#or grappling hook hands jesus christ

[redflagshipwriter]

Hot Ghouls in your area ch 5 part 1 of 2

Masterpost

Jason found himself back in the real world (the human world?) in fuckin Star City. Christ. Luckily, his electronics came on line. They weren’t fried, then. He looked up the nearest zeta tube and booked it over there, not eager to get caught in another hero’s city.  The worst part would be that Batman would inevitably smooth it out on his behalf and go growl at Queen for having the audacity to try to arrest him. Jason did not need to get bailed out by his asshole Dad, thanks. 

He wasn’t worried about Green Arrow and his crew per se, but it would be a shitstorm he didn’t need even if he managed to get out. 

Not when he was so laden down with books that he had unfolded both dufflebags stored in his suit, for fuckin sure. Sure, they’d make phenomenal weapons if he swung ‘em around, but the books deserved better than that. 

His comm forced itself on as soon as he came through to Gotham.

“You’re back!” Barbie said, breathless. “You’re alive? Right?”

Jason snorted. The street he stepped onto wasn’t fully dark yet. Patrol probably hadn’t started. “I’m alive,” he confirmed. “How long was I gone?”

“About ten hours,” she said.

Oh. Jason pursed his lips. It wasn’t dusk, it was dawn. “Tonight must have been fun,” he said lightly. 

She laughed darkly. “You’re about to find out how fun it was.”

He stopped in his tracks. “Hey, no-”

Oracle opened up a line to what was probably every vigilante in Gotham city. “Hood is back and safe,” she announced, gleeful about throwing him to the wolves. “He’s on 2nd and Grim, for anyone who wants to drop by and tell him how much they missed him.” 

Jason cursed a blue streak and started off at a dead sprint as he reached for his grappling hook. It was a lot slower than usual since he was swinging two enormous bags of books. …Could he even grapple with these? Goddamn. He’d be over the weight limit. He cursed even harder and put the hook back.

“Heading west,” Oracle said cheerfully, and then clicked off a bare instant before he manually mashed the damn power button on his setup. Nope, nope, nope, he was not dealing with this shit tonight. 

He made it about four blocks and was so goddamn close to a safehouse (one of Bruce’s, but he could put it on lockdown) when a wailing blue and black blur emerged from the skies.

“We thought you died,” Nightwing warbled at him. Jesus fucking christ, he had been crying. His face was wet. Jason tried to duck away but he was too laden. He struggled against the hold for a few futile seconds before he went limp.

Dick sniffled into his chest. 

“Shut up,” Jason said, shoulders nearly up to his ears. He didn’t need to hear any criticism of how he had handled that cult situation, or any grieving about how this had made people think of the time he got brutally beaten to death. 

“I’m not saying anything,” Dick mumbled. He gave one more squeeze before withdrawing. “Huge relief to see you in the-what do you have there?” He dove down into the bags of books before Jason could kick him away. He was already prying the bag open by the time he asked. Jason tried to pull it away but it was impossible to keep Dick’s grabby hands out of your business.

“He went to a library,” Nightwing announced to the comms, outraged. “We thought he was dead and he went to a library!”

Someone laughed loudly on the comms. The brat turned on his comms explicitly to scoff.

“Did you rob a library?” Dick’s voice went high. “There’s so much here!” He flipped things around. “There- these are the same book? Hood, why do you have so many copies of the same book?”

“They’re not the same,” Jason snapped. “Get your grubby hands off of them!” He took his things back and edged away, glowering at his dumb asshole brother. “If you came to gawk, you did it, so now fuck off. You can clearly see that I am fine.”

“Jason,” Batman rasped, like the goddamn creep he was. Jason spun to see that he’d come up from behind. He lurched closer. He looked like hell. His knuckles were bloody and his pulse was jumping in his throat.

“No names in masks,” Jason snapped. He put his hands up to keep Bruce at a distance. “That’s your own rule, old man!”

It was no use. He endured the bullshit while his dumbass Dad made sure he wasn’t dead again, but he drew the line at letting Bruce clutch him and probably sob under his sweaty cowl like a weirdo. 

“I should have stayed there,” Jason grumbled. He patted at Bruce’s back. “There, there, asshole. You’re fine.”

[roadkillxd]

Price x tattooed male reader

Where we are the youngest addition to the 141 team , and we finally get our first solo mission with some new recruits and as a reward price lets then go to a bar with the recruits celebration, we get drunk, and the recruits dares us to get a tramp stamp. We hide it from the 141 but it's laundry day and we have to wear a crop top. Male reader and price end up training, and price flips us on our back and sees the slutty tattoo which leads to slut shaming then smut...

Kinks are up to you but, bottom male reader and Top price please...

Price x M!Reader ↪ 898 words — 18+ / SMUT.

Content tags — cis male dominant Price, cis male submissive tattooed reader, slut shaming, sparring, conveniently lubed, tattoos, breeding kink, fingering, unsafe sex, coming untouched, brief mention of reader struggling with sexual impotence, and anal sex.

You groan as Price grapples you, a thick arm wrapping around your bicep and twisting you horizontally, a knee connecting with your stomach before he all but throws you over his shoulder like a discarded cigar. 

You land on the plastic mat with a loud oomph, the air rushing from your lungs, wind knocked out of you as you flip onto your front to try and scramble back up. Your mistake is turning your back to him and you both know it, his leg hooking under your thigh as soon as you're on your knees and yanking, knocking you flat on your stomach and making you whack your chin off the floor with a loud joint pop that has you groaning.

You can barely make out the sharp intake of breath behind you through the blood pounding in your ears, the air pushed out in a murmured, exasperated “Jesus Christ,” that has you burning red with shame.

You’re not that bad, right?

“Didn’ realize my sergeant was such a bloody slut.”

What?

The speed at which you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder could almost be comical, eyes wide with disbelief before realization dawns upon you, following Price’s heavy gaze to the base of your back, where your shirt’s been rucked up from the tussle.

His foot trails up the back of your thigh, over the swell of your ass before his heel digs down, making you jolt as he grinds it against your hole through the layers of fabric.

“Price—” you gasp.

“This one is fresh, hm?” Price notes, seeing how clean the ink is, the slightly pink swelling around each black flourish, before appreciatively eyeing the full sleeves of your arms and what few designs trail down your legs, peeking out from beneath your shorts, “seems like you can never get enough.” 

“Please,” you whimper, face burning in a heady mix of shame and arousal as you grind back against the sweet pressure against your hole.

Just as you rock back onto your knees the pressure leaves, and you almost open your mouth to complain before it’s quickly replaced by the feeling of the bulge of Price’s hard cock rutting against you. 

His big hands bracket your hips, his thumbs tracing the swollen pattern of your newest addition before your shorts are being shoved down beneath your cheeks, exposing your hole to the cool air as he pulls them apart. 

“What’re we ‘ave here…” Price coos a deep rumble and you nearly choke, “feeling needy, lovey?” He asks, trailing his thumb over your loosened, lube slick hole.

“Didn’t cum,” you breathe out, gently rocking back against the gentle sensation of him teasing your rim, “couldn’t…”

“Hmm, and that’s why you wanted to spar so bad, isn’t it? All pent up, wanted me to help you out, yeah?” Price chuckles, you gasp as he quickly pushes a finger into you, then two, seeming to test how stretched you really are. He hums appreciatively as he slips them free, his clean hand going to your throat to pull you up until you’re back to chest, his other hand pulling his cock free to tease it against your puckered entrance, his beard tickling your neck as he presses his lips to the shell of your ear, “I’ll take good care of you…”

You realize when he doesn’t immediately push in that he’s waiting for a response and you whine, wiggling uselessly against him.

“Please!”

Your breath hitches in anticipation when you hear him spit, the slick sounds of him stroking his cock and his accompanying groan makes your own dick twitch where it’s still trapped in your shorts.

He rubs the thick mushroom tip against your hole a couple more times, smearing around the dribbling lube before he finally pushes into you, bullying his thick cock into your hot, gummy walls. The immediate feeling of fullness punches a wail out of you, and if not for Price’s firm grip on your throat holding you flush against him you’d have fallen forward from the instinctive urge to escape.

The pleasure’s overwhelming, and Price wastes no time in setting a slow but bruising pace, his heavy balls slapping against your own, the jut of his cockhead dragging over your prostate with each brutal push and pull. 

“Gonna fill you up, lovey,” Price groans, sucking and nibbling bruises into your shoulder as you claw at his bicep, whining pathetically at his words.

“Like that, hm? Want me to pump my fuckin’ cum into you? Into this tight little cunt…”

You meet his words with an eager, whorish moan, nodding your head the best you can in his firm grasp. You can feel the hot puff of breath against your neck when he chuckles. You feel his other hand trail from your hip to your front, right at the base of your belly, barely focused on the feeling with how his cock buries deep inside you with each thrust until he makes a point to squeeze the fat there.

“I’ve a new idea for a tattoo,” he murmurs, cradling that spot, “pretty little womb design right here,” he squeezes again for emphasis, “let all the boys know how much you love to be fuckin’ bred.”

Your vision whites with no preamble or warning, cock shooting hot cum across the sparring mat.

This man will be the death of you.

[lunatic-harness]

a brief and informal history of unofficial team fortress

inspired by a reply i made explaining that fortress forever was developed during the interim between team fortress classic and team fortress 2.

so after the quakeworld team fortress (qwtf) devs got hired by valve, fans took it into their own hands to expand on the original team fortress formula. this post provides a brief summary of various notable TF mods for other games over the past two decades, from the first quakeworld tf mods to modern revivals of the old team fortress formula.

Mega Team Fortress (Quakeworld)

mostly an expansion of qwtf. scout has flashbangs and a jetpack, most classes can lay traps, sniper can call down airstrikes (jesus fucking christ), engineer has a mini sentry, and so on. admittedly had a hard time finding info on this one

Custom Team Fortress (Quakeworld)

each player gets cash (a la counter-strike) to customize their class with weapons, armor, and special abilities. abilities are pretty crazy like being able to summon quake enemies, give nearby teammates quad damage, and disarm enemy players.

Weapons Factory series (various games, initial version Quake 2)

as mentioned above, since the original TF team was busy working at valve, it was up to fans to continue TF into quake 2. weapons factory for quake 2 was pretty big at the time, even showing up in a french gaming magazine.

this one deviates a lot more from qwtf because it wasn't intended to be team fortress at all; it began as a simple CTF with classes mod, but later updates bumped up the class count until there were 9 of them that vaguely followed the TF class setup. the cool thing about this one is that everyone has a grappling hook.

anyways look at these class names lol it's like dollar store team fortress.

(while the analogues of which WF class is which TF class is kinda obvious, the cyborg is actually more like a mix of soldier and demo with a tf2 sapper)

weapons factory got sequels/ports for quake 3, quake 4, unreal tournament, and even half-life 2.

Quake 3 Fortress (Quake 3) and Enemy Territory Fortress (Wolfenstein: Enemy Territory)

while weapons factory was enough for people to get their tf fix in quake 2 and 3, and team fortress classic came out in 1999, some people decided to make a proper team fortress for quake 3 anyways. behold, at the turn of the millennium: q3f. all the classes play similarly to their qwtf counterparts, though quake 3's physics does change the gameplay a bit.

the developers of quake 3 fortress formed splash damage in 2001, a studio that went on to work on the multiplayer components of various games like batman: arkham origins, halo mcc, and gears 5.

enemy territory fortress is a 2005 port of q3f to enemy territory wolfenstein, which ran on a heavily modified quake 3 engine. not much to say about it since it doesn't do anything particularly different from q3f.

Unreal Fortress (Unreal Tournament '99)

also coming in at the turn of the millennium was unreal fortress. abbreviated to "UnF" like the sound doomguy makes when he interacts with a wall. what stands out about unf is that engineer (sorry, "armourer") can attach a rocket launcher or flamethrower to his sentries, and non-armourer teammates could apply class-specific upgrades to them such as snipers improving sentry aim and spies adding enemy spy detection.

Quake 4 Fortress (Quake 4)

hey look, it's 2fort

there's not a lot of info about this once since it didn't have much of an audience - feels like a mod nobody asked for for a game nobody asked for. mostly takes after qwtf with extra stuff like scout having flashbangs. quake 4 fortress was abandoned in development and released in an early state with full source code.

Attackers Go Red (Quakeworld)

released in 2006, attackers go red is a qwtf mod built around one team always being on the offensive and one team always on the defensive. it also carries over some abilities from custom tf.

in the days of qwtf capture the flag a common way to play was for one team to always be attacking and the other defending (known as o/d) -- this was great because the typical push and pull of symmetrical ctf didnt really work in qwtf, so it ensured constant action for both teams involved. problem is, there was nothing enforcing this: if the "attacking" team decides to go on the defensive the gameplay slows to a crawl because now both teams are turtling instead of fighting each other, and additionally there's nothing stopping a "defending" player from going behind the other team's back and stealing their flag what with them being occupied with offense.

attackers go red solves this problem by enforcing the attack/defend split: red gets points for capturing flags, blue gets points for defending for a certain amount of time.

Fortress Forever

the thing that separates fortress forever from all the other games just mentioned is that fortress forever takes more from team fortress classic than qwtf.

didn't last very long because tf2 managed to stop being vaporware in the middle of its development and even released before fortress forever did, but it still found a small niche as a continuation of tfc's gameplay style in the source engine. has new features like scout being able to build jump pads, spy being able to turn enemy sentries against its team, and pyro being able to use their flamethrower as an improvised jetpack.

i really like the industrial aesthetic it has going on. ff demoman looking like a white tf2 demoman is a hilarious coincidence -- he's styled after the old team fortress classic demoman. menu theme is a banger.

section break: everything from this line onwards came out after team fortress 2

Doom Fortress (Doom)

it's team fortress 2 for doom (specifically, the zandronum source port)! all it actually brings over is the classes; not a difficult task since zandronum already provides a class system and some gamemodes. uses assets from other 90s fps games. i love how heavy is just the doom 2 chaingunner and pyro is just doom 64 doomguy. here's germanpeter's video on it and here's an abandoned attempt to update it from 2018

FortressOne (Quakeworld)

the latest revival of oldskool team fortress, as a result fortressone has a little bit of everything. you have to reload weapons like tf2/tfc; pyro has airblast and scout has double jump from tf2; most class loadouts are closer to tfc than qwtf; tfc and fortress forever maps are available. has a small but active community on discord and is still being actively worked on. check it out here

Typical Colors 2 (Roblox)

this one's just a tf2 clone in roblox. also includes some unofficial gamemodes like versus saxton hale and randomizer

TF2 Classic

based on the tf2 beta, team fortress classic brings back features that didn't see the light of day like scout's nailgun and demoman's dynamite bundle. tf2c is more well known for its custom weapon support though: the most popular servers have hundreds of custom weapons bundled in, most of which are unbalanced in a pretty fun way. check it out here

[diazsdimples]

👨‍👧‍👧👨‍👧‍👧🤼‍♂️🤼‍♂️🤼‍♂️🤼‍♂️🤼‍♂️🤼‍♂️🤼‍♂️🤼‍♂️🤼‍♂️🤼‍♂️

:)

I - THIRTY SENTENCES? That is an entire goddamn fic 😭 Okay I did bring this on myself. 6 Single Dads and 30 Muay Thai, coming right up!

Single Dads AU👨‍👧‍👧

Carrie happily takes his hand, but Lily looks a little more apprehensive at the prospect of meeting her aunt, and holds her arms out for Buck, opening and closing her fists like she did when she was much younger. Buck indulges her, scooping his arm under her body and lifting her up so she’s settled on his hip. She loops her arms around his neck and tucks her head into his shoulder. Maddie’s sitting at the dining table when they find her, her fingers laced together as she rests her hands on the tabletop. The moment she sees her nieces – both roughly three times the size they were when she last saw them – her eyes well with tears. “Oh my gosh,” she breathes, almost sliding off the chair and to her knees. “You’ve both grown so much.”

Bucktommy Muay Thai Sex 🤼‍♂️

“You think so?” Tommy asks breathlessly. “I mean, certainly looks like it, considering I’m the one that has you pinned,” Buck replies, all cocky bravado that doesn’t really match the way his heart is beating a furious rhythm in his chest. Tommy laughs, flexing his wrists in Buck’s grip. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” Buck barely has time to register that oh fuck, he’s in trouble, before Tommy’s leg hooks around his hips and before he knows what’s happening, he’s being flipped over. Tommy looms over him, his body pressing against every inch of Buck’s. Their bare chests rub together as Tommy leans down, twisting his hands so he breaks free of Buck’s grip, and takes Buck’s wrists in his hands. “Looks like I’ve got you now,” Tommy says quietly, and suddenly their lips are crashing together. The kiss is heated, Tommy biting at Buck’s lip and their teeth clashing as Buck battles him for dominance. Buck’s aware of the fact that neither of them have tapped out of this particular round, kissing or no kissing, so he squirms beneath Tommy as he attempts to break out of his grip. With a low, throaty chuckle, Tommy tightens his grip around Buck’s wrists and adjusts his position so his knee is between Buck’s legs, pressing hard against Buck’s rapidly rising cock. Buck arches into Tommy as he breaks the kiss and moves to bite down hard on Buck’s neck. It’s probably a good thing that it’s the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, and all of Tommy’s neighbours are at work, because the moan that Buck lets out is frankly pornographic. He ruts against Tommy’s thigh, but Tommy pins his hips down with his hand, releasing one of Buck’s wrists. “Nah uh, no getting off, we’re not finished yet,” he growls, and Buck takes the moment of distraction to deliver a blow to Tommy’s side. The older man lets out a noise of surprise and he grapples for purchase over Buck’s wrist. Deciding that he’s going to go along the distraction route once again, Buck arches up to meet Tommy and kisses him again. Tommy moans into Buck’s mouth as Buck grinds their hips together. Tommy might have said something about not getting off, but Buck can feel the hard line of Tommy’s cock through his shorts, and decides to use it to his advantage. “Jesus Christ, Evan,” Tommy moans as Buck thrusts against him. “That’s cheating.” “No, just playing dirty,” Buck replies, chuckling a little at his double-entendre. Without warning, Tommy releases Buck entirely and clambers to his feet, holding out a hand for him to take. Buck pouts but takes Tommy’s hand regardless, allowing himself to be pulled up off the floor. They stand there, both breathing heavily, and face one another. Tommy brings his hands up to his face, getting his guard up, and Buck follows suit. They must make quite the sight, both sweaty and red in the face, with their shorts tenting ridiculously in front of them. Slowly, as though stalking his prey, Tommy takes a step towards Buck, reaching out a hand to touch Buck’s glove. Buck takes a step backward, and before he knows it, Tommy’s backed him against the wall. “You going to tap out?” Tommy asks, and he brushes his lips very minutely against Buck’s. “No.”

Also tagging @bidisasterbuckdiaz and @smilingbuckley in this cause you've shown interest

Make me write things!!

[capn-wing-ding]

anyways, time to upload art. last upload was... june? holy shit dude lolmao

JUNE-AUGUST

here's some fanart for a streamer i like!

visual gag stemming from a "bangs toggle"

very proud of how fucked this looks and yet it's still recognizable as modded minecraft. love the nutrition facts, good job past me

you know how randomizers be. it may not be obvious, but the actual cereal here is rupees, bc they're the other "jesus christ not this again" item

AUGUST

what? actual drawings of my characters? ugh, fine, but you only get one.

expression work with emily! i think her face-design is kinda finalized now. very very proud with all of these, but especially L1-3 and R2-3

SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER

ok buny time

technically also stream fanart? i made a joke in a streamchat about how my 2 gimmicks are 1. speaking toki pona and 2. carrying a large hook which i use to grapple around to new areas. my feelings are thusly: my stick with a curved end is fucking epic

also comes in halloween and "man this fire background is sick i'm keeping it" flavors

reactive icons, for when you're in the corner of the screen and you bounce slightly as you say things. there's one for silent, speaking, slashed microphone, and slashed headphones. technically just edits but i'm still quite proud

technically from a drawpile in june on 2023, but fuck it we ball. oh wait speaking of old drawpile thingies

here's this bit of lacey, whomst i may not have shown off before, circa october 2023. basic rundown: funny tall clown goober who's gender i may trans now that i think about it

i am about to get fucking obliterated.

STILL OCTOBER

new guy alert! kije "mikey" a. tesantakalu is boxtower's [now former] boss. quite proud of how good boxtower looks in this one, esp the body language and the hand. raz belongs to my friend val

i dont remember why i made this. enjoy gayass dot png

NOVEMBER

technically also stream fanart? voices of the void streamer lost their roomate/coworker/FWB kerfur named Smudge. the enshitification of the text graphics took longer than the actual drawing

theres also this from september but shhhhh

me as a kerfur due to a friend pointing out how similar it is to me and begging me to make a kerfur-sona. ngl i kinda like the larger brush size... and also yea i concede, i am hot as a funny robot servant that fixes servers in the most slutty way possible

[remembersunflowers]

Kanagawa Corp is happy to announce that Cameraman #12 is our employee of the month!

