#side note- i had no luck finding a source for the prompts... if anyone can tell me ill be forever grateful and ill add a link

[mahoujosei]

💗Lovely Angel Ai-Chan!💗

I am so very late for this, but here's the first magical girl of the month! Prompt number 1 is "Generic magical girl" so I made her as pink as I possibly could! I think she came out pretty cute (♡ ॑ᗜ ॑♡)

Also, the list I'm using is under the cut!

I may do some different things if I'm not feelin' a certain prompt, but I'll mostly be following along!

[themaribatpit]

Saturday Challenge: Double Crossover

Written by: The Maribat Pit   Prompt: Double Crossover Rated: M rating just to be safe (sexual references, mostly because of some very unsavory things Lila thinks and implies about Marinette.) Marinette x Jason Phantom of the Opera (specifically Hush Jason, from 2020′s Death in the Family).

A/N (Maribat fangirl): There is going to be a lot of class salt, Lila salt and some heavy duty character bashing.  I’m going to be upfront, there’s characters being called harlots. A/N (DC fanboy): My S.O. and I pretty much did karaoke while writing this.

Paris, 1875. Marinette worked in her parents bakery, while she loved her family dearly, she was dissatisfied with her current lot in life. She wished to become a singer, and everyday as she walked in the streets of Paris to bring flour to the bakery, she would stop and stare at the Conservatoire de Paris. The enchanting music and singing could be heard even in the streets.

Listening to music always reminded her of her favourite fairy tale told by her father, the one about  ‘Angel of Music’. She would sit on the street across the Conservatoire, close her eyes and listen to the beautiful music emanating from it. Once she tried to sing along, but passersby would be swift to yell at her to stop. They described her voice sounding like a rusty hinge.

Upon her 15th birthday, her parents presented to her a once in a lifetime opportunity. They had presented her with an approved application to the Conservatoire, they had saved enough money for tuition and would be sending her there to chase her dreams as an opera singer. Marinette held her parents tightly, thanking them constantly for the amazing opportunity.

That night, Marinette was unable to sleep, she was beaming with energy and excitement. She could not believe how her luck was changing, how she would be going to the musical academy of her dreams.

The next morning however she would be in a nervous panic for her first day of lessons. Running about the home, getting prepared, packing her bags. She even forgot to eat breakfast, she ran out the door with a croissant in her mouth, much to the chagrin of her parents.

However, her dream academy soon became a waking nightmare to her. She would be tormented daily by all her peers, especially one Lila Rossi, the prima donna of the academy. Every professor would sneer at her low birth, and did nothing when the others tried to sabotage her standing at the Academy.  She tried to keep her head held high, even as everyone else looked down on her for being a baker’s daughter. Marinette ignored the comments and rumours about how she was able to attend the prestigious academy.  Rumours that she dared not repeat, about how she and her parents must be criminals if they were able to afford to send her to the academy.  

It wasn’t enough for her to be stuck in the chorus, Lila Rossi wanted to make sure her place as prima donna of the academy was ironclad. A couple of the teachers felt that she was growing more temperamental, more complacent, and their eyes began to wander for a dancer to take her place.  The other dancers were unwilling to take her place, all except for Marinette, who saw it as a shining opportunity.  For Lila, this simply would not stand.  

The one time Marinette found a pair of scissors that had been used to cut the laces on her pointe shoes.  The same scissors that were missing from her sewing box days earlier. She decided that the time had come to confront Lila once and for all.

Marinette confronted her just before rehearsals began, scissors in hand, in front of everyone.  “Is it true?” she called, everyone turned to look at them.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Lila gasped.  She looked down to see her wearing her worn out slippers, before looking back up at her face.  “You do know you’re meant to be wearing your toe shoes now, right? The show is in a few days.” she reminded her.

“I do,” she breathed, “I also know it was you, you’re the one who cut the laces on my pointe shoes.”

Lila gasped and stepped back, everyone else was shocked by the accusation. She looked away for a moment, and squeezed her eyes shut.  Marinette knew the trick well from their acting classes at the academy, she was getting ready to make it look like she was crying.  “Why? Why would you accuse me of something like this?” she made sure her voice wavered as she spoke, “what reason do I have to sabotage a background dancer’s shoes?”

Marinette knew she had lost the battle before it had even begun, every dancer would move to protect Lila and her crocodile tears.  Lila was the prima donna, the daughter of a diplomat, and she had the entire academy in the palm of her hand.  “Perhaps there was some mistake,” she muttered, walking away from her classmates rushing to defend Lila’s fake tears.  It was useless trying to explain that the scissors were stolen from her, and that this was an elaborate setup.  It was her word against Lila’s, as the directors tried to command the dancer’s attention, Marinette ran.  

Once again, she tried to keep her head held high, it wasn’t as if anyone would believe her when she told them about Lila’s machinations.   She made a habit of keeping her costumes and pointe shoes hidden.  On occasion bringing them home whenever she visited her parent’s bakery, somewhere that little saboteur would not even think to look for them.

Months later, tragedy struck again when she received a letter informing her that her parent’s bakery had been burned.  Her parents, her hopes, her dreams all burned to ash in one night.  It was made worse by the fact that one rehearsal, Lila snatched the letter out of her hands and read it aloud for the entire company of dancers and singers to hear.   She assumed that it would be some kind of love note, probably preparing to spread rumours about Marinette sneaking off into the night with a mystery lover.  Instead, Lila simply made a show of pitying Marinette, “poor thing, it’s worse than I thought.  Unless you can find a patron to support you, your days at the academy are going to be numbered.”

Just as the theatre managers had arrived, Marinette fled, keeping her head down as tears were welling up in her eyes and blurring her vision.  Since the day she arrived she had been mocked, humiliated, tormented simply so that one girl could have the adoration and sympathy of her fellow performers.  Through all the salacious rumours and lies, she tried her best to ignore them and carry herself through it all.  The loss of her parents, their bakery, and now Marinette’s hopes and dreams, it was all too much to bear.  

Marinette ran to an empty music room to cry her heart out, she sat right against the wall, knees curled up to her chest and sobbed into her legs. In this state of absolute despair, she began to sing a song of her favourite fairy tale that her father would sing to her whenever she had a nightmare.  She sang a soft, painful prayer for the Angel of Music and a farewell to her lost parents. “Think of me, think of me fondly, when we say goodbye…”, her singing was hoarse, off key, full of sorrow.

The more she sang, the harder she cried. Soon to the point that she could not complete the song. However, a disembodied voice sang the remaining verse for her. Marinette paused from her crying to look for the voice, it felt as if it came from everywhere and nowhere. It was hypnotising, elegant, enchanting. She walked out of the music room to try to find the source of the singing.

“Come to me, Angel of Music.” The voice sang, in a smooth tenor voice, luring Marinette as if she was a moth attracted to a flame. The voice led her to a musical hall, reserved only for the academy’s annual showcase. She turned the door knob, to her surprise, the door was unlocked. She peeked her head through the door to see a cloaked figure playing the organ, the source of the enchanting voice. “Insolent girl, this slave of fashion. Basking in your glory.” The figure angrily sang “Ignorant fool, this prima donna.”

“Angel of Music, is that you?” Marinette tentatively asked the figure. The figure stopped playing, and turned around to face her. Marinette was taken aback by the figure, he was a tall man, wearing a red mask on the left side of his face. Another distinctive feature other than his magnificent voice was the white streak of hair and piercing green eyes.

“You are unlike any of the fools in this academy. You did not join this academy for fame or fortune. No, you came here because of your love of music.” The figure told her. He took a deep breath and composed himself, straightening his jacket. Then he raised an arm, reaching out to Marinette. “I am your Angel of Music, come to me Angel of Music.”  Marinette walks forward and accepts the Angel’s hand, thus beginning their first musical lesson together.

Marinette’s talent and ability in music skyrocketed with her extra-curricular lessons.   Her mysterious patron was also the one continuing to fund her education at the academy.  Meanwhile, no one else had the time to spread rumours about Marinette, not when there were rumours of a ghost haunting the Conservatoire.  

Unbeknownst to Marinette, she was the key to establishing control over a very profitable endeavour for her mysterious patron. The managers were being extorted to the tune of 20,000 francs and requested that box five remain open.  This money was nothing to them, especially when the sons and daughters of the wealthy and powerful were attending.  Very few had seen Jason’s face, and if they did, they would draw back in fear.   It was the result of a boyhood accident that left him changed and altered in more ways than one.  Taking control of the Conservatoire was merely the first step in taking control of an entire city.  This girl, Marinette, was the key to captivating their attention.  She would hold their attention and adoration as the rising star of the academy, drawing their eyes away from his growing influence and power.  Using talents and potential that they had cast aside, twisting their own hubris against them.  

Months later, everyone in the academy worked towards its annual showcase for its patrons, the nobility and all family members of its students. Lila had grown bored of tormenting Marinette, and had moved on to other victims.  She had her other dancers and singers wrapped around her little finger, and all eyes would be on her at the annual showcase.  

At last the day of the annual showcase had arrived, Lila sat at her personal preparation room, after all she would be the star of the show. She walked over to her wardrobe and opened it, she then screamed in horror to see her dress tattered and in pieces.

In the days leading to the showcase the Director of Conservatoire de Paris had received threatening letters demanding 20,000 Francs, box 5 to remain vacant and worse of all to replace Lila Rossi with some baker’s daughter. Director Bourgeois scoffed at the threats, tossing the letter away.

The next day during the rehearsal for one of the ballet numbers, students and teachers paid no mind to the threats that were outlined in the letter. Until one of the dancers looked up and gasped in horror. The other dancers looked up to find the stagehand hanging from the rafters. The theatre soon bursts into screams of fear as they all see the dead body of the stagehand.   Director Bourgeois ordered all faculty members and students present to remain silent of the murder. This prestigious institution could not afford such a scandal this close to such an important showcase. As the Director inspected the body, he found a letter titled to him attached to the corpse of a stagehand.

Director Bourgeois read the second letter with shaky hands, it read “Monsieur Bourgeois, good day to you. It seems you did not take my threat seriously. I present to you this corpse to show my sincerity. I see you have a young daughter, pray that no harm would befall her. I shall reiterate my demands, 20,000 francs, box five remain vacant and Mademoiselle Marinette shall replace the harlot Lila Rossi.”

Director Bourgeois collapsed into his chair, wiping his sweat. Until he heard a scream from outside his office. He ran out as fast as he could to see Lila Rossi confronting Marinette. Crocodile tears flowed from Lila’s eyes as she accused Marinette of sabotage, purposefully doing so in front of the Director's office.  

“How could you Marinette?” Lila wailed, “Whatever your reasons, how could you do this to me? To the Conservatoire?”

Marinette merely said “Lila, don’t you stay in a private room with guards patrolling the hallway outside?” She shrugs, “I was in my dormitory last night. Besides, how could anyone sneak into your room at night, unless they were a phantom?”

Director Bourgeois goes pale at Marinette’s implication, he had to intervene quickly, before the situation got worse. He attempted to placate Lila, “Now now mademoiselles, I can’t punish anybody unless we have solid evidence. As the saying goes ‘the show must go on.’ Signora Rossi, as you are currently unable to perform, I’m afraid Mademoiselle Marinette will have to take your place.”

Marinette’s eyes widened at the offer given to her, she could not believe it. Director Bourgeois himself offered her the star role for this year’s showcase. It is all as her Angel of Music said would happen. She accepted the role wholeheartedly and thanked the director profusely, she skipped back to the musical hall to begin rehearsals, now as the main lead.

Lila’s jaw dropped to see the director siding against her, how he gave away her role to that peasant without any hesitation. She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth, she stomped her way back to her bedroom to begin scheming the ultimate humiliation for Marinette. She was so distracted with her rage, she had not noticed a shadowy figure following her.

Lila planned to show the entire Opera house just who Marinette was, little more than a filthy peasant who got lucky.  She was supposed to have packed her bags and left months ago, after her parents and their pathetic little bakery burned down.  “This Opera Phantom had a lot of nerve calling me a harlot, when Marinette is probably his little harlot.” she muttered harshly in the darkness.  She searched the costume room for the lead actress’ dress, a long flowing gown that brushed against the floor.  It was made with the finest fabrics that money could buy, it almost broke Lila’s heart to sabotage it.  She would rather die than see it worn by some peasant girl, a pretender, a talentless sham of a performer.  Before she can lay hand on the dress to destroy it, a gloved hand reaches out and grabs her by the wrist.  A voice interrupts her, “What do you think you are doing with that?”

Lila slowly turns around to see a grotesque figure staring at her.  In the candlelight, she was horrified by the person she saw. The left half of his face was severely burned, almost completely disfigured. His bright green eyes flared with a fury that genuinely terrified Lila as the figure glared at her. She immediately drops everything and screams, as she runs out the door as fast as her legs would carry her, wailing and screaming how the ghost is trying to kill her. “He’s there, the Phantom of the Opera!” she wails as he chases her down. The Phantom pursues his prey. Just as Lila runs around a corner, the ghost is there waiting for her. She gives another horrified scream, falling to the floor and trying to crawl in the opposite direction. “No no no, please don't kill me!” She begged as tears blurred her vision.

Her howls and pleas of mercy attract nearby students, teachers and guards. They all arrive to see Lila screaming like a maniac on the floor, alone and raving about some ghost hunting her down. “The ghost is real! He is real I tell you! He’s going to kill me!” she sobbed. As Lila was being escorted out of the academy, gossip spread like wildfire. Within hours everyone would be talking about how Lila had lost all of her sanity because of the ghost.

They had no other choice at that moment, the show had to go on.  If they wanted the night to go smoothly, with no one noticing anything strange or peculiar, they had to meet the Phantom’s demands.  Marinette stood there, centre stage, with all of Paris’ most influential in the audience. She began to sing her show stopping aria.  

As she glided across the stage and looked out into the audience, her eyes searched for the man in the red mask.  She liked to imagine her Angel of Music beaming at her with pride, without him, she would still be that sad little girl crying in the music room.  She sang as loudly and as clearly as she could, hoping that her voice would pierce the heavens clearly enough for her mother and father to hear.  

As she reached her crescendo, she peaked with an E6. Her voice echoed across the entire hall with the sharpness and perfection of a veteran soprano singer. The audience collective dropped their jaws at the spectacle. Marinette ended her aria with a bow, and the theatre erupted with a thunderous round of applause.  

Jason watched from his seat in box five, with a self satisfied smile on his face.  From that day forth, he would see to it that all eyes were on her.  

[qlala]

Is it cheating to submit a fic request for the pride post you just made? I neeeed the whole thing (I'm on my laptop, but insert the big gay eyes emoji)

fjskdgjslg "big gay eyes emoji" you know what? just for you. just for you i have written this. i'll clean it up and upload to ao3 later but for now: have 2.7k of len dragging a sunburnt, tipsy, and glitter-covered barry back to his apartment, and happy pride!

Len wasn’t the type to begrudge anyone a good time, especially when the good time involved loud music, leather harnesses, and throwing water bottles at cops. Central City’s annual pride parade came as close as it got to challenging that attitude; families, fellow queers, and queens descended on the city waving more flags than the United Nations after a hurricane, all decked out in color combinations that Len hadn’t been able to keep straight since the ‘80s. 

The end result was the kind of crowds that could make a grown man feel claustrophobic in the middle of a city block, and that was without the visible haze of alcohol wafting off the whole event. 

But what the parade lacked in personal space, it made up for with one very important commodity: unattended wallets. 

The flock of sunburnt twinks in denim cut-offs made Len’s job almost too easy—a hand on a sweat-slicked lower back, a flash of blue eyes, and most of them wouldn’t have noticed their wallets going missing if Len had dangled their IDs in front of their faces afterwards. (While there were plenty of women dressed in just as little clothing whom Len certainly wouldn’t have minded getting within robbing distance of, he’d found queer women as a group to be less enthusiastic about uninvited touching and more enthusiastic about wallet chains, even when three sheets to the wind off of canned rosé.)   

He’d taught a dozen visiting suburbanites the importance of not keeping valuables in their back pockets by the time he spotted a familiar profile in the crowd. 

His usual red getup wasn’t much more modest than some of the outfits Len had already seen, but even knowing the shape of that body didn’t prepare Len for seeing Barry Allen stripped to the waist, bright-eyed and flushed and shimmering all over with a fine dusting of glitter. Len noted, on auto-pilot, that it didn’t seem like he’d put any of the glitter there himself; he was standing dangerously close to a drag queen throwing handfuls of the stuff on anyone who got within arm’s reach of her. It set the sun refracting off every dip and plane of muscle across Barry’s chest and stomach. Barry’s hair, already wild and dark at the roots with sweat, was full of it.   

Len’s feet were carrying him closer before he gave himself permission to move. Barry managed to drag Len into his orbit at the best of times; visibly tipsy and dripping sweat, Len would’ve had better luck resisting the turning of the earth. 

Up close, Len could take that Barry had lost his shirt somewhat recently; the slight touch of pink spanning his shoulders and chest had nothing on the serious flush across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He had a spray of new freckles as well. They were barely distinguishable under the haze of glitter stuck to his skin, but Len noticed them at once, the change unmistakable on an otherwise unchanging face (not a scar to be seen, even after three years of running into burning buildings and jumping in front of bullets; Len was equal parts frustrated and relieved).   

It looked like someone had painted a few strokes of color across one of his cheeks at some point, but it was smudged to hell and back. The back of one of Barry’s hands was stained a tell-tale matching purple, and Len could only guess at what it had been at the start of the day. 

He stepped into Barry’s space as easily as he had the rest, taking care to keep Barry between him and the source of the glitter, and hesitated for the briefest moment with his hand above Barry’s spine. He’d never touched Barry like this, skin to skin; the gloves had never come off between them, metaphorically or literally. Kept things neat. 

Nothing about Barry was neat right now. He turned even before Len touched him, and the movement brought Len’s hand into contact with his side instead. It took everything in Len not to pull it back in a flinch, and he met Barry’s curious glance with a tightly-controlled smirk. 

He’d expected Barry to step back, maybe add a bit of blush to those already-pink cheeks. Instead, Barry’s eyes took a belated second to focus, and then he gave Len a face-splitting grin. 

“Snart!” 

That time, Len did have to pull backwards to avoid Barry dragging him in for a hug. To think he’d been concerned about a hand. 

Barry didn’t seem the least bit put out, smiling loose and easy like Len hadn’t iced him to the door of a bank vault the last time they’d seen each other. He hadn’t taken Barry for such a cheerful drunk—he seemed inclined toward melodrama on a good day—but Len would take it over any of the alternatives. 

“Barry. Fancy seeing you here. And so much of you, at that.” He let his gaze slide down his bare chest and stomach, pulse ticking up at the warm brown of his nipples and the sharp vee of his hipbones that invited his gaze further down. 

“You’re overdressed,” Barry disagreed. He wasn’t quite slurring, but there was a careful deliberation in his tone that told Len it was a near thing. He took a step closer and peered at Len, suspicion evident in those pale green eyes.   “And… sober.”

“I’m not here to score. Perks include keeping my shirt on.” 

For the briefest second, Barry looked almost disappointed. But it was gone in a blink, confusion taking over. He glanced down at himself, puzzled. Then his expression cleared, and he looked up with another easy-going smile.  “I got hot.” His gaze dropped again, to Len this time, and he licked his lips. “Aren’t you… you gotta be hot in all that.” 

Len was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and thin jacket, and it hadn’t hit eighty degrees all week. But he wasn’t in the mood to argue with drunk logic. And besides, another scan of the nearby revelers had made something unpleasant begin to scratch insistently at the inside of Len’s chest, and he tapped Barry under the chin with one knuckle to bring his attention back up. 

The contact startled both of them—Len’s control had slipped, something he could not afford to happen around Barry Allen—but Len recovered first. “Where’s the rest of your team of do-gooders?” 

“Lost ‘em.” Judging by the return of Barry’s crooked grin, it was an accomplishment, not a concern. “Cisco said the shot was too strong, but I didn’t wanna go. He’s the d…” He faltered, brows pulling together as he frowned. “S’the designed. Designinated, superhero, anyway. Shh!” 

He shot a pointer finger toward Len in a movement that Len clocked, alarmingly, as intending to be pressed to his lips, as if he were the one who’d been chatting about Vibe’s secret identity. Len had three years of dealing with the Flash to thank for being able to catch Barry’s wrist in time to stop him, and he glared at him for the attempt. 

But Barry only gave him a crinkle-eyed smile and twisted his hand in Len’s grip to clasp his wrist back. “S’so good to see you here. I didn’t think…” 

“Don’t tell me you had me pegged for straight.” 

Barry made a frankly insulting noise halfway between a scoff and a hiccup and tilted Len a condescending look. 

“Speedster, remember?” he asked, far too loudly, even for a crowd currently screaming along to a pop song that’d been bad enough the first time Len’d heard it in 2000. “I see it when you...” He let go of Len’s wrist to make a gesture with two fingers, parting them in a V and sweeping them up and down Len’s body, the muscles in his forearm shifting distractingly under Len’s hand. God, the kid had to be a hundred degrees. “When you check me out. In the suit.” 

Len smirked. “It’s cute you thought I was being subtle.” 

“You’re cute,” Barry muttered, childish and sulky, and Len took it for the compliment it wasn’t. 

“You had a point, Barry.” 

Barry still looked displeased with him, but his brow was furrowed again when he met his gaze. This close, it was impossible to ignore that Barry had an inch or so on him. “About what?” 

“You didn’t think…?” Len prompted him. 

Barry stared at him blankly, and Len rolled his eyes and let go of his wrist. 

“Get out of the sun, Barry,” he said. “Find a park bench. Wait for your little friends to come find you. Shouldn’t be hard—you’re as red as your suit.” 

Barry either ignored his last comment or didn’t hear it. “Iris is here somewhere,” he said, possibly to himself. “She’s…” He twirled his finger absently beside his head. “Curly, today. And… bikini.” 

Len strongly considered abandoning Barry to his sunburn to go find out for himself. But Barry was beginning to sway a bit, and a man closer to Len’s age than Barry’s was giving Barry’s toned back a speculative look from a few feet away, and Len gave in to the unsettled feeling gnawing at his ribcage. He refused to call it worry. It was annoyance—or, at the very least, the feeling was annoying him, which was close enough.   

“As much a sight for sore eyes as that would be,” he said, allowing a magnanimousness he didn’t feel to color his tone, “I doubt Miss West ran away from her group and got heatstroke. Unlike some people” 

Barry didn’t look the least bit chastened, lips curving up mischievously in a way that drew another couple interested looks. Len needed to get them both out of the crowd before he started breaking noses.

