”

Fiona gives him an even flatter look in return, clearly disbelieving. “If any of it gets on me, I swear I’ll push you over the edge.”

He doesn’t doubt it. After he’s actually sure he really isn’t going to puke, he turns to make his way around the platform towards the fuse box. Fiona attempts to explain what she did as he struggles to figure out how in the hell she even jacked it up this badly. The fuse she tried to pull out wasn’t even the one that was busted. He tells her as much but she doesn’t believe him, insisting that she, quote, “Knows a blown fuse when she sees one, goddammit.”

Which she clearly doesn’t, otherwise he wouldn’t be having to fix her mess right now. She doesn’t have a lot more to say once he points that out. But she does shoot lots of dirty looks in his direction as he finishes the job she attempted to start, like it’s his fault that she can’t handle the cold, hard truth.

Once he replaces the correct fuse and fixes the one Fiona messed with, the lights on the tower come back on and everything seems to be functional. Rhys lets out a deep sigh of relief when they finally get back down on the ground where they belong, swearing to himself up and down that if Fiona ever asks him to do anything like this again, he’s changing his name and moving to the Southern Shelf to dig a complex tunnel system in a snowbank so he can live out the rest of his life in relative peace.

He’s so busy fantasizing about his future as a hermit that he doesn’t notice Fiona creeping up behind him until she pokes him in his ribs to get his attention. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he gripes back, spinning around to catch her hand before she can jab him again because dammit, she knows how ticklish he is.

But it doesn’t appear that her intention is to start a tickle fight, because she rolls her eyes and shakes her wrist free of his grip to twine their fingers together instead.

“I didn’t get to say thank you before you were hauling ass down the ladder,” she says, taking a few steps closer. “So, you know. Thank you. I mean it. And I’m sorry for tricking you to get you out here in the first place.”

Sighing, he brings his free hand up to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “You do know if you had just told me, I still would have helped, right?”

“Would you have, though?”

Rhys has to think about it for a second. Like, really think about it. “Okay, yeah, no. Probably not.”

She grins and stands on her toes to press her lips gently against his. He’s not sure if she means it more as an apology or just as an incentive to stop being mad, but either way, it’s surprisingly effective. She lowers herself down to stand flat on her feet again after a minute and he follows her, making her huff out a laugh against his mouth that turns into a sigh when he runs a hand up her side. Her breath catches when he pulls her closer by her hips, and he swallows a groan when she closes her teeth down on his bottom lip. When she starts to pull back, he catches her, pulling her close again and again to give her fleeting kisses until she swats him away with a laugh.

“That was easy,” she tells him as she moves both her arms up to wind them around his neck. “One kiss and I’m already forgiven. I’ll have to remember that for next time.”

“Hey, don’t you dare make me feel cheap,” he pouts as he slides his hands past her coat to run his thumbs along the seams of her vest. “And who said you were forgiven? I’m obviously still furious. Seething with rage, actually.”

She nods. “Right. Of course. Luckily, I know exactly what buttons to push to get back on your good side.”

He raises an eyebrow at her dubiously. “And… what buttons would those be?”

“I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” she says. “But I’ll give you a hint.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Two words.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You and me.”

“Right.”

“In your bed.”

Rhys makes this big show of mulling it over before gasping dramatically and releasing her to grab her by the shoulders. “Pillow forts?”

Fiona laughs so loud it echoes across the plains, taking him by the hand and not letting go the entire way home.

[bambinovak]

Gone - Sam Winchester

summary; whether it was her loyalty and devotion to her family, her love for sam, or her arrogant and snarky behaviour towards the demon that kept her captive - something on that list got her killed. [300417]

warnings; torture, blood, character death, angsty as hell, violence, swearing.

word count; 3k

Masterlist

IF THERE'S ONE thing about (Y/N) that any demon or angel or creature should know, is that she would never give up the Winchesters. Ever.

