#your own shadow might decide to strangle you suddenly

[thevalicemultiverse]

"How many vampires do you think have been hit by a car backing up in a parking lot because the driver couldn’t see their reflection?"

"I’ve never considered it but you’re really shining light on what’s probably a very serious issue"

"I believe it would depend on the vampire in question -- apparently only certain types don't have a reflection," Alice says, having just pestered someone for more information on Lasombras. "And I think those vampires would make their displeasure at being hit clear very quickly."

[delirious-donna]

As Sweet As A Grape [Gen Narumi]

an: as confident as Captain Narumi might be on the battlefield, he's not the same man behind closed doors. Not at least until he's got you on your back with his mouth exactly where he wants it...

pairing: Gen Narumi x female reader

warnings: pussy eating, Narumi being pussy drunk, he's a little bit nervous, a true wet cat boy imo

Masterlist

He was nervous, that much was evident. His smile was strained, the corners wavering enough that there were times it was more of a grimace than a smile. It was unusual to say the least. This was Gen Narumi, the famed Captain of the Defense Force, and nothing hinted at insecurities if you were just to look at his social media presence. Of course, you knew better than that. You had spent long enough by his side, although in the shadows, to know that most of the time, it was a clever façade.

Your… lover? The term felt wrong, but given the yet unnamed status of your relationship, it would have to do for now. Your lover was a little nervous at times, but that only made him all the sweeter in your eyes.

Yes, it was rather thrilling to know that behind closed doors, the man famed for his unrivalled prowess on the battlefield was a softie who wanted to be snuggled and wrapped in affection. The media would have a field day with that information, making it all the more special that he was willing to share that side with you. Narumi felt no need to masquerade for you, he was comfortable in his own skin despite his current bout of nerves.

You watched as his pink tongue peeked out to swipe a path across his suddenly parched lips, chuckling in delight when his eyes dipped to your body. The hunger was more than obvious, his pupils dilated and focused on every curve and dip that you knew he wanted to touch and more. It was kinda sexy… kinda empowering to bring such a powerful man to his knees.

Narumi was the poster boy from the Defense Force, his image meant everything to him and here he was on his knees in damn near supplication because you had decided to surprise him with an after-hours visit in the hopes of finding a slice of bliss. The heart he kept behind lock and key was offered on a silver platter, and he could only hope you would be careful with it.

“Good evening, Captain. I believe it is well past your bedtime, why ever are you still awake?”

Stepping into his quarters, you draped your arms over his shoulders with a pleased purr. He’d tidied up hastily you noticed, duvet messily shoved atop his bed and a haphazard stack of manga leant against the small desk. His gaming consoles were all powered down and you hummed your approval whilst stepping into his body.

Offering a saccharine smile, you reached to your toes and deposited a small kiss to his pursed lips at the same moment his hands found your hips. His broad palms eased beneath the excess fabric of his sweatshirt hanging loosely on your frame, smoothing over your supple skin until he reached the edge of your underwear.

A strangled noise sounded from his throat, fingers flexing stiffly, and his cheeks warmed to a pretty pink when he realised exactly why you were here and the state of dress—or undress—you had traversed the corridors to reach him. Just the thought alone of his subordinates catching sight of your bare legs and bedroom eyes was enough to have him kicking the door shut with such force that the frame rattled.

“I-I wasn’t expecting visitors at…” He glanced at the clock, struggling to maintain your eye contact and thankful of the short reprieve. “… 1am. You should be in bed. I should be in bed.”

Your fingers carded through his mane of hair, pushing back the silver strands that hung across his forehead to reveal eyebrows pinched in concentration. He was so pretty like this, shy but yearning.

“I’m here because I need something… or someone, but I get the feeling that you too need something.” You toyed with the collar of his t-shirt, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “Tell me, what do you want, Captain?”

A shuddering breath fell onto your ears before he spoke, vermillion feline-like irises crackling with electricity studied your features in reverence. You were like a wet dream come to life, a walking fantasy wrapped in his clothes and purring at him like only he had the ability to fix your every problem.

“I-I want to… to taste you,” he admitted. You rewarded his honesty with a scratch at his scalp, fingers curled around the darker roots and tugging until his hips bucked forward.

“Anything for you, Gen.”