“Tell you what. Give Cisco a call, tell him you went home. My bike’s on Kingsbridge, away from the parade route.” 

Barry’s smirk sharpened. “Trying to get me out of here, Snart? I thought you weren’t here to score.” 

Len gave him a flat look, ignoring the decidedly interested way his body was reacting to Barry’s tone. 

“You can barely stand.” 

Barry’s eyes glittered at the challenge, and Len realized his mistake. 

“Barry—” 

He hadn’t even finished biting out the second syllable when the world spun out from under him, the noise and the heat and the press of the crowd swallowed up in a hair-raising charge of yellow lightning. Exactly two and a half seconds passed in a blur of movement, just long enough for Len to realize Barry was supporting the back of his head with one too-warm hand. Then the world came skidding to a stop around them. Barry’s momentum carried them both forward several feet even after their new surroundings materialized, and they very nearly went straight through a window again before Barry seemed to remember how to stop. 

Len considered pushing him out the window anyway for the stunt. True, he’d been itching to get another taste of that feeling, the ozone snap-drag of Barry’s power like a live wire under his hands, but he’d rather have waited until Barry could pass a breathalizer. 

He realized Barry still had an arm around him and shoved him off. It did nothing to dim Barry’s self-satisfied grin, and Len had to look away or risk giving into the interested once-over Barry was skimming over his body again. 

“Pretty sure the point of a designated driver is not doing that.” 

Barry followed him when he took a step back. Len made a calculated decision, decided the risk of touching Barry again was worth it, and pressed his fingers to the middle of Barry’s chest—right where the Flash insignia would be on his suit, his brain offered unhelpfully—and pushed him backwards, hard. 

Barry unbalanced and wheeled back a step. Then the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch, and he toppled, satisfyingly, back onto the dark leather cushions. 

It was a nice couch. The whole apartment was nice, actually. Len could’ve drawn a perimeter of possible locations based on Barry’s speed and how long it had taken them to reach it if he hadn’t already known the address. 

“Sit,” he said. And then, with a smirk: “Stay.” 

Barry rolled his eyes. “Gonna have to ask nicer than that if you wanna boss me around in bed.”

The way he threw it out there, easy as anything, almost made Len miss a step as he turned away. He wasn’t going to lay a hand on Barry, not when he was drunk on sunlight and skin and whatever concoction Cisco had apparently cooked up for him. But hearing him say it, like they’d already gotten all of the messy parts out of the way—it set off warning bells in Len’s head, flashing past all the possible off-ramps he would’ve taken if Barry had ever tried to have the conversation in a more linear fashion. 

“You’re drunk,” Len said, which was a coward’s answer, and behind him, Barry made a vague noise of agreement. 

“Probably,” he acknowledged. “You could stick around ‘til I’m not.” 

Christ. Len didn’t trust himself to look at Barry again, not when he knew he’d find him sprawled out and shedding glitter all over what had looked like a very expensive couch. “Stay,” he repeated, and went off to find the kitchen. 

By the time he got back with two glasses of water, the problem had solved itself; Barry was out cold on the couch, his painting cheek pressed to the throw pillow he’d curled himself half-around. He was shivering faintly in the air conditioning, all cooled sweat and goosebumps, and Len resigned himself to the now-familiar impulse to help him that stirred in his chest. He put one of the glasses down on the table and, not trusting his hands, knocked his knee into one of Barry’s where it was bent close to the edge of the couch. 

Barry buried his face into the pillow with a noise of displeasure, and Len said his name again. 

“Last warning,” Len said. “Ten seconds, you find out if I put on steel-toed boots today.” 

Barry groaned, and if the sound hadn’t made Len’s pulse skip, the easy shift of muscles in Barry’s arm as he pushed himself up to sitting again would’ve done the trick. 

“Water,” Len said, unnecessarily, as he passed him the glass. 

Barry took it with the tips of his fingers, as if it were something personally offensive to him, and took a single, polite sip before putting it down beside the other with no small amount of distaste. Then he glanced between the glasses, and up at Len, a dirty spark already lighting behind his eyes again. 

“Don’t get your hopes up. They’re both for you.” 

Barry let out a breath with audible annoyance and dropped back against the couch cushions to glare at him. 

Len felt a modicum of sanity return to him. This, at least, was familiar ground: Barry, frustrated, asking for too much, too soon. True, it had always been about the hero business until now, but Len knew a pattern when he saw one. Give Barry an inch, and he always took a mile. 

Len gave Barry one last, appraising look. He looked ridiculous, all self-righteousness and bare skin. There was only one break in the otherwise even coat of glitter, there on Barry’s side: faint, but unmistakable, the outline of Len’s hand on his waist. The feeling in Len’s chest coalesced into something pleased and possessive. He met Barry’s glare with a slow curl of his lips, then gave him an inch.  

“Call me when you’re sober, Barry,” he said, letting his voice slip into the Cold drawl just to watch Barry’s eyes go dark. “And you can show me how well you sit up and beg.” 

He could see the impatience radiating off of Barry’s frame, the effort it was taking him to stay on the couch instead of closing the space between them. 

“Call your friends,” he reminded him. “Enough people got a look at your face today without the CCPD splashing it on every milk carton, too.”

In the elevator, Len reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the thin black wallet he’d liberated from Barry during their sprint across the city. Two and a half seconds: child’s play. A little extra incentive for Barry to track him down in the morning, not that Len thought he needed it. He flipped it open, noted the deer-in-the-headlights picture of Barry on his driver’s license with amusement, and then thumbed open the bill compartment. 

Len smirked. Barry wouldn’t miss a few dollars; he owed him for the dry-cleaning it was gonna take to get the glitter out of his jacket, anyway. 

[thiswasinevitableid]

A prompt if you’re interested: From the very end of the last chapter of “Amnesty Records” where you wrote “a song about two ghosts finding each other in the woods, falling so in love that they come back to life.” Indruck, please! Your choice of rating! Meet uglies and so sweet you’ll get cavities are always welcome! Thank you!

I decided to pair this ask with the prompt for the 31st, which is "nothing truly ends."

Content note: this contains references to a car crash.

31. Nothing truly ends

Indrid stumbles back up the embankment; it’s a miracle he can move at all, the way the car rolled ought to have broken a few bones but here he is, barely a scratch on him. He holds his phone up but there’s no signal. Fucking NRQZ.

Headlights cut through the raindrops up ahead and frantically waves his arms, calling for them to stop. The mini-van pulls over and a woman hurries out, the man in the passenger seat calling to the children clamoring about to stay in the car.

“Thank you so much for stopping. I, I hydroplaned and by the time I got control the car was already-”

“Jesus.” The man turns to the woman, who’s holding her cellphone as a flashlight, “anyone down there?”

“No” Indrid approaches them, “I was the only passenger.”

“I can’t quite...oh christ, Arthur, there’s someone in the driver’s seat, they’re not moving. I’m going to go down, if they’re stuck maybe we can help them.”

“I’ll call 911 and come right down after. Boys, you stay put you hear?”

“For goodness sake, there’s no need for this fuss, I’m right here. Hey, hey! Can’t you hear me?” He steps into the beam of the headlights. Freezes when he casts no shadow.

When he holds up his hand, the light passes right through it.

“Well, fuck me I guess.” He whispers, following the woman’s flashlight to where an arm is hanging through the broken driver side window.

When it registers, when he screams, the other travelers don’t even flinch, but every bird and beast scatters away.

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

It’s not fair; he’s incorporeal and yet he cannot get past this line in the trees. Whenever he tries, it’s like ramming his shoulder into a brick wall.

“Yeah, that was a real bummer when I worked it out.”

He spins, startled, to find the source of the drawl to be another man. About his age, he’d say, and dressed like a park ranger. He flicks his eyes downward; not a human shadow in sight.

“Who are you?”

“Duck Newton, it’s a nickname.” He holds out his hand, “forcibly retired ranger and, uh, fellow ghost.”

Indrid takes the offered hand, the touch colder than the worst winter night, “Indrid Cold, yes like the urban legend.”

“Bet you’d be more pleasant to pick up than they say he was. I, uh, I mean, for, uh, for a ride, a, a car ride” color rises in Duck’s cheeks, “that’s, that’s uh, fuck, that’s the only way I mean.”

He’s too tired to decipher whether that was attempted flirting; having the first person to try and pick him up in months be a dead guy might be bleaker than the accident that put him here.

“Why can’t I move beyond here?”

“Ghosts get tethered to where they died; you can only move a certain radius outside it. Guess yours and mine overlap.”

Indrid nods. Then he sags down onto a fallen log, “I spent my whole life trying not to be trapped somewhere. Seems fate had other plans.”

Duck steps closer, “You were the wreck last night, right? Then fate’s got fuck-all to do with it. That was just bad luck and a wet road.”

“No!” Indrid snaps, “no, there, there must be a reason, a cause and effect, a, I, it’s too pointless.”

“Hey, look, it’s okay, I know how you feel-”

“How did you die?” Perhaps there’s a connection, something about the place, some tie between them.

Duck scratches the back of his neck, “I drowned. I was helpin evacuate a campground near here durin a freak flood and, uh, well, I got everyone out except for myself.”

“Then, as someone who died for a greater purpose, kindly shut the hell up about how I feel.”

“Indrid-”

“Please just go.” He tucks his knees up to his chest and hides his face against them, keeping them there as footsteps that only he can hear fade down the trail.

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

Today was the day to break his personal stone-skipping record, but Duck’s heart really isn’t in it. He can’t stop thinking about Indrid; it’s been five days since they met and there’s been no sign of the other ghost. He really hopes he didn’t royally fuck things up with the one person who can really keep him company.

Not that Indrid owes him company. And not that Duck is ever going to admit that his first thought at seeing him was that it was crime for death to rob some guy or other of the chance to kiss that captivating face.

After sinking the fifth stone in a row on the first skip, he turns from the lake and hikes into the trees. It would be easier to float up above for a better view, but moving through the woods this way helps him pretend that everything is normal.

He finds Indrid in the roots of a massive pine tree, laying on his side and sobbing. Duck knows the sound, the way crying croaks and gasps out when you’ve been doing it for days on end.

“Indrid?”

Brown eyes glance up at him before returning to their thousand yard stare.

Duck sits down on a root near his head, “You were right that we didn’t end up here the same way. But, uh, if you need to talk, I got a pretty good sense of what you’re goin’ through. Or I can fuck off if you want me to.”

Leaves crunch as Indrid shakes his head.

“You wanna talk about it?”

A raspy inhale, then, “I, I had s-so many th-things I wanted to, to do. I, I was going to drive the loneliest road, and see that big aquarium out on the coast, and, and I wanted to have rats, two of them, a studio somewhere all my own and, and my, my friend was going to teach me poker when I next saw him and I won’t ever even get to do a m-mundane, small thing like that ever again and I, I feel so stupid for grieving it.”

“First thing I got sad about after the, y’know, bein’ dead part was that I was never gonna get the tattoo I wanted.”

“We’ll never see anyone we love ever again.” Indrid says to the trees.

“Yeah. I’m real fuckin jealous of folks who beefed it at home. Fuck, even a hospital wouldn’t be too bad to get stuck in. Could go up to the kids floor, put on little puppet shows for ‘em when the nurses weren’t looking. But, uh, the Monongahela ain't so bad; I know you ain’t got the attachment to it that I did when I died I just, uh, just want you to know that as final places go, you could do a lot worse. And, uh” he touches Indrid’s shoulder, “someone’s pack got bumped outta a river raft a few months back. Had a deck of waterproof playin cards in it. So if you ever wanna learn how to play poker I can teach you.”

Indrid sniffles and without thinking Duck strokes his hair to see if it helps. The newer ghost suddenly flips onto his other side and buries his face against Duck’s stomach, sobbing and shaking so intensely that if he still had bones, Duck would be worried about him breaking them.

It’s been so long since he comforted someone. Yet it’s the easiest thing in the world to sit under the setting sun and hold Indrid too him until, either an eternity or a moment later, he falls into the closest thing he can to sleep.

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

“Are you certain we won’t frighten anyone?”

“Nah” Duck waves him into the road leading to the Eastwood Campground, “Even the most open minded folks have a hard time spottin’ ghosts in the daytime. Ugh, c’mon, the sign about bears is right there.” Duck clears an open bag of chips from the table and unlatches the bear box to shove them inside it. His hand stays on the metal, “goddamn I miss nachos.”

“I’d murder someone for fruit gushers.”

Duck raises an eyebrow.

“That was a joke.”

The ranger snickers, “Thought so.”

It’s a problem Indrid had in life; sometimes too literal when interpreting other’s jokes and too deadpan in his own delivery. It hasn’t stopped Duck from goofing off with him; he just bends his approach, learns the little tells in Indrid’s face that mean he’s kidding. Then Indrid gets to bask in his friend’s ridiculous laugh bouncing through the trees.

They move through the campground, eavesdropping now and then as they pick up litter and check fire pits to be certain they’re out. Indrid teases Duck for not being able to let go of his work but they both know he’s been drawing quite a lot in the sand lately for lack of a pen and paper. When he’d looked up, sheepish, at Duck staring at his damp twilight scene, the ranger shrugged and said, “It helps to feel like you’re still you.”

As they’re debating whether the depths of the sea or the depths of space are scarier, Duck stops with a faint shhc of gravel. A woman in a uniform the same as his own is chatting with some campers, smiling and laughing as she does.

“Juno?” Indrid murmurs.

Duck nods, “I tried talkin to her once or twice but...she can’t hear me.” His smile is the saddest Indrid’s ever seen, “glad she’s doin’ okay.”

Indrid waits until the ranger finishes her discussion and disappears back towards the station at the campground entrance.

“Shall we go see if those Great Horned Owl chicks have hatched?”

“Yeah. Yeah let’s do that. Might even see the parents; it’s real neat to, uh, to get that close to ‘em.” He clears his throat, “guess bein’ dead’s got some benefits.”

Indrid bumps their shoulders together as they turn towards home, “True.”

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

“Hey, ‘Drid, come look!”

Indrid floats upward until he’s just above the tree-tops, let’s Duck pull him over so they can hover side by side. His friend’s whole body floods with blues, reds, and sparkling white-golds. As the fireworks crackle and boom from the distant speck that is downtown Kepler, Duck rests his head on Indrid’s shoulder.

“Forgot how much fun it is to watch these with someone.”

“I’m glad my cheering is so--OOH! I’ve never seen one in a star shape before!” He flaps his hands and Duck laughs.

“Knew the fella who plans these shows; always tried to get the most cuttin’ edge stuff. Not sure they were always the most, uh, legal fireworks, but their fire safety protocols were damn good.”

“I don’t suppose they do them any other time of the year?”

“New Years, and sometimes they’ll do ‘em around Christmas. You’ll like New Years; they managed a rainbow last time.”

Indrid grins, tilting his head to rest it on Duck’s own, “I can’t wait.”

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

Indrid half floats, half walks his usual route to what he and Duck long ago started calling “their” lake. There’s some portions of each other’s radii that they can’t enter, which means they sometimes spend a few days apart. In the beginning, Indrid sought Duck out because the thought of being alone terrified him. Now, well over a year later, he goes to him because there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Because he misses him when they’re apart.

The last time they were together, Duck kept looking at him like he was a priceless painting--or, given this was Duck, perhaps an rare pine he thought had gone extinct--and when Indrid met his eyes they both blushed like teenagers in the backseat.

He’s so busy remembering the way Duck kept leaning into his space that he doesn’t notice the hiker until he hears, “brrrr, when did it get so fucking cold?”

“Dude, it’s like eighty degrees.”

There’s a whole flock of twenty-somethings on the beach, some cranking up music and tossing stones into the water while others unload beer from a cooler. Duck is perched on a rock, watching them.

“Going to catch up on town gossip?”

“Damn right. These kinda shindigs are always fun to watch. Though if they start boning, I’m out. I’m a ghost, not a creep.”

“Agreed.” Indrid stretches out on the stone to enjoy the show.

It’s well after midnight when the remaining guests--the ones who haven’t snuck off to the bushes--switch the music from alt rock to alt folk, ushering in a series of slow songs that have both the living and the dead swaying.

“Wanna dance?” Duck nudges their feet together.

Indrid stands, pulling him up along with him. There’s a moment of trying to remember whose hand goes where, then Indrid’s arm is around Duck’s waist, Duck’s arm is around his shoulder, and their hands are linked. It’s a clumsy, sort-of waltz, barely in time with the music, but Indrid can’t stop smiling as they spin. He doesn’t look down, doesn’t track their path, nothing in the world could pull his gaze away from the curves of Duck’s face.

When the song ends, stars glitter above and beneath them.

“Danced us halfway across the lake.” Duck smiles up at him.

Indrid rests their foreheads together, “Shall we see how many dances it takes to reach the other side?”

“Lead the way.”

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

They’re walking their usual path along the lakeside when Duck asks, “If you ever got the chance to be alive again, what’s the first thing you’d do?”

Indrid toes pebbles into the water, “Truthfully? Come back here with a Ouija Board so we could talk.”

Something strained enters Duck’s laugh, “First thing you’d do is come back to the place you died? You’d be alive, ‘Drid, you could do anythin’ you wanted to.”

“I feel alive now, more than I did for much of my actual life. I know that sounds sad and pathetic but it’s true. The years we’ve spent together makes me feel like the world is full of promise, the future is bright, even though we’ll never move beyond this patch of trees until the heat death of the universe.” He pivots so they’re face to face, “why? What would you do?”

Duck scratches the back of his neck, “Come back here and try to find you. I...I love you so goddamn much, Indrid. I wish you’d gotten to live the long, long life you deserved but, uh, at the same time I’m so fuckin’ glad we met. That we found each other, even if it was too late for us to build a life together.”

Indrid cups cold cheeks, guides their lips together and smiles when Duck gasps into the kiss. Strong arms loop around him and god, and he feels safer and more loved than he’s felt since he was a kid.

When they part it’s only with enough space to speak.

“I love you too, Duck.”

Another kiss, longer and deeper than the Greenbriar river that runs in the distance. Thank goodness he doesn’t need to breathe. So why is he lightheaded?

He gasps, gulping air as Duck does the same.

“The fuck?” Duck touches his throat as confusion and adrenaline pound in Indrid’s chest.

“Oh my god.” He sets his right hand on his chest, his left hand on Duck’s.

Heartbeats, two of them, pulsing steadily under his palms.

“How?” Duck whispers.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if others would see…”

Branches crack to their left.

“Oop, sorry fellas, didn’t mean to startle you. Just lookin for a nice place to eat lunch.”

“I think I speak for both of us when I say this is a wonderful spot. And that we were just leaving.”

“Yep, it’s all yours.” Duck is already pulling them towards the trail.

“Thanks! Y’all have a nice day.”

“I’m not sure I could have anything else.” Indrid kisses Duck’s warm cheek as they follow the signs for the campground ranger station.

“No fuckin kiddin.” Duck smiles, then laughs, and Indrid can’t help but laugh with him as a thousand new futures enter his mind and they hurry down the sunny path, their shadows chasing them all the way.

[klaus-is-the-real-number-1]

The House of the Rising Sun (Number 5 x reader)

A/N: This is an unfinished fic ive had in my drafts for well over a year,, enjoy? based of s1

Crime rates had never been higher, gangs ravaging the city any opportunity they got dealing class A narcotics and carrying out random acts of violence. No one leaves their houses at night, as soon as the sun sets the streets would empty and complete anomie would take place. One ‘gang’ were set above the rest, they were practically the equivalent of the mafia, all dressed in a smartly pressed uniform and operating throughout the entire city, the Umbrella Academy. Rumour has it they all had ‘powers’ of some sort, making them the most powerful gang, even if they didn’t have their ‘powers’ they would still be in the lead having very high levels of violence between them.

The Umbrella Academy all had nicknames, a mere murmur of the said names would send people running like scared dogs, tails between their legs. The most feared of the Umbrella Academy was The Boy, just as him name suggested he was the one no one knew anything about, yes there was rumours but never any solid facts. The Boy had apparently travelled to the future, has a kill count of hundreds and can appear in a flash of blue from thin air, but these are just mad rumours that drift round town.

Dusk set upon the city but you didn’t notice, too busy finishing bouquets in your shop. You ran a small florists on the outskirts of the town, you never caused any trouble and had never stayed late until today. You glanced out the window and gasped, looking at the pitch black sky, feeling your heart rate increase at the thought of walking four blocks in the gang ridden town. As quickly as you could you close the shop, making sure the doors were locked and the solid metal shutters were firmly shut. You leave by the back door, locking it and closing the shutter yet again, not leaving your small life source of a shop to the vengeance of raging gangs who carry out pointless crimes.

Shadows hid your small frame as you quickly walked home, defenceless, hoping to miss anyone out at the late hours of the night. Unfortunately, luck was not playing on your side, from the shadows you could make out a group of lads making their way threateningly down the street. All you could do is pray that you wouldn’t get spotted in the dark shadows.

“Well what do we have here?” You quickened your pace somehow thinking that you could move away from them but you were wrong. You were surrounded like you were feeding bread to a flock of seagulls, if the seagulls were feral and had rabies it would mirror how afraid you were at that moment. 

“Sorry!” Is all you were able to squeak out as you were roughly pulled out from the safeness of the dark into the centre of the group, your bag getting ripped off your back. Your frozen, watching them go through the contents of your bad, dumping out all your papers and pens that you had in your bag until finally finding your purse. “Please don’t it’s all I have.” 

As soon as the words left your mouth you were on the ground, a numbing pain shooting through the side of your head, you could see heavy droplets of blood hit the floor as your nose bled from the impact. Another sharp impact landed against your ribs as a sob wracked through your shaking body, unable to comprehend how quickly the events had escalated, all you could do now is wait for the next impact but it never came.

“Hey, assholes!” The voice was crisp and sharp, dripping with confidence and authority. “Pick on someone your own size.”

Coins fell to the floor as the gang dropped your bag and your purse and ran, you couldn’t even look up, the thought of someone more threatening than an entire group sent shivers down your hurt body. You didn’t hear footsteps, all you saw from your peripheral vision a blue light and a dark figure. The rustling sound of papers cut through the silent street and the harsh zip of your bag startled you.

“You need to see someone about that.” You look up and were met with none other than The Boy, the most questioned of the Umbrella Academy, dressed in a smart uniform, domino mask securely covering his identity. His fingertips lightly brushed the side of your head, causing you to flinch away. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He said unconvincingly, emotions hidden by the mask.

He held your now packed bag out to you, you lifted yourself off the floor, wincing as you did so. You cautiously took your bag from The Boys hand, holding it loosely in your hand. Taking a step, you stumble, your side collapsing in on it’s self, The Boy caught you, putting his arm around your waist to steady you.