Any monster that didn't realise that, was new to the game, or just truly naive.

"Spill, or you'll find me creating my own personal enjoyment as I listen to you scream in agony," Her onyx black, merciless pits stared down at you - a patronising smirk written on her blood red lips. The sharp tip of the knife that she so tightly held in her iron grip danced lightly on your bruised skin, running across your cheekbones and down the side of your neck as you clenched your jaw, not giving her the satisfaction of noticing your shaky and shallow breaths.

"Why should I tell you anything?" You seethed through gritted teeth as the glare in your eyes followed her - watching her circle your caged body like a vulture eyeing up its prey.

"Well, they obviously don't care about you or else they'd be here, guns blazing and all. But they're not - hell, they probably haven't even noticed that you're gone." She threw a mock frown your way, feigning sadness as she spoke then broke into over-dramatic, hysterical laughter as if this whole situation was utterly amusing for her. It probably was, actually.

"They don't care enough to save you." She shrugged indifferently, "You shouldn't care enough to save them," She finished when you remained quiet, throwing a look your way as if the answer was entirely simple.

"They care, and they'll come for me. Just wait." Your voice sounded deadly and dangerously low, the venom seeping from every word. It was all an act, however. Your clammy hands were harshly chained behind your body and your feet to the floor as you sat, detained to the chair, rendering you utterly incapable of breaking free. The tip of the knife was alarmingly close your exposed throat.

Truly naive, you decided then.

She let out a huff of air into the dark and grimy room, "You're not understanding my concept, are you?" She rolled her eyes, roughly weaving her fingers in your hair and yanking your head back. A small yelp tumbled from your cracked lips at her action, the pain of your hair nearly being ripped from your scalp making you squeeze your teary eyes shut and grit your teeth.

"You missed your chance to take the easy way, (Y/N). So now, I guess we have to do it my way," The shiny blade of the knife sunk into your arm as she spoke, snarky. She dragged it up your arm and you couldn't stop the pained cry that escaped as you watched the blood seep from the deep cut, as much as you tried to keep quiet.

"Tell me where the Winchesters are." Her voice was cold and demanding as she finally freed her harsh grip from your hair, your head falling limply to the side as you let out a shaky sigh. Your squinted eyes continued to sear into her dark, void ones from where your head lay on your shoulder, the corrupt world tipped sideways.

When you refused to give her the information she so selfishly wanted, you watched her bring the knife up and nick the skin on your collarbone, you let out a wince but quickly composed yourself after the pain passed, glaring up at her and your lips sealed in a straight line to let her know that you would never tell her what she wanted to hear.

Before you knew it, her clenched fist was coming up and colliding with your nose; a sickening crack filled the dark, damp, cold, room and your head was thrown back at the impact as you let out an anguished and pained outcry. You felt the metallic taste of blood hit your lips as it ran freely, your head pounding profusely at the cruel and relentless consequences of her blow.

You took a moment to squeeze your glazed eyes closed, waiting for the pain to pass as it had to the nick on your collarbone as a series of exhausted groans emitted from your aching self. Then, when your eyes fluttered open once again, you blinked away the dancing stars in your vision and presumed your venemous glare.

She eyed your consistent expression bitterly, letting out an impatient snarl before dragged the knife down your cold skin and slicing at your abdomen with the blade mercilessly stained in your blood. A wrenching scream erupted from your chest as she continued to brutally tear at the skin on your stomach, the blood spilling from the wounds and drenching your torn and frayed clothing.

The heavy tears were rolling down your cheeks by then, a mixture of sobs and pained whimpers coming from your shaking persona when the blade came to a halt. Your breaths were short and the pain was excruciating but you continued to scowl up at her from where you were chained to, the glower in your eyes not backing down as she tauntingly leant down to your eye level, challenging you. The blade dancing on your chapped and cracked lips as she smiled sickly, "Should we try again?"