@thepenumbrapodcast

[bernraccnt]

Hello! Hope you're doing good, here is an idea of a scenario or a oneshot your pick. What if reader was a famous criminal by their talents in robbing and they met Mr. Wolf or the gang in one of their heists and with the past of time reader joins the bad guys and develops a crush to Mr. Wolf.

lets go oneshot!!!! not my best work i must admit but i popped my god damn pussy for this oneshot damn it

hype + beast (mr wolf x gn! reader)

before u read: 2nd person pov, reader is partially inspired by hype by tokyo machine, webs fangirling moment, guns are mentioned and used but not lethally, swearing, semi enemies to lovers but in a less tense way??? idk how to explain that LMFAO

wolf would say that he didn't really run into people while he and the others were on a heist. well, other people like them, that is. because of the bad guys' reputation in the big city of metropolitan, no one ever dared to rival them on their turf. yeah, the bad guys never actually hurt people, but no one trusted them due to their species anyways.

it was like that until he and shark were attempting to rob some rich man's gala and they both spotted a sneaky figure creeping around in the shadows. wolf had noticed the glint in their hands and recognized it as the super expensive necklace the group of criminals were targeting.

"stay here, wait for my order." wolf patted his aquatic friend on the shoulder, before slipping through the crowd. he kept his eyes on the figure in the shadows, following them out of the main room of the gala and into the empty hallways that led to a less populated section of the mansion.

wolf cupped his mouth, "you know, you got a lot of nerve taking our target!" his voice echoed down the hall, alerting the figure and making them jump a foot in the air.

"jesus christ." they whispered under their breath, looking over their shoulder. still in the shadows, wolf could only make out that they were wearing dark green dress pants and a crisp white button up.

to wolf's shock, they didn't do anything but give him a once over before turning back around and continuing their trek down the hall. now mildly offended, wolf broke into a sprint after them, which prompted the crook to start running as well.

wolf was many things and one of them was an incredibly fast runner, so he had no doubt he'd catch up to their person and be able to take the necklace from their hands. but, the longer the chase had gone, with both parties moving to the far side of the mansion, long gone from the party, it had shown that that wouldn't be the case. this person was just as fast as wolf and they seemed pretty strategic as well, since every hall they turned into never led to a dead end.

wolf had seen a glimpse of them pulling a mask over their face in the darkness, but ignored it for the most part. he gasped when they pulled out a gun and turned around pointing it at him. "whoa, whoa, whoa! hold on now!" he stopped in his tracks instantly, barely seeing the figure in the moonlight.

a third surprise for the night was when they pointed the weapon upwards and that was when wolf noticed that it wasn't a gun, but a grappling hook, that latched up to the sunroof of the room. the glass shattered and the hook caught itself on the window's edge, forcing the thief upwards.

"hey!" now that he wasn't scared of dying via bullet, wolf was angry as he searched himself for his own handy grappling hook. fuck, he must've given it to piranha today. "fuck!"

now on the standing roof, the mask figure let out a few giggles, mocking poor wolf as he sneered up at them. they tilted their head and waved their fingers. in that moment, their head was far enough back that wolf could make out a neon green and sharp grin painted on their mask.

the bandit pulled out goggles from one of their pockets and turned away, putting on the eyewear and sprinting from the sunroof and out of sight.

wolf stood there in the glass covered room before grunting angrily and tuning into his earpiece. "mission's over. someone else took the necklace."

"what?" the enraged cry that came from webs made wolf wince and suck in air through his teeth. "wolf, you made me research this damn necklace for weeks--"

"yeah, i know, but this guy was good. they already had it by the time shark and i were in the ballroom." wolf began to make his wack back down the halls he and the other sprinted down, now looking for an exit. "they were fast and were prepared. i think they knew we were coming."

"eugh. i hate it when people know what our plans are." webs sighed. typing could be heard from her end. "got any descriptors? height, body type, gender? anything?"

"uhhh..." wolf drawled, still walking the maze of a home. "they were shorter than me... couldn't tell many other features, we were in the dark for the most part-- oh! their mask was all black and had a green smile painted on it. they also had goggles--"

"OH MY FUCKING GOD." webs shrieked, blowing out wolf and shark's ear pieces. both men winced and groaned at the spider. "sorry-- but-- it's just that the person you ran into is, like, really fucking famous."

that was news to wolf. "they are?" he had finally found an exit through the gardens and started his stroll towards the car he and the others took to get here.

shark let out a confused hum. "what? like crimson paw famous?"

"nearly!" webs sent messages to their heist group chat and wolf opened it. it was links to articles, all of them having photos of the masked crook he just had a run in with. "their name-- well, alias, is hype and they're one of the best criminals of our time. they're on snake's level of thievery. maybe higher!"

"hm." was all wolf said, staring at the blurry photo. behind the silver goggles, he could pick out shining eyes that crinkled happily at the person taking the photo. "well... i guess that's understandable. we probably wouldn't have gotten the necklace anyways if that's the case."

he then heard webs let out an almost dreamy sigh, something that made him freeze. he never heard a noise like that from the youngest. "god, i wanna meet them so bad. you're so lucky, wolf."

he smirked to himself, a bright idea popping into his mind. "ah, who knows? we might meet them again someday."

waking up to your 7am alarm, you groaned and rolled over. your hand smacked against your bedside table until the music stopped and momentarily, there was peace.

and then your phone began to buzz, a phone call coming in. you let out another groan, picking your head up from your pillows and snatching your phone to your ear. "h'lo?"

"hey, i was just wondering if you could come into the shop today and pick up miranda's shift." your manager, damian, grunted through the phone. you could heard shuffling on his end and some clicking noises. "miranda did some shit and now her parents are flipping out on her. she lost her car privileges, so she can't--"

"save me the sob story." you cut him off, voice scratchy. "what time do i need to be in by?"

"9am on the dot."

"alright, see you then." you hung up before he could finish and let out a long sigh, flopping back against your comfortable bed. fuck, you were so tired of having to work and keep up appearances of being a normal person. once those student loans were gone and your parents didn't have to worry about you, you were going to live as a criminal for the rest of your life.

for now, though, you had a shift at a certain flower shop you had to prepare for.

you took a shower and after dressing in the light green polo and brown khakis that were apart of you uniform, you only had a coffee and a breakfast sandwich before walking out of your comfortable but small apartment. hopefully, life on the run will give you a better home to live in.

the drive to the flower shop was always less than thirty minutes, so you had arrived at the large shop. seeing damian out front and water the plants, you gave him a wave as you parked on the street and shut off your car. "what's good, big d?"

"never call me that." he snarled, glaring at you. "i got flowers that need to be put into pots in the back."

"at least say please, princess." you joked, smiling wider when he gave you a heated stare. you decided then to walk inside the large store and past all the flowers to go clock in.

shifts at the flower shop were normally either extremely busy or extremely boring. today was a busy shift, thank god, as you spent a majority of it giving people bouquets or explaining the significance of every flower when asked. you taught some kids how to properly pot some seeds and let some of them leave the store with pretty pink roses.

once 9pm had hit, you and damian got to work cleaning up the shop as best as you could. you swept the dirt off of the linoleum flooring and mopped afterwards, ignoring how much of the dirt had gotten onto you. damian and you counted up the money from today and split it, with him patting your back.

"i knew i could count on you."

"shut up." you replied, still smiling as you watched him lock up the shop. "when's my next shift?"

"two days from now, same time. i'm not sure when miranda will be back so i'll just put you on her schedule entirely." yay, more money for you.

you both went your separate ways, going to your cars and driving away from your job. you let out a hearty yawn, twelve hours of work finally catching up to you.

working wasn't something you enjoyed, but then again, most people didn't like it either. still, you found more purpose when you were out stealing things as the criminal, hype. when you would successfully break in and out of places, irreplaceable items in your palms. it was so worthwhile to see social media pages and new sites blowing up at your recent successes. you liked the attention you got from how good you were and wouldn't mind having it constantly.

still, the anonymity you got from wearing a mask would be unmatched. it was nice to go out and get essentials still and you knew most other criminals wouldn't get that luxury.

like that wolf you saw last night. god, you almost forgot about him. he was so angry with you, pretty fast runner too. of course, you knew the ever famous bad guy from anywhere. you'd be dumb not to, since they were always robbing the bank around the corner from the flower shop. you had seen them a few times, but never as close as you did last night.

they must've been living the high life. all they needed to do was steal and in style, it was what you wanted. but, alas, here you were. driving home half awake because of your shitty college debt. damn it, you should've never gone to school.

eventually, you reached your apartment complex and sighed in relief, shutting your car off and grabbing your bag before going inside. god, you shouldn't have taken a shower this morning, you were tracking dirt everywhere.

going back up to your apartment, you unlocked the door and stomped inside, being mindful to take off your dusty shoes before moving into the kitchen. you set your bag down on your kitchen counter and began rooting around in it. let out a small "aha!" you found what you were looking for and pulled it out.

cocking back the pistol, you turned and aimed it at the five animals frozen in your living room. "i'll give you ten seconds to get to fuck out of my house."

the wolf spluttered, seeing the deadly glint in your eyes and your finger on the trigger, the gun's sights aimed on him. "woah-- hold on a second!"

"wow, they didn't even hesitate!" piranha gasped, already liking your unpredictable nature.

"look, we don't mean to alarm you--"

you cut wolf off with a scoff and an eyeroll. "yeah, doin' a real good job of that by breaking and entering."

"--okay, that's understandable, but we were just looking into your government file--"

"ah, stalking. great." you sarcastically muttered, expression turning angrier by the second. "i'm going to singlehandedly bury you all in a few seconds. i'm not saying it again. get. the. fuck. out."

this time, webs crawled forward, holding her hands high as to not set you off. "sorry for breaking in, but we had to know whether or not hype lived here. i assume you're hype?" she asked, eyes shining with admiration.

you looked down at her, mouth curling into a frown. "you obviously know the answer to that question. don't you hack government databases daily, little spider?"

wolf shuffled and you returned your gaze back to him, still having the gun trained on him. "well, after running into you last night and doing some of our own research, we realized how good of an asset you'd be." he explained, sweating a little. you were terrifying to him right now and had he known this would've gone like this, he wouldn't have ever considered coming to you.

"ah, sick. you guys need my skill set." you grumbled, looking over the five of them. "why not use your little reptilian pal here? isn't he a modern day houdini or some shit?"

"i'm flattered, sweetheart." snake droned, with a sarcastic smile that you felt compelled to return.

"alright, i like you." you told him, breaking your glare to nod at him. wolf and piranha looked at you like you were crazy while shark muttered something about "seeing double" and webs wilted a little. "no, for real, why?"

"i believe you'll have to ask her that." wolf pointed at webs, who now was pink in the face. she flinched when you fixed your steely gaze on her and stuttered.

"ah-- i mean-- you-- you just have been a super big figure in the crime scene and-- it's kinda cool to see a human criminal. you guys are pretty rare." she was right, most criminals in the past had been animals. "and-- i kinda really admire your work. the whole anonymous thing is really hard to pull off and i'm surprised that you've never been found out."

"that brings up my next question: how'd you figure out it was me?" feeling your will slowly dissolving from the adorably sincere spider, you decided to change the subject. "i've been keeping everything on the down low."

this time, webs perked up again and began to ramble. "well, you had a great track record of keeping out of camera's sights and finding hidden places to make your escape, but i tied together all of your crimes to the camera footages of the places you had been to--" and webs just kept going and going, growing out of breath the more excited she got.

you held up your other hand, silencing her immediately. she muttered an apology but you waved it off. "okay, i can tell that you don't have any shitty intentions, so i'll trust your judgement for now."

"oh, but when i tell the truth, i'm the untrustworthy one." fed up with wolf, you turned and fired three shots at his stomach area. three bb bullets bounced off of him and he let out a yelp, crumpling to the floor in pain.

the other four were terrified for a moment, but you let out a chuckle. "not a real gun, by the way. he'll be fine in a few minutes." you reassured them, setting the gun on the counter. "now, i'm covered in dirt and you all look hungry, so why don't i order in and we can talk this over some pizza?" no longer feeling threatened, you smiled at them.

"pfft, after you just fired three bullets into our boss's kidneys?" shark guffawed, "fuck yeah, i'm down for dinner!"

after wolf had licked his wounds (not literally) and you had gotten a quick shower in, all six of you sat in your tiny little living room and ate dinner together. right off the bat, you and snake were best friends, sharing the same sarcastic humor and same love for thieving. webs was another fast friend, but that was more in like an older sibling younger sibling way.

shark and piranha were alright, they both were a little too excitable for your taste, but they made funny jokes so it was easy for you to ignore that. wolf, on the other hand, pouted the entire dinner, angrily munching on his pizza as he watched you bond with his friends. you knew it was getting on his nerves but you couldn't really care less about how he felt. served him right for being a little bitch.

"i'm super curious," shark said after he finished wiping his mouth clean of pizza sauce, "why haven't you quit your day job?"

you shrugged, debating between telling them the truth or not. despite actually only getting to know them for less than an hour, they already were closer to you than most of the people you interacted with on a daily basis.

you settled for not saying the specifics. "my parents got money troubles, so i gotta stay on the grid until they're fine. it's gonna look suspicious if i become a famous criminal and i'm still shooting money back home."

surprisingly, snake nodded like he understood and wolf gave you an empathetic look from across the room. "well, we can help with that." wolf shrugged like it was nothing, making you freeze. he noticed immediately and smiled, "yeah. what if we help you pay off whatever they need? would you join us then?"

fuck, he was saying all the shit you wanted to hear. you looked away, trying to think about it. i mean, all you needed was the money and you literally could have the life of your dreams that you wanted.

you tapped your fingers against your leg. "if you can get the money to my parents in a way that won't get them in trouble, i'll be a part of this crew." you conceded, raising your eyebrows as shark, webs, and piranha cheered. snake and wolf gave you smiles and shared a look with one another.

it was only four days later that you got a call from a number you hadn't saved. you were chilling in the kitchen, waiting for the water in the pot to boil and decided to pick it up.

"h'lo?"

"your parents are going to call you in a few minutes." wolf's voice echoed on the other end, making you stand up instantly.

"what--?"

"tell them that you've been applying for loans and this one was given by the new governor because she's a friend of a friend." and then he hung up. you had pulled the phone back from your ear and jumped when your mom's contact came up.

when you answered, you heard her sniffling like she was crying. "baby, i don't know what you did, but you did it! we just got a check for your college funds from the government!" your stomach dropped and your jaw popped open as she blubbered. "it's enough to finish it off! where'd you even find something this good?"

"i-- eu-- i had connections." is what you settle with, walking to your couch with shaky legs and sitting down. holy fuck, they actually did it. just like they promised. "who-- uh, who called you?"

"some man who called himself mr. poodleton-- that's not what we're worrying about right now! honey, we're debtless! you can start building your credit like we told you to--" as she began to go and rant and rave about the new steps in your already adult life, you stared down at your floor in awe.

just like that, you were free.

you smiled, the widest smile you had ever had on your face in the last six or so years. finally, you would be living the life of your dreams. and you only had one last thing to do.

"hey, mom." you cut her off, standing up and rushing to your bedroom. you pulled out your suitcase and popped them open. "why don't you and dad use the money that you were saving up and take a vacation this week? maybe hawaii? panama? somewhere beach-y?"

"that's a great idea sweetheart!" she squealed. "i'll tell you when we buy the tickets, let me go tell your father this now!" and she hung up without saying goodbye.

works for you, you're shit at goodbyes anyways. and while your parents were off at some island somewhere in the world, you were severing the last of your ties to regular society. you called damian and told him something had come up that caused you to quit and you gave your landlord the last of your lease's payments, because she was a nice landlord. you sold your major furniture and made sure to cease your phone plan, as webs said she was going to give you a personalized one.

at the end of that week, the five bad guys came and helped you move the last of your things out of your apartment. and since they were going to be driving downtown, you decided to wear your hype gear on your face, the mask and the goggles.

people gawked when they noticed the six of you in one car. it sent the right message, judging by the double takes.

the bad guys got a new member and just like them, this one's just as good at being bad.

piranha and shark were insistent on celebrating the occasion once you were back at their home, so you sat down and let piranha sing feliz navidad to you (because he said it was like an early christmas gift to have you around) while you sliced open an ice cream cake. on the top of the cake was written "welcome to the bad guys, hype <3" in green frosting. shark began passing around champagne and that's when the celebration truly kicked off.

you laughed and talked the most you had in your entire life. criminal activities weren't something you'd ever find yourself bonding with someone over, but here you were, sharing your best heist stories with webs and snake. hell, you even found yourself happily chatting up wolf, who was especially eager to hear all about the tale of how you took the necklace before he and shark could.

the festivities lasted until the early morning hours and by then, everyone else had gone to their bedrooms. this had left you and wolf on the couch, still talking and sipping your drinks.

"so, how'd you get yourself out of that one?" he asked, pouring the last of the champagne into his glass.

you snorted and rolled your eyes. "how else do you think? i beat up the rich piece of shit and hid his body so his staff would panic looking for him more than the ring." you were confident with every word, a smug smile on your face that made wolf's eyes lock onto it.

he went quiet after chuckling and darted his eyes back to your own. "y'know, up until recently, i thought you were a major jackass." he admitted.

"oh, not surprising." you smirked. "most people hate me. i just don't have time for bumfuckery, my canine friend." you had taken off the mask but your goggles hung around your neck. wolf then realized how much he liked seeing you in your gear. "but i also thought you sucked dick until you paid off my debt. seriously, dude, you saved me so much time." you tone had begun to be sincere and wolf found his ears tilting backwards at it.

"eh, it's nothing." he tried to shrug off your thanks but you were determined.

your smile dropped and you glared at him. "maybe not to you but i had tens of thousands i had to account for. shit, i didn't even want the damn degree in the first place, and you saved me from actually having to use it."

he snickered, drinking his alcohol. "well, i think you would've been fine. you were, like, in the fifth of your class. i'm sure anyone in that field of work would've wanted you."

"and i would've wanted myself in a casket after year one." you grumbled, making him bark a laugh. you laughed with him, finding it easy to unwind with him. "i'm serious! you five made me a very happy criminal. i don't know how i could make it up to you."

he smiled mischievously and jokingly stated, "i dunno. maybe a kiss would suffice." he laughed afterwards, turning to you.

you were already crawling over and he had to do a double take. "whoa-- wait, it was a joke!" he spluttered, going pink in the face as you stopped less than a foot away on all fours.

"well, you asked for one!" you defended yourself, giving him the biggest smile he had seen on you. "i did say i wanted to make it up to you."

for once in his life, wolf was lost for words as you continued to move forward. he subconsciously leaned back on the couch as you moved to be on top of him, knees on either side of his hips. a part of him screamed at him to stop this from escalating but the rest of him could only focus on how right it felt for you two to be this close.

you leaned down, just enough so your nose would brush against his gently. "hey, tell me if you don't want this." you whispered, staring him dead in the eyes.

wolf felt like he had swallowed a frog when he croaked out, "please kiss me."

you laughed under your breath before pressing forward and kissing him, starting slowly to make sure he was comfortable with this. wolf's hands came up and wrapped around your back, pulling you closer. you fell to your forearms. holding yourself above wolf's head and continuing to kiss him.

he tilted his head, slipping his tongue past your lips and deepening the kiss with a soft groan. you felt yourself smiling into the kiss, mentally cooing at the man below you. when he wasn't being a little shit, he was pretty cute you had to admit.

and yeah, kissing him is probably going to muddy up your already muddy relationship, but that honestly didn't stop you. for now, all you cared about was getting more groans out of him.

when you ground your hips into his, he let out a louder groan and glared up at you, pulling back. "you're evil." he pouted.

you laughed. "yeah, i know."

[the-iceni-bitch]

Please do 61 with Ransom.

61) “If you don’t change out of those shorts and into some pants I’ll have them around your ankles by lunch time.”

Hmmm, more OTP for all you lovely hoes! You nonnies just keep lobbing em right at me.

This ended up sparking something in me and I ended up writing a full length fic about more escapades with the asshole bunch.

Tagging my babes @chrissquares @stargazingfangirl18 (I’m targeting you a little with this one Siri cuz lacrosse Ransom is def wearing Fila) @subtlebucky @egcdeath

Quick, dirty, outdoor smut!!! No minors!!!

You and Ransom had decided to meet at the park with the other couples in his little asshole group of friends.

It was finally starting to warm up some, and when the boys had brought up getting out the sticks for some lacrosse you had jumped on it. Ransom didn’t have the balls to tell you it was really just a guy thing, you looked so excited about it.

He parked the beemer at the park entrance and grinned when he saw your Volvo already there. He grabbed his sticks and the cooler full of beer from the trunk and headed towards the field where he saw the rest of you gathered.

He groaned as he drew closer and finally got a good look at you as you waved at him. You looked like a preppy dream in a polo shirt and tiny shorts, a headband around your forehead and knee high socks under your cleats.

“Hey baby!” You said giddily as you ran towards him with your stick slung over your shoulders. “Can you believe I still fit in my high school uniform?”

“I think you’re taking this a little too seriously sweetheart.” He grinned, dropping the cooler and catching you when you jumped into his arms and pressed your lips to his with a satisfied hum.

“Says the man who showed up wearing his letterman’s jacket.” You teased as you hopped down and helped him carry the cooler the rest of the way.

“Yeah? Well if you don’t change out of those shorts and into some pants I’ll have them around your ankles by lunch time.” He purred in your ear as you set down the cooler, wrapping his stick around your back and drawing you close.