“Here, let me help you home, where do you live?” In your shattered state you told him, and in a blink of blue you were at your door. You messily fumble with your keys as your shaking hands roughly push your door open, dropping your bag into your small apartment.

“Thank you.” The mask clad boy stood before you, hands in his shorts pockets.

“It’s okay,” You couldn’t see his eyes but you knew they were scanning over your body. “Make sure to get your injuries checked over, they got you pretty hard y/n.” Then he was gone.

You lock your door and double check your windows, securing them before limping over to your bathroom, looking at your beaten form in the mirror. Red marks spread over your face and the side of your body, bruising already starting to form, blood stained your white patterned shirt with a now ruined name tag, the thought of work taking over your thoughts, well not all of your thoughts. The Boy was also on your thoughts, his cold emotionless face, half covered by a domino mask, contrasted with the softness of his words, the caring nature of his touch. He’s a crime lord, a dangerous man, yet he showed kindness to you.

Five was angry, he was angry with himself that he didn’t get there quick enough to stop them hurting y/n. She was the only pure thing left in the city and they went for her, defenceless. Five would’ve killed them on the spot if he didn’t want to hurt y/n any more than she already was. He wasn’t actively going out of his way to find y/n, she was sunshine in a grey and broken world.

“Five,” He hadn’t even finished teleporting into his room before Luther started speaking. “We’re not meant to be out on the streets. What were you doing?” Luther’s big frame towered over Five, attempting to threaten him.

“I was out doing what were meant to be doing, keeping our authority through the streets. Haven’t you heard that they’ve been saying we’re weak.” Five snarled at his brother prompting Luther to sigh then walk out. It wasn’t always like this, they could’ve been heroes but Mr Hargreeves only saw the darkness and the powers within them, he made them the best at being the worst and for some it was the end of the line.

An aching agony wracked through your fragile body as your head pounded like a thousand drummers sounding the beating retreat. You hoped a shower would ease any of the pain, warm water running over all of your bruises, the side of your body looking like a black and blue watercolour along your ribs. Your work clothes were just casual, simple, it was one of the upsides of owning your own business. However, you did have an apron, it had different flowers embroidered on it and a simple name tag. A name tag now covered in blood.

Quiet music softly played in the background of your flower shop, you swept the floor in time to the music, swaying your hips as you did so. Heading back to the storage room, you heard the bell to the shop chime, a welcoming noise. 

“Hey, how can I help?” The man seemed startled, looking up at the arrangement of bouquets and flashing a quick smile.

“I’d like some flowers for my mom,” He almost hesitated with his words, a soft peach colour present on his cheeks. “I saw your shop yesterday and couldn’t remember the last time anyone had got her any.” 

“Awe, that’s super sweet, have any of the bouquets caught your fancy or does she have a flower preference?” The boy in front of you was about the same age as you, maybe older, he had sharp features but they were even out by the softness of his eyes.

He thought for a moment, searching the deepest parts of his brain. “Lilies, she likes lilies.” You smile at his words before looking round your small, compacted shop for any pre-made bouquets. 

“We don’t have any made up right now but if you come back,” You look at the clock, thinking about a convenient time for him to come back. “In about 2 hours I’ll have one made up for you?” You give him a sweet smile as he nods. “Great! If you want you can leave your name and number so I can text you when its done.” 

You watch him messily write his details on a post it note. Peeling it off the block, you stick it to your notice board, looking at his name as you did so. Five. “I’ll send you a text once your bouquets done!”

“Ok, thank you,” He hesitated as he strained to read your name tag. “Y/n.”

“No problem, Five.” You see a small smile break out on his face as he left the shop. The rest of your day dragged as a slow drip of customers drifted in and out of the shop. You made a large bouquet of different types of lilies for Five, taking extra care to arrange them in the prettiest way you could, making it extra special for his mom. 

You admire your handy work, loving when you get special orders being able to be as creative as you want. You send a text to Five saying that he can drop in any time from now until closing to pick them up, you get an almost instant response sending his thanks. 

Shouting echoed down the street, sharp crashing of glass cutting through the air. Smoke drifted like ghosts down the street as screams echoed down the road of people coughing, spluttering grasping for breath. Peering out your shop window you saw them again, the lads from the night before, petrol bombs in hand ready to throw. You had to consider you options, quick, close the shutters quickly and run out the back or just run out and risk that they recognise you.

Quickly, you pulled the shutters down as you hear the unruly lads shouting get louder, you think your safe but then you remember the window upstairs, wide open, vulnerable. Taking two steps at a time but you were halfway to the window and heard a ‘get the flower shop’.

A flame like a rabid hare shot past you, shattering on the ground followed by another, hitting the window dead on surrounding you in flame, no escape in a smoke filling room. Smoke licked the walls as smoke danced in your lungs, making you feel lightheaded, blurring you vision. The floor burnt as you dropped to your knees, trying to take in any remaining oxygen, begging for your eyes not to close.

As Five walked back to the flower shop only to be met with shouting, screaming and sirens, noticing the smoke in the air he quickened his pace, only to break out into a sprint at the sight of the small flower shop in flames. He couldn’t see y/n out in the street in front of the shop, in a blind panic he blipped into the shop, looking round and seeing smoke pouring down the stairs, dread filling his body. In a blink of an eye he was in the burning room, finding y/n unconscious on the floor, he grabbed her body and as quickly as he could in the haze of the smoke.

He flashed to the academy, roughly shaking y/n shoulder. “Y/n,” He checked she was still breathing. “y/n please. Wake up. Mom!” Grace came round the corner, watching her son frantically shake an unconscious body.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Grace’s calming voice did nothing to sooth the panicking boy, she looked at the girls flame licked skin. “Take her to the medical room, Five.” Without another word Five had flashed upstairs, Grace beginning jogging up the stairs wrapping her medical apron around her as she did.

You gasp awake, proceeding to cough up whatever smoke settled in your lungs. You didn’t recognise the room around you, it didn’t look like any normal hospital, or even a hospital at all. Panicking at the foreign surroundings you drag yourself out of the bed, body screaming out at the heat in your arms and palms from the fire, the fire, your shop. Before even having time to comprehend the series of unfortunate events that led you up to this point, a woman walked in, sending heaving 1950/60′s vibe.

“Hello dear, I’m Grace.” Grace had a soft voice but it didn’t sound quite right, it sounded almost robotic, not human.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” You pushed past her and hope to find a way out of the large eerie house you were in. Panic mode overtook your whole body as you tried to find any way out, footsteps echoing behind you as Grace tried to catch up with you but you saw the front door and ran for it.

“My dear, you can’t go yet!” But you had already ran out the door, it being left wide open behind you, sprinting down the street probably looking like a madman but in that moment it didn’t matter to you, you had to get out.

[sweetchup]

Not A Chance!!

Type: Shalnark x reader

Prompt: O’Inari’s Wisdom — On any day during this week, people of the ages of 19-30 years old will go through a walk in the woods carrying a clear ornament (Traditionally it used to be a Jar). The ornament is usually filled with the person’s favorite scent or perfume, Name and Phone number on paper slip, and their dream type of lover on a rose petal. When walking through the woods, the person allows the God/Goddess of the woods O’inari’s Imps to trick them into meeting their soulmate. It is a must to switch ornaments with that first person they see for it is said the imps won’t allow them to leave the forest unless they do so.

Author Note: I decided to try a different writing style with the kiss scene this time. Tell me what you guys think.

(Prompts/Rules) (Masterlist)

“Hey (y/n), Bisky, What’s this?” Gon asks. His voice was hardly heard over the many chattering of the NPCS and other players in the city as you looked at him. Gon first shows Bisky, who was closer to him, a baby blue flier that you couldn’t quite read from where you were standing. “Is it some sort of Greed Island event?”

“Wait a minute. Gon do you not know what O’inari’s wisdom is?” Bisky questions, shocked. Walking over closer and looking from behind Bisky, you realize that the Winter Holiday of O’inari’s Wisdom was indeed taking place on Greed island. You were slightly surprised for a second but it soon started to make sense the more you thought about it. It had started snowing on the island recently and if the game was parallel to the times in the real world then it should also be December in the game. So it just made sense that Holidays were also coded into the game to match the changing seasons.

“Oh, so it’s a Holiday,” Gon says surprised once Bisky explains it to him, “We didn’t celebrate it on Whale Island. Maybe it’s because I was so young. But, at the very least, (y/n) will be able to celebrate it with us.”

“Huh?” You murmur confused. You never mentioned anything about doing it, “I’m not doing it. Actually, why would you think I would do it?”

“Well, you don’t have a boyfriend right? So you must have not done it yet. So you should do it! It will be fun!” Gon explains enthusiastically as Bisky nods in agreement. Of course, it was just straightforward thinking done by Gon, not thinking of other possible possibilities. Man, why exactly did Killua have to leave you to take the Hunter exam again?

“I actually have done the Holiday before,” You tell the two as you start to walk away, calling forth “book” as you do so. As you examine through your binder, you continued to explain what you meant to the younger boy, “I’ve actually done it many times. Sometimes doing a full week some years. Other times going to different locations from other cities or towns. But in all the years I’ve done, I never once heard nor bumped into anyone else in the forest. So I just gave up on th—”

Bisky suddenly cuts you off with a loud exaggerated gasp.

“Oh My~ Then that must mean you really do have a soulmate out there (y/n)! What powerful young love!!” Bisky states dreamily as sparkles and flowers seem to dance around her. All you can do is sigh at the older woman antics and continue on your way. Honestly, to you there was no way Soulmates could exist. Not a chance! There was just no science nor reason behind it. Nen could be explained. Monsters could be explained. But soulmates, not at all. It was just some made up myth with no hard facts.

As you make your way to the gate of Aiai, you feel Gon tug at your top to catch your attention.

“But, (y/n)?” You take your eyes away from your binder to look at Gon. “Do you think you could try? Perhaps one of the needed 99 slot cards is given at the event.”

“Oooo, good thinking Gon,” Bisky states looking at the flier and then looking at you. “With that possibility, I order you to do it then (y/n). Afterall, you are the only person who could do it out of us.”

You and Bisky stare at each other tensely for a little. Slightly challenging each other to step down until eventually you give up and finally look away. Even though you aren’t looking at her, you can hear Bisky doing a dance in success. “Fine then where do we go to take place in this event?”

“Apparently, you can get there by using an Accompany to Winterfell. We don’t even need to go there beforehand to use the accompany card.” As Bisky explains, you flip your binder and grab a spare accompany card. This is the last one from your binder so Gon and Bisky will have to start using their ones from now on. Well, Until you can get to Masadora to get some more.

“Okay then, let’s get this over with,” You state. Though for some reason you have an uneasy feeling in your stomach as you hold the card up. You wondered why, perhaps you felt nervous? But why would you? Greed Island was hardly crowded so this is the lowest chance of meeting someone during the Holiday. Maybe it was just the fact you haven’t done this tradition in a while. Yeah, that was probably just it, “Accompany on! To Winterfell!”

—.—.—.—.—

The crunching sound of snow is the only thing you hear as you walk through the forest. For what felt goes on for miles, all you have been seeing was snow covered pine trees. Not even birds or other sources of life have been spotted while you have been walking in this forest which was quite strange. How long have you been walking you wondered. It was hard to tell but you guessed maybe an hour or so?

Stopping next to a tree, you run your hand up it’s trunk somewhat tracing the engravement in it. You had already seen this before. It was like you have been going in circles, even though you have actually only been going straight. Was this some sort of test in the game? Maybe Gon was right about a specified slot card being here.

“Book!” In a poof, your binder opens up. Or, at least that's what you expect to happen. However, it doesn’t pop up. After calling the book a couple more times, you realize it was no use. It just doesn’t work. Was this some glitch in the game?

All of sudden, a rush of wind catches you off guard. It wasn’t just any breeze however, this gust of wind was similar to that of a giant icy blizzard. You cringe as the snow in the wind pricks and scratches at your skin. You needed to take cover from the harsh wind before you freeze to death.

Quickly, when you try to look around to find somewhere to take cover, something whips into your face, blinding you. As you struggle to pull it off of you, the wind suddenly comes to a complete stop. Weird, very weird. Finally getting it off of you and taking a good look at the item, you realize it was just an in-game scarf. Actually, you weren’t even sure it was an item from the game since it had a tag from the real world.

“Hey! That’s my sc—“ Turning around at the cheerful voice behind you, you see a familiar man a couple of feet away from you. You don’t understand why you recognize the man until he suddenly goes on guard and realization hits you. Wait a minute you remember that stance. He was a member of the Phantom Troupe wasn’t he? Shalnark, right? You quickly get on guard as well when he grabs an antenna from his pocket. An manipulator, huh? In a one on one fight like this, he has the clear advantage on you.

“Hey, I’m not here with the chain user,” You state, breaking the silence between you two. You weren’t usually someone to give up but avoiding a fight with him and going your separate ways is the best way to go in this situation. Afterall, the last thing you needed was to become his newest puppet. “I’m with the kids and all we are doing is playing the game by collecting cards.”

You wrap up Shalnark’s scarf and lightly toss it in front of his feet.

“I have no problems with you guys and I don’t want to fight you.” You continue as you start to walk backward, away from him. Hopefully, that woman, Pakunoda, told the other troupe members how you deteratarted Kurapika away from the option of placing a Nen dagger in her heart and helped spared their boss’ life.

It’s quiet and tense for a couple of minutes, not even the wind was blowing, before the blonde nods in agreement to your idea. You watch as he carefully picks up his scarf and then both of you two turn away from each other at the same time to walk away. Thankfully, counting on that woman seemed t—

All of sudden, after a couple of steps, the large gust of wind returns. You tried to fight against it and continue forward but it only seemed to grow stronger the more you tried. It grew so strong in fact that it lifted you right off your feet and threw you backward. You hoped to land on the soft snow but, of course with your luck, you hit something else very hard with a loud thump. Originally, you thought it was a tree that you hit but once you roll onto your side, you come to the realization that whatever you landed on doesn’t feel anything like tree bark.

“Ow! What was that…” Shooting up at the voice, You realize it was Shalnark that you had hit. You attempt to scurry away from him fast however, as soon as you get too far away, a gust of wind drags him back towards you. You pause as Shalnark lifts his head from being buried in the snow and looks at you confused.

“I-It’s some sort of error in the game. I swear. Maybe with the coding? Or—“ You blab out in a tangent trying to explain what was going on. Soon however, Shalnark sighs loudly, cutting you off.

“That’s a really stupid conclusion you cam up with. If you had once stop to look around you in this game, you would have realized this place, Greed Island, actually takes place in the real world. Specifically a straight shot east of York New.” Shalnark explains, somewhat sarcastically. All you do is roll your eyes. Of course you got stuck with the jackass of the troupe.

“Well then since this game isn’t actually a game, what do you think is going on, if you think you are oh so right?” You spat back at him. For some reason, you just couldn’t understand why he was being so rude in this situation, it was clearly neither of yours fault.

“Simple. This,” Shalnark states confidently as he takes the ornament from his pocket and lifts it up to you. You can’t help but laugh loudly at the idea, causing him to scowl at you.

“Y-You can’t be serious?! You and I? Soulmates!?”

“Of course! You do realize that in the myth it’s impossible for us to leave until we exchange our ornaments.” Shalnark explains, tossing his ornament at you. Clutching it in your hand, you quickly examine the ornament before scoffing.

“Yeah, not a chance,” You state as you toss his ornament back to him, causing Shalnark to sputter confused. “In no ways am I giving my personal information and phone number to the tech expert of the phantom troupe. That’s just plain stupid.”

You and Shalnark bicker on back and forth for a while until eventually he goes quiet and just glares at you. Honestly, in your opinion, it was better if he just chose to quit talking. He snaps his fingers catching you off guard, “Okay I have an idea! How about I try to convince you we are destine—”

“Soulmates?” You finish for him, slightly cringing.

“Yeah, that! And if I can convince you, then you can feel safe to give me your ornament so we can both leave.”

You ponder a little on the option he suggested. Honestly, you actually didn’t have much of any others option to begin with, “Fine. What do you got to convince me?”

“Well, first,” You watch closely as Shalnark grabs the Rose petal out from his ornament. Oh, you knew where this was going, that was actually a smart idea. Maybe this guy actually had some brain cells. “I’m going to read off my dream type of lover. I bet this will describes you.”

Reading off his petal to you, you listen carefully. As the more he goes on, you can’t deny that it did somewhat describe you, almost on the dime. As Shalnark shows the petal to you to prove he wasn’t making stuff up, You decide to grab your own petal. He seems to get excited that you finally understood what he was saying.

“See I tol—“ Shalnark is cut off when you let out a loud laugh.

“Yeah no way. Mine is ‘Someone who is like the sun; always cheerful as well as mentally bright.’” You read off, chucking it back into the ornament.

“Hey! I’m pretty cheerful! And bright!” Shalnark states, finally flashing you a smile for the first time you’ve been with him.

“Ha, I doubt that.” You say, though you can’t help but feel your heart skip a beat at how handsome he looked with a smile on his face. Your eyes go wide and you mentally slap yourself. What in the world were you thinking just now? You were flustered over him?!, “N-Next! What’s your other ideas?!”

“Aw come on!”

After a couple of more attempts from Shalnark to prove you two are soulmates, as well as many more confused borderline bipolar back and forth feelings on your end, Shalnark has run out of ideas and you two sit in silence as he tries to come up with more.

“Is that all the ideas you have?” You ask him shivering slightly as you pull your jacket closer for warmth. Looking up towards the sky above the thick pine branches, you see that it had just started to get darker out, effectively making it ten times colder as well. It now dawns on you that at this rate with your progress, you two could possibly freeze to death out here if you couldn’t get to a warm shelter before night.

“Shalnark. Here I—“ You suddenly pause what you were saying as you turn to face the man, “what the hell do you think you are doing…?”

You looked confused at Shalnark, who had moved closer to sit next to you. You didn’t know what he was up to but you definitely still didn’t trust him. As you try to lift yourself up to move away, Shalnark quickly grabs your wrist to keep you put where you were. Oh hell no. You struggle against his grip, attempting to pry his fingers off of your wrist but while you are distracted he uses his other hand to grab your arm. Effectively trapping you.

You struggle against him a little more but it only causes him to push you backwards down into the snow, him slightly leaning over you. Now nervous about what Shalnark was possibly doing, you shout out to him, “H-hey! I’ll give you the ornament okay? I don’t want—“

You feel the rest of your words die in your throat as Shalnark leans his forehead against yours, causing him to get very close to your face as well. Biting the inside of your mouth, you close your eyes tightly as a way to try calming your pounding heart. You couldn’t tell if your heart was racing out of fear or possibly something else. Though, again, it wasn’t like you could think straight at this point on time to figure which one. Cutting off your thoughts, Shalnark lets out a boyish giggle and tells you, “For someone who says they hate me and doesn’t believe in soulmates, your face sure is feeling quite hot. It’s almost as if you are flustered by me.”

Quickly, most likely in an attempt to save your dignity, you turn your face away to him so his face could no longer touch yours. As you do so, your heart leaps out of your chest when you hear him let out a small aww in disappointment.

“H-hey! I said I’ll give you my ornament so let go of me!” You sputter out, trying and likely failing at keeping yourself composed. You know it’s hard for you to think logically in a situation like this but you would’ve thought you had enough common sense in you to not get flustered by a mass murder.

“Hmmmm… Nope” Shalnark answers, popping the “p” at the end. Surprised and bewildered, You whirl your head around back to look at him. He seemed to get a kick out of your reaction because he can’t help but laugh. “You are correct by the fact that all I wanted originally was to take the ornament and leave. But the more we went on, talking and bickering, I realized I wanted something else.”

“H-huh? What? I don’t have much of anything else.” You questioned. Was he talking about cards in the game? Gon carried all of the number slot cards so you didn’t have anything that was useful to Shalnark.

“Silly girl~ It’s simple.” Shalnark flashes you a smile as he boops your nose with each next word, “I. Want. You~”

As you give a weird expression in response to Shalnark flirting attempt, he looks at you confused as to why you looked like that before full on laughing, when what looked like steam started to flow from out of your head. He couldn’t believe he fried your brain with a silly pick up line. It wasn’t even a good one either.

“Adorable~” Shalnark whispers out so softly and quietly that you almost don’t hear it. You go to ask him to repeat what he said again, but stop when he leans down. He wasn’t—

You can only watch as he inches closer and closer to your face. You don’t get why you don’t stop him, you know you probably should. But you just couldn’t for some reason you didn’t quite understand.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Shalnark kisses you. Stealing your first kiss, a precious thing you could never be able to get back from him. Though you doubt you would even try if you were able to.

As his lips moved against yours, you had to admit they were surprisingly soft, not at all rough or chapped like what the very few romance books you’ve read over the years described. Though you had to admit those boorish books were right about one thing, kissing someone was a feeling you’ve never once experienced before in your life. Authors have described the experience in many different ways but as Shalnark pulls away from your lips only to dive it once. Twice. And so many more times that you’ve lost count, you realize yours wasn’t like the ones written down. It didn’t take your breath away, it wasn’t rough or deep, it wasn’t messy or desperate.

But, it was yours. A feverish kiss if you must find a word to describe it. A kiss that even while pushed down into the freezing cold snow, you felt you were burning up inside. So much so, that your brain seemed to melt and your muscles turned to jelly from an non existent heat.

Finally after a while, you two pull away from each other, still in a trance like state from what happened. It’s quiet, nothing is heard nor said between you two as you just stare at each other. You know it is now dark out. You know you should be trying to get back to Gon and Bisky before they worry. You know it would be in your best interests to try to get away as far as you can from the dangerous man before you. You know you shouldn’t be feeling such feelings for him, for it is too soon and he probably doesn’t even deserve to be able to experience a pleasant emotion like this one. You know all these things almost as if they are engraved in your heart.

But, even when knowing all these things, you can’t stop yourself from dragging Shalnark back in to give you another kiss.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

Hello! If you don't mind me asking, are you planning on watching House of the Dragon? I'm personally unsure about it. I was cautiously optimistic about it since D&D are not involved, but the recent casting news have been ugh disappointing imo. What do you think?