"Tell me where the Winchesters are," She repeated in a mockingly sweet tone before the sarcastic smile from her features was wiped in a flash and the blade was up against your neck swiftly once more, threatening to tear and slice at the skin. You felt it pierce the skin slightly, a trail of blooding tumbling down your skin. "Now."

"Go to hell." You spat at her, the blood hitting her cheek, each word coming out so dangerously low. She straightened up instantly, swiping at the blood on her face. It coated her fingers as she looked down at it, her expression unreadable. Then, she grabbed your jaw between her wet fingers, smearing your blood across your face.

"Now, that wasn't nice," She whined, but you simply looked at her, so she continued still holding you gripe in place. "You know I've been to hell. I've done that whole... Schtick. Thanks to your precious Sam and Dean."

You wasted no time, "Well, I sure do hope you liked it down there, because that's exactly where they'll be sending your ass when they get here."

It was silent in the room for a while. And then, an exasperated "Oh, fuck this," and the tired smirk on your lips didn't last nearly as long as you predicted it would when you watched her jaw clench and her eyes darken even more, her grip on the blade not faltering but getting tighter as the dreaded seconds ticked by.

And so it happened. The sharp, piercing steel plunged into your stomach before you could protest; your mouth fell agape at the agonising, searing, burning sensation in the pit of your abdomen. You gazed up at her, shock evident from your raised eyebrows as your wide, panic-stricken eyes fall upon the edges of her lips being pulled into a satisfied smirk.

With your breathed hitched in your throat, you felt the excruciating feel of the blade being ripped out just as quick as it had sunk into your skin; the strangled and choked cry that fell from your blood-stained lips echoed throughout the dark, desolate, lonely room - bouncing from wall to wall.

The hot tears were tumbling down your pale cheeks as your heavy body slumped forward in your chair, digging the chains dejectedly into your wrists but, you didn't feel it - you couldn't feel it. Hopelessness and heartache slowly weaved its way through your veins when you came to the realisation, your eyelids feeling heavy and yet, you continued to fight to keep them open. With them battling to stay ajar, you locked them onto the locked and fastened door - clinging to hope.

They care.

They will come for me.

And they did; you didn't hear the door being smashed to pieces as Sam and Dean desperately broke through the wood or the startled shout as Dean sent the bitch back to the pit. But, you did feel Sam's large, shaking hands on either side of your pale face, tilting your limp head upright. You heard his voice, panicky and afraid, repeatedly calling your name through broken cries.

"S-Sam? You...Y-You came..." Your eyes fluttered open, revealing the dull colour to the man you loved and a strange sense of peace passed through you when your eyes connected with his wide, glistening, hazel orbs - knowing that you were safe.

"I'm here; I'm here. You're going to be okay, (Y/N), I promise you. You're going to be fine," You could tell that he was trying so desperately to hold back his tears as he spoke in almost incoherent mumbles, his hands fumbling with the chains enough for you to be able to weakly wiggle your arms out from behind you, letting them hand limply by your sides, instead.

"(Y/N)..." You faintly heard Dean's voice from across the room through the persistent ringing in your ears.

"D?" The brotherly nickname for him fell from your lips just before a harsh fit of coughs erupted from your chest, the familiar taste of metallic staining your lips, for the second time that dreaded day.

"Dean, get the car. T-The blood - she's lost so much blood," Sam's frantic voice was back in front of you in an instant, hooking one arm under your legs and one around your back - readying himself to lift you into the solace of his arms. You tried to wound your arms around his neck, wanting to help him in the slightest but everything felt so numb, and your grip on him seemed so gentle and light.

He moved you slightly to the edge of the chair so he could lift you, but when the searing pain in your stomach washed over you at the movement and you let out a pained and distressed outcry, Sam couldn't stop the sob that choked out - the fear of losing you, the person he loved with all his being, was hanging over his head like a dark cloud of loneliness that only you would ever be able to rid him of.