“Ha! I’m not playing lacrosse in pants, Hugh!” You said with a shake of your head. “But keep that in mind for later. Can you believe none of the other girls brought sticks?”

“Honey, none of them play lacrosse.” He chided as he watched you stretch.

“Well then what’s the point of... oh goddamn it!” You rolled your eyes as you stood up. “This was supposed to be another boy’s outing where I sit with the other girls and get wine drunk wasn’t it? Don’t answer that! Chauvinist assholes...”

He just chuckled as he watched you mutter to yourself angrily, grabbing your extra sticks and storming off towards the other girls, gesturing wildly as you tried to go over the basics with them.

“So, the girls are playing then?” Dylan asked as he came to stand by Ransom, grabbing an IPA from the cooler and taking a gulp.

“Sure seems that way.” Ran answered as he watched you shove a stick at Lexi and make a throwing motion that she tried to emulate feebly.

“Is this gonna be another day of your girlfriend showing us all up, Drysdale?” Chaz asked as he joined the two of them, chuckling as they tried to figure out exactly what you were trying to instruct the girls on now. “Cuz I don’t think my ego can take it.”

“I dunno what to tell you man.” Ran said with a shrug, grabbing himself a beer and drinking deep. “Quit inviting us to this shit if you don’t want her to hand your ass back to you.”

“Alright douchebags, lets play some lacrosse!” You screamed at them, a massive grin splitting your face.

“I can’t decide if having her on my team or playing against her will be worse.” Logan groaned as the four men walked towards the field apprehensively.

“Alright, should we split this up by couples or what?” Dylan asked as Lexi moved to stand next to him.

“Sounds good to me.” You beamed.

“Great, so Y/N, Ran , Chaz and Brit, you guys can play together and me, Jess, Logan, and Lex will be the other team. Girls play defense.”

“Sounds good.” Ran said fast before you had a chance to start an argument, guiding you away from the center of the field quickly.

“But I play attack, babe.” You whined as he walked next to you and stopped in front of the goal.

“Yeah, I think that you playing attack might be a little too much all at once sweetie.” He said with a shrug as he moved to middle position. “Just channel that frustration babe, you’ll do great!”

You just chewed on your lip as you watched Logan and Chaz grapple for the ball. Logan won out, barreling over Chaz and spinning past Ran like a pro. You smirked as you pivoted towards him, bracing yourself as you charged each other.

He shifted his weight to spin around you and you grinned before full body checking him, ripping the stick out of his hand and helicoptering it out of his grip as you tossed him over your shoulder. You scooped the ball up and lobbed it to Ransom as you sprinted up the field. He passed it back to you when Dylan tried to take him down and you snatched it out of the air before diving around a confused looking Lexi and chucking the ball at the net, grinning when it sailed past Jess for a point.

“Goddamn it!” Dylan groaned as you jogged past him back to your position, giving Ransom a celebratory high five that he followed up with a smack on the ass as he grinned at you.

Logan was still trying to stand up as you returned to your defensive position, glaring at you as he ran a hand through his hair.

“How the fuck was that not a foul?!” He seethed at you.

“A foul?!” You shouted with an air of disdain. “Don’t be a pussy Van Doren! You bring that weak shit to my house and I’m serving it right back to you! Right babe?”

“That’s right babe!” Ran shouted back to you as he shrugged apologetically at Logan when he stalked past him.

The rest of the game went about the same, you hardly let anyone past and Logan flinched so bad every time you got near him it was easy for your team to dominate. Dylan finally called a stop after an hour, he and Logan covered in dirt and bruises from the rough play.

“That’s it, we’re done. I need a fucking drink.” He huffed as he dragged himself off the field, Lexi bouncing next to him excitedly. Apparently, one of the things you had been teaching the girls was how to hit, and she had cracked Chaz and Ransom a couple of times. You grinned and congratulated her and the other girls on a game well played as you moved to grab a porter from the cooler.

“Jesus Christ, Drysdale. That woman is a damn menace.” Logan groaned as he grabbed a bag of ice and pressed it against his ribs.

“Yeah, how the fuck do you keep up with her?” Chaz asked, shaking his head as sipped his lager. “She’s barely sweating.”

“I don’t even know man.” He said with a shrug, gasping for air as he chugged his IPA. “She’s a fucking pistol.”

“Not the word I’d use but whatever.” Logan said, annoyed at you two.

“Shut up, L, you’re just pissed she beat the shit out of you.” Dylan said with a grin. “Where you going, Ran?”

“Gotta take a leak!” Ransom lied as he jerked his head towards the trees suggestively after making eye contact with you.

“Scuse me gals, I gotta help Hugh with something.” You said around a grin after chugging the rest of your beer.

“Jesus, you two will do it anywhere, huh?” Brittney said with an eye roll.

You just shrugged at her as you jogged after Ransom towards the small clutch of pines.

Ransom grabbed you around your waist and swung you off your feet when you reached him, making you squeal before he smashed his lips against yours.

“You were amazing.” He purred as he pressed you up against a tree, running his lips up and down your throat and making you whine.

“Yeah, I’m a fucking legend babe. I told you.” You muttered around a grin. “Did you see those hits I landed?”

“Mmhm, sure did.” He mumbled, nipping at the hollow behind your ear that he knew drove you crazy as his hips ground against you.

“You ever eat a legend’s pussy, Hugh?” You teased, starting to shove his head down between your legs.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Y/N!” He whined as you forced him to his knees. “I was kinda hoping we could both get something out of this.”

“Sorry babe, middle gets whatever attack says they get.” You said with a shrug as you slid your shorts off and hooked your leg over his shoulder. “Make me come with that pretty mouth and maybe I’ll let you get your dick wet.”

“Bitch.” He murmured as he started brushing his lips over your inner thigh, no real malice in his tone as he gazed at you through his lashes.

“That’s right Hugh, I’m the fucking bitch. Now lick it.”

He ran his nose over your clothed core and inhaled deeply before shoving your panties aside. You moaned as he dragged his tongue over your slit, lapping up the evidence of your arousal before swirling his tongue through your folds.

His hands moved under your ass and tilted your hips towards his face, giving him even more access to your dripping heat. Your fingers gripped his hair painfully when he flicked his tongue over your asshole in a quick series of kitten licks before moving it in a heavy stripe back up to your clit.

You had to bite your lip to keep from screaming when he slid a finger inside you, curling it in a come hither motion at the same time he pressed his tongue against your clit. He lashed your bundle of nerves lightly as you writhed against him, your head thumping back against the tree as he slipped in a second finger.

His lips wrapped around your clit as he started fucking you with his digits, curling and twisting them inside you so he hit every spot he knew would drive you absolutely crazy. You felt him grin against you as he shook his head to bury himself deeper in your folds, groaning when he felt you clench around his fingers.

“Fuck, Ransom! I’m so close.” You panted breathlessly, grinding your pussy into his face as you neared the edge.

You felt him slide his pinky into your puckered hole, spearing past the tight ring of muscle until you felt the cool metal of his ring against your entrance and you fucking lost it.

Your thighs tried to crush his skull as you came violently, somehow managing to swallow the shriek that tried to rip out of your chest. He moaned as he ran his tongue over your pussy to collect your release as it ran over his fingers while you clenched and fluttered around him.

“How was that, champ?” He said around a wicked grin once you finally released his head, sliding his hands up your body as he stood up.

“Good... it was good.” You panted as he buried his face in your neck.

“Yeah? Good enough for you to help me out, babe?” He asked, grinding his hips into you to show you how hard he was at the same time he wrenched your polo and sports bra up to expose your breasts.

“I think we can work something out.” You murmured as he palmed your breast with one hand while the other splayed over your ass.

“What did you have in mind, sweetheart?” He hummed as his lips moved over your throat softly.

“Oh, I dunno. Something extra special for my favorite middle.” You purred, pushing him away from you a little bit so you could turn around.

“Fuck, really?” He beamed, running his hand over your ass as he pressed you into the tree.

“Really, you did such a good job, baby, you deserve a reward.” You said as you peeked are him over your shoulder. “Now fuck my ass until I come again, Hugh.”

He chuckled darkly into your hair as he slid his shorts down his legs and drew his cock out of his boxer briefs. You moaned as he ran his length through your slick before he pressed his tip against your pretty hole. The groan he let out as he speared into you made your pussy clench around nothing, fluttering as your body tried to draw him as deep as possible until he was fully sheathed in you and his hips were resting against your ass.

“Shit. Oh my god.” He hissed into your shoulder as he stilled his hips for a beat. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

“Yeah, I know.” You mumbled as the tree bark scratched at your cheek. “Could you move? I’d like to have another orgasm sometime before noon.”

“So fucking bossy.” He groaned before sliding out of you halfway and slamming back into you, making you yelp.

You moaned as he finally started fucking you, his hips moving at a vicious pace as he bounced you against the tree. He wrapped a hand around your throat and squeezed lightly as he drew you back against his chest.

“Love when you let me fuck your ass, baby.” He growled in your ear as his hips slapped against your cheeks, making you mewl as slick started leaking down your thighs from your aching pussy. “Love how wet you get and how you strangle my cock. You want my fingers in that tight little pussy?”

“Yeah.” You whined as he teased his fingers over your clit. “Need you in my pussy so bad Ran, I’m gonna come.”

He sucked your earlobe between his teeth and spanked your pussy before shoving three fingers inside you as you came with a shriek, your body arching against him as you spasmed uncontrollably.

“Jesus, you’re squeezing me so good.” He groaned as you came down, sobbing with pleasure and sagging against him. “I’m gonna fill this ass up.”

You felt his cock throbbing inside you at the same time he twisted his fingers and you screamed, your release gushing out of you and soaking his thighs as he filled you with his spend, pressing you against the tree and sinking his teeth into your shoulder as his hips jerked. He groaned into your hair as he shoved his cum deep inside you and pulled his fingers from your swollen cunt.

“Holy fuck.” He mumbled into your hair before sucking his fingers into his mouth and groaning at your taste.

“Yeah.” You murmured as you yanked your bra and shirt back down and pulled your panties back into place before bending over to slide your shorts back on. “You should’ve lettered in that.”

——————————————————————————

A/N: Not just regular assholes, preppy jock assholes!!!

[wolfstar-supremacy-innit]

Spilling secrets: Remus' confession

Wolfstar one shot in which Remus is blackout drunk and reveals his feelings to Sirius. Loosely based on this lovely post. Sirius' POV, 2.2k words.

I will probably write another one shot, with the roles reversed (Spilling secrets: Sirius' confession), but don't hold me to that. :)

Enjoy lovelies <3

With a sizable effort, James and Sirius finally managed to shove Remus into his bed. Getting him up the stairs alone took 10 minutes. Remus kept stumbling back down towards the common room when the two other boys paused to take a breath from propping him up, before they realized there’s no letting go of Remus if they plan on getting him to the dorm before sunrise. He stirred in the bed for some time, but ultimately sprawled out on the sheets with a content smile on his face.

James and Sirius released monumental sighs of relief. The party downstairs was still in full swing, but both of them effectively sobered up from the bloody grapple they just endured.

“Bloody hell, the snockered bugger,” Sirius exclaimed wiping his forehead with his forearm. James laughed breathlessly at his choice of words.

“Right you are. You going back down?”

“Nah, I’m about ready to be dead asleep for the next three days after that.”

��Yeah, me too.”

They barely changed out of their clothes when Remus suddenly exclaimed from under the covers: “Ugh, God!” The other two boys slowly turned to him. What now, Sirius thought. Remus irritably chucked the blanket away from his head, all the way to his waist. “Why does he have to be so fucking fit?!” James and Sirius exchanged an intrigued look, growing more amused by the second. Remus rarely, or essentially never made such comments. “With his fucking hands, and soft hair and bloody earrings, Jesus,” he continued muttering angrily, but the words became unintelligible as he turned over and stuck his face into the fluffy pillow.

“Who, Moony,” James asked.

“Fucking, Sirius!”

Sirius furrowed his eyebrows. “Yeah, Moony, I’m here. Who’s fit?” But it kinda seemed Remus didn’t truly comprehend that he was in the room with people he knew.

“I told you. Sirius,” he continued, face still stuck in the pillow.

“Oh fucking hell. You didn’t tell me anything, mate.”

“Sirius is fucking fit, you idiot,” Remus slurred, voice muffled. He released a loud, annoyed groan, then: “I wanna shag him through the fucking wall.”

A dreadful, resounding silence iced over the room. Sirius felt blazing red heat crawling up his body from the pit of his stomach and settling rather heavily on his cheeks. Did he get that right? Seconds seemed to stretch as Sirius willed his mind to comprehend what he had just heard.

As if snapping both James and Sirius out of a trance, soft snores diffused over the room and James broke into quiet, intense giggles. Sirius felt hot all over with a feeling very very remotely familiar to him: embarrassment. You could probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of things that embarrassed Sirius Black, but boy, was this one of them. Not to mention the boner that was solemnly threatening to make a presence. “Merlin’s sock on a stick, Moony,” he said, nonplussed.

James managed to rein in his laughter enough to breathe out: “You are never going to live this down.”

“And if I shag him on your bed? Will I live it down then?” That seemed to sober James up like a downpour of ice water.

“Holy shit. Do you want to?”

“And what if I do?”

“N-nothing. T- that’s great for you lads, then,” James stammered, obviously bewildered.

“Alright then.” Sirius stepped towards Remus’ bed and pushed his shoulder back to roll him away from the pillow that was threateningly muffling his breathing. “So he doesn’t suffocate, the idiot.”

Without another word, the two boys got into their respective beds and drew the curtains. Sirius lay there, on top of the covers, staring at the drapes with large eyes. He shifted. Yep, an undignified boner was indubitably tenting his pajama bottoms. His heart was hammering, mind buzzing. Moony actually looked at him like that. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Or was he brain-dead pissed and just speaking nonsense? He felt a heavy lump of disappointment settle in his stomach.

“Padfoot,” came a voice from James’ bed. Sirius made a questioning sound. “Did you actually mean that? About Moony?”

Pause. “Yeah. I did.”

James cleared his throat. “Yeah, okay, cool. Cool, cool. Um, Padfoot?”

“Yeah?”

“You never told me you, um. You liked blokes.”

“Yeah, sorry. I told you now. Is that alright?” There was a silence that made Sirius’ mind stir with fear until he heard rustling and then a body jumped on him, encompassing him in a bone-crushing hug. Boy, was Sirius glad his boner dissipated in the panic of waiting for his best friend’s reaction.

“Of course it’s alright, you git!” Relief filled Sirius as a face-splitting grin stretched his mouth. Pulling apart after a few moments, they sat cross-legged across each other. “And Moony, blimey. What a catch, good on you, Sirius.”

“Hah. Well... We’ll se what the morning light brings.”

“Oh, shut it. Don’t go all poetic on me in the wee hours of the night. It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

Sirius flopped around in bed the most of the night. Shortly after James returned to his own four-poster, Peter stumbled in from downstairs and flung himself into bed. Sirius couldn’t will his brain to quiet down enough to fall asleep for a long while. When he finally concluded all of the other boys were sound asleep, he resolved to have a wank thinking about no other than gorgeous, incredible Remus, laying just a couple of meters to the right, snoring away his insobriety. Well, what else was new?

<><><><><>

Sirius, Peter and Remus were sitting at breakfast, exchanging only a few words apart from ‘will you pass me that tray?’ The other two moved sluggishly with lidded eyes, but Sirius was restless. He kept shifting in his seat, shaking his knee under the table and taking bites of food too large to chew. When they woke up that morning like a bunch raised from the dead, Remus made it relatively clear that he, in fact, did not recall most of the party, let alone the atomic bomb he dropped to James and Sirius the previous night. James just smacked Sirius’ shoulder in consolation and left for the showers without saying a word.

Sirius needed to tell Remus and he needed to do it soon, or he thought his head might detach itself from his shoulders. Or he might vomit his heart out. Either way, Remus was sitting there, unsuspecting, looking heavenly with his wild bedhead and watery eyes and Sirius couldn’t keep his eyes off him. Thankfully, the others seemingly didn’t notice.

James plopped on the bench next to Sirius, pulling his attention towards himself. He took a double look at Sirius and made a show of scanning him up and down. “Bloody hell, Padfoot. Don’t you look fucking fit this morning?” Sirius immediately caught his drift, Remus’ words from the previous night etched in his brain like a carving. Test the waters a little. He smiled as James clapped him on the shoulder.

“Why thank you, Prongs.”

Remus’ brows furrowed as his eyes flickered between the two boys in front of him, then went back to eating with a puzzled expression.

“Yeah, like your hands and hair. Soft hair,” James corrected himself quickly, “and your earrings. Merlin, don’t get me started on your earrings.” Sirius felt himself blushing rapidly, remembering exactly where those words came from. Remus was gawking at James, hand holding a fork stopping mid-air. He and Peter looked at each other. Peter shrugged.

“Aw, thank you, Prongs. I’m touched.”

“Yeah, you probably will be later tonight,” James mumbled quietly and Sirius choked on his food, covering it up with a cough, then elbowed the boy next to him in the ribs.

“You two tryna tell us something?” Peter squinted at them.

James mock gasped. “Can’t I compliment my best mates?”

“You never compliment me like that. Or Moony,” said Peter.

“Don’t be jealous, Wormy. Everyone knows I’m simply irresistible,” Sirius chimed in, flashing a charming smile. Remus remained suspiciously silent, glancing between the three other boys.

A little while later as James and Peter engaged in a heated discussion about the Hawkshead Attacking Formation, Sirius seized his opportunity. “Hey Moons, you finished? I need to talk to you in the dorm.” Remus nodded and they slipped out of the Great Hall and headed for Gryffindor tower. Sirius was so jittery, he felt like somebody had hooked him up to a power plant and cranked up the voltage. He could easily make an absolute buffoon out of himself if Remus was just mumbling rubbish the previous night. They barely spoke all the way to the common room, except for Remus commenting on his dreadful hangover headache. When they arrived to the dorm, Sirius started unconsciously wringing his hands. Remus plopped on his bed casually and said: “What’d you want to talk about, Pads?”

Sirius sat next to him on the bed, heartbeat through the roof. “Right. Yeah. Right.” He cleared his throat in a pitiful attempt to give himself more time to get the sentence out of his mouth. “Yeah, so... You said something last night. When you were plastered.”

Remus’ face effectively blanched. “What?”

“Well, you were properly pissed, so maybe it was just rubbish...”

“What did I say, Sirius?”

“Okay, so...” He cleared his throat again. “You remember what James said to me when he came to breakfast this morning?” Remus just stared with wide eyes. “Well, basically that... And- and some other things.”

Remus made a face, then flopped face-first into the pillow. “Oh no. What other things?”

Sirius released a nervous chuckle. He started stammering like no bloody aristocrat ever, his effortless confidence long evaporated. Nobody made that happen like Remus. Nobody made that happen except Remus. “Oh, bugger,” were the first coherent words he managed to get out. Remus mumbled a ‘Jesus Christ’ into the pillow.

“You said you wanted to shag me.” The silence was deafening to poor Sirius who awaited an answer. He almost reached out to put a hand on the other boy’s shoulder, when Remus started laughing short, muffled giggles that shook his back. Dread struck Sirius.

“Well. I’m the biggest dumbass in England. Fantastic.”

“Did you not mean it?” His voice must have resonated with worry because Remus finally rolled a little to look at him for the first time in minutes.

“Did you want me to mean it?”

“What if I did?”

“Well that would probably be good, because I’m barely keeping myself from jumping your bones.”

Sirius barked out a laugh followed closely by a sigh of relief. “Yes, I bloody well wanted it.” Remus gingerly pushed himself up into a sitting position. Sirius was slightly unsure what he was supposed to do, and it seemed like the other boy was too. Trying to take initiative, Sirius lifted his hand to place it on Remus’ shoulder, then changed his mind, going for his cheek, but chickened out at the last second and dropped it back on the bed. They laughed awkwardly. “Smooth,” Remus said. “Shut up. I’m nervous,” Sirius replied.

Remus huffed out another laugh and straightened the collar of his dress shirt as he said: “Okay.” He scooted closer to Sirius on the bed and actually put a gentle hand on his cheek. They stared at each other and Sirius felt pure, all encompassing giddiness simmering in his body, making his fingertips tingle. When their lips finally met, the kiss was delicate and tentative, like feet dipping into unknown waters. After a while, they both started smiling against each other’s mouth and Sirius’ heart fluttered with the warmth that consumed him. Feeling bolder, he licked Remus’ lower lip and he responded at once, gliding their tongues together. Oh, okay, boner again, then. When they pulled apart, Sirius said: “Yep, I’m definitely gay.” Remus laughed, bowing his head and resting it on Sirius’ shoulder.

“I’m that good?”

“That you are,” Sirius responded without missing a beat. He brought Remus’ head back up with a hand on his neck, then pushed him backwards onto the bed with a forceful kiss. He threw a leg over the other boy, straddling his hips. Remus mumbled an ‘mmm’ into his mouth.

“As much I want to do this, and trust me, you’ve no idea how much, we have Potions in five minutes,” Remus said, pulling away. Sirius just resumed kissing him, then replied: “I reckon I might last shorter than that.” The tawny-haired boy chuckled, but still pushed him off. “I’d rather do it when we have more time. And I’m not too keen on doing detention tonight, when I could be snogging you in some empty classroom.” Sirius grinned. “I like the way you think, Mr. Moony.”