Hey anon! Sorry to say I kind of mind you asking because my inbox is still closed (to everyone except my secret Santas, which is why the ask page is accessible at all), but then I realized it’s possible if you’re on the mobile app only, you haven’t seen said note in my askbox, or my FAQ, or anything of the sort. And with older metas of mine being reblogged recently, it’s possible you may be confused. (I hope you’re on mobile only and not just ignoring my requests.) So I wanted to inform you of that... but also, y’know, I kind of wanted to make a post about the HotD cast anyway? And this ask is as good a prompt as any... so, you’re lucky, but please don’t push your luck. ;)

So, straight up: I currently have no plans to watch House of the Dragon. HBO is not getting any of my goddamn money, I don’t trust like that. And hunting down illegal livestreaming sites is a pain in the ass and I regret ever doing it for GoT, as well as regretting getting drunk every weekend enough to dampen my senses to ever tolerate that show. Yeah it’s different showrunners and writers, I know. It’s still (mostly) the same executives at HBO and even if the pervert producer is gone (or is he?), you know they still just want to sell sex and violence and dragons to an audience that thinks fantasy is for geeks.

Also, considering that Fire & Blood’s story of Dance of the Dragons has very little actual narrative or dialogue, and the historical record is deliberately untrustworthy, that gives them pretty much full rein to do whatever they like with the story and characterization and words without even being slightly obliged to GRRM at all. Furthermore, since the story is wholly political with virtually none of the magical side of ASOIAF (excepting dragons), and honestly does not have much in the way of themes or depth that main ASOIAF or even D&E has, I think it will be very hard for an adaptation to show even those brief sparks of quality that used to make me wistful GoT couldn’t be that good all the time and eventually just made me frustrated and depressed. Note I do like the history and characters of the Dance despite myself, despite its many many many textual issues, but I don’t need to see an adaptation, I have a very visual imagination. I don’t watch a lot of television to begin with, I don’t see why I should start again with this.

However, I’m not going to avoid spoilers or discussion, and I’ll probably follow the show the tumblr way, through gifsets and video clips and people bitching on their blogs etc. If, somehow, by some miracle of good screenwriting and acting, the show manages to transcend its source material, I’m sure I will be informed. And then, if and only if then, I may try watching. (Without, of course, giving HBO any of my goddamn money.) We shall see.

(Though I certainly don’t know why anyone in Targ standom would ever watch a Dance adaptation considering almost every Targaryen and everyone else in the story is terrible except Helaena and the kids, and considering how the story ends, unless y’all are gluttons for punishment? (I do not comprehend hatewatching, sorry.) It’ll probably be fun at first to see the adventures of those “precious silver douchebags” (to borrow a friend’s tag), but eventually rocks fall, everyone dies, including the girlboss you know you’ll hope the story will be changed enough that she succeeds. Just letting you know now, she won’t.)

That said. I’ve been following the casting news and I think the hate/fear/wild screaming is entirely overblown. Yeah, I know, but wait, just listen. On Friday I officially welcomed @naomimakesart to the “favorite character is now played by an actor who looks nothing like most fanart and is mostly known for wildly different roles” club. I still remember that day in September 2009 when my brother texted me “yarp”... and that right there is the thing. Yeah. Rory McCann looks very little like most pre-GoT Sandor fanart... but many fans grew to love him anyway. (There are some who never did, of course. And yeah the character went off the rails by the end, but truly, who didn’t. Having seen his audition, having spoken to him and heard him wistfully talk about book scenes he loved, I’m convinced if Rory had only been given Sandor’s actual scenes and such, he would’ve killed it. Sigh. Deep, deep sigh.)

And Rory isn’t the only one. Neither of the actors for Jaime and Cersei were considered “beautiful” enough at first. I recall very clearly people bitching about Nikolaj Coster-Waldau (about his nose particularly?) because they had wanted Tarzan-era Travis Fimmel to be Jaime. (Seeing people bitch because current-Fimmel isn’t playing Daemon made me laugh out loud for both BEYONCE?! meme -type “why would you ever cast him omg he doesn’t fit my headcanon Daemon at all”, and amazing amounts of fandom flashbacks.) Lena Headey was “too square-jawed”, “too mean-looking” (since at the beginning you should never be able to guess she’s evil), “too dark-complected”, “too mannish”, not at all attractive enough. (Tricia Helfer was the most common “but I wanted” for Cersei, btw.) And of course “they don’t remotely look like twins, ugh!” Note, there’s receipts for all of this, none of it is made up. (Unfortunately.) Those two actors are just the ones whose casting wank I recall most clearly, particularly because oh how the turn tables.

Also. You know, there’s a post with Matt Smith and Mark Simonetti’s TWOIAF Daemon going around with shrieks of horror... and I’m finding it maddening in a “am I crazy? am I  the crazy one???” way, because Matt looks like the painting. Their features are not that dissimilar.

Same deepset eyes. Same cheekbones of doom. Same thin lips. Same protruding chin. Same high forehead. Same invsible eyebrows ffs. Matt has a squarer jaw, and a longer more rectangular face, and a wider nose, but considering that Daemon’s features are not described in the text, and this is the only official ASOIAF artwork that shows Daemon’s face straight on, I can for sure see why he was probably shortlisted to begin with. And that’s not even getting into to his role in The Crown, which I’ve heard is very well played with politics and palace intrigue... and if you doubt Smith can play seductive/roguish and/or evil (depending on how you LARP as a Westeros historian), or look good with long hair... well. I do not want to watch the movie, but this trailer is disturbingly enlightening.

And as for Rhaenyra... y’all know this show is starting at the beginning of the story, right? When she’s a teenager? Not a voluptuous MILF? Yeah, Emma D’Arcy doesn’t look like a Magali Villeneueve painting (though who does, good lord), but you know who she does look remarkably like? Harry Lloyd.

Same jawline. Same nose. Same thin lips. Same sharp cheekbones. Notably, same kind of sharp cheekbones and deep-set eyes as Matt Smith. HBO evidently has a concept of a “Targaryen look” that’s a little bit quirkier than supermodel-Greek statue-gods on earth, yeah, fine. But it’s consistent, and they look like family, and that-- that is good casting.

And yeah, in a few months to a year or so, you’ll see them in costume and wigs and makeup, you’ll see them in motion and speaking lines, and go Oh. That’s different. Never mind. And while people will make fanart of the show depictions of the characters and those will probalby get popular, they’ll also keep doing fanart of their pre-show headcanons, and those too will be popular. (God knows when I draw or visualize book!Sandor, Rory does not come to mind, lol.) Either way, there’s no reason to panic. We’ll live.

(Though will we live well? Got to wait on the writing and showrunning for that, alas.)

[cali-holland]

First Best- Harry Holland One Shot

Pairing: Harry Holland X Reader

Requested by anon: I absolutely adore your writing! Please do something with harry holland? Maybe where he thinks the reader likes Tom or Harrison but he actually finds out she’s in love with him? Thank you so much in advance

Prompt: When you’re in desperate need of a director and an actor for your latest music video, you happen to meet the Holland brothers.

Word Count: 1500

Music video inspiration: Beautiful Trauma by P!nk

A/N: heyyy my first real harry fic!

Masterlist   Harry Holland Masterlist

*Not my gif*

~~~

“Are you alright?” A concerned voice pulled you from your anxious pacing, and you turned to the source of it. The kind smile from the stranger did nothing to calm your nerves.

“Not really.” You let out a small sigh, continuing to fidget with the rings on your fingers. As if awards shows weren’t stressful enough for you, you just got the most stress-inducing call from your manager. The Teen Choice Awards were in full swing, but you couldn’t enjoy it as you stepped out into a side room, away from all the cameras, “Not to be rude, but unless you know of a director and an actor or dancer that both happen to be free next weekend, then you can’t help me.”

“Does an aspiring director count? Because I’ve done a few shorts, and then you might just be in luck.” He laughed lightly and your face lit up.

“Are you serious right now?” You asked, a small smile beginning to form on your face.

“Yeah,” He nodded, holding out a hand to you, “I’m Harry.”

“Y/N.” You replied, shaking his hand, and he sheepishly smiled.

“I knew that already.” Harry laughed. “I’m a fan of your music.”

“Thank you.” You smiled, “You look really familiar, do I know you from somewhere?”

You saw almost a flash of nervous disappointment flash over his features before he shook his head, “No, I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“So, what are you doing here, aspiring director?” You asked.

“My brother’s an actor. He’s nominated for an award, but I don’t feel comfortable in there. I like being behind a camera a lot more.” He admitted and you nodded, understandingly.

“The cameras are the worst. I can tell there’s already going to be headlines about me missing a performance tomorrow.” You joked. “My manager called me, and the director and the lead actor dropped out of filming my music video next weekend. If we don’t film it next weekend, it pushes back the whole album schedule. So, if you are available next weekend and you know an actor, like your brother, that’d be willing to do it, you’d be an actual life-saver.”

“Are you kidding? I’d love to direct one of your music videos. That’d be an incredible opportunity.” Harry smiled at you in disbelief.

“Here, I’ll get you in touch with my manager and she can get everything worked out.” You pulled out your phone as he did the same. Exchanging numbers quickly, you heard the announcement of the next award.

“I’ve got to get back in there, but I’ll see you next week, hopefully.” You said, smiling in relief at Harry one last time before you ducked back into the award center.

“What just happened?” Harry mumbled to himself, shaking his head. Did he just talk to his favorite singer and offer to direct her music video? Realizing he still needed to uphold the actor end of the deal, he rushed back inside to his seat by Tom.

~~~

“Oh thank God, you made it!” You exclaimed, hugging Harry tightly as he arrived to set the next weekend, completely ignoring the other guy he walked in with. Harry tensed at first, not expecting you to be so physically welcoming, but he quickly relaxed into your touch.

“Did you think I wasn’t going to show?” He laughed lightly with a smile.

“No, it just means a lot that you’re here.” You stated sincerely. You turned to the stranger beside him, and you froze, recognizing him almost immediately. “Oh my god, you’re Tom Holland?”

“Yeah, Harry said you needed an actor and a dancer. I may be a little rusty, but still.” Tom smiled at you. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“It’s great to meet you, too.” You replied. You completely missed how Harry’s own smile faltered a little as your gaze lingered on his brother; he felt the familiar disappointment of being second best overcome him again.

“Well, we should get to wardrobe. Harry, feel free to set up, do whatever it is you need to do as director. You get free reigns.” You said with a laugh, before leaving with Tom back to the wardrobe department. 

After setting up the cameras, Harry waited for you and Tom to return to the set, going through some of the last minute notes you had given him. ‘Begins with waking up in separate beds’, you had written before continuing on to write out concepts ‘ironing- burning shirts, vacuuming, burnt pies, doing dishes, taking pills’. Further into the note, it added on ‘dressed in drag, dancing, bar scene, drinking a bathtub’. All of your notes were more of just concepts, and they weren’t exactly much for him to go on, but he could make it work, he had to make it work. Harry let out a nervous sigh; he’d never done a music video like this before, nothing this high profile. Your whole album rested on you having this video, and he wasn’t about to let you, his longtime celebrity crush, down.

“How do I look?” Tom asked, walking up to him, sporting cheesy 1960’s esque pink and grey pajamas. 

“Stupid.” Harry laughed, and his older brother shook his head.

“Hey, you better remember that I’m doing this for you and your little crush on Y/N.”

“It’s not a crush.” He insisted.

“It definitely is. You gonna ask her out?” Tom teasingly nudged his younger brother.

“Don’t think so.” He shrugged, hoping Tom would just drop the topic, not wanting you or anyone from your team to overhear.

“Why not? You’re doing all this for her, she’ll probably say yes to a date.”

“I don’t know.” Harry sighed, “Y/N wouldn’t date me, not when you’re an option.”

“For me to even be an option, I’d have to be into her and I’m not.” Tom said. He dropped his voice lower as he saw you emerge from the hair department in a puffy pink pajama set, “Ask her out, there’s no harm in it.”

“Just drop it.” He pleaded, and you came over to them.

“Hey, ready to start shooting?” You asked with a smile, looking between the two Hollands, completely oblivious to the conversation they’d just been having.

With Tom acting across from you and Harry directing the video, the shoot went by easily. Normally, you disliked shooting music videos because of the familiar awkwardness between you and the unknown actor beside you, as well as the director usually not at all understanding the artistic aspects of the song that you wanted to incorporate in the video; you struggled with directors that didn’t see your artistic vision of the music. And yet, Harry was perfect. It’s like he could read your mind; he knew exactly what to do without you even really having to direct him much. You were disappointed that the shoot was only three short days, you wanted more time with Harry.

“That was incredible. You were perfect.” Harry smiled at you, looking at the footage on the screen.

“Thanks, it wouldn’t be anything without you, though.” You replied, lightly nudging him his arm with yours. “For an aspiring director, you’re the best director I’ve ever worked with.”

“Well, you’re by far the best subject I’ve filmed.” He said, his ears turning red from your compliment.

“Do you wanna go out for drinks or something tonight?” You asked, a nervous smile on your lips. You felt incredibly vulnerable, and that was even including all the times you’d been on stage in front of millions of fans.

“Should I invite Tom?” Harry asked, his voice tense. Your smile faltered for a moment.

“I thought it could just be us?” You offered, and his eyes went wide like a deer caught in headlights.

“Us? Like- like a-” He stuttered out, flustered.

“A date, yes.” You cut him off with a nod and he smiled.

“Oh, yes, of course, yes.” Harry repeated, nodding his head quickly, “I just thought that maybe you,” He trailed off a little, making you laugh.

“What? That I liked Tom? No, silly, it’s you.” You laughed. Before he could reply, you got an urgent from your manager and you let out a small groan as you read it. Turning back to him, you sighed, “First it was no album without the lead single music video, and now it’s no album without the album photoshoot. This album’s a trainwreck already. You wouldn’t happen to be an aspiring photographer too, would you?”

“Is that all I am to you, a director and photographer?” He joked, faking offense at your offer.

“I’d say aspiring boyfriend, too.” You teased.

It didn’t take long for you and Harry to start officially dating after that, and it didn’t take long for him to become the unofficial official director for the majority of your music videos.

[ibijau]

How about one where Huaisang accidentally ascended (as in HOB) and Nmj and Lxc have no idea that their Sang-di's a baby god? He can't interfere with anything in the mortal realm, which is why he's always running from martial practice and saying 'i dont know' instead of giving straight answers. He's much more commonly known among the common people than cultivators (god of something simple but sweet?), and Meng Yao is the first to suspect (Can be extended to eventual XiSang where LXC...worships).

Well it only took me like four months to fill this prompt, and then when I finally did I basically ditched everything your suggested except for the “nhs accidentally ascended” part but... hey, if you’re still around after this much time, enjoy??

When Nie Mingjue is twenty and finally given full reign of his sect, there's a huge storm that nearly blows off all the roofs of the Unclean Realm. It is everything he doesn't need, but honestly everything these last three years has been everything he didn't need, starting with his father's death. In the morning, when the storm calms down, he assesses the damage, organises for those wounded by debris to be taken care of, sends disciples in Qinghe and the closest villages to see if they need help.

It isn't a surprise when he learns that the storm only struck the Unclean Realm. There was a taste in the air that did not feel natural.

Hearing this only worsens Nie Mingjue's other concerns. Namely, the disappearance of his prodigy of a little brother. Nobody has seen Nie Huaisang since the storm. His room appears to have been devastated by the winds, everything thrown upside down. His wing of the main residence is the one that has suffered the most damages, the roof apparently blown open.

Initially, Nie Mingjue did not particularly worry. Since the storm was unnatural, it wouldn't be strange for Nie Huaisang to have noticed it and gone after the source of it. It's reckless, and he'll get scolded for it, but it can't be helped. Nie Huaisang cannot see a wrong without wanting to right it. Yet as the hours pass, and then the days, Nie Mingjue gets more and more anxious. Just like the storm that hit them so hard, nobody around has Nie Huaisang. He has simply vanished. Search parties are sent everywhere, inquiries are made to allied clans.

Nothing.

Not a trace.

After a month, Nie Mingjue is starting to consider checking with Qishan Wen when one afternoon, Nie Huaisang simply passes the gate of the Unclean Realm.

Nie Mingjue hugs him and scolds him and demands an explanation, but none comes.

“I got lost,” Nie Huaisang laughs. “I didn't realise so much time had passed. It felt shorter, or I'd have come home sooner, I swear!”

“But where were you?”

“Somewhere I shouldn't have been,” Nie Huaisang evasively replies. “I'm home now. That's what matters.”

It's all Nie Mingjue can get from him. Considering his brother's taste for secrets, he should have expected it.

“Don't do that again,” he orders, before letting the matter drop.

-

Nie Huaisang doesn't train anymore after the storm. At first, he says his long wandering exhausted him. Then he pretends he wants to focus on his calligraphy, on painting, on just anything but martial arts.

Nie Mingjue lets it slide at first. He's long given up on making sense of his brother, and Nie Huaisang has always been a little too wise for his age. Whatever he does, he does for a reason. But as weeks pass and his brother doesn't return to the training grounds, Nie Mingjue has no choice but to corner him about it.

“I don't like it anymore,” Nie Huaisang says. “It's boring.”

“I'm told you also don't meditate. Is that boring as well?”

Nie Huaisang nods firmly.

“What's the point? I now we do this to reach immortality, and maybe even to ascend but... I've given it a lot of thought lately. I don't think it'd be much fun, being a god.”

“What are you even talking about? You... Huaisang, you're good but you're fourteen, it's not like there's any risk of you ascending!”

Nie Huaisang laughs and laughs and laughs.

“Right? I am just fourteen, it'd be so stupid! Still, better not take the risk.”

“Huaisang! Enough now!”

Nie Huaisang pouts, and whines, and gets dragged to the training grounds anyway, where he performs with a mediocrity that he's never shown before. He can't even hold his damn sabre properly, drops it several time. Nie Mingjue is too stunned to even think of punishing him.

Stunned and worried.

This simply isn't like his brother.

-

With help from the elders and some healers, a number of tests are conducted on Nie Huaisang. He is not possessed. He mind is not altered. He hasn't been cursed. His cultivation hasn't been damaged. If anything, it might have risen higher than last time they checked for it.

“Then what's wrong with him?” Nie Mingjue asks.

The elders look at one another, unsure what to say.

“Teenage rebellion?” one of them suggests.

“Gods. That'd be worse than a curse,” Nie Mingjue sighs. “How do we fix that?”

-

Every few weeks, Nie Mingjue gets letters from the Cloud Recesses. Lan Qiren is at his wit's end with Nie Huaisang, because there's no way a boy this clever can fail so consistently. He thinks it's done on purpose. Nie Mingjue, after being shown some of his brother's tests, can only agree.

This, too, makes no sense. Nie Huaisang is competitive to a fault and cannot stand it if anyone is better than him at something. In the company of people as famously brilliant as Lan Wangji, Jiang Wanyin, Jin Zixuan, and Wei Wuxian, Nie Huaisang should be thriving and fighting for top position.

Instead, he has taken to drinking and looking at porn.

He still passes his exams, with the best grade of his class.

When asked about it, he just says he didn't feel like going back because the food is really too awful and he missed home.

-

After that year in Gusu, Nie Mingjue gives up on getting his brother back to normal. This is just who Nie Huaisang is now apparently. Gone is the martial prodigy, all Nie Mingjue has now is a bumbling fool who cares for nothing but fans and birds.

Especially birds.

Frequently, Nie Huaisang disappears for days on hand to go birdwatching. That alone is frustrating, since he rarely bothers to say where he's going or for how long. But then, he also systematically leaves his sabre behind, and refuses to take an escort with him, arguing everyone is too loud and will scare away his feathery targets.

Nie Mingjue gives orders that his brother isn't to be allowed outside of the Unclean Realm on his own. Nie Huaisang still manages to get out whenever he damn pleases and laughs it off when his brother gets concerned that there are secret passages in the Unclean Realm.

“An enemy could use that to get inside and slaughter us without warning!” Nie Mingjue points out.

“No, that's not going to happen,” Nie Huaisang replies with a knowing smile. “Nobody can get in. The Unclean Realm will never fall.”

“You don't know that!”

Nie Huaisang laughs.

Nie Mingjue never gets him to reveal how he leaves the Unclean Realm.

-

When the Wens come to the Unclean Realm and demand that Nie Mingjue put his little brother in their hands, he refuses. If they want a war, he's ready to give it to them, even if the rest of the cultivation world would rather grovel at their feet than stand for themselves.

His brother has other ideas. Nie Mingjue finds a note announcing that Nie Huaisang has decided to offer himself as hostage, because he fears they are not ready yet for a war.

Nie Mingjue could kill him for that betrayal.

He knows the Wen might beat him to it.

-

As soon as Nie Huaisang makes it home with a bunch of desperate but unharmed kids from a number of other sects, Nie Mingjue announces that he's sending him to Gusu.

“No, my place is in the Unclean Realm!” Nie Huaisang protests. “I belong here. I know it now, I know this for sure, I have to be here.”

“Are you going to fight at my side then?” Nie Mingjue counters. “Are you going to pick up your sabre at last and help me?”

“I can help without a sabre. Mingjue, don't send me away. I want to be here. This is my home, I need to be here.”

“It's the sabre or Gusu.”

Nie Huaisang whines and pouts and begs and complains and even threatens, to no avail. Nie Mingjue will not bulge from the choice he's giving him.

Without surprise, Nie Huaisang chooses Gusu.

Nie Mingjue wishes it didn't disappoint him.

-

The war is bloody and harsh and it should be hopeless, but it is not.

Several times, they snatch a victory at the last moment through sheer luck. Hope, that most precious of commodities at such a time, never leaves them. Rumours start to circulate among the disciples of those sect who chose to stand against Qishan Wen, although it is many weeks before they reach Nie Mingjue, who never paid much attention to gossip.

In the end, it is Lan Xichen who tells him about it, seemingly rather amused by the stories about...

“A young man wearing a mask who sometimes appears when the situation is desperate,” he explains. “He carries no weapon, but he has a magical fan that he uses when fighting. He is rarely seen in battle, but several people who had been taken prisoner claim that he came down from the heavens to free them before they could be tortured or killed.”

“A rogue cultivator?”

Lan Xichen smiles, but shakes his head.

“A god, apparently.”

Nie Mingjue snorts. Gods don't mess with the affairs of mortals.

“Don't dismiss it so easily,” Lan Xichen scolds him. “I can name more than one sect that decided to join us after hearing about the Faceless God on our side.”

“They even gave him a title?”

“They had to, he never gave his name.”

It's a ridiculous rumour, and it can't be anything more. On a rare letter sent to his brother in Gusu, Nie Mingjue mentions it, guessing that this is the sort of things that might amuse him. He used to like stories of gods and immortals, before he became someone Nie Mingjue doesn't know anymore.

-

It's just a rumour, but even within his own ranks, Nie Mingjue catches a few people praying to the Faceless God on the eve of battle.