"I-It's... It's o-okay," You whimpered out, the burning tears cascading down your cheeks as you watched Sam try his hardest not to crumble but ultimately fail. However, he tried his best to compose himself for you, sniffling lightly and pulling you into his arms despite your howling cries of pain.

"We're going to get you to the hospital, okay? You're going to be alright, I know you will. You'll get through this, just like you get through everything, with a fight and a few sarcastic remarks."

"Sam..." You could barely manage the broken whisper that escaped as you spoke his name, "I-I'm - I'm n-not going to make it to... t-to the hospital."

Sam shook his head adamantly, his unkempt and messy hair framing his face; his trembling bottom lip was encased by his teeth as you glanced down at you through wet lashes. "No, no, (Y/N), you will. You're going to be fine, dammit."

Dean shakily opened the door of the Impala, lightly grasping your hand in his as Sam brought you to the beloved car that meant so much to the three of you - you tried to squeeze his hand in yours comfortingly but the squeeze was so faint that you weren't even sure if Dean noticed and eventually, your hand slipped away from his.

He watched with saddened eyes as Sam gently lowered you and himself into the backseat before delicately resting your body in his arms, your head laying on his firm chest that seemed to rise and fall so quick.

Your eyes began to flutter closed as the sound of Baby's engine roaring to life rang in your ears, listening to the way that the tires slightly screeched and the rumble of the engine, feeling the leather beneath you which was damp with the blood that was flooding from your wound.

This was probably going to be the final time you sit in this backseat when Sam childishly called shotgun solely to get a rise out of you. That acknowledgement alone made the pit of sadness inside of you grow.

Once Sam noticed that he couldn't see the colour in your iris' that he loved so so much, panic rushed through his being, his teary eyes widening. "(Y/N)," He called your name, "Come on, pretty girl, show me your eyes," The term of endearment slipped past his lips before he could stop it as he clutched your bloody and bruised body to his chest with one arm, the other preoccupied with pressing down onto the puncture in your abdomen with as much strength as he could muster.

At hearing his voice, you forced your eyes open once more and let out a breathless sigh, your body relaxing into his warm, endearing, loving touch. Sam let out a quiet breath of relief as he glanced down at you, the tears he had been trying so hard to keep down were starting to fall when he saw you smile up at him in reassurance.

"Thank you... F-For everything. I-I... I..." Your voice was strained and almost inaudible as you struggled but achieved at bringing your hand up and gently resting it on his jaw, pouring all of your feelings into that action instead of finishing your sentence. He leant into your touch, nodding his head shakily in acknowledgement, his hazel eyes closing briefly as he tried to soak in as much as could whilst he still had the chance. Your touch, your voice, your smell, everything that he loved.

Then, the air shifted, and you knew. "S-Sam..." His name broke from your stained lips in gasping rasps and Sam immediately realised what dreaded direction this was heading in.

With hot tears tumbling down his cheeks and his bottom lip trembling with heartache and sadness, he peered down into your loving eyes, "(Y/N), no. Please, no," His voice was broken and strained as he found himself begging for you, begging for you to stay with him. "I'm sorry - I'm so sorry that I couldn't save you."

"I-It's okay, Sammy; I'm okay - it... it doesn't hurt," Your voice was shaky and uneasy but you did your best to send him a smile, despite the quiver of your bottom lip.

He shook his head, knowing that you were only putting on a brave face to calm him down, he knew that you were scared. And you were - you could never fool him. "Dean, drive faster." His eyes left yours for a split-second as he demanded at his older brother, a heart clenching sob escaping just after.

"Promise me... P-Promise me that you'll be okay, S-Sam, t-that you'll move on," You gently moved the lock of his messy hair that fell into his face behind his ear, your soft and affectionate caress only making Sam's heavy tears stream faster down his face.

"I can't promise you that, (Y/N), I can't. I need you here, please, just - hold on. We're almost there, please, baby, please," You couldn't feel his shaking fingers pressing down your wound anymore.