As they hurried down a corridor, Sirius remembered. “Oh, yeah. One more thing. James was there with me last night when you professed your undying attraction to me.”

“Oh, fuck’s sake.”

I am kinda proud of this, hope you like it as much as I do. I thought it was funny and I just love the idea of the usually overly confident, heartthrob Sirius completely losing his cool around Remus and also awkward teenage boys being dumbasses.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Nightwing 83 Review

guess who isn't weeks late this time. my opinion of the series is going up a little bit. it's still not great, but i'm not actively put off by it anymore the way i was after 81. not going to tag as spoilers, but be warned that they are under the cut

i’m sure you all are well aware of this but now, but dear god i love bruno redondo’s art. like, an unhealthy amount. the pink and blue is getting to be a theme with either him or just this run, but i am definitely enjoying it. the movement in this cover is clearly obvious, but well done. you recoznize right off the bat that the cover was drawn to drag your eyes down the page until you get to the bottom, but you enjoy the whole ride there. 

also, redondo’s way of drawing a character in stages of action so we can see just how much they’re doing in a split second of movement is quickly becoming something i like to see drawn with dick, and any other character that has that sort of ease of movement and body sense, like cass or sin or maybe a super. 

and he’s in action the entire time! there’s shot drawn just to show off a shirtless comic book character, the way nightwing is so often subjected to. he’s shirtless because he’s changing his clothes, and that’s all we see, no more and no less. very practical, very well done. i like it.

he looks so cute right here oh my god. the little squint, the hair curls. it’s adorable.

but also like. unless melinda has specifically outfitted the door spyhole so that the person on the other side can’t see dick looking through it (and in all honesty she might have) then everyone on the other side can see dick looking through that door. 

bringing your attention back to the “i can’t see melinda’s fbi file oh no!! it’s redacted!! whatever can we do!!” stupidity. redacted files are child’s play for oracle, and definitely doable for both dick and bruce. so that’s bullshit.

now, melinda apparently grew up with the maroni family, then took down part of the family from the inside. the maroni family is a large and notable presence in gotham, one that bruce pays a respectable amount of attention to. he definitely would have grown suspicious when two members of the maroni family were taken down, and with some investigation, he would have discovered melinda’s plan. and it should go without saying that the majority of things you see batman doing? dick can do it too.

it’s not so much that i don’t like how clever the villains/antiheroes are getting. i don’t like how dc heroes are increasingly written as less intelligent. they seem to be relying on pure fighting skills or luck, which may be the case for a couple heroes, but has never been the case for most of dc’s big name heroes, the bat family included. it’s irritating to me to see this sort of stuff pop up as a major plot point when i know that, if dick or bruce had been written with the amount of skill and power that they canonically possess, this entire mess would have been sorted out years ago.

unrelated but dick and melinda have the same hair

this may just be me, but i was always under the impression that dick doesn’t really have a “double life???”

yes, he’s talented enough to create enough differences between robin/nightwing and dick grayson’s mannerisms, way of movement, voices, and speech patterns so that it’s very difficult to put the two together.

but nightwing has never been separate from dick grayson, not the way bruce and batman is. he’s always leaned more towards clark in that aspect: his hero persona is an exaggerated, stately, larger-than-life version of who he really is. there’s no second persona, no real “dick grayson identity” and “nightwing identity.” they’re the same person with the same goals, ideas, and skills. one just pretends to abide by the law, and one gives up pretense of that.

oh good thank god. if he’d trusted her right off the bat (hehe. bat.) i would have slapped him upside the head. at least he’s still got instincts.

gosh the colouring on this is cool. the red has enough purple and pink tones to it that it doesn’t abruptly ruin the tone of the artwork. but it’s definitely glaring enough to take the reader outside of this personal moment they had slipped into between dick and melinda, to put them back in the present where they’re reminded that oh yea there are people hunting dick down. 

the next panel keeps this up too, in a less severe way. melinda’s bodyguard shows up (i forgot her name sorry :[ ) and subtly places us in the middle of an action scene rather than a private, personal scene.

laughing so fucking hard have our little vigilantes grown so accustomed to breaking into places that it doesn’t even register as a crime anymore??? tim coming in through the fire escape to pick bernard up for their date and being very much confused as to why bernard is freaking out.

i really like melinda’s shirt and now despite all the work i have to do and the fucking conference i have to host on monday i want to spend hours scrolling through clothing shops online trying to find this shirt. the mock neck/neckline is so cool i want it

so roland just assumes that a very dangerous vigilante who is highly talented in combat and a very dangerous bodyguard who is also highly talented in combat had a fight that ended with this very dangerous bodyguard being tied up and she looks completely fine? roland just assumes that her having no visible wounds or bruises means that they got into a fight and she lost that easily? uh. aight then

dick what are you doing. legitimately what the fuck are you doing. why are you posing oh my god. you are injured and tired and in absolutely no position to go hand to hand with one of main enemies. jesus christ run away or head to lower ground or something. don’t just stand around letting the floodlights show exactly where you are.

i don’t understand what he’s trying to do here??? blockbuster fully bought the story that dick fought them both, won, tried to get info out of them and failed, then hightailed it out of there. he didn’t have to draw roland out for a fight.

but it does look cool. the way the light just highlights his silhouette and the blue parts of his costume does look badass. he does get style points in my book for this.

w h a t  d i d  i  f u c k i n g  t e l l  y o u ,  d i c k ?

very classic superhero line and it does sound like something dick would say in a fit of righteous rage but also it makes me laugh so hard because all vigilantes think they’re so powerful that the law doesn’t apply to them. dick vigilantism is illegal. you’re acting above the law and pretending it doesn’t apply to you. hypocritical much?

it happens so often in superhero movies, tv shows, comics, whatever and it makes me giggle every damn time.

pretty decent comeback but before i start seeing people writing blockbuster as a thug i’m going to remind you that he made a deal with a demon for genius level intellect. if this turns into another bane situation i’m going to be a little miffed. he’s a smart man, which makes him a dangerous and infinitely more interesting enemy for nightwing.

this is so horribly in character i want to scream. (or. at least. it lines up with one of the versions of nightwing i have in my head.) he’s running right towards the bullets, miraculously doesn’t get shot, while making a sort-of pun. i hate this so much. i love him.

this is cool. this art is really really cool.

he leaped from a building right towards a helicopter that’s actively shooting at him, but none of the bullets are touching him. none of the corruption of the city can touch him no matter how hard it tries, because he’s too good to be corrupted. Comic Book Logic Can Be Good Sometimes Actually.

batman’s belt what??? swiss army knife who?? sorry, i only know nightwing’s bright blue escrima.

this is one of my favourite things about heroes with exceptional abilities, even more so if the hero is human. the things they can do are so far beyond the realm of normal human abilities that it’s equal parts terrifying and awe-inspiring every time they act.

he just used modified grappling wires to hook to the door of a moving helicopter, swung around the helicopter safely without hitting the blades, gained exactly the right momentum to swing upward again right through the opening of helicopter, then fought and tied up the men before they had any idea what was happening. that’s near impossible to do.

it’s stuff like this where i just sort of sigh in contentment. no matter how many times they leave out dick’s detective skills or conveniently forget that he’s actually a master planner and team leader and make him out to be this forgetful dude who makes everything up on the fly because of his “circus roots,” at least they won’t ever take away dick’s sheer physical ability honed to perfection. 

the art, too! in a few panels, dick’s drawn a little lightened or blurred. he’s moving so quickly and fighting so efficiently that he can barely be seen by the enemy. he’s got perfect form all the way through.

and THIS!

there was a helicopter that had five men shooting at him with what looks like machine guns. most people would be dead. some would run away, and be nimble enough to survive without fatal hits. there are very few people, even in fucking comic books, who can look at that hopeless situation and turn it around so quickly and thoroughly that he benefits from it instead.

i just. love nightwing.

it was funny the first time as a comic reader aware of the meme. it’s really not anymore. why the hell would you, in universe, be wearing a shirt that has a picture of your boyfriend being hit in the face by his father. 

okay that was funny. 

look at lil bitewing, so concerned for her human!!! love her sm. 

also a question as to the timeline of things. is nightwing happening before or after urban legends? 

i was so distracted by dick wearing a robe and briefs and nothing else that i didn’t register the second part until later. he slept for two days?? babs, baby, he recently had a very traumatic brain injury. why do you sound so nonchalant?

@TIM X COFFEE SHIPPERS GET FUCCCCKKKKEEDDDDD

ngl i totally forgot about that dude oops

this comic is giving so many reaction pictures. you know how you always use the worst possible picture of your friend for your friend’s contact picture? i’m just getting so many of these.

leslie!!! the titans!!! lucius!!! dick going to go see old friends!!!! the titans!!! this part made me so irrationally happy it really did. gar being the one to just. offer dick solutions with open arms. this was the best

i wish i could just copy and paste this entire scene, but that would take up way too much space, so i’m just going to talk about it instead. 

you gave me my name, nightwing, and you gave me some of the best advice i’ve received in my life: beautiful little throwback to nightwing’s origin. you’d be surprised at the amount of people who don’t know where the name came from, or who don’t know how much clark means to dick. and the fact that dick still looks up to clark as a hero, recognizes that clark isn’t always perfect and yet continues to hold him in such high esteem, and still looks back on advice that clark gave him fondly just warmed my heart so much.

for a man who has fearlessly stood up to darkseid, bruce will do a lot to avoid a conversation: “grrr. i’m the BATMAN. i’m so DARK and MYSTERIOUS. nobody knows the true me. no one ever will. i will be LONELY for the rest of my CURSED LIFE. such is the price of a hero. ignore my farmer himbo husband in the background”

but i don’t think there’s anything heroic about being a billionaire: another nod to how much dick follows clark’s example rather than bruce. yes, this was a very poignant and important criticism, and i think it’s wonderful that this was published in a pretty popular comic book. but the thing is, there is a way to be a heroic billionaire, but only in fictional universes. the way bruce, ollie, t’challa only ever use their wealth to help people. they donate massive amounts of money to charities that they themselves create so they know exactly how the money is being used. they hire people who aren’t likely to get jobs anywhere else and pay them much more than what a base living wage is. they use their power to help push progressive laws and social change. they are helping. 

dick doesn’t fully see it that way. he spent more than half his childhood the son of a billionaire, but still believes that one could be more heroic when one doesn’t have obscene amounts of wealth. whose example do you think he followed to come to that conclusion?

superman looked up to alfred pennyworth?: i mean yea alfred may have been a wildly irresponsible guardian and one hell of an enabler but goddamn if he didn’t love his kid.

you don’t need my input. you’ve thought it all through: ooooooh this line made me grin. for so long, dick’s treated clark as a mentor and a guiding figure. he’s still seen as a kid, an up and coming, snot-nosed titan with dreams of a better world. clark still thinks of him as a kid, despite watching him grow up. but this little line was something i think dick needed sorely to hear. he doesn’t need anyone’s guiding hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t need to ask for permission. he doesn’t need clark to support him the way he did when he was a teenager. he’s all grown up now, and he doesn’t need clark’s help. i imagine it was a bit of a surprise for dick to hear that. 

honestly, i couldn’t think of a better role model: ohhh but it doesn’t stop there. clark just straight up turns the tables on dick. imagine you’re dick, and you’ve looked up to this one hero your entire life, and then one day he turns to you and says that he thinks you’re so kind and smart and worthy of a person that he wants you to mentor his son!? goes to show just how much clark trusts dick.

i swear to god dick probably cries every time he hears clark compliment him because bruce is so rare and sparing with his praise that clark giving him the slightest hint of approval is just a dopamine rush.

also, now deathstroke and superman have both asked nightwing to mentor their kids. the juxtaposition is fuckin hysterical. imagine either of their reactions when they realize what kind of company they’re with

lets talk colours for a second, because i absolutely adore how classic colour tropes have been subverted in this comic, and in this general run really.

warm tones have usually (usually, not always) been associated with light and comfort and friendship and,,,,,well,,,warmth. whereas cool tones are usually used to unsettle, or make a scene seem colder and put the reader on edge. this varies if a comic only uses cool tones, or only uses warm tones, but if a comic uses both, this is generally well-used.

that isn’t the case in this run.

dark red, orange, and other warm tones have been used to symbolize danger, action, attacks. hot pink isn’t usually included in this colour group, but it’s definitely part of it in this case. in contrast, scenes that have cool colours give us the impression of slipping into a comfortable, calm scene with babs, tim, the titans, and other allies. even the beginning scene with superman has this blue, but then it transitions into something more golden coloured. dawn broke over dick, as his new idea came to light, and that was reflected in the art (and the sunrise setting.)

have there ever been times when dick’s longed for the comfort of his mask because he didn’t feel confident as dick grayson? i can’t think of any. i may be wrong, but this struck me as pretty ooc.

am i just??? gay and reading this all wrong??

cause i was under the impression that when someone says they are grateful for your friendship you don’t immediately kiss them. 

or is this like. normal straight mating rituals.

i mean he’s smiling afterward but still babs aren’t you supposed to at least make sure it’s okay first? you guys broke up a while back after you said something along the lines of “i want to be coworkers with you and nothing more because i don’t trust you or feel comfortable around you as a civilian anymore.” like lmao after you say something like that to someone i would assume that you don’t have the permission to just kiss them whenever you want.

show of hands who else got real sad when they realized dick was talking about himself in this.

sure, he could be referencing the things he’s seen blockbuster pull, and the children on the streets. but “i’ve seen money used for enforcement,” sounds a little too close to dick’s entire life being destroyed by one man threatening the circus to pay protection money for me to completely ignore. and “i’ve seen the poorest and most vulnerable blamed and punished rather than assisted” becomes a lot worse when you remember dick was thrown in juvie for a couple months until bruce was able to obtain legal guardianship, and in there, not a authority figure believed him when he told them his parents were murdered.

he’s lived this before.

a. mother. fucking. typo.

fucking why

i mean i’ve stated my distaste for the batfamily groupchat before but like. this is reaching new levels of ridiculousness. jason sounds like he was written by a fanfic writer. tim sounds like he was written by a fanfic writer. steph sounds like she was written by someone who doesn’t know the first thing about steph and wanted to include her for “family points!!!!!” damian’s supposed to be completely off the grid, and everyone’s searching for him. i do love the way cass texts tho.

well god fuck now i’m crying

dick got a phone call, a sorry, and a thank you out of bruce. i feel so much secondhand happiness for him, if that’s a thing. we’ll just ignore the way bruce looks ugly af and focus on the good parts okay?

and again with the colour symbolism here!

i’m either going to love this or hate this. who knows, we’ll see.

something something hearts something something pink is an evil colour something something. i need to know more about this guy but there’s definitely symbolism there. 

is it just me or does this dude look like the backstabbing traitorous absolutely motherfucking piece of shit villain that killed tadashi hamada in big hero 6?

~~

taggggg list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan  @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @bikoncon @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption​ @capricorn-stark​ @batshit-birds​ @comics-observer @buticaaba​ 

[millenniumfae]

Video Game Cooking: Sugars (Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice)

Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice is a standalone historical fantasy made by the famous people who also created Dark Souls and Bloodborne. It became an instant hit, and garnered massive critical acclaim. You control the broody shinobi Wolf as he battles entire armies and legendary beasts.

One of the many consumables in-game are the Sugars; Gokan’s Sugar, Ako’s Sugar, Yashariku’s Sugar, Ungo’s Sugar, and Gachiin’s Sugar. These candies are named and colored differently, and each offer a different effect. One raises your attack power, another makes you more stealthy, and so on.

Today, we’re gonna be re-creating these Sugars with our own recipe. And true to my tradition when it comes to Video Game Recipes, we’re gonna be taking our ingredients accurate to the setting. Which in this case is Sengoku period Japan. This recipe meta draws especially true to my own heritage, as a Taiwanese person.

Sekiro Senpou Temple Sugars: Recipe (makes 10-20 individual candies, depending on the size)

Base candy recipe:

3 3/4 cups granulated raw cane sugar

1 1/2 cups golden syrup/brown rice syrup

1 cup water

Corn starch for mold making (optional)

Confectioner’s sugar for dusting

Flavorings:

Fresh ginger slices (Gokan’s Sugar)

Dried lotus seeds (Gokan’s Sugar)

Red cherries (Ako’s Sugar)

Dried Astragalus (Ako’s Sugar)

Ginseng (Ungo’s Sugar)

White peaches (Ungo’s Sugar)

Sake (Yashariku’s Sugar)

Dried Cocklebur fruit (Yashariku’s Sugar)

Dried Orange peel (Gachiin’s Sugar)

Dried Goji berries (Gachiin’s Sugar)

Food coloring

(Sekiro won the 2019 Game Of The Year award, the first FromSoftware game to do so.)

To make our Sugars, we’ll be infusing a traditional candy base with various ingredients, unique for each candy. Every ingredient is based off of TCM, which is an acronym standing for Traditional Chinese Medicine. For those unacquainted with TCM, it can be hard to explain its influence. There’s no true western equivalent because it’s more than just ‘old household remedies’, it’s almost a given that Asian citizens take various TCM practices seriously to a degree. Like westerners do with honey lemon tea, or chicken noodle soup.

It’s also accurate to the game. Sekiro takes its setting very seriously. Everything from weapons, to hairstyles, to interior decor, even down to the kanji on Emma’s note in the beginning of the game is true to the Sengoku period, and some levels even go backwards a bit to the Heinan period, to reflect an ancient atmosphere. You can reasonably minus the historical inaccuracies on your own volition; giant snake gods, lightning powers, and automatic prosthetic grappling hooks weren’t indigenous to Japan.

Except there’s in fact one tiny detail that you might be surprised to learn is actually anachronistic; disk-shaped hard candies. The Sugars.

Hard candies aren’t traditional East-Asian treats. Sugar was always readily available in the form of sugar cane, true, but sweets almost always took the form of fruit, and candy-coated/infused ingredients. This is true worldwide until refining sugar into its white form became common, but East-Asia in particular wasn’t munching on lozenges while Marie Antoinette already had cough drops.

The Sengoku period stretched from the early Renaissance to the Baroque period. While Wolf was parrying his way through the Ashina Outskirts, the first King James Bible was published. There was plate armor and court jesters, but also firearms and photographs. Japan didn’t get access to matchlock firearms until 1542, and since the Sunken Valley clan seems to define themselves by the expert use of these guns, it makes sense that the intro to the game itself dates Sekiro as specifically taking place in the latter years of the Sengoku period.

All throughout this stretch of two centuries, Japan has been under constant war and political strife, lending to the Sengoku period’s alternative name, the ‘Warring States Period’. Japan consisted of separate nations, all led under Daimyo and warlords and various nobles that demanded their armies scramble for more land and resources. Living under this kind of conflict for so long means that innovations and education are rare. There’s no opportunity to invent the telescope when you’re all constantly worried about your lives.

This means that the food of Sekiro would have very much been the same it’s been since centuries beforehand. Even though by this point, the Columbian Exchange has been well underway and Europe was experimenting with tomatoes in their food, Japan wasn’t enjoying this same golden period. Any developments would have been weaponry, not candy making methods.

This means that, for our recipe, we’re not using anything that a Senpou monk wouldn’t have access to. No potatoes, corn, vanilla, etc. No beet sugar, or fruits that aren’t native to Japan. Even the raw cane sugar we’re using is pushing the authenticity envelope, because the ‘raw’ granulated sugar you find in grocery stores aren’t completely raw, they’ve still been refined using lye and carbon to strip much of the molasses. True raw cane sugar, when boiled down from its juice form, makes a traditional Asian ingredient called black sugar, which is very dark in color and not suited for making the brightly-colored candy disks that the Sugars appear to be.

(Shinobi aren’t samurai, but Wolf’s relationship with Kuro is so clearly samurai-ish that we can assume Wolf was being paid buckets as a high-prestige warrior. He also would have access to better food, including white rice; which, while already genetically modified through breeding by the Sengoku period, wouldn’t have looked like modern rice. Or maybe Wolf wasn’t enjoying the high life, because he dresses in rags compared to Genichiro and apparently didn’t know rice was supposed to be cooked.)

Knowing all that history about the Sengoku period, it’s almost silly to see candy consumables in-game, looking like they came right out of a bag of Werther’s Originals. The developers of Sekiro made many lengths to ensure everything was authentic, so why are the candies so modern-looking when they could instead have been a traditional Sengoku period sweet like something mochi-based, or agar (seaweed) jellies?

The lore behind the Sugars are that the evil Senpou monks were mass-producing these candies, and selling them all across Ashina to fund their crooked child experiments. They’re not just (presumably) tasty, they offer benefits to your health. That’s definitely in line with TCM culture, and gives us some inspiration for how to pursue replicating them.

One important note; the Sugars are some of the lesser consumables Wolf can use. Almost all other consumables are better, offering more powerful effects for a longer duration. So what if these candies were true to TCM and were mere treats infused with medicinal ingredients, only capable of giving you a small boost? Especially in comparison to the Divine Child’s rice, which would be like an Epi-Pen in this analogy.