He doesn't dissuade them. With the war dragging on and the Wens still so strong in number, people need something to hold on.

Nie Mingjue puts all his faith in his own strength and that of the people he trusts, but he understands that not everybody can be satisfied with this.

-

And then he meets the Faceless God.

-

A young man wearing a mask, Lan Xichen had described him, but all Nie Mingjue sees is a boy in disguise, trying to appear taller and larger than he is.

He carries no weapon, and Nie Mingjue understands why when he sees the fan in the Faceless God's hand. It is one he has seen too many times in the last few years. He wonders if the boy who holds it assumed nobody would recognise it as easily as they might know his sabre.

He rarely joins in battle, but he comes for those who have been captured, like Nie Mingjue dragged before Wen Ruohan, humiliated by Meng Yao who he once trusted above all others.

Both Meng Yao and the Faceless God strike Wen Ruohan at the same time.

Both Meng Yao and the Faceless God cower in fear before Nie Mingjue when he rises to his feet.

Meng Yao kneels before him and swears he was always on their side.

The Faceless God runs away.

It doesn't matter.

Nie Mingjue knows where to find him.

-

It is a while before Nie Mingjue recuperates enough from his injuries to return home. When he finally does, Nie Huaisang is waiting at the gate for him, an uncertain smile on his face and a fan in his hand. Nie Mingjue hugs him and asks for news of the reconstruction in Gusu, unsurprised when the answers remain evasive.

He waits until they are alone in his room to ask the question that really matters.

“It was that storm, wasn't it?”

Nie Huaisang freezes in the act of pouring tea, looking like a rabbit who spotted a hawk. Slowly, hesitantly, he nods.

“If you ascended, why are you here?”

“This is home,” Nie Huaisang simply says. Then, when his brother frowns, he adds: “I never expected to ascend, and when it happened, I realised I didn't want to. They gave me all those rules to follow, they told me I couldn't see you again, couldn't go home again and that was... I belong here. I belong in the Unclean Realm. Maybe when you're gone I'll feel differently, but for now this is home and I'm not going anywhere. The Heavenly Emperor himself could order me to leave and I wouldn't. Which is exactly what I told him before I came back here.”

“You rebelled against the Heavenly Emperor.”

Nie Huaisang nods.

“You're an idiot.”

“I was fourteen!” Nie Huaisang protests. “I should never have ascended! I wasn't prepared for it! I'm still not prepared for it. I don't care about their rules, I don't care about emperors and gods and anything else. But I care about my home, and I care about my people, and I care about what's right.”

Nie Mingjue sighs. This is so wrong, on so many levels. There are reasons why gods don't meddle with mortal affairs, why they stay in their own domain most of the time. This is wrong and it'll bring trouble down the line, he's sure of it, but... but suddenly, so much makes sense, and he's proud of Nie Huaisang.

“I'm not calling you 'Highness',” he warns.

“I sure hope not. I'm still your didi, now and always.”

Nie Mingjue smiles, and pulls his heavenly brother into a tight hug. Everything else is going to be different, but this bond between us will never change, he's certain of that.

[redcameleon]

SSM 2020 Day 2

Prompt: Gravity

Summary: There’s only one force strong enough to break his chains: love. Curse mark AU where Sasuke was being locked up because he would go on rampages.

Rating: T.

A/N: I was trying to write this prompt from a different perspective. I probably could’ve made this into a multichaptered story, but I didn’t think it had that much potential. Ok, this is way longer than I had intended hehe. Regardless, hope you enjoy it! As always, feedback is welcome!

Sasuke tries to climb up the sides, as slow as he can, but he can never go past two steps before being dragged back down. He doesn’t know what is tying him down, but it feels heavier than gravity. He can’t remember how long he’s been trapped in this large pit.

The curse mark on his shoulder starts to activate, spreading though his whole body. His hair becomes longer, fangs protruding from the edges of his mouth, eyes landing on a darker shade, nails growing into claws, and wings sprouting from his back. He tries to fly out of the pit, but again with no avail, only manages to hover in the air three feet from the ground, feeling a force strong enough to hold him down. This has to be the nth time he’s tried to escape, always ending up with the same results.

He sinks back down on the ground in defeat, body shifting back to his normal human form.

.

.

Sakura carries a basket in her right hand as she treads through the forest, in search of a medicinal berry plant that is supposed to grow around the area. She peaks behind trees and bushes only to find other kinds of fruit plants or poisonous ones.

She kicks a pebble in frustration before she starts hearing a voice.

Please. Help me. She turns around and nobody is behind her. She walks a few more steps and hears the same voice.

Help me. She turns around again, examining the area around her, but again no sign of anyone.

As she’s lost in thought she accidentally missteps her foot and tumbles down a small hill, hitting branches along the way before stumbling into a large pit. She lies face down on the ground before she slowly gets up. She dusts her knees and hands when she hears a voice of a man.

“Who are you?” She immediate shoots up, looking for the source of the voice. She sees a silhouette cautiously approaching her from the dark. She gets up slowly, trying not to agitate the being. As the man approaches her, she’s able to trace his figure, wings spreading wide behind him, hair longer than his shoulder. As he steps into the light, she’s able to get a good look at him and widens her eyes.

“Did the universe graciously award me with free food?” The man tilts his head to the side, grinning sinisterly. He walks around Sakura, eyeing his prize.

“But you don’t eat people.” There’s no way a human would eat another human. At least that’s what Sakura believes.

“You think I won’t kill you?” The man threatens as he leans over to her ear. Sakura looks indifferent and it bothers him. All the people that’s seen him would either display fear or terror. But she doesn't seem to show any evidence of that. He quirks an eyebrow and walks away.

“What are you?” Sakura inquires. The man chuckles in amusement.

“You tell me.” He turns around to face her. He notices how she eyes him carefully.

“Were you the one crying for help?” He’s surprised by her question. He’s surely been trying to get out of this hole this whole time, but did he ever cry for help? Not that he knew of. “Your voice sounds familiar. I kept hearing pleas for help earlier.”

“Hn.” Deciding that she’s just a nobody, he shifts back to his normal form. Sakura watches in awe as the man standing before her now looks just like any other man. His dark raven hair just long enough to cover his ears, his skin white but just a tad bit tanned, his eyes as dark as onyx, muscles toned.

“Woah you can do that?” There are millions of questions swimming in her head. He takes a seat on his previous spot, leaning back on the wall. He’s definitely got little to no energy to harm her. She notices how weak he seems and offers him an apple she managed to pick before stumbling down. She walks over to him, carefully as to not give him any bad ideas.

She extends the fruit towards him. He eyes it carefully, debating whether or not he should take her offer. Before he could even decide, his hands accepted it. She kneels in front of him.

“Do you have a name?” A name? Sasuke can’t remember the last time someone calls him by his name.

“Sasuke.” Sakura gives him a warm smile.

“I’m Sakura.” Sasuke notes how interesting of a name it is. Sakura.

“Why are you down here? Can’t you get out?” She notices how large but relatively shallow the pit is. Surely a person like him would be able to get out easily.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” His frustration starts to grow from her lack of understanding. Does he have to articulate the state he’s in? He abruptly stands up and summons his wings. He tries to fly out and as always, can’t seem to hover more than three feet above the ground before he gets pulled back and falls.

“I can’t.” He puts extra emphasis on the last word. Clearly, she should understand what he means by now. She doesn’t say a word as he sits back down and slumps.

“I’m sorry.” She suddenly perks up and jolts. “Wait I have an idea! I’ll go out and go back to my village to get some help!” Sakura beams up and starts to get up to climb. Sasuke chuckles dryly.

“They won’t help you. No one will.” As if ignoring his words, she begins to climb, and not long after manages to pull herself out of the pit. She looks back again at Sasuke, still sitting on the same spot.

“I’ll be back! Don’t worry!” She quickly runs back to get some help. Sasuke goes back to devouring the fruit in his hand as one thought comes to mind.

So naïve.

.

.

Panting, Sakura finally arrives at her village and walks up to the first person she finds.

“Please you have to help me. There’s a man stuck in the bottom of a pit and we need to help him get out.” The man’s eyes widen at her words.

“At the bottom of a pit? You mean in the woods?” He violently points towards the direction of the forest.

“Yes yes! Now you need to help me! I’ll try to find another person to help us.” Suddenly the man stops in front of her path.

“Are you crazy? That’s no man! It- it’s a monster! He killed so many people!” Sakura’s excitement now turns to confusion before shifting to disbelief.

“No, that can’t be true.”

“Oh and have you seen this monster?”

“Yes! But he was-“

“It’s all just an illusion! Last thing you know, he’ll get on you and slash your throat!” Sakura subconsciously touched her neck. “I am not gonna let him get out of there!”

That can’t be true. Sakura isn’t gonna believe in what he says. There must be something more to it. Deciding that she needs answers, she goes back to find him. To find Sasuke.

She keeps repeating the man’s words. She runs back to the pit, and peeks over the ledge.

“Sasuke?” She sees him still sitting on that same spot, knees bent and head held down. He looks up when he hears her call.

“Well are you gonna help me?” He gets up, excitement is evident in his face.

“Um I have a question. How did you end up here in the first place?” Sasuke’s frown sets back in place. He looks at her and straightens himself. He tries to read her expression, and the way she’s crouched on the ground, just barely peeking over the ledge, as if she’s shielding herself. She doesn’t even bother to come down and talk to him. Instead, resorting to talking from a safe distance where she knows he can’t get to her.

“You’re afraid of me.” He concludes.

“What? No! I just have some questions that’s all.” He notices how flustered she is, way different from how she acts the first time they met. If she wasn’t afraid of him then, she’s clearly afraid now. Sasuke clenches his hands.

“Tch. You’re just like the rest of them.” He retreats back to the darkest part of the pit, the one that’s covered by shadows, and takes a seat.

Sakura realizes that man might have been wrong anyway. Sasuke is not a monster. It’s true that he might look like one when she first found him, but he hasn't shown any sign of intentionally wanting to hurt her. She’s not going to let that man’s words get to her. At least not until she hears Sasuke’s side of the story.

She slowly slides down the steep wall and lands with a thud. She confidently walks over to him and takes a seat beside him.

“Look, Sasuke. I’m just a little confused, that’s all. The way people call you, they called you a killer. I don’t want to believe them.” Silence fills the gap between them. Sasuke lets out a long sigh before he starts to explain himself.

“I never meant to kill them. I was just trying to protect myself. Two men were trying to rob me, and I suddenly was itching to kill them. The bad side of me came out and did it. Ever since then, that part of me would sometimes take over, even though I told it to shut up. So I was locked in here.” Sasuke brings his knees closer to him, sounding defeated.

Now that she knows his story, she only has one question left for him.

“Well, do you wanna get out of here?” Sasuke looks at her and struggles to find the answer himself. Should he? Maybe it was right for them to keep him here. So that he won’t be able to hurt anyone else. Sasuke thinks to himself

“I don't know.” She’s finally beginning to understand where he’s coming from. He’s the one who’s afraid. He’s afraid of hurting people, of not being in control of his own impulses.

Now that Sakura understands, she can finally make her decision. She stands up, resolve clear in her eyes.

“If no one’s gonna help you get out of here, then I’ll do help you. I’ll do whatever I can to help you.” Sasuke chuckles in amusement. This girl is surely still naïve that for a second, she makes the impossible sound possible.

“Tch. Good luck.” Sakura kneels back down in front of him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t believe you’re a monster. And I’ll make everyone believe that. But you have to work with me.” Sasuke takes a good look at her. He tries to guess what she’s thinking. Her eyes, filled with determination and courage, suddenly make him believe that she’s capable of doing so. That he might not be a monster after all. He dismisses any positivity from his mind and shifts to face away from her.

.

.

True to her words, she tries everything she can to help him. And that begins by bringing him food. Visiting him from once to twice a day, she’d bring any food she can find. Meat, berries, fruits.

They’d make a small firepit in the middle and enjoy their meal together. She’d tell stories of her childhood, of the village where she grew up in, of her family, of her dreams. And he’d always listen.

Once or twice he’d be brave enough to share his childhood. How he lost his parents pretty early on. How it was always just his brother and him against the world. How he misses him.

Sakura takes note of how deep his emotions are. How he feels and observes things. How he’s very much a human being unlike what everyone says.

Some days, he’d transform to show him his other side. A part of him is always worried that his impulses would kick in and try to harm her. But Sakura would always argue that he’d only do that as self-defense. She always believes he would never try to hurt her. At least intentionally.

She’d admire his long hair, the skin that make up his wings. She’d bravely touch them, and he’d feel every small touch of her fingers, sending electricity through his body.

Other days, they’d be lying underneath the clear sky, stargazing. Even though their vision is blocked by the trees overhead, they can still make up the small beads adorning the sky. They notice the moon always shines the brightest, lighting up their surroundings, never leaving them in total darkness. As they lay there in silence and admiration, Sasuke instinctively looks over to her, marveling at his star. How could a small woman have all the courage in the world? How could she suddenly walk into his life and bring so much warmth? How could she have the power to chase away his darkness?

He doesn’t know when, but he knows his heart is no longer beating for just himself.

.

.

Sakura is just on her way to see him when she’s approached by four men. She’s barely at the ledge that leads to the pit when they warn her.

“Sakura. Step away from the ledge.”

“Sato-san. What are you doing here?” She notices how one of them is carrying a machete, while the others are carrying similar weapons. She suddenly changes her stance to a defensive one.

“He’s far too dangerous to be left alone. We know you’ve been trying to get him out.”

“But he’s not dangerous at all! He’s just misunderstood.”

Sasuke notices the commotion from up ahead and peers his ears to listen.

“Please, he’s a human being just like the rest of us!” She truly believes every word she says. Sasuke can’t believe what he’s hearing. She’s actually defending him. She’s the only person in the world who’s truly on his side now. He can’t describe the warm feeling in his chest.

“I’m sorry Sakura-san, but you need to step aside. We don’t want to hurt you.”

“No! I won’t let you get to him! You’ll have to go through me!” All fired up, she drops the basket she’s holding to the side.

One of the men sets aside his sword, afraid he might hurt her, and starts swinging his fists at her. Having received some self-defense training, she’s able to dodge every attack gracefully and lands a blow to his stomach. Staggering behind after her blow, he and another man starts lunging at her. She ducks to dodge a punch and jumps to the side to avoid the other man’s machete.

She’s able to get in a groove and dodge every single attack they throw at her, frustrating them even more. That’s when another man comes up from behind and swings his sword at her feet. He scrapes her ankle, succeeding in wounding her. She yells in pain before she falls back, blood oozing out of the wound.

“I’m sorry. You brought this on yourself.” Sasuke hears her scream for pain and his blood starts boiling. He’s not going to let them hurt her for defending him. He feels so hopeless being down there and not being able to protect her.

He transforms and starts flapping his wings. He manages to ascend for a few feet before he’s held back by that mysterious force. He uses all his strength to break free but it just keeps holding him back even stronger. His desperation grows when it starts pulling him closer to the ground. But he refuses to concede. He needs to get out. To get to her.

That’s when he gives a final push, and is finally able to break free. As if a rope has just been snapped, he flies out of the very pit that’s contained him for years and soars through the sky. Sakura and the four men watch as he flies up above their heads, awe never leaving her eyes.

Sasuke lands in front of her, covering her from their line of sight. Anger is now seeping through him. The men all fall to the ground, trembling in fear.

“You’ll pay for this.” He takes a step towards them. He hasn’t even noticed that Sakura has made her way to his side, grabbing his hand.

“Sasuke don’t!!” She tugs him forcefully. He glares at her. “Please stop.” He sees desperation in her eyes. But not just that. He sees sadness as well. But never fear. His expression softens and he transforms back to his normal self.

The four men take their chances and run from there as fast as they can. Sakura drops back to the ground, pain shooting up from her leg.

“You're hurt.” Sasuke eyes the gash on her ankle.”

“It’s fine.” She rips a part of her skirt and ties it around the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Now that that’s taken care of, her attention falls back to Sasuke.

“Sasuke! You- you were able to get out!”

“Aa.”

“But how?” He’s at a lost for words. He himself doesn’t know how he managed to get out.

Sakura tries to get up but almost trips at the pain that shoots up her leg. Sasuke steadies her.

“You need help.” He instinctively tells Sakura to get on his back, swinging her arms around his neck and grabbing her legs behind the knees. He begins to walk towards her village.

“I’m proud of you.” She manages to whisper. He plays the words in his head over and over again, feeling a tug in his heart.

When they reach her village, they are greeted by a mob of people, all carrying swords, sticks, and fire. Standing in front of the crowd is the four men from back there.

“Not a step closer.” One of them pointed his sword at them. Sakura gets off Sasuke’s back and limps towards the villagers.

“Wait! Look, I know you guys are afraid of him. He might’ve attacked some people back then, but that’s not him. That’s not his true self.”

“He’s cast you under a spell, hasn’t he?” One of the villagers claims.

“No! I’m not under any spell. I’ve gotten to know him, his true self and he’s just a human being like all of us. He’s not some monster you can cage. He never meant to hurt any of those people. Please, just give him a chance. I promise he’ll never hurt anyone ever again.” Sakura pleads in front of everyone. A part of Sasuke feels calm now that someone has his back. But a part of him feels pained to see her like this, being casted out by her own village. If this is what his freedom means, then he’s willing to spend the rest of his life in that retched pit.

“Sakura.” Sasuke slowly steps towards her. Just then, an old woman appears from the back of the crowd. She slowly makes her way to them.

“So you managed to break free.” Their gazes turn to her, all equally confused. Except for Sasuke. Sasuke begins to flare.

“You! You locked me there!” He points at her, anger or something softer than that starting to become evident in his voice.

“I did. But you managed to break free.” Sasuke lowers his finger. “You’re only able to break free from your shackles the moment you learn how to love.” Sasuke’s eyes widen at this.

The old woman’s gaze turns to the pinkette standing next to him. Sasuke follows her gaze and can see how confused Sakura is.

“Dear, it’s you who has set him free.” How is that possible? Sakura questions herself over and over again. “You showed him who he truly is. And helped him learn to love. You were even able to control his emotions.” Sakura remembers then at the forest, when she was able to stop him from hurting those men. Sakura doesn’t realize the impact she has on him. She turns to face him.

Hearing all this, the villagers start lowering their weapons.

True to her words, Sakura did help him. She’s able to free him from his shackles. And she did it in the most selfless way possible.

.

.

end.

[overheardatthecontinental]

Talk Chapter 10

AO3 Link

Winston didn’t even need to give John a name. The moment he mentioned the bookie, John was off.

John tended to avoid socializing with anyone, let alone other assassins, but he was familiar with Dex’s. Everyone was. The bar was a few blocks away from the Continental and while it was part of the Underworld as much as the hotel, it was not a safe haven. Business could, and often was, conducted at the bar.

John slips in through the back, avoiding the bar floor entirely. Although he doubts its particularly crowded during the midday hours, John is well-aware of the prevalence of alcoholic assassins. He wonders what Helen would have to say about that.

A culture of widely accepted substance abuse. Lack of appropriate and effective coping skills.

He wonders if her voice will always live on in his head, even if he survives the week and successfully disentangles his life from hers. If he’ll grow old, alone, but hearing her in his mind. It might drive him mad but he is far more afraid of the day he stops hearing her.

John cuts through the kitchen to the back office where Oliver, the youngest of the Dexter brothers, collected intelligence and ran odds.

Usually, John stayed out of this part of the Underworld. Gambling had never been one of his vices. Even when his name was involved in the betting pools, he tended to just ignore it and just go about his business.

But this was different.

He doesn’t knock as he walks in through the open door.

Ollie Dexter has never been a true player in the game. His father had been fairly prominent assassin in New York, his mother a pusher for the Walkers crime firm in England. Both had retired when the boys were born but, since there was no getting out of the Underworld, they had chosen, instead, to settle within it.

Thus, Dexter’s was born.

The older boy, William, was decent in a brawl. He dealt more with the front end of the bar, often separating fights between drunk and aggressive assassins before things got out of hand. Ollie, on the other hand, rarely left the back. John was fairly certain the man didn’t have the physical strength to squeeze the life out of anybody, nor the knowledge of how to properly hold a gun.

He was a portly man with a large beer gut that was a direct result of being based inside a bar. He had receding blond hair that he kept oiled back.

While he usually dressed in a track suit, he was stripped down to a white tank top with grease stains when John walks in.

“Betting don’t open ‘til noon.” Ollie says, not looking up from the desk.

John doesn’t move.

“I said, the betting don’t open ‘til—” He looks up and his round face turns stark white. “Ah, fuck,” Ollie swears, jumping to his feet at the sight of the Boogeyman standing in his doorway, “Listen, John, it’s just business. You understand—”

“Give me the spreads.”

“Really didn’t mean anything by it…”

John shakes his head in exasperation. As if he doesn’t have bigger things to worry about than the lowly worm making bets on other’s misfortunes.

“The spreads.” John repeats expectantly.

“Yeah, yeah of course.”

Ollie pushes the papers across his desk, quickly trying to flip through the various sheets. He finds it after nearly a minute of frantic scrambling and tugs it out with shaking hands, passing it over to John.

He scans it, memorizing the names, the odds. Making mental note of organizations that might back them or strong alliances to be wary of.

Many of the names, he doesn’t actually recognize. New comers looking for an easy path to fame and fortune.

It won’t matter, he thinks. John had contacts in nearly every faction under the Table. He had sources who could get information on the highest members of the Underworld and others who could sink into the tiniest, ugliest cracks and listen for whispers.

John thrusts the paper back to Ollie. “You want to keep this pool going? I want daily updates on who’s being favored and who’s pulling ahead.”

Ollie’s eyes go wide, “Uh, yeah. Sure thing, Mister Wick.”

John leaves the office, taking out his phone. The odds were currently favoring an independent contractor called Verdugo.

John was familiar with the assassin even though they ran in different circles. Verdugo tended to migrate between several different cities with Los Zetas connections. Though he was not a member, he worked with the organization more often than not.

It seems that only chance had the assassin in New York when Helen’s contract went wide. Just another stroke of bad luck.

As he walks back down the hall, John types out a quick message to one of his Zetas contacts, asking for the location of Verdugo.

He slips out of the bar without notice but, it appears, he hadn’t been as careful going in. Three assassins are waiting for him in the alley when he steps outside.

John lets out a small sigh as he walks down the two steps.

They’re all young. He can picture Helen in his head calling them just babies. But they were all armed. Two hang back, each with a gun raised in his direction while another stands closer, holding a knife.

“Don’t suppose you want to make this easy for us, old man.” The one in front, their chosen leader, says expectantly.