You turned your head to the side slightly, catching sad eyes with your best friend in the rear view mirror, "D, y-you... you have to look after him for... for me," Your pleas were quiet and stuttered but the silence in the car, null and void of the usual music that you and Dean both loved and played consistently, allowed the oldest Winchester to hear you.

"I will, (Y/N/N), don't you worry," Sending you one last sad and sorry smile in the mirror, you knew that was his goodbye.

Another harsh rack of coughs erupted from your chest, the metallic taste of red painting your cracked lips once more and Sam had to look away, squeezing his eyes shut as he listened to you struggle and breath heavily with shallow and baited breath.

When your coughs faded, Sam looked down at you once more - only to find you already glancing up at him with love and sorrow in your eyes, a tear escaping and rolling down the side of your temple and into your hair when you watched him suffer along with you.

Your eyelids began to feel so heavy and your breathing began to get heavier, finding yourself suddenly short of oxygen - the air around you only getting thinner and harder for your dying lungs to reach. Exhaustion and the need to close your eyes and let the desolate darkness swallow you whole hit you like a train, but you fought so hard to fight it, needing to get your last words out before it was too late.

Your hand involuntarily dropped from his jaw and fell numbly to your side, "I-I... I love you, Sam," The knot in your chest slowly began to dissipate, peace slowly washing over you in waves as you brokenly muttered the words that you wholeheartedly meant with all your being.

"I-I love you too, baby, so so much - never forget that up there." His heartbroken cries echoed in the Impala as he pressed one last, sweet, lingering kiss to your forehead; he watched you take your last shallow breath, your eyes fluttering shut as your once rising and falling chest, stilled.

His sobs racked through him as he brought your limp body closer to him, rocking you gently back and forth, "I'll see you soon, I promise," He muttered brokenly into your hair through his pained cries and whimpers; the sound of Sam's loss and distress and the feel of your presence missing made Dean's eyes water in the front seat, his bottom lip trembling as he sniffled lightly.

And with the harshness of reality hanging in the thick air, they knew that they had just lost another part of their family.

[rockscanfly]

Concept: the little eel faces on Kaldur's hands change their expression depending on his mood

Being a good archer means having a good eye for detail, and Artemis has never been anything but excellent.

So it’s understandably galling when she realizes, three years into their friendship, that Kaldur’s tattoos are more than they seem.

They’re at the annual League Winter Solstice Party when she first notices, snatching his wrist as he’s about to hand Harper (on a short break from his fruitless quest to find whoever-the-fuck, Speedy, the first Roy Harper) a glass of mulled wine.

“Why are your tattoos happy,” she slurs, squinting through the pleasant buzz of alcohol. The Watchtower falls under international rules when it comes to alcohol–everyone eighteen and over is legal, and like any self-respecting American teen, she’s taking advantage while she can.

“Can they be happy? Harper, hey, Roy,” she says, and shoves Kaldur’s hand in Roy’s face. She gestures to the smiling eels that adorn Kaldur’s hands. “Am I drunk? Why are his hand snakes so, so smiley?”

Roy hmm’s, faking intrigue while shooting Kaldur an amused look. He probably thought Artemis didn’t see it, which she totally did, because detail, but she chooses not to mention it. Because, well, answers.

“No clue what you’re talking about, Blondie,” Roy says, smirking. “Does someone need a glass of water, kiddo?”

“Fuck your water,” Artemis murmurs, dropping Kaldur’s wrist. She steals the mulled wine first, downing it in one gulp to prove a point.

Roy throws his hands up in mock defeat. “Careful, Kal,” he jokes, “Looks like we got a badass over here.”

Kaldur smiles, warm with amusement at their antics. “A badass who I sincerely hope doesn’t think that a hangover will be getting her out of training tomorrow,” he teases gently, eyes dancing.

It’s a look that she doesn’t get to see on him often, Artemis realizes with a pang. Suddenly nostalgic, she throws her arms around the both of them, drawing them together.