But there’s even more depth to the consumables than that. Kuro gifts Wolf a ‘sweet rice ball’ at some point, which is almost certainly an Ohagi bun; made out of glutinous rice, red beans, and sugar, and its a traditional offering for the Buddhist observance of seasonal equinox. Eating it is sometimes said to bring protection. In order for Kuro to make Wolf this rice ball, you gotta give him some of that special rice from the Divine Child. Wolf offhandedly mentions that her rice is “sweet when you bite into it”, and Kuro realizes that Wolf has been eating these rice grains raw all this time, like the feral 5′5 goblin he is. Kuro vows to give his loyal protector something nice to eat, for once, and makes him three Ohagi dumplings.

The food of Sekiro is symbolic. The Divine Child is able to make rice out of thin air, like a deity of fertility. Kuro takes this divine rice, and his sweet rice ball is more powerful than the magical blessed Sugars because it was made with compassion. And eating Kuro’s lovingly-made rice ball reminds Wolf of once being fed a rice ball when he was young and starving, given to him by his assfuck of a father who’s compassion is heavily in question.

The Sugars are described as giving the eater a ‘benediction’ of power, and who knows what the translators were thinking, but the word choice reminds us of communion, and the flesh and blood of Christ. It’s not a true comparison; communion is about replicating and worshiping the Last Supper, reminding Christians about Jesus willingly dying cause humans are sinful. Consuming the ‘flesh and blood’ of Jesus in the form of bread and wine is very different than eating a candy apparently blessed by an ancient Japanese warrior. It’s not like communion wafers are supposed to empower you, or protect you.

Looking at the in-game image of each Sugar, you can see the likeness of a person behind it, likely the very warrior the Sugar is named after. We don’t know if these people actually had a hand in these Sugars, somehow transplanting their power into each individual candy, or if the monks just named the candies after them. Either way, the process of receiving the benefits of the Sugars isn’t just about crunching it between your teeth, Wolf also takes a moment to strike a‘warrior stances’, which, according to the descriptions, is a required detail to properly absorb the candy’s effects. Each Sugar has their own corresponding ‘stance’ that Wolf performs. It’s a weird detail, and raises even more questions about the Sugars, the monks, and the warriors behind the candy.

(Observant players will note that the five Headless boss enemies drop ‘spiritfalls’, each of which share names with the five Sugars, and offer upgraded versions of their corresponding Sugar; Ako’s Spiritfall is basically a better version of Ako’s Sugar, and so on. We can assume that the Headless are, in fact, the very same legendary warriors that powered the Sugars, especially since the game itself states that the Headless are undead remains of powerful individuals.)

True to FromSoftware tradition, details are included with purpose. And also at the same time, some details are just meant to be taken at face value. The various centipede-themed enemies in Sekiro are associated with kegare - spiritual defilement, death - explaining visually their willing abandonment from Buddhism. But there’s likely no lore explaining why Wolf can automatically hoover up all nearby enemy loot like a vacuum with the press of a button.

The inexplicable details of FromSoftware games are almost certainly because of gameplay convenience. Many characters are 9-10 feet tall for no reason, towering over Wolf, who’s already short to begin with. Lore-wise, it doesn’t make sense for so many completely human characters to be so gratuitously large. Gameplay-wise, it’s a lot easier to observe an enemy’s telegraphed movesets if their model is scaled up. Helpful, in a game like Sekiro.

The ‘stances’ of the Sugars might fall into both these categories. They exist for both gameplay and story reasons. The developers wanted a lag between consuming these powerups and being free to fight, so the player is forced to time these powerups carefully. You need to avoid enemies taking a free hit while Wolf’s animations are occupied. Then they storified this gameplay-based lag into a lore-based reason. Wolf has to take a ‘stance’ when eating these candies to receive its powers. For some reason.

I wasn’t able to further research the ‘stances’ Wolf strikes. Maybe they’re based off of known martial arts. But the description also offers some additional insight; according to the game, these Sugars contain ‘excess karma’ that is apparently the source of their power. Now, Buddhist karma doesn’t run in ‘excess’, a better choice of word would be ‘transfiguration’. One person can experience another’s karma through a variety of means.

“Bite the candy and take the Yashariku stance to impart its inhuman benediction.” In accordance with Buddhist folklore, these warriors are dead and imitating them can impart their previous life’s karma unto you. Our recipe won’t have magical karma powers, but we can certainly infuse our candies with medicinal herbs. You can just imagine the Senpou monks stirring up a big pot of sugar solution, and throwing in handfuls of dried Goji berries.

(This isn’t the first FromSoftware game that draws heavily from Buddhism. Dark Souls’ stagnant world of undeath is a rejection of Buddhist rebirth, clinging onto your legacy in a bid for immortality. Bloodborne decided to further explore the ‘time and madness’ angle of the same concept, while Sekiro went in the opposite direction to expand the ‘death and karma’ side.)

To make our Sugars; begin by first boiling the 1 cup of water with the corresponding flavor ingredients. Essentially, we’re making a batch of 10-20 candies with one flavor at a time, to make things easier on us. Ako’s Sugar requires you boil sliced ginger and dried lotus seeds, and so on.

After the water has been properly infused with the medicinal ingredients, strain the water and add it to another pot with the rest of the candy base ingredients, then boiling it all down until it reaches 300f. It’ll take a while, and you’ll notice that there’s gonna be a point where it seems like the temperature isn’t rising again. But keep at it; all the water needs to be boiled away. But the flavor will remain.

Once it reaches 300f, add the food coloring, and then keep boiling again until it reaches 310f. Then immediately take it off the heat and pour it into molds. Disk-shaped candy molds do exist, but you can easily make your own by pouring a lot of corn starch into a pan, then pressing a disk-shaped object (like another candy) into the starch to make indents. When you pour the candy mixture into a corn starch mold, you can use a spoon to gently and accurately fill each hole without distorting the powder. After perhaps three hours, the candies should be completely set and cool, and you can tumble away the powder and store the candies. Any mold method is gonna give the candies a flat side, but a true disk candy requires factory-standard molds that we don’t have.

We’re not using natural food colorings, ‘cause I tried my best to research natural alternatives that could retain their dye after boilings. And it was super hard, especially blue. Take it from me that Sekiro’s Sugars shouldn’t have been so brightly colored; intensely colored food did exist, but it was with things like powdered dried beets and matcha and pepper powder. Boiling these ingredients (rather than mixing it with dough or jelly) will change the colors drastically, sometimes completely bleaching it, or changing red to purple and so on.

As for the various medicinal ingredients; I took a gander in my mom’s soup-making cabinet and took stock of the medicinal herbs we ourselves use in our lives. The ones included in this recipe are some of the more commonly used ingredients of modern TCM.

Gokan’s Sugar, as a posture-retaining consumable, is described as a popular choice amongst shinobi hunters, a job that requires “a body with an unshakable core”. Ginger and lotus seeds are great for restoring energy through chi, a person’s lifeforce.

Ako’s Sugar raises your attack power. This candy actually proved one of the hardest to find medicines for, since, you know, most medicine is about preserving your health. Astragalus root increases energy and resistance to stress, and red cherries are a warming food according to TCM; warming meaning that its a yang property that further enhances your energy levels. (Keep in mind that food warmness-coolness is more about keeping those two in balance for optical health.)

Ungo’s Sugar reduces the amount of health Wolf loses. Very protection-centric, so we’re using ginseng, for longevity, and white peach slices for their heavy association with divinity. Both of these ingredients have some of the most well-known history in Asian food culture.

Yashariku’s Sugar is a double-edged sword, since it reduces both your health and posture so Wolf can be super powerful for a little bit. So you’re gonna add sake to the candy mixture around the 300f mark, and the dried cocklebur fruit is an immunity-boosting medicine ... but the plant is mildly toxic and can cause diarrhea. You know, Wolf gets super powerful and aggressive when taking this candy cause he needs to shit his brains out. Don’t worry; we’ve got this in our own pantry, and it personally doesn’t make my mom’s stomach upset, but it does me so it must range from person to person.

Gachiin’s Sugar makes you more stealthy, which I took to translate into ‘quieting your thoughts and emotions’. Like when you hold a baby and it can feel your own inner turmoil and starts to cry? Orange peel and goji berries restore your chi, your vision, an irregular heart rate, and stress.

Enjoy your candies! Pop them before tough situations like speaking before a big crowd, or having to wait in line at the DMV, or when you have to fight the Headless Ape for the first time. Tell your friends to stay away from the Senpou brand, so you don’t support their unethical practices.

[toosicktoocare]

Prompt:  this might be too vague but how about sick dick or jason (your pick, i'm fine with either) hiding it from bruce on patrol bc things are really bad between them at the moment

Catch me flying with the typical Jason is still A+ Bitter at Bruce

With the recent rise in aggravated incidents in Crime Alley, Jason’s been forced to share his patrols with the bats, an idea he violently fought against until Alfred stepped in, the calm, steady voice of reason, and insisted it was necessary for his safety.

Monday he had Dick, and things were... okay. Dick’s face is plastered beside the definition of “handful,” but he knows how to respect Jason’s patrol strategies, following wordlessly and only helping when needed. On Tuesday, Tim proved similar to Dick, his maturity blossoming. Though, he asked more questions, weirdly curious about Jason’s lingering effects of the Lazarus Pit. Jason answered each, hoping his short, clipped replies would hush the replacement because his head was starting to pound along each question.

Jason wasn’t surprised to see Damian on Wednesday, but he was definitely annoyed. He had woken up with a splitting headache that seemed to bleed down to his muscles, pushing against them. He thought, at first, it was a migraine, but the pain in his head was different and accompanied with a flushing fever heat that colored his cheeks. He said nothing to Damian, and Damian merely scoffed and disappeared to navigate Crime Alley areas alone. Jason let him, going off on his own as well, and they met up to one-word debrief before parting ways for the night.

When Jason shoots his grapple hook to the edge of a rooftop on Thursday, he expects to find Dick again. Maybe Cass. What he doesn’t expect is to see the unwanted, annoyingly familiar, brooding shadow of Batman standing atop the roof, arms crossed, mouth flat.

Jason’s stomach drops, and he stumbles his landing, catching himself with a hushed curse. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Bruce sighs, fingers visibly digging a little harder into his arms. “Language, Hood.”

“This is my territory,” Jason spits back. “I’ll say whatever the fuck I want. Why are you here? Doesn’t Batman have bigger things to do?” Saying ‘Batman’ aloud leaves a sour taste atop Jason’s tongue, a bitter word that plays with the dull burn of the Lazarus Pit.

Since Jason’s return to Gotham, Bruce has been trying to reconcile, but Jason’s not willing to forgive and forget. He’ll try with the others, more so because they are annoyingly persistent, but not with Bruce. He can’t wrap his mind around forgiving Bruce for letting him die, for letting the Joker continue to breathe while he took his first last breath.

“I want to be here.”

“That’s fucking gold,” Jason rolls his eyes and turns away, absently coughing into his fist as he scans his rapid departure. The coughing’s a new development, only just testing his lungs when he woke this morning, but the headache’s remained, a steady, pulsing thump that his repeated consumption of pain killers can’t seem to touch. He doesn’t need a thermometer to know he’s running a fever; he’s got the inconsistent jumping from boiling hot to freezing cold to supply that for him.

“Jay-”

“Code names, Batman,” Jason growls before he shoots his grapple hook to a rooftop adjacent to them, moving along the sudden pull of weightlessness until his feet are thumping atop the next roof. He breaks out into a run, falling into a pattern of leaping over smaller gaps and grapple hooking over larger ones, all to ditch Bruce. His muscles are trembling from the sudden exertion, but he feeds off of the pain, pushing himself harder and harder when he hears Bruce not far behind him.

He only stops when he hears a woman scream from below, skidding to an unsteady stop and peering over a roof edge just as Bruce lands heavily beside him.

“Muggers.”

“No shit,” Jason grumbles, already bracing to leap off the building. “Do me a favor? Stay the fuck out of my way.” He jumps to the sound of Bruce’s strangled “Jay,” ignoring it as he grabs a fire escape to soften his fall. He lands strategically between the two muggers and a young woman.

“Today’s your lucky day, gentlemen.” Jason smiles sharply under his mask. “I’m in a really shitty mood, so I’ll make this quick.” His fist moves on its own, and he allows the aggravation to bleed to a dull rage that pushes his punches, plants his feet, and pulls his dodges. In just a minute, the two muggers are unconscious at his feet, and the woman’s running from the scene, stopping only when Batman drops to the ground in front of her and talks her into staying to give a statement to the GCPD.

Jason’s already shooting back up to the next rooftop, and his lungs quake against a bursting fit of coughs the second his feet make a rough landing. He coughs into his helmet, his chest shaking, but he forces a steady breath when Bruce drops beside him. Though, it takes more blinking then he expects to clear his wavering vision.

“Do you plan on following me all night?” Jason questions, tired and far too hot under his suit. “I don’t need my territory associating the Red Hood with Batman. I have a reputation, and you’re going to fuck that up for me.”

“I’m here to help.”

“You can help on the East side of Crime Alley,” Jason mutters, a few, weaker coughs slipping past his lips. “I’ll handle the rest.” He drops to a landing below him, leaping over to the roof of a convenience store, and his legs buckle on the landing. He falls to his knees, his vision swimming faintly, and he unconsciously taps into the deep-rooted burn of the Lazarus Pit when Bruce drops beside him, one hand frozen mid-reach toward Jason’s back.

“What part,” Jason growls, coughing hollowly around each word, “of fuck off isn’t clicking in that empty skull of yours?” He’s shaking despite the heat gripping at his bones, and he clumsily undos the lock on his helmet, sucking in a ragged breath when his burning face is exposed to the cool wind.

“Jay?”

“Jesus Christ, B,” Jason spits out, forcing himself to his feet and slapping Bruce’s hand away. “Just fucking go.” His throat’s burning, and his head feels oddly heavy despite the absence of his helmet. The skin across his face is so hot it’s practically itching, and he rips at his domino, squeezing it in his fist when Bruce frowns deeply at him.

“Jason? What’s wrong?”

Jason laughs, and his laugh gives way to a few, chesty coughs that rattle his lungs. His vision is graying at the edges, and he hastily rubs at his eyes. “What’s wrong is I’m tired of you and the fucking peanut gallery clinging to me like fucking leeches!” He’s faintly aware that he’s breathing too fast, and he’s impossibly hot. He swipes at his eyes again, but his vision only darkens. He’s fading, and yet, his body is mingling with panic.

He feels Bruce slip and ungloved hand across his forehead, and he tries to jerk away from it, but Bruce keeps him in place with his other hand wrapped tightly around his arm.

“Jason, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you say?”

Bruce’s classic growl, Jason thinks, is wavering? He’s not sure because his ears are ringing. “Because it’s not your fucking busin-” Jason stops, his mouth forming a round ‘oh’ right as his vision goes black.

***

Bruce catches Jason as he falls, and he swallows back the panic threateninng to cripple him as he taps his comm, rattling off his coordinates. “Who is closest?”

“I am,” Dick chimes in after a moment. “I can be there in five. What’s up?”

“I need to get Jason back to the manor. Do you think you can cover the Alley alone tonight?”

“Of course, but what’s up, B? Is Jason okay?”

“No,” Bruce whispers, smoothing a shaking palm to Jason’s burning forehead. “But he will be.”

***

Jason’s entire body feels impossibly heavy, so heavy that he struggles to open his eyes, mind briefly flicking toward panic at the unfamiliar surroundings.

“You’re at the manor.”

The ceiling suddenly makes sense his mind, as does the voice at his side. He drags his gaze to see a Bruce sitting in a chair at his bedside. He frowns, briefly glancing to the IV in his arm before turning back to Bruce, a silent question in his eyes.

“You fainted on patrol. You were running a fever of 103.3 degrees, and you were dehydrated.”

Shit. Jason knew he was sick, but he hadn’t realized he let it get that bad. He wants to talk, even opens his mouth to, but Bruce holds a single hand up, shaking his head.

“Save your strength. You’re on the mend, but not as quickly as we’d like.” Bruce slips to his feet, his eyes colored in dark pain that Jason catches onto.

“I’ll give you some time to yourself now that you’re awake, but I’ll be back, and you are just going to have to deal with that.”

Jason’s mind is fuzzy, confused, pained, but he feels a fraction lighter along the knowledge that while he blacked out, he woke back up this time, safe, alive. He stares at Bruce’s back headed to the door.

“B?”

Bruce stops, and he whips around, one brow arched.

“Thanks. I guess.”

“Of course, son.”

Bruce leaves, and Jason decides that, just for tonight, he’ll take muted comfort in the single word that carries an impossibly heavy amount of weight.

Son.

[meet-the-decoy]

Hey Decoy! What exactly is your role on the battle field?

MEET THE DECOY

Description

It isn't hard to see that she is the fairest one on the team. Decoy isn't afraid to use her feminine touch to her advantage and being on a team with mostly men has it's perks. But don't be fooled, this girl isn't as sweet as she looks. She's a babe with quite a bite.

Primary

Stock

- Duel pistols: (ammo 12/36 each)

Craft

- Boxing glove gun: (ammo N/A)

Gives Decoy the ability to punch an opponent with as much force as a Heavy.

- Pole vault: (ammo N/A)

Gives Decoy a 20% boost on acrobatics.

-Mini canon: (ammo 20) 

Is similar to Soldier's rocket launcher. Each shot takes several seconds to reload but gives critical damage to enemies. Slows down agility.

Uncrate

- Chainsaw: (ammo N/A)

Gives critical damage at close range. Won't be able to preform acrobatics as a result.

- Bear trap: (ammo N/A)

Traps enemies for several seconds while giving mini crits. Can only be used once every 30 seconds.

- Water pistols: (ammo 100 each)

Counteracts Pyro fires. This weapon extinguishes teammates that are ablaze as well as sapping the enemy Engineer's buildings.

Secondary

Stock

- Hand grenades: (ammo 20)

Craft

- Fireworks: (ammo 20)

This weapon creates flash bangs and blinds the enemy for several seconds and can also light enemies on fire depending on range.

- Taser: (ammo N/A)

Electrifies enemies and paralyzes them for up to 3 seconds. Effects enemies differently. Has a cool down time of 3 seconds.

- Sling shot: (ammo 20)

Let's Decoy launch grenades just as far as a Demoman, letting her throw them farther then she originally could. It can also be used to launch health kits to teammates.

- Water Balloons: (ammo 20)

Extinguishes teammates who are on fire. It also washes way Jarate from teammates who may be covered in it.

Uncrate

- Throwing knives: (ammo 12)

Allows Decoy to trick stab like a Spy but at longer distances. Can be used during acrobatics.

- Playing cards: (ammo 3 decks)

Cards can slice enemies to inflict damage. Cards can be boomeranged back to be reused if thrown correctly.

- Grappling hook: (ammo N/A)

Gives Decoy the ability to get to higher nesting spots with ease. Boosts acrobatics by 5%. Grapple can be shot at enemies to finish off kills.

Melee

Stock

- Bullwhip: (ammo N/A)

Craft

- Chain: (ammo N/A)

Gives critical damage to enemies. Slows down acrobatics by 15% as a result.

- Spider net: (ammo 8)

Bounds enemies for several seconds. This also leaves the enemy vulnerable and more likely to receive critical damage.

- Roller skates: (ammo N/A)

Allows Decoy to match the speed of that of a Scout. Decoy won't be able to preform acrobatics as a result.

- Megaphone: (ammo N/A)

Amplifys Decoy's vocals and lures enemies easier.

Uncrate

- Lipstick: (ammo N/A)

Ables Decoy to give a teammate ÜberCharge for 3 seconds by kissing them. This weapon also restores a teammates health by 50%. Gives critical damage to enemies.

- Mirror: (ammo N/A)

Blinds the enemy for 3 seconds by shining light in the enemy's eyes. This weapon is most effective on Snipers.

- Ribbon wand: (ammo N/A)

Steals 15% of an enemy's ammo. Ammo can be given to other teammates or can be used personally.

- Perfume: (ammo N/A)

Amplifys Decoy's lures. Perfume can also be used to disorient enemies for several seconds. No man can resist the smell of flowers and gunpowder.

PDA

Primary

- Acrobatics

Secondary

- Vocal

Special Taunts

• Song Bird

This taunt makes enemies vision blur whenever they get to close to her singing. This makes the enemy vulnerable and more likely to receive critical hits.

• Damsel in Distress

This taunt gives Decoy the ability to make enemies hurt their own teammates. Every shot that hits a teammate will lower their health depending on distance different variables. Can only be used once every 3 minutes.

• Blowing Kisses

This taunt has the Decoy blow a kiss at the enemy. Whoever the kiss lands on receives critical damage. If the kiss lands on a teammate, it restores their health by 15%.

• Love Me, Love Me Not

This taunt has Decoy pick pedals off of a flower. If a heart appears, then the enemy walks free. If a broken heart appears then the enemy receives critical damage. This taunt gives a 50/50 chance each time it is used.

• Love Potion No.9

Can be slipped into any food or beverage. Once consumed, the enemy cannot hurt Decoy up to 10 seconds. This taunt can only be used 3 times during a match.

• Milkshake

In this taunt, Decoy pulls out a tray and proceeds to make and serve milkshakes to anyone who takes them. Decoy serves any flavor of milkshake to her teammates to boost their health level much like Heavy's Sandvich, but is far sweeter.

Achievements

• Master Maiden: Achieve over 50 'Blowing Kisses' taunt kills.

• Golden Gal: Seduce kill each class in one round.