He feels a twinge of compassion for them that he blames on Helen. They might be killers, he thinks, but they’re still young. He’d never been a good judge of age, but he’d put them all in their twenties. While he didn’t give warnings, as a rule, it prompts him to ask, “You sure this is your best idea?”

“There’s three of us.” The leader says, like it’s obvious.

“I can see that. It won’t make a difference.”

There’s a flash of anger in the leader’s eyes. Already, he’s taking the smack talk personally. He wouldn’t last long in the Underworld, John thinks. Whether by his hand or another’s, the kid doesn’t have what it takes. Not yet, at least. And with impulses like that, likely not every.

“Just tell us where your girlfriend is, and we’ll let you live.”

Bartering was never a good sign. It implied lack of training, which tells John this isn’t a kid from one of the schools. He hasn’t been trained. He’s likely just a street kid, trying to make a name for himself. Maybe a low-level drug pusher, trying to rise up in the ranks of his gang.

John takes a step forward and the kid holds up the knife in front of him. His eyes are wide, like he’s surprised that John isn’t bending to his will just because he has a knife, “Stop moving!”

“You’re holding that wrong.” John tells him.

The kid’s eyes flash towards the knife in his hand and John uses the moment of distraction to throw his palm into the open throat. The kid drops the knife and John catches it, spinning the kid around as he chokes. He grabs the leader by the hair and pulls up, exposing the neck further, and guiding him to stand directly in front of John as a shield.

He gags and John spins the knife, holding the blade just above the neck.

The back-up kid had brought stand in stunned disbelief at the speed that John had managed to disarm and counterattack their leader.

“Guns down.” John says, watching as the boy and the girl look to each other, before lowering the guns. “Kick them over.”

There’s a pause and then they listen. Metal skids loudly across the concrete, echoing in the alley. When the guns pass John, he pushes the leader forward. The kid stumbles towards his friends.

He looks back to John with a glare, rubbing his throat as he turns back around. Before John can offer a warning, the kid charges him, striking forward.

John steps to the side and lets the momentum carry the kid before he kicks out a leg. The leader flies, hitting the ground face-first, landing hard.

John has had road rash before. It stings like a bitch.

The girl screams as she rushes an attack, her movements slightly more controlled but too clinical. She knew the theories but didn’t have the experience. John blocks the first strike, and the second. She brings a leg up to kick him and John catches the ankle in the air, pulling it up and dropping her quick before she can gain any sort of control back.

From the ground, she tries to kick him as her counterpart attempts to dive for the gun nearest to John’s feet. John steps on the outstretched hand, narrowly avoiding the girl’s vicious kicks. She pushes up on the ground and flips to her feet.

John uses the moment to kick the face of kid reaching for the gun, noting the crack and the gush of blood pouring from the nose.

The girl tries to kick again, this time keeping her aim lower, more grounded towards his center of gravity.

From the corner of his eye, he notes that the leader is getting back to his feet, bleeding all on down his cheek.

He turns his attention back towards the girl. Her kick is well-executed, but she forgot the knife in his hand. He uses it to block and she cries out as the dagger embeds itself into the bottom of her foot. John holds onto it as she rips her foot away and turns to throw it at their approaching leader.

It strikes him in the eye-socket. For a moment he stands, in utter shock, pain etched on his face, before he falls to the ground.

The girl, now strongly favoring her good foot holds her ground. While clearly in pain, she doesn’t make a sound.

The male henchman clutches at his nose.

John looks between them, “You want to finish this or would the two of you like to get yourselves to a doctor?”

The girl growls out, “Fuck you—”

“Sasha! Stop.” The boy on the ground spits out blood, “Yu ne moxhet vernut’sya iz smerti!”

You cannot come back from death.

John looks to the girl, easily switching to Russian, “Slushay svoyego druga. Srazis’ v drugoy den.”

Listen to your friend. Fight another day.

She glares at him for a moment, the anger so clear in her gaze. And then it softens as she lets herself stumble back into the wall.

“Blyad!” She curses.

John picks up the gun at his feet, because he is likely going to need it sooner or later.

He leaves them in the alley, along with the body of their dead friend. He hopes that the small act of mercy isn’t in vain.

John wonders, idly, if Helen would be proud of him.

He checks his phone as he leaves the alley, having idly felt it vibrate during the scramble.

The message is from his Los Zetas contact, revealing Verdugo is @ Continental.  

Disappointing, John thinks, considering he can’t do shit about that.

He texts back if he leaves, for any reason, let me know.

The second name on the spreadsheet from Ollie listed Kate O’Connell. John knew Kate about as well as anybody. She’d been a hell of a munitions expert in the IRA back in the day. Until she’d been kicked out for being a drunk.

Another assassin fallen victim to substances.

Drunk or not, John thought, she was still brilliant. But she was better at war time ops, blowing up bridges to stop shipments or helping to fake someone’s death with a car bomb.

Unfortunately for Kate, most hits called for a certain level of stealth or concealment. John was fairly certain that Kate was shit at hand-to-hand and lacked the interest to put much time into weapons trainings. She just didn’t care much for anything below an grenade.

But that meant contracts were limited to either very specific requests for explosions, which were rare, or open contracts with no requirements, which were highly sought after.

John had read Helen’s contract. There was no stipulation that her body had to be in one piece.

He feels a wave of nausea at the thought and pushes it down, burying it deep until he can afford to let himself think of such things.

He knew where to find Kate without having to reach out to any of his contacts. She spent her days working at an Irish pub in Hell’s Kitchen. John makes his way back to the Continental by foot, calling for his car as he does so that it’s ready when he arrives.

He drives the rest of the way to the pub, parking far enough away that he won’t have to worry about Kate trying to set his car on fire. Again.

What was it she had said the last time? “Nothing personal, Johnny-boy. Just like to see shiny things go boom.”

The bell dings as he walks into the pub. Kate stands at the bar, chopping up garnishes. She looks up at the soft ding and calls out, “Heya, Johnny.”

He withholds a wince at the nickname as he makes his way to the bar. “Kate.”

Her reddish-brown hair is shaved to about half an inch. She had tried, for years, to grow it out but complained about the smell each and every time it caught on fire. It had only been in the past few years that she had given up and shaved it all.

“What can I get for you?” She asks, as he sits down, setting down the paring knife. John keeps an eye on the tiny blade even as she moves towards the shelves of alcohol.

“You got Blanton’s?”

Kate snorts, “This ain’t the Continental. I got Jamie, Bushmills, and Teeling.”

“Teeling, then.”

Kate grabs the bottle and a glass and pours a out a few fingers. “Don’t suppose you’re here to catch up.” She says, sliding him the drink.

John shakes his head, “Afraid not. I’m here to ask you to drop the Helen Kingston contract.”

Kate leans forward on the counter, “Now why would I do that? Four million is a pretty penny.”

“Self-preservation. You’ll never get close enough to hurt her.”

She regards him thoughtfully, “What’s she to you, then? I don’t buy the girlfriend thing everybody’s been talking ‘bout.”

“Why not?” He asks, genuinely curious.

Kate huffs, “Please. Aside from the fact that you know better, we both know you’re far too broken to ever invite another into your miserable existence. So, who is she?”

Fair enough, John thinks as he sips the subpar whiskey.

He answers with a truth, “She’s my best friend.”

“Hmm.” Kate hums and John can tell that she doesn’t quite believe him, “I don’t know, Johnny. You don’t seem the type to have anything more than casual friends.”

“For a long time, I would have agreed with you,” he admits, “Until I met her.”

The assassin inclines her head and John is now certain that she doesn’t believe, “Uh huh. Where’d you meet, then?”

“A café.”

“Spend a lot of times in café’s, do you, John?”

“On occasion.” He sets the whiskey to the side, “Drop the contract, Kate.”

Now the Irish woman rolls her eyes dramatically, “You—John Wick—are asking me to give up a substantial hit on someone because she’s your best friend?”

“I’m asking you to spare her, so I don’t have to kill you.” John corrects.

“And here I thought we were friends, too.”

“A friend wouldn’t target the woman I love.”

“Ah,” Kate seems to bounce a bit on her feet, “Now we’re getting somewhere. Your best friend or the woman you love?”

John inclines his head, “She’s both.”

“But not your girlfriend.” Kate confirms, “This unrequited, then? Because I imagine it might make it easier to move on from her if she were dead.”

John ignores the remarks, “Are you willing to drop the contract?”

Kate sighs, almost seeming disappointed in his one-track mind, and shakes her head, “No, John. I’m not.”

He nods in understanding, true regret in his voice as he says, “That’s a shame.”

For a moment, neither of them move.

Kate jumps forward, reaching for the knife from earlier. She grabs it just as John snatches his whiskey. John throws the drink up and into her face. Kate releases the knife and it sails past John in her momentary blindness.

John slips from his stool as Kate grabs the bottle of Teeling and angrily smashes it against the counter. Whiskey jumps in all directions as she jumps and slides over the counter with her makeshift weapon. She strikes through the air, slashing with the bottle.

John leans, avoiding it on his right, then again with the left as she attempts to cut him again.

With her free hand, she throws a punch. John blocks it with his forearm, kicking out. He strikes her side with his foot and she stumbles, quickly righting herself.

John rushes forward, slamming his hand into the base of the bottle. It flies from her grip, shattering across the floor.

Kate growls, jumping up and latching an arm around John’s neck in an attempt to choke him.

John grabs her arm before quickly spinning and bending forward before he loses breath, sending her falling to the floor.

She manages to roll back to her feet, prepared to strike out but John catches her head between his hands. With a quick turn, the assassin’s neck snaps.

He releases his grip and she falls to the ground, dead.

John feels a momentary twinge of sadness. He never wanted it to come to this, but that sadness is quickly overtaken with relief.

Kate would never be able to hurt Helen.

Although there were still hundreds of others willing to try. Others he could send a message too.

In the hours before John made his way to the Gilded Rose, he manages to wipe out nearly half the people on Ollie Dexter’s spreads, along with a few others who got in his way. It didn't feel like enough. His skin still itched from the knowledge that all his work hadn't put a dent into the people looking to do her harm.

But he does what he can in the time he has.

When he arrives at the Gilded Rose, there is blood marring the white of his shirt, having soaked through his suit jacket. He makes it a point not to change, even though he has a clean suit in his car.

Although he likely already knew, John wanted DeLuca to be very aware of how he had spent his day.

The host at the establishment looks at John with wide eyes as he comes through the door.

“Mist-mister Wick, sir. Mister DeLuca is expecting you.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“This-this-this way, si-sir.”

John follows the host across the main floor, avoiding stares from other patrons, as he is brought to a private room in the back.

A guard stands on either side of the door. One of them stops him, scanning him with a metal detector and giving a quick pat down for weapons.

When the guard is satisfied, he pushes open the door into the back room.

DeLuca sits alone, a glass of red wine in one hand and a phone in the other. He’s scrolling through some kind of feed that he closes as John walks in, setting the phone face down on the table.

“Mister Wick. Thank you for joining me.”

John doesn’t reply as he takes a seat.

“You are truly a man of few words.”

John gives him a pointed look. He isn’t here to waste time.

“Believe me when I say, I did not want it to come to this. I had hoped to have already resolved the issue by now.” DeLuca sets down his wine and leans forward, “Alas, you had to make things more complicated.”

“You took the woman I love from her bed and held her hostage.” John says, aware of the anger that line his words, “Did you think I would not retaliate?”

“I had hoped you would see fit to fulfill the bargain that we struck.”

“Bargain?” John questions, “You threatened her safety.”

DeLuca waves a hand, “You make it sound like it was personal. None of this is personal, Mister Wick. It’s just business.”

“And you’ll need to remember that it was just business when I tear you limb from limb.”

DeLuca’s nostrils flare and John notes a wave of fear breaking over the mafiaso. “I don’t think I need to remind you that if you kill me, the hit on Miss Kingston remains. And while your attempt to kill anyone taking the contract is admirable, it won’t make a difference. You can’t be everywhere at once.”

John knows this. He knows he can’t keep her safe forever, from everyone. It makes the hate inside of him well all the more with the knowledge that he can’t do anything about it. Not while DeLuca holds the contract that is keeping him in line.

“So, what do you want?” John asks.

“Italy.”

“I can’t give you Italy.” He snarls, stating the obvious.

“But you can give me the Camorra. There are still three days until Lorenzo D’Antonio and his daughter return to Rome. Three days for you to kill the family and dismantle the Camorra.”

There it is. John had expected as much.

John will kill the D’Antonio’s.

After killing a member of the High Table, John will be targeted both by what is left of the Camorra and the Table, itself. And there is no hiding from the High Table, not for long. Not forever.

He’ll be killed for this but Helen… she’ll be safe.

Without his name attached to hers, there would be no reason for her to ever be targeted again. She can go back to her practice and her house and find another person to take that Friday 4pm slot. Someone with less problems, who won’t follow her home like a stray.

Or she could move. Start over someplace new, where she might feel safer after everything that had happened over the week.

He’d set it up with the Executer months ago that Helen would be his beneficiary. She would get his money, his properties. She joked about stealing his books, but they would be hers.

Hell, she could retire if she wanted.

And Marcus, he was certain, would do him the final favor of looking out for her. Checking in every once in a while, to make sure she was safe and happy.

Maybe it was for the best.

Maybe this was how it was supposed to be all along.

“And you’ll drop the contract?”

“I’ll consider it.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“I’m afraid we’re in a precarious situation, Mister Wick. If I drop the contract, you’ll kill me.”

John wanted nothing more than to watch the life drain from DeLuca’s eyes. But he would forgo revenge if it meant keeping Helen alive and safe.

“I’ll give you my word that I won’t.”

“Schematics, in our world. You won’t kill me yourself, but you’ll hire someone else to do the job.”

John knew that would be too easy. And while he hated to go a step further, he wasn’t sure he had another option.

Besides, if the High Table went after him, which they surely would, the marker wouldn’t mean shit anyway. At John’s death, it would be returned to the Continental, written off as an expired marker and melted down to be recycled.

And, if by some miracle John lived, DeLuca would be unable to use the marker. The moment John fulfilled it; he would no longer be bound by the rules and he could kill the bastard.

“I’ll give you a marker. An oath, to you, that I won’t kill or conspire to kill you.”

DeLuca considers it, “A marker from John Wick is worth quite a lot.”

It was true, but John took a bit of pleasure in knowing that DeLuca would never get to use it.

“I’ll accept your offer.”

“I want the contract removed now.” John says quickly.

“The contract will be removed when the D’Antonio’s are dead.” DeLuca argues, shaking his head. “Although I admire your tenacity, you have nothing to barter with save a marker that, we both know, might never be used.”

The Syndicate heir seems to delight in the power he holds and John almost wishes Helen were here to break him down again.

DeLuca hands John a piece of paper. “This is Senor D’Antonio’s itinerary for the next few days. He is staying with his mistress in Manhattan. Gianna, at the Continental. Santino, of course, already lives in New York. I’ll be in touch when all three are dead.”

John folds and pockets the list as he stands, no longer being able to stand being in DeLuca’s presence.

“Oh, and Mister Wick?” John glances back, “Give my regards to Miss Kingston.”

[mdelpin]

Take it on the Run

Gratsu Week 2020 Prompt: “That idiot! Running off on his own again” Pairing: Gray x Natsu

AO3

They stood in the wreckage of their guildhall, still not able to believe that the Master had disbanded the guild. The silence was overwhelming as they all stared at the remains. It had been their home for so long none of them had any idea of what to do or where to go. Or even who they might be without it.

“He’s gone!”

Gray turned his head sharply at Lucy’s cries, his fists clenching at his sides as their meaning sunk in. It didn’t take much to figure out who she was talking about. Gray had already noticed that the Flame Brain wasn’t there, and while strange, he’d thought that he was still holed away in his house, caught up in his grief over Igneel’s death.

That idiot! Running off on his own again.

It’s not like Gray could blame him, he’d thought about doing the same thing, but in the end, he’d decided he’d rather find a distraction to keep him from thoughts of his late father and what had been done to him. Not to mention the strange magic that he had bequeathed him. Gray had only used it a few times, but he had developed a healthy fear of it. The way it made him feel, it wasn’t something he was willing to play with even though he understood that he needed to learn to control it before it had the chance to control him.

While everyone asked Lucy who she was talking about, he peered at Erza, waiting for her reaction. When he received a nod, he immediately took off for his apartment, rushing to get a bag together and go after his idiotic whatever the hell he was to him these days.

That was another source of confusion that he’d been avoiding thinking about for quite a while. Something had changed between them. Gray wasn’t sure when it had happened, or even if it was something the other wanted, but none of that was important now.

Gray couldn’t deny that he felt hurt that Natsu had left Lucy a note instead of him, and maybe it was for that reason that he’d chosen not to stick around to hear the message. Although he supposed it made a sort of sense, Lucy had become very attached to Natsu, and the dragon slayer wouldn’t have wanted to worry her.

Natsu was hurting, and for the first time in his life, the grief was so profound that he couldn’t hide it behind one of his smiles like he always did. It didn’t necessarily surprise him that the dragon slayer had taken off, it was more the fact that he had done so as quickly as he did. That’s the part that worried Gray.

He knew he had to find him before he did something stupid, like try to avenge Igneel by going after Acnologia by himself. Gray refused to lose anyone else that was important to him. But where the hell would he have gone?

The only thing he was sure of was Natsu wouldn’t take transportation, but with Happy being able to fly him and his ability to use fire to speed himself up, he already had a pretty big head start.

Gray finished packing, grabbed the last of his jewels, and left before Juvia could attempt to follow him.

0-0

He had roamed around Fiore for weeks, his worry bubbling inside him with every passing day. Memories of Natsu’s sobs over Igneel’s remains urging him on even though he had no clear trail to follow.

He trained as he walked, at first using only his regular ice magic. Gray molded object after object refamiliarizing himself with his magic as he worked on his focus and his precision. Then he began adding small amounts of his new magic, being careful not to draw too much power just in case he lost control. The combination made his ice more robust, but even using that small amount, Gray could feel that strange darkness probing him, and it scared him.

In his determination to find Natsu, he came up with something he’d never tried before. After much trial and error, he was able to create a pair of wings strong enough to bear his weight. Using everything he remembered from Ur's lessons and the little dynamic Ice-Make Lyon had managed to teach him, he was able to make them fly.

His first flight had been as terrifying as it had been exhilarating. He’d almost crashed countless times as he attempted to learn how to maneuver through air currents, but Gray was no stranger to hard work, and within a day or two, he’d gotten the hang of it.

Don’t do anything stupid, Flame Brain, at least not til I get there.

Flying sped up his efforts considerably, and it was especially helpful around mountainous areas. Gray was now able to travel long distances in one day. Even so, when he finally found Natsu, it was due more to luck than any action on his part.

He’d been flying around at night when he felt an overwhelming source of heat. His wings began to melt, and he had to reinforce them swiftly before he plummeted into the darkness.

Gray swooped down excitedly, determined to find the source when he heard what sounded like a loud explosion followed by inconsolable wails, communicating a sorrow that tugged at his heartstrings.

Searching for a safe spot to land, he discovered a clearing, and as soon as his feet touched the ground, he ran, knowing he’d found the dragon slayer at last. He followed the sound of the cries only to stop in his tracks when he caught his first glimpse of Natsu.

“Gray!” Happy greeted, and the ice mage could hear the relief hiding in that greeting, which could only mean the Exceed was worried, and given what he’d just seen, Gray wasn’t all that surprised.

He muttered a greeting in response, his eyes never leaving Natsu, appraising the changes the last few weeks had wrought. The dragonslayer was filthy, which was to be expected from being on the road for so long, Gray was sure he didn’t look much better.

But it was much more than that. Natsu appeared too thin, making Gray wonder if he’d been eating regularly. His olive eyes, which had always been imbued with the spirit of his determination, now appeared dull and empty.

It was disconcerting and much worse than Gray had anticipated.

“Easy, it’s just me,” Gray kept his voice soft when he noticed that Natsu looked like he was about to bolt. He sat down where he stood, keeping some distance between them.

“What are you doing here? ” Natsu groaned, hiding his head in his hands, but he seemed to be calming down, and Gray took that as a good sign. “I specifically asked to be left alone.”

“Did you? I didn’t exactly stick around to hear your little note,” Gray shrugged, making a valiant effort to sound like it hadn’t bothered him.

Natsu peered up at whatever he heard in Gray’s voice before quickly looking down at his hands, “Gray, I-,” he sighed, “I was going to write you one, but I couldn’t come up with the words I wanted, Lucy was... easier.”

“You didn’t have to leave at all, you dumbass,” Gray pointed out, “We would all have been there for you. ”

“I didn’t want anyone to see me like this,” Natsu revealed, and after a moment, admitted, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Natsu -,” words escaped him. Gray wanted to tell him that he’d been almost sick with worry since the moment he’d realized that Natsu had left, but he understood that wasn’t what the dragon slayer needed from him right then. And in the absence of words, there was only one thing he could think to do. He stood up, approaching Natsu slowly.

“Come here, you big idiot,” Gray grabbed Natsu in a rough embrace, smiling when he felt the dragon slayer relax into him, his arms slowly coming up to return the gesture. “I’m just glad I found you.”

“How did you?” Natsu sounded puzzled, but he didn’t let go of Gray, and the ice mage took that as a win.

“Luck mostly,” Gray answered honestly, gently rubbing circles on Natsu’s back, “and a healthy dose of wanting to kick your ass for leaving in the first place.”

Natsu stiffened at that, and Gray was quick to let go of him. He walked over to his pack and searched for some food he could share with the dragon slayer. Finding some apples, he grabbed a handful along with the last of his jerky and shared them with Natsu and Happy.

Happy didn’t even complain about it not being fish, devouring his apple in one bite, and looking hopefully at Gray for another. Natsu studied his apple for a few minutes before taking a tentative bite and sitting down.

Gray sat next to him, placing the rest of the food on the ground atop Happy’s green kerchief. Natsu needed to eat something more substantial, but this would have to do for now. He’d hunt them down some food once he was sure that Natsu wouldn’t try to take off in his absence. Maybe he could even convince him to do it together like they sometimes did on team jobs.

Natsu continued to eat slowly, something Gray never thought he’d see in his lifetime, taking occasional peeks at Gray.

“I’m not going back,” Natsu said defensively, “at least not yet,” he amended when he saw Gray getting ready to protest.

“I have to get stronger so I can take him out,” Natsu roared, ” I won’t lose to him again!”

“I know, I’m not here to take you back,” Gray assured him, “I’m here for you, and, “ he paused, wondering if it was too soon, “because I need your help.”