“We should dance,” she asserts firmly, gesturing drunkenly with one heel-clad foot at the impromptu dance floor. Zattanna and Rocket are already up there, swaying drunkenly to Nat King Cole. “C’mon.”

She manages to pull the two of them to the floor, all three rocking gently in awkward tandem before Wally comes and pulls her away for a dance of their own–Kaldur I can understand, but don’t tell me you’re leaving me for Harper of all people, babe–and as she’s pulled away she sees Roy throw Kaldur’s arms over his shoulders as he leads the other man in a drunken waltz.

As Wally spins her around the room–he’s had three times the number of drinks as her, at least, but speedster metabolisms and so on–she catches a glimpse of Kaldur’s face tucked over Roy’s shoulder, blush flushing his high cheeks bones. She can see the little eels, too, grinning, where they rest on the strong muscles of Roy’s neck.

Well I’ll be damned, she thinks, and resolves to tease the two of them with this story when they finally get their shit together.

Its two years and a hundred leagues under the ocean later, and no one’s shit is together, least of all Kaldur’s.

Then again, Artemis thinks ruefully, exhausted, watching helplessly while he trembles apart next to her on their shared bed, caught in yet another nightmare, what could you expect?

Gritting her teeth, Artemis grabs her own wrist, restraining herself from touching him. The last time she tried that, tried shaking him awake by the shoulder, it didn’t go well.

The bruises from being flung against the wall hurt, yeah, but not as much as his face did when he woke up and realized what he’d done, or the way he shied from contact with her for a whole week afterward. She’s touch-starved enough as it is, down here, away from Wally and his fever-hot body, his Speedster warm hands. She doesn’t need Kaldur’s guilt driving him even further away than the distance he already kept.

Sighing, Artemis forces herself up, out of the bed, and pads around to Kaldur’s front. Kneeling, she tries calling his name, hoping that will wake him from sleep. “Kaldur,” she says softly, voice too rough and too gravelly in her own ears. “Kaldur, wake up, it’s okay, you’re here.”

He twitches wildly, hands coming up to cover his mouth, muffling a hoarse scream. She thinks, exasperated, that it’s just like him to silence his own pain, even in dreams.

Her eyes flick to his hands, and she notices the eels are snarling, twisting and writhing in agony. Small shocks of electricity leap from finger to finger, and she backs further away.

“Kaldur, Kaldur, wake up,” she hisses, desperate. His face is a snarl of misery, brow drawn tight. “Kaldur—” she yells, and his eyes snap open, wide and terrified.

He sits up instantly, chest heaving, gills flapping in dry air. “Tula, Tula–epanélthei, na epanélthei, parakaloúme na érthei píso–Artemis–”

“–Is dead,” Artemis says quickly. She’s too familiar with the shadow’s to believe that there aren’t at least seven bugs hidden in this room of their quarters alone. “You killed her, you avenged Tula. Its okay, Kaldur, I’m here. You’re home.”

Kaldur looks up at her, shaking his head, clearing the clouds. He straightens, shoulders going firm and tight in a way she hates. “Of course,” he says, breathe slowing. “Thank you, Tigress.”

She grabs one of his hands in hers, pulling him in for an embrace. This, the need to comfort him, is one of the only things she doesn’t have to fake down here, and she treasures the cool press of his skin to her own. “Anytime, Kaldur’ahm,” she says, and it’s one of the only things she’s said in a month that wasn’t a lie.

—-

By the time the Invasion is over Artemis considers herself an expert in Kaldur speak. The secret, she will later divulge to Zattanna, who drunkenly asks her just how the hell she always seems to know what’s really going on in their stoic friend’s head, is to look at his hands.

Two weeks after Wally’s death and the expulsion of those bastards from her planet, it’s this little known fact–that the faces of his eels will always reveal the emotions that Kaldur himself buries under ten metric tons of emotionally repressive rock–that tips her off to the fact that Kaldur is not okay.