• Lucky Lady: Dodge 5 airblasted rockets using acrobatics.

• Flirting with Death: Lure a Scout over 100 times

• Here to Save The Day: Protect a struggling teammate more than 5 times in one round.

• The Angelic Acrobat: Save a teammate over 20 times by throwing back a Demoman's grenade using acrobatics.

• Dangerous Dame: Seduce kill 500 times.

• Kiss it Better: Heal over 75 teammates using 'Blowing Kisses' taunt or by using Lipstick melee.

Domination Lines

SCOUT

"So you're the fastest man alive, huh? Is that why you can't get a date?"

"Why so red tough guy?"

"I like a guy who can make me laugh."

"Hey, my eyes are up here scooter."

"Your ass must be pretty jealous of all the shit that comes out of your mouth."

SOLDIER

"If I threw a stick, you’d leave, right?"

"Everyone’s entitled to act stupid once in awhile, but you really abuse the privilege."

"You look good with black and blue."

"Are you always such an idiot, or do you just show off when I’m around?"

"I was hoping for a battle of wits but it would be wrong to attack someone who’s totally unarmed."

PYRO

"I AM a woman, what's your excuse?"

"Still think your on fire?"

"What in the hell? What are you supposed to be?"

"Did things get really hot in here, or is it just me?"

"Earth is full. Go home."

ENGINEER

"Whoopsie, did I do that?"

"Look at the cute little toys! Can I play with one?"

"You only annoy me when you’re breathing, really."

"Your birth certificate is an apology to your parents from the hospital."

"How impressive! You can put your foot in your mouth and your head up your ass at the same time!"

HEAVY

"So... do you name your guns because you can't get a real date or?..."

"Oh wow, this must be pretty embarrassing for you."

"Are your compensating for something?"

"Jesus christ, You’re so fat you could sell shade."

"You are the human version of period cramps."

DEMOMAN

"Sorry, but you won't be able to drink away the alcoholism."

"I'm gonna hit you so hard, you'll lose your accent."

"*sad crying that turns into cruel laughter*"

"You’ll never be the man your mom is."

"Nice onesie, does it come in men's?"

"Aww, Do you need me to kiss your boo-boo better?"

MEDIC

"Excuse me nurse, could you take a look at this for me?"

"They took your license away for a reason doctor."

"Oh! I like your dress!"

"If laughter is the best medicine, your face must be curing the world."

SNIPER

"That's disgusting."

"Isn’t there a bullet somewhere you could be jumping in front of?"

"Just because you have a dick doesn’t mean you need to act like one."

"I’ve been called worse by better."

"There’s no doubt about it. Your father should have pulled out earlier."

SPY

"Is that a knife in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

"Hey croissant, your fly’s undone."

"If you’re going to be two-faced, at least make one of them pretty."

"Acting like a prick doesn’t make yours grow bigger."

"Je n'ai jamais pensé rencontrer un homme sans couilles."

DECOY

"You're not cute sweetheart."

"See, this is why the men don't take us seriously."

"Nice outfit. I bet if you stood on a street corner, you’d make some money."

"Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful. Hate me because your boyfriend thinks so."

"I’ve seen your kind before…but last time, I had to pay admission.

Backstory

Decoy (Delilah Lou Rose) was born April 1st, 1941 in a backstage tent and grew up as a acrobatic clown in the Canadian Circus.

She was brought to the Administrator's attention when she slaughtered a total of 12 men with ease during a break in and attempted assault. A meeting with Saxton Hale eventually led to a job offer. Needing the money, she takes a job with the Gravel wars, thinking it was a show. Once she realizes that it is in fact not a show, but a place where men kill each other, it's too late.

Delilah Lou became a new class called the Decoy, where she would lure unsuspecting men to their death. It wasn't long before she fell in love with the job and grew strong friendships with her coworkers.

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Whumptober 2020 Day 2 - Kidnapped

Characters: Lois Lane, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Damian and Jon Summary: Damian and Jon were kidnapped by the one you’d least expect A/N: It was some evil space magic shit, obviously. And was mitigated by the pain/sudden shock to his system.

Ao3

~~

Lois rarely calls Bruce.

And it’s even more rare for her to call Bruce sobbing.

“He took them.” She gasped, screamed, wailed. “He…I…I don’t know what happened. He was on a case. The boys were helping me clean the house and…and the barnyard. He-He came back, he didn’t say a word-”

“Lois, slow down.” Bruce tried, already clicking through the Batcomputer to get to the satellite images of the Kent farm. Damian had just been there for the weekend. The boys having a sleepover. “He who?”

Just to confirm. Just to be sure. He knew who she was talking about but he just had to be sure.

“Clark.” She cried, and Bruce’s heart sank. “He pulled Jon up by his hair. Dragged Damian by his neck. I-I tried to stop him, tried to make him put them down. He just threw me across the yard.”

“Okay.” Bruce breathed. “Okay, I’m on my way. Which direction did he go, did you see?”

“North. I think.” Lois offered. “Bruce, you have to pick me up. I have to come with you.”

“Lois, it’s not safe-”

“My son isn’t safe.” She spat, even through her tears. “And I’m not leaving Damian. He was in my care, it’s my fault he was taken. I’m going to help get him back or I…I…”

She collapsed back into tears.

“…Fine.” Bruce sighed. “Just…just know, Lois. This obviously isn’t Clark, something happened. But to save the boys…to get our boys back…I may have to use Kryptonite.”

“…I know.”

“I just want you to understand.”

“I know.” Lois repeated. “I know you won’t like it either. But I know you’ll do anything to get Jon and Damian to safety. Even that.”

“Good.” Bruce huffed nervously. He grabbed for a bag of weapons, pulled his cowl over his face. “And Lois?”

“What?”

“I don’t blame you.” Bruce whispered. “I know this isn’t your fault.”

Lois didn’t answer the statement. Instead just sniffed and said, “I’ll be waiting by the mailbox.”

As the Batmobile sped through the streets, Bruce continued to work on the computer. He’d found the tracker in Damian’s cell phone, cross-referenced it with a tracker Bruce had put in his shoe.

Metropolis.

The car barely slowed on the old dusty road before Lois was opening the car door and dropping in. Bruce relayed any information he had to her as they drove towards the city. Lois manned the computer then, checking security cameras on various buildings that might have meant something to Clark.

“There.” She whispered eventually, tapping her finger on the screen. “Bruce, there!”

They were on top of the Daily Planet. It was a camera from another building nearby, so they couldn’t see details. But they could see enough.

The boys were huddled together against the rooftop door, and there were jagged lines of scorch marks around them, clear indicators that every attempt at movement was thwarted by heat vision. Superman was under the golden globe that labeled the building, using that very same heat vision to slice the statue’s mount.

“Is he…” Lois tilted her head. “Is he going to drop it on them? Crush them to death?”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out.” Bruce responded tightly. As they made it to the city, to the street where the Planet was, they could see a crowd gathering on the street below, watching with curiosity what they could see of the situation above them. “We need to sneak up the side. He needs to not know I’m there.”

“Why?”

“Because we don’t know what he’s doing, or what influence he’s under.” Bruce murmured, trying to find another camera angle himself. “So right now, to get the boys out of danger, our only move is to incapacitate him.”

Lois glanced over. “The Kryptonite.”

Bruce nodded solemnly. “If I can sneak up behind him, it’ll limit any damage to Jon. Give me the element of surprise.”

Lois swallowed the lump in her throat and looked back down to the security feed. She watched as Jon rubbed at his eyes, as Damian tried to say something to him, as Clark turned and shot heat vision in their direction.

“Okay.” Lois whispered. “Put me near the boys, I’ll try to distract him, or…or get between him and the kids, at least.”

Bruce nodded. They waited in silence as the Batmobile slowed and ducked into an alleyway. “…You know I don’t want to do this.”

“Of course I do.” Lois tried to give him a smile, but it came out pained. “But anything for the boys. I know that. Clark knows that.”

Bruce nodded, looked at the camera feed himself.

“Anything for our babies.” Lois repeated softly. Suddenly she kicked open her door. “Let’s go.”

Bruce slowly exited the car himself, and watched as Lois began to climb the fire escape of the near-skyscraper. She made it up two or three layers before glancing back down at him.

“Well, get going, Bats.”

Bruce couldn’t help but smirk at her courage, but ducked around the corner of the building at her command anyway, pulling his grapple gun out of his belt.

Lois was out of breath by the time she reached the top, but she didn’t care. She only cared about her son and his best friend. She glanced over the ledge, searching the roof, gaining her bearings.

She was thankfully closest to the door the boys were crowded against, but it made her heart immediately sink. Both boys had injuries on them. Blood seeping from cuts, bruises. A black eye on Damian and a bruise blossoming on Jon’s jaw. Jon was also cradling a limp arm between the two of them, and Damian’s jeans were ripped enough to reveal a swollen ankle.

Clark had hurt them. Jesus Christ, Clark had hurt them.

Clark, meanwhile, was still working on the base of the newspaper’s monument, humming cheerfully as he moved.

Her heart pounded, but she knew. She needed to remind herself.

Right now, that wasn’t her husband.

And Jon’s silent tears made that easier to believe. His pain fueled her fury. Husbands didn’t exist when her baby was scared.

So she crawled over the ledge, and silently walked to stand in front of the children. Damian noticed her first, and she quickly held her finger to her lips, asking for quiet. He attempted to situate himself more in front of Jon, and nodded.

Once Damian and Jon were behind her, she cleared her throat. “Clark.”

Clark stood upright and turned around, frowning at the sight of her. “Oh. You.”

His eyes were dark, almost black, the shadow of red lining his irises. His face was tight, like he was straining, even though everything else about him screamed relaxed.

It was him, but it so wasn’t.

“Give me my kids back.” Lois demanded.

“No thank you.” Clark grinned. “I need them.”

“For what?”

“To destroy them.” Clark shrugged pleasantly. Jon whimpered behind her. Damian shushed him. “They are a waste of life.”

“Says who?” Lois snapped. In the corner of her eye she saw a shadow move behind the globe. She kept her focus on Clark anyway.

“Says me.” Clark pushed back. “My eyes have been opened. It’s the only conclusion. The legacy of the World’s Finest deserve better than…” He frowned, waved his hand mindlessly towards the boys. “Them.”

“Even if that were true, and it’s not.” Lois spat. “That doesn’t mean they deserve to die.”

“It absolutely does.” Clark grinned. “After all, you dispose of trash, don’t you?”

“You’re the only garbage I see.” Damian shouted angrily. Clark’s eyes instantly became red, and Lois quickly backed up a step.

“Don’t.” She warned. “Don’t you dare touch them.”

“Move or be destroyed with them.” Clark decided.

“Then kill me.” Lois countered. “But I won’t let you kill our son.”

Clark grimaced, then sighed. He turned and slowly began to pick up the globe.

“I wish he was never born.” Clark mumbled, but they all heard him loud and clear.

But before he could lift the monument even an inch, Batman dropped out of seemingly nowhere, a green, glowing blade in his hand.

Without preamble, he shoved the dagger into Clark’s side. Reluctantly, he resisted the urge to twist it.

“And I wish you didn’t open your goddamn mouth.” He hissed as Clark dropped to his knees. He ripped the knife out, kept it tight in his fist as he backed towards Lois. When Clark didn’t move, other than to drop painfully onto his side, Bruce risked turning, kneeling in front of their sons.

Jon still had tears streaming down his face, and Bruce knew it was Clark’s words that stung the most, more than any injury. Damian was just watching, muscles tense, like he was ready to jump into action at Bruce’s command.

So instead, he softly reached his hand out to hold Damian’s face. “Are you alright?”

“We’ll live.” Damian murmured as Lois engulfed Jon in her arms. “So long as you continue to stop him from throwing that stupid globe.”

Bruce gave him a smile and leaned forward to hook an arm under Damian’s thighs. He stood with Damian tight to his chest, and kept his grip on the Kryptonite knife as he backed away from Lois and Jon, and turned back to Clark.

Clark, who was still groaning, green coloring his skin and veins. Clark, who was blinking, that mysterious black disappearing more and more every time his eyes reopened.

“Wha…? Why…?” Clark murmured as he struggled to sit up, hand clasping over the bleeding wound in his side. “Bruce? What happened? Did you…?”

Jon whimpered at the sound of his voice, and Bruce glanced back. Jon was clinging to his mother, sobbing into her shoulder even as she tried to whisper reassurances into his hair.

His father was possessed, she offered. He didn’t mean anything he said. He didn’t mean anything he did. He loves you, Jon, she pleaded. He loves you so much.

“Diana and a few of the Lanterns are on their way.” Bruce called to her. Lois glanced up. “I called them for assistance, see if they can help us figure out what’s going on, while we get the boys home.”

Lois nodded.

“What…what happened, Batman?” Clark asked again, his voice shrinking with every word. Bruce looked back, tightening his grip on Damian. Damian, who was still trembling slightly, whose breathing sounded like it hurt. And Clark was smart. Despite what people thought, Clark wasn’t naïve at all, not even a little bit. He could read the room, he could decipher evidence. He looked at Bruce, fear in his eyes. “…What did I do?”

Bruce glanced between the Kents, sighed as Damian leaned his head exhaustedly against his shoulder. And when Clark shifted to move towards his wife and child, Bruce found himself stepping between them, standing protectively in front of Lois and Jon, knife still tight in his hand as he kept Damian turned away.

“You don’t want to know right now, Clark.”

[the-drakeboys]

Come Back to Me - Part 4

Summary: As you rush through the jungle and over the wall to get to Sam, memories of a heart-pounding night in Moscow flood your mind. And when you get to Sam and find that he’s not alone, it’ll take everything you have to save him. 

Pairing: Sam Drake x Reader

Word Count: 2,451

Warnings: Violence, gore. 

A/N: My god, this one took… SO LONG. I so, so hope you all enjoy it! And there...may or may not be a part 5 comin’ just around the corner… Love you guys so much! 

And special shoutouts to these beautiful folks for their amazing comments!! 

@cassieseraphim @archesa @s4mdrake @qwertybubbler 

This is a series! You can find the masterlist here.

---

The first time you saw Sam go down, every bone in your body turned to dust. With your feet launching you forward, your arms grabbing at him, you could feel yourself moving - but it was all as if underwater. You'd only been on a few jobs with these boys by then - a hunt in Peru that went strangely smooth, and a dig in Alaska that proved all but useless; but here, with your boots crunching through the Moscow snow, dozens of heavily armed men pursuing you around every corner; this was the first time it really clicked for you. The reason they'd called you - the reason they thought they might need a medic. 

You remembered it so well - every moment of it. The dark alley, the flurry of snow fluttering past each of you, the freezing cold... and the sound of Sam's shout of pain as the knife broke his skin. 

"Sam!" Nate's voice echoed in your head, his guttural shout striking you as he leapt toward his brother. The man whose knife was burrowed into Sam stood over him, breathless and ready to finish the kill. He didn't expect the young man he'd sent flying just a moment before to bring him to the ground with a heavy tackle, nor was he prepared for the fists flying into his face. Nathan had him down and out in seconds. With your med pack weighing heavily on your back and your gloves on shaking hands, you were next to Sam in an instant. 

"Ah, fuck," he groaned through gritted teeth, his head rolling from side to side in the ice as blood spread slowly from the wound. You breathed finally as your eyes landed on it - a large hunting knife, embedded in his shoulder, just inches from his carotid. Your hands were rapidly pulling gauze from your pack then, every part of you fully focused. 

"We gotta get outta here," Nate called as he shakily stood up and away from the bloodied man on the ground, "I can hear more coming." 

"Alright," Sam grunted, slowly trying to lift himself up. 

You shoved him back down by his opposite shoulder, "Hey! Hey, no, just wait one second-" 

"W-We don't have a second," he argued, setting your nerves on fire as he shifted to get up again, "I'm goin'. Now-" 

You set your knee forcefully onto his chest and stared him down, earning a gasp from his lips. "Don't. Move. Give me twenty seconds." His eyes sent a glare up at you that at any other time would've set you back on your heels - but right now, you had work to do. 

"Y/N! Hurry up!" Nate called, picking up a shotgun from a nearby body and aiming it at the end of the alley, where loud shouts of impending gunmen bounced off every brick wall from around the corner. You worked quicker than you ever had before, wrapping the gauze over his shoulder and around the knife, again and again until it was secure. 

"This is gonna suck," you warned Sam, watching him nod his head as you put pressure down on the wound around the knife. He hissed loudly in pain, clenching his jaw and letting his head loll back against the pavement. "Alright, on your feet." He nodded, and began to pick himself up. With one of your hands holding his arm in place and the other keeping pressure on the wound, you slowly stood with him, Nate reaching out to give him a hand. 

That's when the men made it around the corner. 

"Go, go, go!" Nate called, shooting off one shotgun blast after another in their direction. The three of you scrambled from the alleyway, Sam leaning on you with all of his weight. Bullets shattered at bricks just near your face, as you slipped around another corner and disappeared into the growing blizzard.

The memories were flashing through your mind, the colors blurring together, as your feet carried you through the trees and heavy brush as fast as they could go. You were already out of breath, but the wall was in sight, and all you could think about was finding him, getting to him before they did. All you could think about was whether or not he’d be breathing; whether or not there’d be time. 

You pushed those thoughts away as you reached the wall, the gunfire fading behind you. You listened for other voices, scanned the area ahead for guards - but couldn’t find a thing. 

With a quick adjustment of the pack on your back, you took a breath and lifted yourself onto the edge of the wall, easily climbing over it and rolling forward. You stayed still, running your eyes over the rooftops and buildings of the prison; none of the guards had come back this way yet. Most of them were probably still on Nate - the thought of which twisted your gut. 

He had to make it out. He had to. 

With no time to overthink it, you crawled quickly to the opposite edge of the wall and looked down the thirty or so foot drop. Just as Nate and Rafe had said, a metal awning straight below had been ripped apart, leaving a gaping hole where Sam must’ve fallen through. Sam was there. 

You scrambled across the cement to the part of the railing that seemed the strongest, just around the corner from where Sam had fallen. It was the side of the wall that met with the jungle, and was the shortest distance down to the ground. With a few quick moves, you unraveled the rope from your hip and hooked your grapple to the railing. 

“Here goes nothin’,” you muttered to yourself, lifting over the rail and sliding slowly down the rope. 

“Tomas sus piernas, yo tengo su cabeza.” Oh, shit. The two voices hit your ears and you immediately crouched down against the wall, just daring to peer around the corner to see what you were up against. 

The sight in front of you sent you reeling, your stomach dropping to your feet and your heart breaking into pieces. 

The two guards - big, burly men with pistols at their hips and AK-47s slung over their backs - were huffing with heavy breaths as they carried a body between them. A motionless body, his skin pale, his shirt soaked through with dark, crimson red blood, his arms hanging on either side of him. Had you been standing, your knees would’ve buckled underneath you. 

Sam.

Minutes later, your three tired, damaged bodies shambled up to the motel room door, your faces nearly frozen and Sam's weight swaying from side to side. The pressure you were keeping on the wound felt like pins and needles. "Would you fuckin' let go?" he grumbled, "Jesus Christ, I'm fine." 

You rolled your eyes as Nate fussed with the keys, trying to unlock the door for you both to get inside. "I can't 'let go', I have to hold it in place," you shot back for the fiftieth time, "Now quit moving so much." 

"O-Oh, I'm sorry, is this inconvenient for you?" he griped, his eyes squeezing together with another throbbing wave of pain. “Isn’t this your whole job?” You wanted to punch him. First, you had to patch him up - and then you were gonna punch him. 

"Yeah, it's my goddamn job, so let me do it, would you?" You sent him another death glare and took a deep breath, thanking the universe as Nate finally got the door open and ushered you both inside. 

"Nate, can you grab me some towels? And the brandy from the fridge," you asked through your chattering teeth, the warmth of the room hitting each of your bodies and forcing your nerves back to life. 

"On it," Nate mumbled, striding across the room to the mini fridge. 

"In here," you directed Sam, feeling his body trudge into the bathroom behind you. With your hands still supporting his arm and shoulder, you used your boot to flip the toilet lid down. "Have a seat," you muttered absentmindedly, trying to think of whether or not you had everything you needed in your pack. 

"Bossy," he breathed, his attitude shining through despite the pain he was in as he sat himself down. 

You just shook your head at him. "Can you hold here? Just - right here," you gently let go of his arm, setting his elbow to rest on the edge of the counter, and instead reaching for his opposite hand so he could take over holding pressure. 

He raised a brow at you, the stubborn glint in his eyes driving you crazy. "Seriously?" 

You had had about enough with this man. You grabbed at his hand and pushed it against the wound, eliciting a sharp "Shit!" from him as you finally stepped back. "God, you're a pain in my ass," you huffed, shaking your head and dumping your med pack on the counter. The worry floating through your veins at the way he swayed to the side remained unspoken, your hands shuffling quickly through your pack to get to the sutures and thread. Nate stepped in, handing you the towels and brandy. "Is he always this difficult?" you shot Nathan a look, your hands tugging a large needle and vial from the gear bag. 

"Are you really askin' me that?" he scoffed, crossing his arms tightly around his trembling body. You furrowed your brows, one of your hands going to Sam's good shoulder to steady him. You eyed Nate, his skin pale and eyes rung with dark blue. 