“My help?” Natsu watched him warily, trying to catch the lie in his words, “What could you possibly want my help with?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Gray insisted, recognizing the disgust in Natsu’s voice. He knew Natsu would never stop blaming himself for what had happened to Igneel, just like Gray would never forgive himself for not being able to give his father the peace he’d asked for, “there was nothing you could have done, nothing any of us could have done.”

“It’s not fair!” Natsu lamented, punching the ground for emphasis, even as his eyes shone with unshed tears. “He was right there, Gray, and then he was taken from me before I even had a chance to talk to him. And then to find out he’d been inside me all along - I searched all those years! What kind of rotten trick was that?!”

“I don’t know,” Gray answered honestly, “ but even I could see he loved you. I have to imagine it wasn’t an easy decision for him to make.”

He took a chance and reached out for Natsu’s hand, squeezing it firmly and pulling him closer until their knees touched.

“Gray?” Natsu glanced at him in surprise, and Gray had to admit it was unusual for him to be so tactile.

Outside of the occasional fistbump, the only time they ever really touched was during their neverending brawls, but maybe it was time to change that as well, to give a name to whatever it was that was happening between them. If this experience had taught him anything, it was that life was full of curveballs, and you had to hold on to the things that were important to you before they too were taken away.

“I know you think you failed, but we’re going to get stronger, and we’re going to take down that sonofabitch, and E.N.D, and Zeref, and anyone else who gets in our way,” Gray vowed, “but we’re only going to be able to manage that if we work together.”

Gray had made a promise to his father, and he intended to keep it, to put an end to all the suffering his family and others like them had suffered at the hands of Zeref’s demons. But he had also made many promises to himself in regards to his Fairy Tail family, and Acnologia had come after them twice now. They couldn’t afford to give him a third chance.

Natsu didn’t respond to his words right away, weighing them carefully against whatever he’d been planning to do. His gaze shifted from Gray’s face to their joined hands until he managed a smile for the first time since Gray had arrived.

“Together then,” he agreed, and for a brief moment, Gray caught a glimpse of the usual spark in Natsu’s eyes, and it gave him hope that everything would turn out alright.

A/N: Thanks to @oryu404​ for their help with the edit. This was somewhat unplanned but I wanted to contribute something! Might turn into a multi later, might not...

[jinxytwinxydoo]

Stop Talking

Plot/Prompt: “Run!”

TW: mentions of dead body

Reblogs are appreciated!

You can also read it here on AO3!

_____________________________________________________

It wasn’t obvious to Peter when he crept into that abandoned building that he was going to find himself in a bad position moments later. All he knew was that he heard someone yelling for help and that now he was investigating the source of the sound. That being said, some outside surveillance might’ve been a lot more helpful. He had no idea about the layout of this building or what he was getting into. For all he knew, his super-hearing might’ve just picked up on some television show.

He pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes as he quietly slipped in through a window. The house was rather small. From where he had entered, he was in the living room and could see the kitchen, front door, and a hallway leading away to what he presumed to be the bathroom and maybe a bedroom. The paint on the walls was cracked and peeling off. Corners of the house were litters with cobwebs that stretched between the walls.

From what it looked like, the house must’ve just been abandoned out of nowhere. The furniture was still there. He could see the remote for the television resting on the arm of the couch. In the kitchen, there were three plates set on top of a table with three chairs surrounding the table. One of the chairs was partially pulled out while the other two were pushed towards the table. A few cabinets were hanging open just barely, showing more dishes and cups left untouched.

“Karen… Can you call Mister Stark?” he whispered, sliding his feet across the wood floor as he crept along. “Contacting Mister Stark now. Would you like me to put him on a call?” Karen hummed as Peter warily stepped past the couch towards the hallway. “Yeah, yeah… if he’s busy with something important, it can wait. Just… get him on the line whenever you can.” He responded, peering into the hallway.

He frowned, slowly stepping into the hallway. He had come into the building to investigate what he had assumed to be a cry for help… but now there was no voice at all. Was his mind playing a trick on him? “Uh… hello? Anyone there?” He called out hesitantly, taking slow and careful steps down the hall. “I’m not here to hurt you… I heard you call for help and I came to check on you. Can you make a noise again?” He cleared his throat, falling silent.

Then there was a crack.

His senses suddenly stabbed at his feet icily. Before he could move, the floorboards beneath him gave a groan and broke. The wood crunched as he plummeted down, shards and splinters flying everywhere. A yelp rose in his throat as he fell, only to be abruptly cut off when he hit the hard ground. He groaned, closing his eyes and exhaling shakily. “That’s gonna leave a mark…” He whispered to no one in general.

He let himself lay there for a moment before shakily pulling himself into a sitting position. Looking around, he couldn’t see anything right away. On the floor above, he had street lights to partially illuminate the insides of the house. In the basement, however, there was no source of light to show him his surroundings. “Karen? Night vision?” He asked, slowly climbing to his feet.

“My sensors were damaged during your fall. It may take a moment for me to assist you.”

“That’s fine. I can wait a minute or two.” Peter muttered, brushing himself off. He began to pat his arms and sides down, feeling around for any shards of wood. He hissed in pain when his hand brushed over his thigh, though he didn’t feel any shard. It must’ve just been sore from the fall or maybe he pulled a muscle. He mumbled a few incoherent words under his breath, looking around. “Any luck?”

“I’m afraid not. However, Tony Stark is calling.”

“Put him through for me.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck, glancing up. The hole in the floorboards must’ve been a good eight feet up. It wouldn’t be hard to get out of here seeing as how he had his webs and that there were probably stairs. “Kid! How’re you doing this fine evening?” Tony’s voice made him jump, a startled noise leaving him. “A- woah.. Uh… yeah, no. I’m good.” Peter cleared his throat. “Uh… you got my location. Right?”

“...what’d you do now?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Peter leapt to defend himself. “I heard someone yell out for help and I went into this creepy abandoned house, right? And everything was just left how it was as if the people living here up and vanished out of thin air. And then I was looking around and I fell through the floor into a basement and Karen is working on getting me some night vision- but that’s not the point.” He paused to take a breath. “Can you do some background information on where I’m at?”

“Yeah… I’ll get you some intel.” Tony sighed, and Peter could practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose. “One day you’re gonna stumble across something you don’t like, kid. I don’t mean to sound like a mom, but you gotta be careful before you just go prancing into some abandoned house.” He chastised. “Besides… maybe you just heard something from a neighbor’s show.”

“That’s what I thought! But-” Peter was cut off by his vision flickering. He fell silent, squinting his eyes as everything slowly swam into view in a green hue. “I just got night vision.” He announced. There was some clapping from Tony’s end followed by sarcastic praise. “Once again, spiderling prevails.” Tony sang half-heartedly before breaking off. “On the note of the house you’re in, there’s actually some shield documents on it. I’m still reading on it but-”

“Stop talking.”

“Excuse me?” Tony sputtered, voice sharp. “I said stop talking.” Peter repeated, tensing up as he slowly shuffled forwards towards a room. There was a strange… clicking noise coming from in. It almost sounded like a voice that got cut up into different clips of sound mixed with radio static. He narrowed his eyes, biting his bottom lip as he slowly approached the frame of the room.

“Kid.”

“Oh my god.” Peter whispered, reeling backwards. With his night vision, he was barely able to make out a hunched over shape with jagged, curved plates lining its spine. It resembled a wolf that was much bigger and skinner. It’s ribs jutted out sickeningly while its stomach curved into its body. It’s neck was long and led to the head. The head itself was hidden for a moment, as it’s back was turned towards Peter. It’s tail was thin and snaked out behind it, twitching across the ground every now and then.

“Peter-”

“Tony what is-” Peter broke off as the creature stilled. Slowly, it raised its head and turned towards him. His stomach did a flip and an icy wave of terror surged over him. Staring back at him was what appeared to be a human’s head with a wolf skull on top of it. Large antlers jutted out from the top, spiraling and twisting. But what made Peter take a trembling step backwards was the sight of the crumpled body it held in its forepaws. “Tony-”

“Run kid!”

Just as Tony said that, a horrible shriek split the air. Peter scrambled backwards. His movements were uncoordinated, terror sending his body into overdrive. He backpedaled back to underneath the hole and raised a hand, aiming it at the ceiling on the first floor. A snarl melted into a voice screaming for help met his ears, but he didn’t dare look down at what was coming. He squinted his eyes shut and shot a web. A moment later, he was being pulled up hastily.

He jerked to the left as a rush of air brushed past him, and he could only assume that thing was reaching for him. The moment he was back on the floor, however, he made a quick dash right for the window he crept in through. He had almost made it too when there was a scrabbling sound beneath him. His senses screamed at him once more and then there was a deafening crash as the wood beneath him burst upwards. A startled cry rose in his throat as the creature burst upwards, swiping nasty claws at him.

“Hold on, kid- hold on!”

Peter reeled backwards as the thing lunged at him, human jaw snapping as teeth clacked against each other. He veered back once again as it swiped at his head, a startled yelp leaving him as he tumbled over the back of the couch. A mournful moan resognated in the creature’s chest as it slowly crept around the couch, head twitching. A twisted cry for help crackled in its throat as it slowly approached him in a drawling manner. Desperately, he scrambled backwards across the floor until he bumped into a wall.

His breathing quickened as it drew closer, movements frantic as he kicked his legs out helplessly. He shook his head as it took a step closer, chest rattling with what almost sounded like laughter. And it was then that it hit Peter. It was teasing him. This thing was taunting him and terrorizing him before it killed him. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god.” He frantically cried, shaking his head in a distraught manner. Nonononono-

And suddenly, the creature shrieked and fell to its side twitching.

Peter stared, shoulders trembling as his chest heaved up and down. There was a humming followed by a crack as the front door burst open, revealing a red and gold suit. There was a pause before he heard Tony’s voice; this time it wasn’t over the phone. “Jesus Christ, kid! What is wrong with you?” He practically snarled, hurrying over to get to Peter’s side. Still trembling, Peter didn’t respond.

“You could’ve shot some webs at it or at least-”

Tony broke off when Peter suddenly reached for his mask and ripped it off, gasping for air. He choked on nothing, coughing and heaving and curling in on himself. His eyes were wide and every part of his body was trembling when the boy actually responded. “Oh my god I- it was taunting me and- and it was going to kill me. Oh my god oh my fucking god I-”

“Woah, woah, woah… calm down bud… Take deep breaths for me.” Tony waved his hands in front of Peter’s face, bringing his attention to him. He inhaled and nodded, beckoning Peter to do the same. After a moment, Peter inhaled shakily. Following this, Tony exhaled slowly and so did Peter. “Just keep breathin’ for me… okay? Nice, deep breaths.” Tony nodded, patting Peter’s shoulder gently. “Sit tight for a minute.” He murmured before standing up and slowly turning around to look at the creature… only to find it had vanished.

He frowned, staring at where the body had been just moments ago when Peter laughed shakily.

He looked back at Peter who was smiling nervously. “Oh my god I told you to stop talking.” He whispered in a tone that was either awestruck or horrified. Snorting, Tony rolled his eyes and folded his arms. “Yeah… you did, kid. You did.”

[queerbutstillhere]

Hi, honey!! I'm back on Tumblr hohoiii 😆 If you still accept prompts can I ask you for: Damian and Jonno's children (a boy and a girl, God knows why😶) are sent to the past and met their daddys who are recently dating. ((Please, make it extremely awkward, some Batfam too)) tysm😙

(Once again, thank ya for giving me a chance to work with these kiddos! I hope you like this!!)

The portal dumped them out in the middle of the air. Because of course it did.

The two screaming kid vigilantes grabbed at each other as they plumpted through the air. Zaina willed her fluctuating powers to kick in, and sure enough, the adrenaline caused the surge and she snatched her brother out of the air, slowing their fall.

"Oof! You're heavy!" She exclaimed, scowling down at him.

"I am not!" The younger teen, built like a rugby player, said with a scowl.

"Yes you are!"

She looked around, flying to the nearby roof and touching down on it, she "gently" dropped her brother to the graveled roof of the tall building.

"Where are we?" Malik asked, popping up and looking around.

"Ummm."

He was already activating his lenses, which were glowing blue now. He looked around, turning a full circle.

"I think we're in Gotham," Zaina asked, walking to the edge and looking down.

"Really? Did he just teleport us away."

"... No, look."

Zaina pointed across the street to billboard on the side of a building, one that had Bruce Wayne, and something about Wayne Industries.

"Oh my God," Malik exclaimed. "Sis. I think we were sent back in time."

Zaina and Malik Wayne-Kent were the children of Damian Wayne and Jon Kent, they had been adopted at 5 and 3, respectively, and had lived with their parents for thirteen years now. Both were born Arabic, but had met Jon during a crisis in their Homeland, their mother having been killed in it, and Jon took very quick steps to make sure the kids were okay, and not long after, he and Damian decided to adopt them.

Zaina was eighteen now, and yet still shorter then her brother. She was only 5'5", and fairly muscular from having done gymnastics almost her whole life. Her black hair was cut short in a shoulder length bob, and she had darker skin like her father. She had, a few months ago, been exposed to platinum kryptonite, and had thus gained the powers of Superman. Only they were still on the fritz. It made her wince to remember the weeks when her hearing was changing, and when her eyes evolved. The good news was she didn't need glasses. Her father had wanted to take them away, but Zaina had begged and begged and made full persuasive essays and finally convinced him to allow her a trial period.

Malik was only sixteen and but he was tall, and broad in the shoulders. He played lacrosse and worked out and ran and all those things, and yes, he was in a rugby league. He was already a hottie at sixteen, and Zaina could not count the amount of girls she had chased away from her brother. His dark hair, more brown then black, was kept short, shaved on the sides and just a little bit of fluff on top. He had no powers, just his wicked sharp intellect and skills with technology.

They had both become teen vigilantes a few years back, having adopted adaptations of some of the previous heroes in their family line. Zaina had become Robin, with a bit of a twist on the uniform, it was more solid black, with splashed of color here and there, her boots, her belt, her cape, her gloves. So on. Soon she probably would switch to a Super title when her powers fully developed. Malik had made his own name, Batboy, until he felt he had earned the Batman title from his father. His costume was a lot like the Black Bat costume, and his cowl didn't completely cover his head, just came up his neck and around his eyes, his hair sticking out the top, and the classic bat ears poking up from the sides.

Their parents had both stepped down from their vigilante rolls for the most part while they were raising the kids, but when the siblings had started sneaking out, they decided to pick the rolls back up so they could properly train them, and watch their backs until they were ready to go out. It's doubtful they ever thought this would happen.....

Their game plan was simple. Find Batman or one of their uncles. Explain. Get taken back to the batcave, and then to the Watchtower so Waverider or someone can send them back to their time.

They split up after Malik resynced their comms, going to opposite ends of the town. Zaina was flying, scanning the streets, listening for the sounds of her family. And then, as it tends to do, her powers just gave out. She screamed as she started falling, scrambling for her grapple gun, which Malik wisely made her keep. And then she landed on something with a small thunk.

"Hey there, you better slow down a bit, shouldn't jump without a grapple in hand."

She recognized that voice. It was a bit younger, a bit more innocent and lively, but she recognized it all the same. She twisted in her savior's arms, looking up at Superboy.

"Pops!" She exclaimed joyfully, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.

She probably shouldn't have done that.

Jon chuckled nervously, keeping his hold on her.

"I think you have me mistaken for someone else..."

"Oh. . . No. It's a long story, we need to find ba- Robin, or errrrr....." She paused, considering how she should do this. "What year is it?"

"2019?"

"Okay. We need to find Robin."

".... Who are you?"

"I'm also Robin, but from the future."

Malik had similar luck. He had been poking around the narrows, secretly hoping to find Red Hood, when the screaming hit him. His sensors started going crazy seconds before he could hear it, and then he took off, running through the streets and weaving between cars and signs to reach the source.

He burst around the corner and found a full on gang street fight going down, a couple kids stuck in the middle.

"Hey!" He yelled, his voice projected slightly by his tech.

A couple people paused and turned to him. He grabbed his Bo staff, fully expanding it and hitting a button to send electrical currents through it.

"Back away from the kids."

One of them scoffed, stepping forwards.

"It's one of them batkids. Soak 'em, boys."

Malik easily knocked out the first two, flipping off the third to get back out of range of their bats and knuckles.

"Oh ho! He thinks he's hot shit!"

More thugs rushed at him, but Malik was used to this, he easily beat them all down. Until one got behind him, arms wrapping around his upper arms and squeezing. Another grabbed his Bo at the insulated section, preventing him from hitting anyone.

Then there was a thump and the person behind him let go. Malik reared forwards, headbutting the person in front of him. He judo flipped them quickly before turning back to find the kids. They were huddled against the wall. He took a running start and flipped over some thugs, ducking past others until he was at the kids. There were three total, two younger ones, and a teen, not much younger then him.

"Hi," he said with a smile, smacking another thug with his bo. "I'm going to get you children out of here okay?"

They nodded rapidly. Malik considered his options and then looked at the oldest.

"I need you to carry the smaller one."

She nodded, quickly getting him on her back piggyback style. Malik picked up the other kid the same way. Then he produced his grapple and aimed for the roof. Once it was hooked, he put away his baton, and grabbed the girl with his free arm. They quickly were yanked up and swung over the crowd of gang members to the end of the Street, where it was clear and safe. His shoulder complained greatly, but it was fine.

When he landed, set down the kids and turned around, everyone was gone. Except a vigilante. Robin. His baba.

He recognized his father instantly, having seen enough pictures to know, even with the significant difference.

"Oh thank God."

Robin eyed him warily.

"Who are you."

"I think we best wait for-"

His sensors beeped in annoyance at the detection of two Kryptonian's. He turned and found his sister and a much younger version of his pops landing, Zaina on Jon's back.

"Sis! Are you okay?!" He exclaimed, ditching Damian to run to her. She jumped off and ran over, meeting him and grabbing his face, scanning him over.

"I'm fine! I heard all the fighting!"

"I'm okay, did your powers give out again?"

"Yes! I was up four stories and they dropped and-"

"I told you not to get that high!" Malik protested.

"Hey! Don't lecture me!" Zaina glanced to the side and froze. "You found Baba?"

"Yeah."

"Are we going to tell them?"

"What else do you have in mind?"

"Doesn't that break time travel rules?"

Malik gave his sister an annoyed face.

"No- God, that's not- no, Z, no."

"Excuse me. We have questions," Jon said, stepping up.

"Police are almost here," Malik shot back, the lenses of his mask slightly blue. "We'll talk after."

After they cleared things up with the police, they headed to the batcave, and Malik immediately felt more relaxed in the familiar, yet older interior. He didn't hesitate to pull his mask off, looking around, noting the differences.

"Robin what is this?"

He glanced over to see Batman and immediately went still.

Bruce had died with they were young, they had barely gotten to know him, and Malik especially had very few memories of him... Zaina, on the other hand, gave a sob like noise and smacked her hand over her mouth. Everyone looked at her, confused.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, composing herself. She too reached up and took her mask off.

"You would like an explanation?" Malik questioned, even as he tapped at the screen attached into his glove.

"We would," Damian responded, eyeing him warily.

"I'm Malik Wayne-Kent, this is my sister, Zaina Wayne-Kent, and we're from the future."

Silence hung over the cave after his words and Damian looked thoroughly shocked.

"I'm sorry," Jon said, speaking up. "Did you say, Wayne-Kent?"

"Yes."

Damian opened his mouth, shut it once, and then spoke. "Please tell me you are Drake's children?"

"Afraid not," Zaina said with a head shake. "You're our baba."

There was another several beats of silence, and then Bruce seemed to put two and two together.

"And your other parent is..... Jon?"

Malik nodded. "Pops."

"Which makes me your grandfather."

Another nod from Zaina.

"You're kidding me. If you're joking right now I'll-" Damian clenched his jaw and looked up at Jon.

"Wait, are you two.... What half of 2019 is this?" Malik asked. "Have you not started dating yet?"

Bruce opened his mouth, looking at his son, and then back at his future grandchildren.

"Oh, dear," Zaina said softly, leaning into her brother. "I don't think they have."

"Oops."

"Wait so you're telling me we get married?!" Jon exclaimed, shocked.

"Uh, well in our timeline you do. When we got spit out here, we created a separate time line from ours."

"And. She . . . She has powers," Jon said, pointing at Zaina.

"I was given them by Platinum kryptonite," Zaina explained. "You wanted to take them away, baba, but I managed to convince you otherwise."

"Sounds like something you'd do," Jon said, nudging Damian.

"Shush, Jon, this is important. We have to get them back to their timeline before we change anything else accidentally."

Bruce was sitting there in silence and then he looked to his son.

"Damian. Are you two dating?"

Damian winced slightly. "Just a few weeks ago...."

"... Okay. I'm going to go prep the jet. We'll head to the watchtower."

The four watched him walk away. Then Zaina looked at Damian.

"It's really odd seeing you guys do young," she said, smiling lightly.

"I imagine so... We really let you two be vigilantes?"

"You didn't really have a choice. I hacked into the cave and then we snuck out every night until you decided to just train us."

Damian and Jon didn't quite know what to do with their children, just kinda awkwardly looked at them.

Malik finally turned and walked away, over to the dino. "Man, this thing is so old."

"Okay, you young pup," Zaina said with a laugh, following after.

"So whose all what in this time line?" Zaina asked, looking over to Damian and Jon, who were whispering softly.

"Pardon?" Damian asked in a cold tone she wasn't used too.

"Uncle Dickie, he's.... Nightwing?"

Jon nodded, his arm was around Damian now.

"Dick's Nightwing, Jason is Red Hood. Cass is Black Bat, Barbara is Batgirl slash Oracle, Steph is Spoiler, and Tim is .... Drake," their pops explained. "Obviously we're Superboy and Robin, and Bruce is Batman."

"Bruce is dead in your timeline isn't he?" Damian asked, walking away from Jon and torwards them.

They exchanged a look, and then Malik nodded.

"There was an accident.... No one could stop it. I'm sorry," he said softly.

Damian shook his head, gently hugging Malik.

"No. I'm sorry. How old were you?"

"I was only five, Zaina was eight."

"I remember him more then Malik," Zaina offered, looking sad now.

Malik, hugging his baba back, looked up to Jon, who looked contemplative.

"But, again, we accidentally changed your time line, so that may not happen. Just like you two may not get married, and you may not adopt us."

"... As far as I'm concerned those seem like fixed points in time," Jon said.

Damian sighed and pulled back, giving Jon a look, and then he hugged Zaina.

"Who am I? In your time?"

"First and foremost your our dad," she answered. "But you're also a businessman and Batman. Once Malik is old enough, you're going to give him Batman."