They–meaning herself, M’gann, and Conner, who are at the moment the only members of the original team who are really coping with what’s happened–have gathered the original team together for a beach day. Like old times, M’gann says, as she lays a plate of snicker doodles–Wally’s favorite, Artemis remembers with a hollow pang–on the picnic table.

As therapy days go, it isn’t bad, but it’s also isn’t great.

“Come on, fishsticks,” Artemis shouts across the net to Kaldur. It’s him and M’gann against herself and Conner. Dick sits on the side, ostensibly playing ref but in reality brooding over a strawberry margarita. “Spike it! I dare ya!”

Kaldur smiles at her, challenging, and does exactly that. Conner, as expected, manages to dive low, catching the ball with a fist. It goes soaring, high, high, before an invisible force catches it and drives it back into the sand on their side of the net.

“Hey!” Artemis shouts, pointing at M’gann. “Blatant cheating!”

M’gann grins, eyes fading to their normal color from their tell-tale glow. She turns to Dick. “What does the ref say?”

Dick, the brooding idiot, looks up from trying to find the meaning of life in his margarita. “Umm. No foul?” He says uncertainly, guilt written across his face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Artemis mutters, and trudges through the thick sand to Dick’s spot underneath the umbrella. “Okay, break time. Let’s get in the water, bird boy,” she says, pulling him out into the sun.

Dick hisses, pulling non-committaly against her grip. “I thought cats hated water,” he gripes, and she can’t help but grin. It’s a stupid joke, yeah, but it’s also the first one he’s made all day.

“Tigers actually love water,” Connor interjects, pulling his shirt over his head. Casually, he wrests Dick from Artemis’s grasp, holding him over his head and walking calmly over to the sea. M’gann floats sedately after them, shifting her cloths from a shirt and shorts to a one piece.

“Traitors!” Dick yells, laughing despite himself, wriggling pointlessly. “Ruffians! Kaldur, help!”

“This is a battle you must fight alone, my friend,” Kaldur says solemnly, sitting down in the sand to watch the chaos.

Artemis settles beside him, watching as M’gann and Connor pull their struggling friend into the water. The scene quickly devolves into a splash fight–a fight in which Dick, who lacks both super strength and the ability to psychically create walls of water, is hilariously outmatched in.

“Why don’t you join them?” Artemis questions, not unkindly. “You’d kick all of our asses in a water war.”

Kaldur sighs, crossing his hands over his chest. Her eyes flick down to the eels, noting with a sinking stomach that, despite his relaxed demeanor, their expressions are twisted in anxiety and, she thinks, sorrow.

She looks back up as he prepares to speak, something sour building in her throat as she sees that none of these feelings are portrayed on his own face.

“I feel that would be unfair,” he says with a gentle smile.

Artemis frowns. The smile manages to reach his eyes. Anyone who didn’t know about the eels would buy this, hook line and sinker, and she hates how good he has gotten at acting.

“They would love to have you,” she prods, gesturing. “I’m sure Dick would appreciate the backup.”

Kaldur’s smile tightens, but doesn’t drop. “I am sure he will be fine,” he says, evasive.

Artemis frowns. “The point of this whole thing is for us to have fun together,” she says, standing. She leans down, reaching for his hand. The eel’s expression twists tighter, though Kaldur’s smile remains the same. “C’mon,” she wheedles. “Join us.”

Kaldur flinches away, finally allowing the smile to drop. He goes blank, showing nothing. “It would not be a good idea,” he says, firm. “But thank you.”

It’s not until later, when she overhears an argument between Black Canary and Aquaman, that she learns that Kaldur has been exiled from Atlantis and is no longer welcome in any ocean.

—

“You’re an idiot,” she tells Roy Harper, while they sit on a roof top and watch the sunset behind Star City’s horizon.