"Alright, well. I got this for now. Go get changed, warm up. I might need you later." Sam watched as you sent his brother out, feeling the concern in your voice at the way he shook. Something in his stomach turned. Nate offered a small, grateful smile, checking on Sam with his eyes before turning and heading back into the room. But Sam didn’t notice; he couldn’t tear his eyes from you.

You struggled to pull yourself together, your shaking hands going for your gun and your mind pushing away the realization that this was it - that Sam could not have survived this. It was becoming more and more real by the minute. 

You raised your revolver, aiming at the guard holding Sam’s feet. 

You pulled the trigger. A single shot into his back. He went down like a bull, landing with a heavy thud as Sam’s legs dropped with him.

“Carajo!” the other guard spat, letting Sam’s arms go and quickly reaching for his own gun. You shot another round from your revolver, but fuck, it missed. The guard shot back, his aim much better than yours, one of three shots connecting with your skin.

“Ah!” you screamed, falling back around the corner. Your hand went to the searing skin of your upper arm, grasping tightly around it as it bled. “Fuck,” you whispered, feeling where the bullet had grazed a slice into your flesh. 

You rolled the revolver’s chamber open - one bullet left. You were trembling as you snapped it shut, willing yourself to get to your feet. But you didn’t have the time. The guard came hurtling at you from around the corner, the barrel of his AK swinging around to face you, and before you could react, your finger pulled the trigger, sending a shot through his heart and forcing his body to the ground in a heap. 

"Okay," you started, eyeing the knife and grabbing at your scissors. “Hold still a sec, I don’t wanna slice you.” You reached for the bottom of Sam’s shirt and started to lift it, bringing your scissors near its hem-

"Woah, woah," he stopped you, causing confusion to envelope your face. "...at least buy me d-dinner first." He cracked a shaky, exhausted grin, and your eye roll could be felt for miles. 

"Would you shut up?" you whispered, fighting the butterflies in your belly and quickly cutting through the thick fabric of his grey henley. As you peeled the shirt from his skin and let it flop to the ground in a pile, Sam gave a small, but noticeable shiver. You softened, knowing how completely shitty this was for him. How much it hurt, how cold and miserable he was. You just wanted this to be over for him. As much of an ass as he was, and as much as he drove you crazy, you just wanted him to be okay.

Your hands draped one of the towels over him, tucking it in warmly around him and rubbing over it at his arm to try to give him some heat. He looked up at you, jostling a little from side to side with your movement. The way you were with him made him crazy. 

“You’ll warm up in a few,” you promised softly. 

“Can I at least get a cigarette?” he croaked with a grin, aching for some nicotine to soothe his nerves.

His request coaxed a small smile out of you, your head shaking as you gently gave his good arm a squeeze. “No. Definitely not.”

You jolted forward, running to Sam’s side and collapsing beside him. Your revolver was forgotten on the ground as you grabbed at him, tears welling up in your eyes. “Baby!” you called, pressing your palms to his cheeks. “Sam, baby, can you hear me?!” 

His skin was clammy, pale, and cool against your touch, his body completely motionless beneath you. You leaned down, resting your forehead against his. “Please… Please…” Your fingers went to the side of his neck, and pressed. They pressed, and felt nothing. You waited, praying, begging. Begging for your Sam to still have a chance, to still be there with you. “Please, Sam. You promised. You promised.”

You slowly burrowed your face into his neck, hot tears rolling down your cheeks as you shook. “I can’t….I can’t d-do this…” you whimpered, your fingers slowly starting to slide back. “I need y-you.” 

And then… a thump. 

A little, quiet thump beneath your fingers. “Oh my god,” you stammered, sitting up. You weren’t sure you felt it. You leaned down, placing your ear over his mouth, your other hand moving to feel his chest and your fingers pressing once again to that spot on his neck.

There it was again - a beat of his pulse under your fingers, and… oh my god. His chest just rose. 

“Sam!” you bumbled tearfully, straightening up and quickly wiping the wetness from your cheeks. Your heart started pumping again with him, your lungs finally filling with air as relief flooded every part of you. “Okay,” you spoke, feeling yourself switch on. “Okay, okay, okay, here we go.”

---

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Tags:

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Shoot me an ask, message, or reply if you’d like to be tagged in this series! Thanks so much for reading!

[janeofcakes]

KYFC..: Chapter 20 (Johnlock on wheels)

Hello Hello!! I’m back and I’m so sorry that I made you wait so long for this one. I took a little trip to Packer country last weekend and wasn’t able to work on it. It was a wonderful getaway though. I really needed the time away and spent some quality time with two really great friends. Don’t worry. It was a very safe and distanced. 😉

So, on with the story. The shit’s finally hitting the fan and John just went over the side of The Crown. Aahhhhh, JAWN! Save him, Sherlock! SAVE HIM!

---------

I will try not to worry you. I have seen things that you will never see. Leave it to memory me. Don't dare me to breathe…

Baby, don't shiver now. Why do you shiver now? I need something to breathe. I want you to remember.     --R.E.M., Try Not to Breathe

And for this, the second to last chapter, BONUS LYRICS!

Then I open up and see the person falling here is me. A different way to be. I want more. Impossible to ignore. Now I tell you openly, you have my heart so don’t hurt me. You’re what I couldn’t find. Totally amazing mind, so understanding and so kind. You’re everything to me. 

Oh, my life is changing every day in every possible way. And oh, my dreams, it’s never quite as it seems ‘cause you���re a dream to me, dream to me.                               --The Cranberries, Dreams

A wave of panic descends throughout Sherlock’s mind palace when John disappears over the side of The Crown with a loud splash. John will drown. John will drown. Jesus fucking Christ, he’ll drown! Sherlock fights with these emotions he cannot show, trying to master them. He must maintain control like never before and tamp down his instinct to leap into the water for John or this is all for naught. He has to stick to the plan.

In one swift motion, Sherlock pulls the flare gun tucked in his waistband from behind his back and fires it at Moran. It whizzes past his right ear and flies far off over the lake where it explodes, alerting every other boat in sight to the trouble. It also sets off a chain reaction on The Crown.

Moran twists in surprise, trying to avoid the flare. He needn’t have bothered because Sherlock is nothing if not accurate. He did, of course, want Moran to believe he had aimed at him so the man would play right into his hands. Moran’s sudden jump to avoid it rams his body into the side of the boat, doubling him over and right into the water after John. He splutters after resurfacing, blinking his eyes rapidly in lieu of rubbing them.

Sarah swiftly shifts to The Crown’s steering column and engages the engine. Pulling back on the throttle, the boat springs to life and begins to move away from Sherlock. With most other boats scrambling to help and the police on their way, Sarah knows there is little chance of escape, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t try. Obvious, but understandable, and not Sherlock’s priority. He has far more important matters to attend to.

Sherlock rushes to the side of his boat with the intention of diving into the water to find John, but Moriarty hampers his plan. As The Crown pulls away, the man scrambles onto the built-in seats across the back of the deck and jumps into Sherlock’s boat with a loud scream. Sherlock sees him coming a fraction too late and has no time to react before their bodies collide. They fall to the floor together, Sherlock on his back and the smaller man on top of his lithe body. The back of his head hits the wood with a crack and his vision blacks out for what feels like a few seconds. When he opens his eyes, Moriarty’s hands are around his throat and precious little air moves through his windpipe. Sherlock grabs Moriarty’s wrists and pulls at them as hard as he can to no avail. The terrifying little man is possessed with fury and strength greater than his stature should allow. Sherlock tries to change his grip, but the angle of their bodies works against him and he cannot seem to free himself from Moriarty’s grasp no matter how hard he tries.

Still he tries, tearing at Moriarty’s flesh and grappling desperately for the upper hand or leverage or anything that will help. Even as he struggles for his own life, his mind turns to thoughts of John. Alone in the water, in the dark, dying. Sherlock’s lungs are just beginning to burn for lack of oxygen. John has been underwater for thirty seconds. How long can John hold his breath before his lungs inhale involuntarily in search of air only to fill with water?

Sherlock’s eyes are watering so much he can barely see and they begin to close. He can see himself in his mind’s eye as he gasps for breath. John must look the same, struggling not to gulp in the liquid all around. Shit. Fuck. Fuck the plan. He should have dove in to look for John himself. He saw him go in, so it stands to reason that it would be easier for Sherlock to find him in the murky depths. God, it’s a terrible plan and not knowing what is happening beneath the water is unbearable. He has to put an end to this wretched little man as quickly as possible and help Greg look for John.

Sherlock forces his drooping eyelids to open again and renews his hold on Moriarty’s wrists. He twists his legs out from under the man and wraps them around his waist, rocking from one side to the other. Moriarty frantically tries to stop him as he gains the momentum he needs to switch their positions. Moriarty squeezes Sherlock’s neck with his fingers, bruising it with an iron grip. Sherlock clenches his jaw and rocks harder, faster until they flip over completely. Moriarty finally releases Sherlock’s throat as their bodies roll. He thrashes his arms, trying to grab anything he can to keep Sherlock beneath him, but fails and falls flat on his back. His left hand crashes to the deck with a loud thud and a spike of pain that has him crying out. Both men glance toward it to see that his knuckles struck the flare gun that went flying when Moriarty attacked Sherlock.

They stare at it for a moment that seems to go on forever. Then they both spring into motion again as they scrabble for it, each trying to knock the other’s hands away while grabbing for the gun themselves. They roll onto their sides, facing the steering column and still grappling for the flare gun. Sherlock stretches his arms their full length and then stretches them again. The tip of his middle finger can just touch the trigger guard. He gives it one more shot and only succeeds in pushing the gun another millimeter out of his reach. He huffs in frustration and wraps his arms around Moriarty instead. The shorter man has positioned himself between Sherlock and the flare gun, their bodies flush with one another as if spooning. If their roles were reversed and Sherlock was the smaller spoon, the gun would be his. 

Moriarty suddenly scrambles in Sherlock’s arms, kicking at him and hitting any place he can reach. Sherlock holds fast, but the man lurches forward when he cannot break free and the momentum slides them both closer to the steering column. Moriarty reaches as far as he can, straining against Sherlock’s arms and closes his fingers around the flare gun.

Jerking his head just in time to avoid being stuck by it, Sherlock holds tightly to the smaller man and rolls to his other side, dragging Moriarty with him and slamming him down onto the deck. With his opponent momentarily stunned after the blow, Sherlock knocks the gun from his grip and then slams his head to the deck again. A surge of adrenaline races through Sherlock’s body at the sound and he is suddenly back in time listening to Moriarty badmouthing Molly all those years ago. Take your whore back to the locker room and fuck… That was all Moriarty had gotten out of his mouth before Sherlock hit him and the same white hot fury streams through his veins now. Sherlock yanks Moriarty onto his back by his lapels and throws a leg over his body to make sure he stays down.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Moriarty bites out, his faculties sharpening again. “If I knew it would all lead up to this, I’d have jumped on you a long time ago. Is that how John likes it? Rough and dry like…”

Sherlock’s hand flies to the man’s face and cracks against his jaw with splintering force. His head falls to the side, blood spattering on the deck and staining Sherlock’s shirt. Moriarty’s arms fall limply to the floor and, for a moment, he is completely still. Then his legs begin to move slowly from side to side as he fights to stay conscious.

Sherlock looks around the boat quickly and sees a length of rope hanging from a nearby hook. He lifts off Moriarty just enough to grab it and sets to work tying the man where he lies. He rises as Moriarty turns his head to look at him in a daze.

“Doesn’t matter,” he slurs. The sound of sirens reaches their ears and Sherlock takes his eyes off the man to see a police boat heading toward them, along with three other boats that saw the flare. Moriarty’s next words recapture his attention with their unbridled cruelty. “You’re too late to save your precious John Watson. He’s dead at the bottom of the lake and you will never find him.”

Sherlock stares with somber eyes as Moriarty laughs hoarsely. A soft breeze ruffles his curls as he looks straight ahead and then angles his head down to look away from Moriarty. Water splashes against the side of the boat and the sirens grow louder.

“Put your hands where I can see them and don’t move,” calls an officer on deck, megaphone in hand.

Sherlock raises his arms slowly, fingers splayed wide, arms bent at the elbow. He lifts his eyes to meet Moriarty’s and curls his lips into a self-satisfied smirk. That seemingly innocuous splash of water, not at all the same as the natural movement of the lake against the boat, is all he needs to hear. Moriarty grins up at Sherlock with cruel amusement, but falters as Sherlock’s expression grows more smug.

“Don’t be so sure about that, Jim,” he says smoothly. “Unlike you, I never fail.”

A scrape of metal from the side of the boat catches the villain’s attention. He turns his head to see a hand clasp the side, groping for purchase as its owner climbs up the side of the boat.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Moriarty groans in frustration as the blonde, soaking wet head of John Watson appears. 

***

“Sherlock!” is all John gets out before his words are cut off by the water that swallows him whole. 

It is cold, a shock to his system and a single, quick shudder vibrates through his body. The weights around his waist and ankles drag him down immediately. He looks up to watch the water’s surface and its light pull away fast. He desperately wants to struggle and thrash his body in an effort to escape, panic clawing at his mind, but he does not. He resists the urge because it will only waste his energy and what little air he has in his lungs. Instead, he moves his hands as steadily as he did on The Crown. The ropes are looser, but not enough to pull a hand through. It will be harder to slip free now that they are wet. It will take more time to work the ropes enough for that, too much time and John is very concerned about sinking to a depth he cannot swim back from before his lungs give out. Even once his hands are free, there are ropes and weights to consider. As if that wasn’t enough, a sudden spasm of pain shoots down his side from the gunshot wound and it is all he can do not to gasp. John clenches his lips, rolling them in on one another to form a seal and looking back to the rapidly vanishing surface again. He doesn’t have a chance. 

John furrows his brow in determination and continues to work his hands within the ropes. He’ll be damned if he goes down without a fight. After a few seconds, John shakes his head and lets out a few bubbles to combat the burning sensation in his chest. Soon his lungs will feel like they are exploding and taking a breath will be the only way to combat it, whether John wants to or not.

He resolutely pushes the thought from his mind when a hand wriggles free and the ropes behind his back come loose. He moves his arms quickly and bends down to reach his ankles, but stops midway when another sharp surge of pain radiates from the wound and paralyses his body. Releasing a few more bubbles with a stifled cry, John grits his teeth and squints down at his ankles. Still sinking fast, the light of the surface all but gone, John can barely see them. He tries again, slower this time and just reaches his knees before the pain is too great. He straightens and touches the wound under his shirt with tentative fingers, another spike of pain. The water all around gets darker and darker, and a few more precious bubbles escape his lips. John’s chest is on fire with the need for air. It won’t be long before he sucks in a breath of water and a steady flow of silent obscenity is his response.

Mother fucking fucker of a fuck! Piece of shit fucking shit.

The words echo through John’s mind as he moves his hands to the waistband of weights. He finds the knots, impossible to release, just as his internal monologue reaches the height of foul language. John shakes his head once in frustration and desperation. The burn of his chest is threatening to become all-consuming when he must focus all of his concentration on the ropes and the weights. He is about to close his eyes in an attempt to close everything else out when a sudden shaft of light appears before him, stealing his attention away. He watches curiously as the light draws near and when he sees its source, John blows out a large puff of air, nearly all he has left, in surprise. He is staring into a round mask that covers the very worried brown eyes of a scuba-clad Greg Lestrade. 

John purses his lips and just stops himself from saying what the fuck out loud, spelling his doom. Speaking of which, if he doesn’t get some air fucking now he is fucking dead. As if reading his mind, Greg takes the regulator from his mouth and holds it out to John. He nods at it urgently and pushes it closer. John does not need to be asked twice. He grabs the mask with both hands and shoves it in his mouth, inhaling deeply. Greg motions for him to go slowly and John nods. He breathes twice more as slowly as he can bear and offers it to Greg. He takes it for a few breaths and gives it back to John. As he breathes, Greg motions instructions that John interprets as they will continue swapping the mask until they hit lake bottom. At that point, Greg will cut John loose and they will take turns with the mask on the way up. Confident he understands the plan, John nods. Greg nods back with a tight-lipped smile.

John tries to breathe steadily when he has the regulator and ground himself as they continue to sink. He passes it over again and watches as Greg takes a few deep breaths. What the hell is Greg doing here? Sherlock didn’t bother to call the fucking police, but brought Greg along so he could risk his life too? And how the hell does Greg know how to scuba dive? Where the buggering hell did that boat come from? Neither of them ever mentioned a boat or scuba diving or so much as fucking swimming. Greg was definitely not on the boat with Sherlock. At least, not by the time John saw him.

Oh, shit. Sherlock.

John left him up there alone with those jackals. What have they done? Is Sherlock in the water too? They’ll never find him. Greg must have been under The Crown watching for John to go over or he wouldn’t have found him either. John had not sunk far before darkness overtook him.

Only eighteen percent found. Fuck.

John breathes slowly into the regulator when Greg hands it over and pushes down his fears. He cannot let himself panic, but how the urge does grow and it is all he can do to tamp it down. Sherlock said Moriarty would not kill him, that he wanted to destroy him instead and leave him to live with the pain. Moriarty himself said as much on The Crown, but Sherlock was pissing him off on purpose from the moment he showed up. He has a real knack for doing it too. God, John hopes he didn’t push the man too far.

John’s shoulders curl in a bit with the force of his feet landing on something hard and another jolt of pain vibrates through his body. He silently curses to himself, knowing it is only a flesh wound and not worth all the trouble it is causing. It is only the water and his wet clothes and the struggling that make it so painful. 

Tightening his jaw, John tries to concentrate on whatever it is he and Greg are standing on instead. It can’t be the lake floor. It would be softer with sand or mud. He looks down, but the sting of the water at this depth forces him to close his eyes. He can feel a pull on the belt of weights he wears and then it falls away. Next are the ropes and weights around his ankles. At first, John wonders at Greg’s speed and accuracy. Then he remembers that Greg is wearing goggles and has a torch. Of course he can see what he’s doing and thank the fuck for that. The man came prepared. Goddamn, Sherlock must have expected all of this. That’s why he stayed on his boat and didn’t come closer to them. He had Greg beneath to save John once he was out of harm’s way, leaving Sherlock behind alone. 

Jesus, Sherlock. Where are you now? God, please be okay.

John feels so buoyant, no longer tethered to the weights and it is almost intoxicating. He nearly forgets where he is and what he needs to do until hands unseen take the regulator from him for a few seconds and then press it back into his hands. The same hands grab him around the waist as he takes another breath and pull him upward. John kicks his legs to help. Before too long, Greg needs more air and takes the mask from John again. He touches it briefly before taking it each time as a signal to John that he needs it. John wishes he could open his eyes, but the sting of extended exposure to the water is more than enough to put him off the idea. He needs to flush his eyes, not add more algae. 

The two men continue to switch the mask back and forth all the way up until they burst out of the water. John coughs and gasps and covers his face with his hands immediately, trying to rub the irritants from his eyes. A spike of pain has him arching his back and gasping. Fortunately, Greg still has a hold of him so he does not sink into the water. When it subsides, John continues rubbing until he can open his red eyes, squinting against even the soft light of dusk. John’s first sight is his own wrists, bruised and bleeding, the rope-burned skin broken.

“There,” Greg says from behind him and John can tell he nodded to their right. “To my boat.”

“Your boat?” John gasps, still coughing a bit, but incredulous nonetheless. “What the fuck, Greg?”

“I go out on it all the time,” he says in a good-natured, if not breathless, tone. “Great way to spend the weekend. Sorry I haven’t invited you yet. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

Greg laughs and John just cringes as they approach the boat. 

“Jesus, Greg,” he huffs in mild disbelief.

The two men swim over to the side of the boat and Greg helps John turn so they are facing one another. He glances at John’s wrists with concern and then grabs onto a narrow, metal ladder fastened to the boat’s side from top down into the water. Greg must use it to climb back on after diving. He holds onto John’s torso just under his arm, mercifully on the side without the gunshot wound. They both kick their legs to keep afloat while looking at one another.

“You okay to climb up?” Greg asks him, glancing from John to the ladder and sizing him up.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” John replies, breathing a little fast. God, he is so exhausted. His body feels like it could seize up and drop at any moment. The adrenaline is wearing off and the shock of nearly drowning is catching up with him, but he has to hang on. He has to get out of the water and onto the boat where he can let himself collapse safely. As soon as he makes sure Sherlock is all right, of course. John cannot rest until he knows the love of his life is alive and well and before his eyes, cheekbones, curls and all. God, how he longs to see that smug smirk on Sherlock’s beautiful face.

“Right. Tell me if you get dizzy or anything,” Greg says in a serious voice that demands John’s full attention. John nods and Greg helps him turn to face the ladder. He seems to sense that John’s tired muscles are ready to give out, but does not utter a word and John is grateful for it. 

With one hand around a metal rung, John looks up the ladder to the top of the boat’s side. It looks like it’s fucking miles away. He swallows and turns his head to look back at Greg as best he can, managing to catch the man’s eye.

“Greg,” John’s voice is sincere and full of emotion. Greg looks at him with wide, concerned eyes and John must admit that the edge in his tone surprises even him.

“What?” Greg answers quickly, putting a hand on John’s shoulder to help brace him. “You okay?”

“Thanks,” John smiles kindly, his features weary but relieved. “For everything.”