Damian nodded as he considered this, but went silent, stepping back to stand next to Jon.

They had a very awkward flight to the Watchtower, Zaina and Jon quietly chatting about their powers, and what Zaina had developed so far. Malik sat next to Damian, silently working on his tech, as always. He was obsessive about keeping it updated, always changing the programing. Some of his features didn't work due to the lack of connection to the Wayne Satellites of the future, but enough of them did that he could still preform scans, bouncing off nearby cell phone towers.

"What's that?" Damian asked, watching him tap at the screen on his forearm.

"It's my control panel."

"For what?"

"My OTL."

"What."

"It's. . . Optical lenses in my mask, look."

Malik held it up, flicked on the blue lenses and then turned, looking at Zaina. On his screen, a digital display of a file popped up.

"I can also do this."

He triple tapped it and it was projected up into a hologram.

"Oh."

Zaina leaned forwards, arms on her brothers shoulders. "Malik's a genius. He programs all his tech himself. Even uncle Tim and Aunt Babs can't keep up with him."

Malik flushed, looking down. "I just like programming."

"You'd never guess it, from his public appearance, but he'd a major nerd. Jock Nerd type."

"Okay Prep Jock, shut your mouth."

Zaina giggled.

"So, what are you two's vigilante names?" Bruce asked from the cockpit.

"I'm Robin," Zaina answered, looking up to her grandfather. "But pops and I have agreed once my powers and are more consistent, I'm going to take up another name, Supergirl or something."

"And I'm Batboy, for now."

Bruce nodded slightly.

"I know you guys have a lot of questions, but I am afraid we won't be able to answer some of them," Malik said. "There's somethings I don't dare mess with, timeline wise."

"We understand," Bruce answered. "this isn't our first time messing with time travel."

The rest of the flight was awkward silence. They got to the watchtower and confused everyone they talked to.

"Where's Waverider?" Bruce asked J'onn, who was on duty at that moment.

"He has not been around for several-"

There was a burst of sparks and then suddenly Waverider appeared in front of them. He gave Malik and Zaina a startled look. They waved.

"You two are much bigger," he remarked.

"Well, that's what happens when you aren't hoping around the time stream," Zaina said with a grin.

"Your father's are probably waiting for you," he said, walking over to them. "Let's go."

"Wait!" Zaina backed away, and then spun to Bruce. "I know you don't know me. But... Can I just give you a hug?"

Bruce chuckled and nodded, opening his arms. "Come here."

She ran over, crashing into his body, hugging him tightly. Bruce gently hugged her, rubbing her back.

"It's okay, I don't know what happens, but I understand," Bruce said softly, kissing her head.

"I love you, grandpa," she murmured softly.

"And I can not wait to meet you again, little one."

Zaina pulled away, reaching up and adjusting her mask. Bruce looked to Malik and held open his arms. Malik immediately gave in and ran over, hugging him. They exchanged no words, just hugged. And then Malik stepped back, and Waverider grabbed onto both of them.

"Goodbye, and thank you," Zaina said to the younger versions of their fathers.

"Bye! Be safe!" Jon said with a grin.

And then they were gone.

They appeared back in their time, right in front of their fathers at the batcave. Damian jolted slightly, and then raised an eyebrow.

"Waverider?"

"Hey, Damian. Jon."

"What's up?" Jon asked, setting down his cup of tea.

"Oh, not much, found your kids in 2019. Figured you might like them back."

"Indeed we would."

"Well, see you around."

Waverider disappeared again. Malik sighed and pulled off his mask, walking forwards and hugging his baba.

"It's been a weird day, and I'm ready for bed. Good night baba, good night pops. I love you," Malik said, heading towards the locker room.

"Love you too, kiddo," Jon called after him.

They looked at Zaina. "So what happened?"

"I'll explain over some hot cocoa and smores."

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the meet ugly prompts: sternclay, 78, sfw pls!!!

78: I run a YouTube channel where I talk about different things and one video is on the topic of an immortal creature / piece of history and you track me down to tell me how inaccurate it all is.

Stern finishes his notes, shuts his laptop and pushes in the chair at the little desk. Rain patters on the cabin roof, making for a singularly cozy scene with the fire in the woodstove and the tea steeping on the counter. 

He can’t believe his luck in finding this place; he’d assumed his trip to the Olympic Peninsula would involve solely sleeping in tents in the rain. Which he’s prepared for, but it’s nice to have the spot of his longest stay be indoors. 

The vlog’s been getting a ton of attention on the trip, which is good news for him; turns out doing the legwork to tell something other than the same four Bigfoot anecdotes is popular with large chunks of the internet. 

He does a crossword as he finishes his tea, changes into his sleepwear and climbs into the queen bed; the owners must assume it’s couples who rent this space.

Yeah, right, like Stern is going to have a boyfriend any time soon. 

Turning off the lamp leaves him with just the light from the smoke detector and the nearby clock radio for company. Lord, he didn’t mean to stay up until 1 am working. Again. 

Snuggling down under the covers, he coaxes his mind in the direction of picturing a hot tub and someone rubbing his shoulders. It immediately veers back to two of the stories he collected last week, both about more...alarming Bigfoot encounters. One in which Bigfoot broke into a trailer, leaving the owner cowering in the bathroom while he trashed the place. The other about Bigfoot stalking hiker in the woods, staying just out of sight but growling constantly. 

Then there are the disappearances, but there’s not actually any solid evidence tying them to the cryptid. It’s as he’s reminding himself of this that he rolls over, eyes opening long enough to glimpse something moving outside the rain-streaked window.

He shuts them in a hurry, takes deep breaths to calm down. He’s seen deer all over the place today, that’s probably what that was. 

Knock knock

There is no way on gods green earth that he’s opening that door. 

Knock knock.

The odds of that being someone, or something, that wants to hurt him are much higher than those of it being someone in need of his help. 

Knock knock. 

He holds his breath, listens for footsteps. Instead, the doorknob clicks side to side, jiggles when whatever's out there finds it locked. Thank fuck for the deadbolt.

Crack

Both bolts splinter the wooden frame, and a figure that has to duck to enter the cabin steps through it. It has fur, it’s eyes reflect the light he shines from his phone onto them, and it has very, very big feet. 

“Fuck.” He whispers, pressing against the backboard. 

“You’re Joseph Stern, right.” A deep voice rumbles. 

He nods, finding the fact that Bigfoot is talking to him calming rather than perplexing.

“Thank fuck, ‘cause this was gonna be really awkward otherwise.” He shuts the door, slides the nearby bookshelf across it as if it weighed nothing. 

“Close the blinds.”

Stern reaches up and pulls the cord, sending them down. Fumbles in the dark, eyes on the shadowy figure as he tries to find the lamp switch. He hits it just as the cryptid reaches the foot of his bed. Bigfoot blinks, squinting, then crosses his arms. 

“Okay buddy, we need to talk.”

“About….?” 

Bigfoot gives him a look of barely-concealed exasperation, “about the videos you’ve been making. You got a bunch of stuff wrong.”

“I did my research.” Stern adjusts his blankets with a huff, is forced to do so again when Bigfoot sits down on the bed.

“Yeah, from sources that are full of shit.”

“That’s--” he raises his hand to object, then stops, “that’s actually fair. I, um, I have to hit a certain video length for each episode, so sometimes I include anecdotes that have little to no corroboration.”

“Like the trailer story?”

“Damn it, I should have trusted my gut on that one. It was the vocalization description, it sounded wrong.”

“Yep. Kinda surprised you missed that, you’re usually pretty sharp.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment.”

“It is; I watch your videos, you’ve got a pretty good B.S detector.”

“How-”

“I don’t actually live in the middle of the woods. I have a house, with wi-fi, and I like to keep tabs on people who are investigating me in earnest. I’ve been following your channel awhile. I like it. But you keep getting things wrong and it bugs me, so grab something to take notes on.”

Stern flops and rolls to the edge of the bed not occupied by Bigfoot, pulling his field notebook and a pen from his backpack. As he rolls back, he catches Bigfoot staring at him, then looking away sheepishly. 

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“You’re, uh, you’re taking this fairly well.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I get to interview fucking Bigfoot. This is a dream come true! Plus, I no longer thing you’re going to kill me. Wait, are you?”

Bigfoot shakes his head, “Nope. And that’s correction one; there have been zero cases where I or my kind have killed anyone. We, uh, tend to come down pretty hard on any of our kind who try to go after humans.”

“And by your kind, you mean other Bigfoots, or cryptids in general?”

“Both.”

“Got it. Wait” he looks up, frowning, “how am I supposed to cite you in these corrections without exposing you?”

A shrug, “just call me a ‘bigfoot expert.’ And, uh, you, specifically, can call me Barclay. Now, mistake two: look at my arm.” He holds his right arm out and Stern obediently stares at it.

“What color is that?”

“Reddish brown?”

“Right. Not black, not white, not grey. Touch it.” 

Carefully, Stern runs his fingertips up Barclay’s forearm.

“It’s so soft.”

“Damn right. None of this ‘coarse chunks of hair’ bullshit. When this comes off it stays soft. And I’m the only one of my kind who’s been on the west coast in a decade, so any hair that isn’t this color can’t be tied to a Bigfoot sighting. You can stop petting me, y’know.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Right, problem three--uh, fuck, hang on, I forgot what I wrote.” He lifts his other arm and Stern sees something he missed in his earlier terror blindness; a pouch hanging from his wrist, from which Barclay produces a tiny notebook. 

“Okay, so, the noises thing, you’ve got about half of them right…”

Stern spends an hour and a half diligently taking notes. When Barclay finally flips the book closed, the cryptid yawns, showing sharp teeth.

“There, that’s all of it. Now I gotta head out, I got places to be in the morning.”

“Wait, what about my questions? I, um, I have a whole list of them for if I ever meet a cryptid in person.”

“How could you possibly have more questions after that.”

“You underestimate just how much time I devote to my work.” He finds the page, turning his notebook around. 

“I...holy shit, did you organize these by cryptid?”

“Yes, since every cryptid is different, you each get your own question list.”

“Look, Joseph, I’m happy to answer them, but I wasn’t kidding about needing to be somewhere in the morning.”

“Oh, um, of course. Honestly I just thought you wanted to get away from me; I know I can be a bit of an overly curious nerd sometimes.”

“I like it. But-”

Thunder booms right above them and Barclay yips like a wounded fox, flinches when lightning follows on it’s heels. 

“Fuck, I was hoping it’d just rain and nothing else.” He growls when lighting flashes again. 

“I have to admit this is not a fear I expected you to have.”

“Lightning starts fires, and I got caught in more than one in my early days, and thunder, well, it sounds a little too much like gunshots for my taste. Had plenty of those directed at me too.”

“Oh, Barclay, I’m so sorry. Um” he casts around for something comforting, “if, if you’d rather not go out just yet, you can stay here. I promise I won’t ask more questions and just let you sleep. And, um, since it might take too long to get the fire going again,” he holds up the blankets, “you can sleep here. If you want.”

It’s a ridiculous suggestion, and he sees disbelief on Barclay’s face. Then it dissipates as Barclay looks him up and down, scooting to join him under the covers, mattress protesting every movement. When he lays down he’s so heavy the bed dips, sending Stern rolling without warning and landing against his side with an “oof.”

“Sorry.” They say at the same time

“It’s alright, big guy, you’re actually very comfy.”

“What did you call me?” Barclay chuckles, pulling the blankets up around them.

“Guess I’m tired too, getting a little loopy.”

“And cuddly” Barclay smiles, sending a pointed glance at Stern’s arm (now draped across the cryptid’s stomach) and cheek (now resting on his chest).

“Shit, sorry, I can-”

“S’okay” Barclays arm loops over his shoulders, “never held a human like this. It’s nice.” 

Another boom of thunder and he winces. Not knowing what else to do, Stern pets his belly soothingly. After a moment, his arm is vibrating.

“You’re purring.”

“Notrrrrr arrrrrrr wordrrrrrr” Barclay snuffles the top of his head but doesn’t stop him, and so he keeps rubbing his belly until he feels some of the tension drain from Barclay’s body.

“What do you like to do? For fun, I mean.”

“Like cooking” Barclay murmurs, “getting a human disguise was nice, ‘cause I didn’t have to worry about getting fur in the food.”

“Human?”

“Long story, but the upshot is any cryptid who’s been here awhile gets there hands on a charm that makes them human when they wear it.”

“Huh. Um, what do you like to cook best?”

“Hmmmmm. Well, pie is satisfying, but I also like making ramen, because there’s such an art to it....”

Stern snuggles closer, sighs as Barclay absentmindedly pets his back, and drops off some time later to the sound of that lovely, deep voice telling him all about dim sum. 

He wakes up to an empty bed, which isn’t a surprise. His missing notebook, however, is a surprise indeed and an unwelcome one. After turning the place upside down, he admits defeat; Barclay must have changed his mind and decided to remove what evidence he could of their conversation. 

Stern grumbles all the way into town, decides hot breakfast might soothe his disappointment. He opts for The Lodge, just as he has the last two days, and Dani, the waitress, smiles at him when he sits down. She brings him coffee and a laminated menu, returns a few minutes later.

“The cook wants me to let you now we have a new special this morning; sourdough pancakes with strawberry-rhubarb compote.”

“I’ll have that.” He smiles, handing her back the menu. Funny, he was just talking with Barclay last night about how strawberry-rhubarb is one of his favorite flavors. 

The pancakes are delicious, and it’s only his manners that keep him from literally licking his plate clean. When Dani brings back his receipt, he’s mid-sip of coffee, and so doesn’t see what else she’s brought him until he sets it down.

Beneath the little black, plastic clipboard is his notebook. 

He picks it up, spots a cupcake shaped sticky-note sticking out that he didn’t put there. Flips to the page and finds his “questions for Bigfoot” now have answers in tidy, if a bit spidery, handwriting. At the very bottom of the page is phone number and the words, “I’ll answer your questions any time.” 

Next to the words is a heart that has clearly been erased and redrawn several times.

He laughs, pulls out his phone, and quickly enters the number.

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

Back in the kitchen, Dani flashes Barclay a thumbs up when she comes back to pick up an order. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he steals a quick look at it, smiling when he sees the message. 

Joseph: You’re full of surprises, big guy. Dinner tonight?

Barclay: I’d love that. See you then.

[trickkombowerskru]

A Father’s Worst Nightmare-Henry Bowers X Daughter!Reader Imagine

Request: Anonymous: Can you do an imagine where henry didn't kill anyone and had a family and his daughter (who would be like 16) is getting terrorized by it and something happens similar to beverly and henry comes to see what's wrong and is like really confused why shes talking about blood and a clown and then remembers what happened to him the reader would be his daughter btw if you don't want to do this that's completely fine with me or if you don't understand what I'm saying

A/N: Thank you for  being so patient with me anon, I know you sent his in before the Christmas event, but now it is here! Also yes it is still not new year’s for me on the west coast so I succeed in getting all the prompts done, but word of advice whatever you do don;t do a writing sprint of 30+ prompts in 2 and half days it will drive you a little crazy

Warnings: None

It wasn't easy being the daughter of a single parent in Derry, especially when you were the daughter of Henry Bowers. It wasn't like he didn't work his ass off to support both of you or that he wasn't a good dad. It's just being his kid for some years of your life and still to this day people expect you to act a certain way because of your dad's reputation around town as a kid. 

That being said he was a lot better now your mom had even him out a lot, so while his rage was still caged inside of him it wasn't nearly as much because of her and the fact that his own father was dead. You were thankful however that most people after meeting you and getting to know you quickly picked up you were nothing like him as a kid, sure you were tough and all, but you didn't go around making other kids lives a living hell. 

This could be said for any of the adults still here who were once his peers or victims when they were young they all expected you to go off, but soon enough you subverted that. It had been a long day you and your best friend Amy were getting some books for school, waiting to get all of them checked out.

"Okay girls remember your due date and good luck on your project."

"We will thanks Mr.Hanlon," you tell him before you leave and you two make your way back to your places.

You wanted to find some good points separately before meeting up to compare notes.

"Hey Dad," you greet seeing your father sitting at the table doing some kind of paperwork.

"Hey kiddo. What's with all the books?"

"Project for school, we have to do this presentation that needs like seven sources and only two of them can be digital, so Amy and I figured to find stuff first and then we dive into it."

"Well before you get too deep into those books what do you want for dinner?"

"Pizza?" 

"Sounds good. Let me know when you start gettin' hungry."

You tell him you will and head to your room, putting the books on your small desk, and changing out of your school clothes. After a bit of researching you needed a bit of a pick me up, cold water always did the trick so you made your way to the bathroom.

Once you dry off your face you hear voices.

"H-Hello?"It sounded like they were coming from the sinking

"Y/N come float with us. We all float down here."

"Who are you?"

You get an array of names before a decaying hand comes out of sink, it starts pulling you near the drain and a large burst of blood covers you and the entire bathroom. 

You take the hand and shove your nails into it making disappear down the drain. Your scream alerts your dad and he comes rushing in.

"Y/N what's wrong!?"

"You don't see it?"

"See what?"

"All the blood."

"Blood!? Did you hurt yourself or something?"

"This is gonna sound insane, but I need you to promise you'll hear me out."

"Okay what happened."

"I was splashing some cold water on my face to wake me up a bit, and then I heard these voices"

"Voices?"

"They came from the sink and they said something about floating and then this nasty looking hand was trying to pull me into the drain and then this large burst of blood just came out and covered everything."

"Floating?'" when he asks this you can see shock and realization hit his face like he knew what was going on.

"Did they uh say anything else? Or did you see something? Like a clown or uh a red balloon?"

"Why would I see a red balloon?"

He shakes his head and leans down, kneeling and cups your face.

"We'll clean this up later okay, just take a shower,I gotta make a call real quick alright."

You just nod. You scrub the blood off of yourself once you're changed you hear your dad in a panic on the phone.

"Listen Eric I don't give a shit if it’s closing time,I just need to Hanlon okay!"

You wondered what he needed to talk about with Mr.Hanlon.

"I think that fucking thing is back!....what do mean you know?....That thing nearly ruined my god damn life and now it just attacked my fucking kid I am not gonna let IT touch her......you called em?....later tonight?.....the Jade of Orient?.....Got it....yeah yeah I'll be there.....bye."

"Dad?"

He turns back to look at you, digging in one of the miscellaneous drawers in the kitchen.

"Listen Bud the plan changed, I'll leave some money so you can order pizza, but I need to go to dinner tonight it's important. You can invite Amy over so you won't be by yourself, and if you see anything weird look it in the eye and I want you to say "Screw you I'm not afraid." Here's my old knife in case you need it, I"ll be back later. Love you be careful."

"Love you."

He practically runs out the door and you immediately call up Amy before ordering a pizza.Your dad comes home much later and thankfully it was a weekend so it didn't matter how long you were up and also you didn't see anything else. 

You both had started to fall asleep when the door opened you heard other voices with your dad's along including Mr.Hanlon's and another one that was familiar, but you couldn't quite place.

"No no way we should get the hell out of here before we become IT's next meal. Also what are we doing. Working with Bowers? After all he did to us? Come on guys let's ."

"You got a kid Trashmouth?" you hear your dad's voice go almost dark.

"No."

"Well I do she’s my entire god damn life and that fucking thing attacked her. I ain't gonna let it get her. So shut the fuck up for once and let's kill IT.,"he threatens.

"Wait you actually managed to find a wife?"

You hear you dad sigh not wanting to talk about your mother's death since it was only just a few years ago. You decide to break up the tension and then go out there.

"Dad?"

"What're you still doin' up?"

"Well we were starting to fall asleep and then we heard the door."

Then your eyes widen as you see the rest of the group.

"Holy shit," you say when they land on Richie Tozier.

"Hi I'm Y/N I'm a big fan."

"Thanks. See Bowers you may never have liked my jokes, but your kid has taste."

"Shut up," he mutters.

As you scan the rest of the group you are also in awe of Beverly Marsh and Bill Denbrough

."I totally love you guys too, Beverly you and Tom's lines are amazing, and Bill aside from the endings I really love your books."

"How the hell is your daughter so nice?," a shorter man in a hoodie asks.

"Can it Wheezy," your dad chimes in.

"Okay what the hell is going on?," you ask.

Once they all explain the situation you are in utter shock.

"So....so that thing wanted to eat me......and IT likes it's when you're scared...so that's why you told me to tell IT I wasn't afraid."

"Exactly," your dad confirms.

After a few days of the group finding "tokens" for some weird ritual you go with them to defeat IT despite your dads protests. Everyone gets split off at one point, you getting flung with Richie and Eddie before getting completely split up.

You're in a white room and you see a bunch of what look like people suddenly combust into blood and guts, IT takes the form of the clown and inches slowly towards you. You feel terrified, but try to remember what your dad said.You stop looking IT dead in the eye.

"Screw you I'm not afraid."

You kick IT in the face and keep fighting IT until it turns onto a pile of mush. You find the way out, then run through the rickety house trying to find your dad.

"Dad? DAD?"

You frantically fling open doors until find him. You see your dad along with a younger version of him getting talked down to and beaten by his father. It kills you to see him in that much pain, feeling inside your pocket you grin. Your fingers curl around the blade,you sneak behind the "man" and jump on his back.

"Leave him alone you fucker!" 

you stab him in the back and then get blood spurted onto your face when you get him in the neck a few times. Your dad stands up and punches IT in the face he punches and punches until it fades away.

"Thanks Sweeheart," he says hugging you.

Once you get back with the group  defeat the clown, but not before your dad gets hurt in the process. He was trying to get you out of the way and one of IT's claws went right into his side. Thankfully if wasn't all the way through, like Eddie's wound, but it was bad. 

As the house crumbles down you try to run out, Richie and Mr.Hanlon carrying the very injured Eddie, while Ben and Bill helped your dad. Once you were out of the house, you all went to the quarry, to take care of the wounds, although shortly after that they had began to disappear along with scars on the group's hands.

You run and hug your dad, you thought for sure things were going to go south before you could save him.

"I thought I was gonna loose you," you cry.

"I'm right here Babygirl, I'm never leavin'." he tells you, pulling you closer.

After that you head home and to your surprise before you go, your dad actually apologizes to all he put them through as kids.

"It may be safe now, but I'm getting out of this town soon. I suggest you two do the same," Mr. Hanlon advises.

"We might, " your dad replies.

Later that night you sound cleaning up the bathroom finally, along with any little wounds you got from the rubble in the house. While the entire experience was terrifying, it brought you even closer to your dad. So in a very weird way, it was a good thing, and the strangest bonding exercise you could find.