“What’s new,” he grumbles, throwing back the last slug of his beer. It’s the only one he’ll have tonight, responsible adult that he is now. She thanks the universe every day that Lian has him as a father.

Now if only he’d be as good a boyfriend to her best friend as he’s been a father to her neice, she could rest easily.

“Seriously though,” Artemis gripes, poking him in the side with her own beer. It’s her third, because she doesn’t have a kid to look after, and it is a Friday. She dodges his half-hearted swipe at her head, grinning. “Why don’t you go for it? He’s been in love with you for years.”

Roy sighs, lying back on the warm concrete, legs kicking in the open air. “It’s not that simple.”

Artemis kicks his shin. “Yeah, it is.”

Roy props himself up on his elbows, squinting at her in the fading sunlight. Small lines crinkle in the corner of his eyes, signs of age brought on early from a life hard lived, and she kicks him harder. “Fucking ow,” he gripes. “Look, it’s not–It’s not about what Kaldur feels. He doesn’t want it.”

Artemis scoffs. “The fuck gave you that idea?”

“Do you know anything about Atlantis?” Roy snaps. “Like, at all?”

“I know his tattoos smile whenever you’re around,” she snaps back. “That doesn’t happen for just anyone, asshole.”

“Not about Kaldur, you doof, about Atlantis. In general.”

“Not really,” Artemis shrugs. “I know they exiled him for a while, like, a couple years ago. And that Garth got the exile repealed. I know about Purists. What else is there?”

Roy sighs, curling his body back up to look her in the eyes. His gaze is tired, and she suddenly feels a little bad for disrupting what was probably one of the only relaxing moments he’s had in days, at least.

“Atlantis isn’t the greatest, when it comes to people like you and me,” Roy says, blunt. “We both know Kaldur’s as queer as a three dollar bill, same as, like, half the fucking team. Atlantean culture? Not so cool with that. Kaldur’s gotten better, but he still has issues.”

“Atlantis is homophobic?” Artemis repeats, honestly shocked. “But Garth, and Tula, and La’gann—“

“—Don’t know,” Roy finishes for her. “He’s not exactly vocal about it. How do you even know?”

“From the way he looks at you,” Artemis replies, something cold settling in her stomach. “And back in twenty-fourteen, at that Solstice party. His tattoos gave it away, more than anything, the way they grinned while you were dancing with him.”

“You’re annoyingly observant, you know that?” Roy grumbles, thumbing the label off his beer bottle. “Look, you’re probably one of the only people in the whole League who has noticed either of those things. And Kaldur—he’s gotten a lot better, than he used to be. He doesn’t hate himself like he used too. Can’t, considering who his friends are. But I don’t know if he’ll ever be in a place where he wants to act on this…thing, we’ve got.”

“What about you?” Artemis presses, nudging her foot gently against Roy’s own. She looks over her shoulder, eyes widening briefly. Carefully, she raises her voice ever-so-slightly. “How about you, Roy? Do you want a relationship with Kaldur?”

Roy scoffs, eyes fixed on the horizon, the setting sun. He doesn’t notice Artemis’s distraction, and raises his volume automatically to match her own. “Of course I do. I’ve been in love with him for years. If I thought for a second he’d go for it—“ Roy finishes with a shrug. “You’d never get me off of him.”

Artemis grins over her shoulder, feet kicking against the roof’s ledge in glee. “That’s great,” she says, cat’s grin curling her lips, smug. “Kaldur? What do you think?”

Roy curses, twisting.

Kaldur stands on the roof, six-pack clenched in one webbed hand, the other covering his gaping mouth. He’s blushing furiously, and the eels on his hands have half-moon grins.

“I—“ he stammers, and Artemis jumps up, taking the six pack easily from his shocked grip.

“It looks like the two of you have a lot to talk about,” she says smugly, and saunters back down the fire escape.

The next day, during the weekly League Council meeting, she can’t help but notice, detail oriented as she is, that the eels are still grinning.