The sound of shrill sirens fills the air and a megaphoned voice demands that arms be raised, hands visible, and it is clear that the cavalry has arrived. Greg’s face lightens and he huffs a laugh.

“Anytime. Anytime you feel like getting yourself almost killed,” Greg cocks a brow and shakes his head. “Never a dull moment with you two.”

John gives him a roguish grin before turning to start up the ladder. It is harder than it should be, so he goes slowly. The pain of the wound has lessened, but his muscles are tight and pained. There is no cramping yet, but it is only a matter of time. It will most likely start in his calves, which will make climbing this damn ladder even harder. John grits his teeth and concentrates on his task, moving one foot up and then the other, one rung at a time.

At last, he reaches the top and throws a hand over the side of the boat, grabbing its top with an iron grip. He is not going back in the water. He heaves himself up so his head pops up over the side and he can see in the boat. The sight that greets him is a rather disheveled Sherlock, with hands in the air, standing over a prostrate and tightly bound James Moriarty. John’s eyes widen at the blood spattered across Sherlock’s shirt, but he quickly determines that it is not his.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Moriarty says from the floor of the boat. He scowls, making no secret of his disgust. “It’s not fair. There’s two of you.”

“Evening,” John answers just before losing his grip and clutching at the side, pulling himself tight against it in an effort not to fall.

“John!” Sherlock bolts forward to grab John’s hands. The police voice barks orders for him to stand still, but he ignores it and helps John into the boat. 

John collapses to his knees immediately and Sherlock drops to his own in front of John. Leaning forward, he cups John’s face in his hands and presses their lips together in a kiss that reawakens John’s spirit. He slides his fatigued arms around Sherlock’s waist and holds on. When Sherlock breaks the kiss, he continues peppering John’s mouth with small kisses as words fall from his lips like rain.

“Oh god, John. Are you all right? When you went over the side…” Sherlock pulls back, his hands still on John’s cheeks and looking him straight in the eye. “Did they hurt you? Did they put their hands on you?” he wraps his arms around John and pulls him close. “God, I love you. I love you so much. If you ever leave my side again I’ll…”

He stops abruptly and pulls back again. His hands hold onto John’s shoulders, but now his face is tight with apprehension and regret.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock says quickly with a cringe. “I shouldn’t have said that. A bit not good?”

“Not at all,” John’s lips curve into a fond smile. “It’s just fine.”

Sherlock’s expression quickly melts into relief. He wraps his arms around John and tucks his head over the man’s shoulder in a tight embrace.

“Okay then,” Greg announces from the ladder as the police boat approaches the opposite side. Their weapons are drawn and they demand that everyone stay still. Greg turns to look at them, raising one hand slowly and gesturing at Moriarty with the other. “We’ve got your man right here. There’s another one somewhere in the drink.”

“And a woman,” Sherlock adds, pulling away from John to look in their direction.

“You,” the tallest officer commands with a nod at Greg, “get in the boat and keep your hands where I can see them. Slowly.”

As Greg complies, Sherlock turns to face the police boat fully. 

“Officer, if you’d just…” he begins, but the man interrupts him.

“Stay where you are!” the policeman trains his gun on the coach, not knowing who is the perpetrator and who is the victim. “Both of you raise your hands slowly and stay right where you are.”

Sherlock purses his lips and furrows his brow, but obeys. His cool, grey eyes focus in on each of the policemen in turn, cataloging every detail as they climb onto the boat. A soft touch on his knee draws his attention away and back to John. He meets those dark blue eyes, swimming with emotion, his lips in a crooked smile.

“You did phone the police,” John says, voice brimming with affection and exhaustion. John is holding up his hands too and Sherlock notices his right arm is not nearly as high as the left. His eyes narrow suspiciously for a split second.

“Greg insisted,” Sherlock shrugs in reply and then his eyes soften. He tilts his head as he watches John wobble and begin to pitch over. Sherlock grabs him quickly to prevent his fall and wraps an arm around his shoulders, leaning John against the side of his body.

“Right. You’re all coming to the station so we can get this straightened out,” a tall sergeant orders all four of them. “Cuff ‘em, Riley.”

One of the other three officers who climbed onto the boat tucks his gun away and heads for Greg, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. Sherlock can see now that this sergeant is the highest ranking officer among them and clearly has no idea what is going on. Why did he even bother to call them and impart any information at all? Typical. Thoroughly annoyed, he rolls his eyes and says pointedly:

“Is this really necessary, Sergeant Budreau?” he reads the name tag beneath the man’s badge. “We are not armed and have made clear our full cooperation.”

“You’re the one who called?” Budreau focuses on Sherlock, taking a step closer to where he and John are still resting on their knees.

“I am,” Sherlock straightens, head held high. He keeps John steady by his side. He can feel John’s energy slowly seeping out of his body as the doctor clutches Sherlock’s side, willing himself to keep upright. Exhaustion and whatever wounds John might have are finally getting the better of him. Unacceptable.

“Then you won’t mind filling us in,” the stone-faced sergeant tells him, crossing his arms over his chest.

“My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is Dr. John Watson,” he informs everyone in a firm, commanding tone. “He needs medical attention immediately.”

“Sir!” calls a man from the police boat. He had been directing other boats to the marina to be questioned as witnesses when something caught his eye. “There’s another one in the water over here. We’re pulling him out now.”

“You’ll want to cuff him,” Greg remarks as Riley secures his hands behind his back. Budreau looks at him with sharp eyes.

“We cuff everyone,” he reasserts.

“If you’ll pardon me, sir,” Riley observes as he heads for John and Sherlock, producing another set of handcuffs as he goes. He nods back at Greg. “This is Greg Lestrade, General Manager of the Rock City Rollers.”

“And?” Budreau prompts him in a disinterested tone.

“Sherlock Holmes, their coach,” Riley gestures to Sherlock and John, standing over them now. “The new Dr. Watson and I believe that is James Moriarty, the coach for the Demons.”

“Well, well, well,” Budreau walks to Sherlock and John and stands before them with a look of interest, “what were we doing here, gentlemen? Evening on the lake to watch the sunset and have a drink?”

Running out of patience and full to the brim with concern for John, who seems more and more wobbly by the minute, Sherlock opens his mouth to unleash some scathing deductions about the Budreau’s wife and girlfriend, but Greg steps in quickly and interrupts the coach before he can get a word in. The man clearly knows him too well.

“Riley is correct on all counts,” Greg begins calmly from where he stands, “and we were not here on a pleasure cruise. The truth of the matter is Moriarty, that man you’re pulling from the water and a woman named Sarah Sawyer brought Dr. Watson out here against his will, intending to kill him.”

Budreau is frozen to the spot, his brows raised in keen interest. He glances toward Moriarty who just sighs, rolls his eyes and looks away in disgust. Intrigued, the sergeant turns and approaches Greg while Riley cuffs Sherlock’s hands behind his back, leaving John to sway to and fro. Fortunately, the officer is no idiot and he helps John to the side of the boat where he can lean against something. Riley looks at the doctor apologetically as he handcuffs his battered wrists in front of his body, knowing it will be more painful if they are behind his back. Riley glances at Sherlock, who gives him a slight nod of thanks.

“Bender!” Budreau barks at another officer on the boat. “Take the helm and follow side by side to the marina.”

“Yes, sir,” she replies and steps up to the steering column. The remaining officer takes hold of Moriarty and drags him to the side. Propping him up to sit, he stands next to him to prevent any escape attempt. Not that Moriarty could get away if he tried and he glares across the boat at John and Sherlock. 

“Jenkins!” the sergeant calls over to the officer on the police boat. “You got the man from the water?”

“Yes, sir,” he replies. “We have him and are ready to go.”

“Good. We’ll follow you back,” Budreau faces Greg again and almost smirks, “while Mr. Lestrade here tells us about tonight’s events. Hm?”

Greg obliges as the boat begins to move. Medics radio from the marina and are told two need medical attention as soon as they arrive. Jenkins also radios the information about Sarah and The Crown in hopes they can intercept her at one of the other landing points. 

Riley holds Sherlock’s shoulder as he sits him next to John. Sherlock takes in the doctor’s condition in a glance. His skin is pale and his whole body shivers where he leans against the boat with his eyes closed. Unacceptable. Sherlock turns back to Riley abruptly.

“Let me take him to the deck below,” he says to the officer. “There are no weapons down there and we won’t try to escape. Please. He needs to warm up.”

Riley looks from coach to doctor and nods sharply. He rises and immediately addresses the sergeant. Already getting an earful from Greg, and beginning to understand the circumstances of the rescue, Budreau gives his approval. Riley adjusts Sherlock’s handcuffs so his hands are also in front of his body and then helps John to walk down the steps to the cabin. The man remains with them for the duration of the trip, standing back and silently watching, but neither Sherlock nor John spare him a thought.

Once John is in the boat’s small bedroom, covered with blankets, Sherlock puts on the kettle in the kitchenette. He soon has a steaming cup of tea and hurries back into the bedroom, Riley lingering somewhere in between to keep an eye on both of them. John is still shivering, but the involuntary movement has decreased considerably. Sherlock offers the cup to John with a nod of encouragement.

“This will help,” he tells him in a quiet voice. John simply nods in response and sits up more, blankets falling away to rest on his lap. He takes the cup in his hands and breathes in the steam. He exhales slowly, the scent of camomile easing his nerves.

Sherlock drapes a blanket around his shoulders and pulls a chair close to the bed to sit next to him, his perceptive gaze finally able to take in every detail of John’s form and condition. His bruised and lacerated wrists, bruised temple with a fresh wound that still slowly weeps a thin line of blood. He must get a cloth for that and some ice. That is when he sees it. The dark red soaking into the side of John’s shirt, on his torso and just under his right arm. It is easily overlooked since he is soaked to the bone and his shirt is such a dark blue that it looks black with all the water. 

“John,” Sherlock whispers urgently and John knows. He tilts his head in acquiescence, allowing Sherlock to push the blanket off of his right shoulder. The doctor takes a long pull from the teacup before giving it to Sherlock so he can place it on a nearby table. John sighs and raises his arms, angling his head down to look at Sherlock’s new discovery.

“It’s all right,” John tells him, eyes half-lidded with weariness. “The bullet just grazed me. It’s only a flesh wound.”

“One that hasn’t stopped bleeding,” Sherlock prompts irritably. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Yeah, when have I had the chance?” John snaps back, but with little venom. “It needs stitches.”

“We’ll get you to the hospital once we reach the marina,” Sherlock informs him, leaving no room for question. He is well aware of the fact that John Watson does not like to be told what to do, but he doesn’t give a damn right now. John looks up at him with a scowl on his face, but does not protest. “Stay here. I’ll get something to slow the bleeding.”

“Christ, Sherlock, it’s not important,” John grumbles. He is weary and frustrated, his face scrunched up and lips pursed. “It’s just grazed. Just...stay here. With me. Please.”

Sherlock hears the hint of desperation in John’s voice and stops. He inhales deeply and then drops down into the chair again. He takes John’s hands in his own, stroking the backs of his hands with his thumbs. Sherlock isn’t sure if it is meant to calm John or himself, but realizes he does not mind either way as he watches the doctor shift to a more comfortable position. John blows out a long breath and closes his eyes. Sherlock watches him, sees every feature on his countenance and sighs. He leans forward and rests his forehead to John’s. The connection point is warm and radiates heat down Sherlock’s neck and into his body. It does not stop until it reaches his toes and he hopes John feels the same. No, he knows it does because it is not simply a physical connection. It is one that runs deep into their souls.

“John,” Sherlock whispers. It is nearly inaudible, but John sighs his response and Sherlock knows he has heard. Sherlock wets his parted lips and gathers the courage to continue quietly, hesitantly. “John, I…thought I’d lose you.”

“Shh,” the doctor shushes him, squeezing his hands. “You knew that wouldn’t happen. You had Greg in the water. You knew he’d find me.”

“But John…”

“You’re too damn smart not to have it all worked out,” John pulls back to look at him, a grateful and utterly besotted expression on his face. “You saved me.”

There is a long pause while they simply stare at each other. A thousand words seem to pass through the air between them. Words of thanks and confession and love and Sherlock wonders if John finally knows, but says nothing. Neither does John, until:

“Thank you.”

Sherlock’s lips turn up and he huffs a quiet laugh, reaching up to cup the side of John’s face.

“You’re welcome,” he says, not knowing what else to say.

A few minutes later, far fewer than they would have liked, the boat docks next to the police boat at the Metropark marina. When John and Sherlock emerge from below deck with Riley in the lead, the police are already interviewing witnesses from other boats. Moriarty and Moran are formally arrested and bundled into a patrol car. Two paramedics approach John for a look at his wounds as Riley removes the handcuffs from both he and Sherlock at Budreau’s orders. Apparently, Greg has given the man enough evidence to believe their story. Sherlock is the only reason the growingly irritable doctor walks to the back of the ambulance without incident. One of them begins packing off the gunshot wound, even as the other argues with John about an impending trip to the ER because stitching is not something they do on the scene. 

Before the argument has a chance to become more heated, two police officers march over to get statements from the duo. Sherlock’s is not nearly as long as John’s so he ends up listening more than talking. He cringes several times as the doctor speaks and wants to take John in his arms and hold on so he can make sure this is real and John is truly safe. Budreau is also there, interjecting questions whenever it suits him. A part of Sherlock wants to punch him just to shut him up so John can talk. The insufferable man asks a handful of questions once John is finished and then starts checking that everyone is wrapping up. 

“Sir,” Officer Riley joins them briskly. 

“Riley,” the sergeant addresses him in a short, clipped tone.

“Smith just radioed in,” the man tells them, unaffected. Sherlock watches Riley thoughtfully thinking how he must have worked with the dimwitted Budreau for so long and he is used to his dense, slow mind. Sherlock sighs almost out of pity. “They found The Crown and Sawyer. She tried to dock in Sandusky and blend in with the amusement park crowd. They’re taking her to the station.”

“Good work, Riley,” Budreau replies, nearly sounding sincere. “Everyone’s wrapping up here. Get ready to move out.” 

“Yes, sir,” Riley nods and hurries away. Budreau turns back to Sherlock and John, giving them a congenial tilt of the head. 

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson,” he offers his hand and, in spite of his annoyance, Sherlock takes it for a shake. “I appreciate your cooperation.”

“Of course,” Sherlock’s lip quirks up. ”Thank you, Sergeant. Your timing was impeccable.”

John’s brow disappears under his damp, spiked fringe as he swats away a paramedic.

“I’ll send one of the officers around tomorrow so you can both sign your statements,” Budreau replies, a slight smile his only response to Sherlock’s comment. “You’ll be at the stadium then?”

“All day,” Sherlock tells him, rolling his eyes in his mind and stifling the desire to mutter ‘tedious’.

“Good. We’ll be off then. Best, Dr. Watson,” Budreau acknowledges John as he turns to leave. The doctor replies with a ta and the sergeant begins to walk away, but stops suddenly and looks back at them. “Take the championship. The Rockets are looking to kick you off the throne.”

With that, Budreau turns his back and sets off for the police cruisers, calling out to Riley and the others as he goes. Sherlock casts a glance around the dock as officers scramble to finish their work and notices Greg in the middle of the bustle talking with the officer who steered them back to the marina. They both wear broad smiles and Sherlock is quite certain they have moved on from the topics of the investigation to one of a more friendly nature. The coach finds himself smiling in spite of himself. 

John’s angry voice and clipped words draw his attention to the argument taking place at his side. He listens to every word the paramedic says, every justification for John to go with them to the hospital, all while John shoots back refusal after refusal. Apparently, John is much like Sherlock in that way. He certainly doesn’t mind visiting Ford Hospital when one of the ladies is laid up, but he detests going for his own treatment. Nevertheless, John must go to the hospital. Sherlock presses his lips into a tight line and moves in closer to the doctor. 

John is leaning against the back of the ambulance, his bum resting on its bumper. A bright orange blanket hangs around his shoulders in spite of his swift movements as he points a finger and glowers at the paramedic before him.

“Dr. Watson, if you’ll just listen to reason,” the medic implores, but John will have none of it.

“No,” he grumbles, low and dark, “I am not riding in an ambulance.”

“John,” Sherlock snakes a stealthy hand under the blanket and squeezes John’s thigh. The doctor quiets almost instantly, his eyes shifting to the coach. His entire demeanor has changed. Gone are the razor sharp edges in his posture and the hardness in his eyes, as the anger seems to drain from his body. “You need the stitches and you know it.”

John cocks a brow and his blue eyes begin to cloud. He opens his mouth to protest, but Sherlock cuts him off.

“I’ll drive you in my car,” he placates in a soft voice that surprises even himself. Sherlock looks to the paramedic for approval as he continues. “We’ll go to the ER and get you taken care of.”

John stares Sherlock down for a few seconds, but not with piercing eyes or an angry expression. The paramedic gives a reluctant nod of concession and then Sherlock turns all of his attention to John. They gaze at one another for what seems like a long time until John sighs, shoulders relaxing a fraction. 

“All right. Fine,” he agrees, still a bit tetchy. “In your car.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock all but whispers, giving John another squeeze.

The paramedics thank him as well and then one climbs into the ambulance to ready the vehicle to leave the scene. The other remains before them to tell Sherlock how to care for the wound, as well as all of John’s other cuts and bruises. He listens intently and commits every detail to memory, knowing they will only give him all the same information in the ER and he will listen again then without being bored. Anything involving John will be preserved in the mind palace for as long as Sherlock draws breath. Sherlock intends to spend the rest of his life learning as much as he can about John, if he will let him. ‘It’s just fine’, John had said on the boat when Sherlock confessed his desires for their future. ‘Just fine’. He hopes the doctor has not changed his mind now that the danger is well passed.

Sherlock leans forward a little to look at John straight on. He nudges John’s thigh where it is still nestled under the blanket and the doctor raises his eyes to look at Sherlock from beneath long lashes. Sherlock wets his lips and inhales a silent breath, his pulse quickening slightly.

“Are you all right?” he asks stupidly, already knowing the answer. He nearly rolls his eyes.

“Yeah,” John answers with a shrug, almost numbly. He huffs a laugh and angles his head to gesture at the blanket still on his shoulders. “She says I’m in shock.”

“It is possible,” Sherlock lightens his tone. “You were fully submerged for quite some time and are still wearing the same clothing. I’m surprised your teeth aren’t chattering. I’m assuming you were out of breath before Greg found you.”

It is not a question exactly, but his tone rises at the end as though it is one. Greg had donned his scuba gear and disappeared into the water when they were still quite far from The Crown. Sherlock could easily see its four occupants on deck, but not clearly enough to determine who was who by features. He still knew, of course, based upon their relative positions. He knew John would be in the water soon and that they needed to act fast, but had no idea how quickly Greg could swim or how easy it would be to find John once he got there. Sherlock had tried to delay Moriarty as long as he could and John still went into the water before Sherlock would have liked. 

He eyes John with concern when the doctor does not answer in favor of staring down at his own hands. Sherlock nudges him with a shoulder.

“John,” he says gently. The doctor looks up at him in surprise, his eyes sparkling and wet. Sherlock furrows his brow. “John?”

“Yeah,” John croaks, swallowing hard. Visibly forcing his muscles to relax, he shakes away his feelings and gives Sherlock a kind of uncertain smile. “Yeah, I’m good. It was all good. Greg found me before I…”

John trails off and bites his lip. Sherlock knows what he was going to say. John lets his lips part as he searches Sherlock’s eyes.

“He cut it damn close though,” John continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was imagining things when I saw the torch.”

“Torch?” Sherlock’s eyes crinkle at the edges and John looks at him blankly for a moment before realizing. He smiles brilliantly before he can even think twice about it and Sherlock’s heart swells at the sight. 

“His flashlight,” John amends with a laugh. “It was so dark and my lungs were on fire and I saw this light. For a second, I thought it was light from ‘the door to heaven’. That’s what my grandmother always said.”

He glances down to his lap again and then meets Sherlock’s steady gaze.

“I know it’s ridiculous.”

“No,” Sherlock stops him cold, “it isn’t.”

He rises from his seat on the ambulance bumper next to John to stoop before him. He takes the doctor’s chilled hands in his own warm ones and fixes his gaze on John. They each look into the other’s eyes, searching and asking. Sherlock leans in close and kisses John’s lips lightly. Resting their foreheads together as though they are one, he inhales deeply. John’s air, his breath, he is safe. 

“I’m glad it wasn’t,” Sherlock whispers reverently.

“Me too,” John replies quietly. A feeling of deep contentment slowly, steadily fills every inch of Sherlock’s body and his lips turn up. He feels lighter, tranquil, and like he was never meant to be anywhere or with anyone other than this man.

---

I know what you’re thinking. “Awwwwww, Jane, thank you. Thank you. We finally got the happy ending we’ve craved for so long.” You bet your ass I did, and with little to no injuries too. Haha. See my Persistence series if you want to know why that should tickle your funny bone. Anyway, I kept you waiting for these last two chapters and just didn’t have the heart to keep stringing you along. That said, I know what else you’re thinking. “Damn you, Jane! Why didn’t John tell Sherlock he loves him?! He figured it out, didn’t he? WTF’s the holdup?” Heh heh heh. What indeed. Tune in next Sunday for the final chapter of KYFC, otherwise known as Kind Yodelers Fond of Coffee.😂 Love, Jane

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