He groaned at his softly uttered name, finally letting go of his restraint to paw greedily at your backside. Narumi filled his palms with the meat of you, squeezing and spreading you apart while he shoved the erection flush against his thigh between your parted legs. This was more like it. Manoeuvring you towards his bed, he let you tumble down first. You could only watch through low-lidded eyes as he grabbed the neck of his shirt from the nape and tugged it overhead.

You moaned into his plush mouth, letting your tongue tease at the points of his teeth and indulging in the vanilla taste that infused upon your tongue. Divested of the sweatshirt, you arched into the palms that groped at your breasts. Nipping at his lips when rough fingertips pinched and rolled your taut buds. He was everywhere, hands and mouth decorating your skin until you were scent-marked and bruised by his eagerness. Then, and only then did he crawl down your body, all panther sleek and rolling muscles along his shoulders and back.

His confidence was growing the longer he remained between your thighs, a leg draped over his shoulder and finger marks on the sensitive inner thigh to keep you open to his indulgencies. This was what you wanted, what had you scrambling out of bed in the dead of night, the ache in your belly deepened and pulled taut. Shivers rippling over your exposed body, vulnerable to him but completely safe in the knowledge that he would rather die than hurt you in any way.

Gen glanced up, his mouth dripped with a mixture of your arousal and his saliva. It pooled over his tongue, dribbling to his chin as he slurped you down messily. Your eyes rolled over at the decadence of it all. He was a messy eater, the sound of smacking lips utterly lewd in the otherwise hushed room. Every thrust of the strong muscle of his tongue into your tight little hole slurped and slicked, it dulled your senses right down to only the feel of his mouth on your hot cunt.

“—taste so good… gonna drown in you. Do not resuscitate,” he whimpered, eliciting a bubble of laughter from your chest.

Your thighs tightened, the hold he had slipping until you trapped his head between them, and he moaned into the depths of you, delighted and honoured if he were to die right here, like this. Holding him in place, you whined a pathetic mewl when he tongued your clit and let his lips wrap around the engorged nub. Gen shook his head from side to side, letting your fingers tug and pull at the mixture of black and silver hairs until he thought he might cum in shorts. The way your hips were rutting against his mouth, his nose bumping at your clitoral hood and the shameless display of your free hand tweaking your pebbled nipples was proving too much for the poor man. His self-control was slipping through his fingers much like the strands of silk pouring from your pussy.

“Gen! Oh fuck—do it again,” you begged, rolling your hips and locking eyes with carmine lust-blown irises. “Please…”

That sweet breathless please was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Unbeknownst to you, Narumi rutted his achingly hard and throbbing cock against the sheets and each time he caught against the folds in the rumpled mess, he whimpered into your cunt. His thighs pressed tight together, the pressure building in his gut close to bursting.

Again, he repeated the action of shaking his face like a damn dog between your swollen, blood engorged folds. Soft lips suckled your puffy clit, rolling it carefully between his teeth and attacking it with the pointed tip of his tongue. As you exploded beneath him, bliss flowing out you from every pore at the crescendo of pleasure hitting like a truck, the sight of your spine arching high, the gush of your nectar crashing against his awaiting mouth and the clenching muscles of your cunt spasming around nothing but his tongue was his ultimate undoing.

Gen Narumi, Division One Captain of the Defense Force moaned and writhed like a worm caught on a hook. His body jerked into wild convulsions as he spilled hot ropes of his spend against his messy sheets—completely untouched.

[rosiesramblings]

Meditation, Interrupted

Fandom: Batman

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth at the end

WC: 1k

A/N: Hello! I wrote this fic as a birthday gift to myself - the found family troupe is my weakness. I've only ever read fanfic from this fandom (no actual consumption of cannon, lol), so if everyone is OOC, that's why. I hope you enjoy!

“Jason.”

Jason continued his meditation, giving no indication that he heard his older brother from across the cave.

“Jason. Hey, Jason,” Dick called, getting closer.

Jason continued to ignore him. At this point in his life, ignoring Dick was a skill he had honed after years of practice.

“Jay. Jason. Jason. Jason.”

Jason bit back his irritation, accepting that his meditation was well and truly over, but still keeping his eyes closed and his breathing even. With any luck, Dick would get bored and go bother the Replacement for whatever he needed.

Jason felt Dick step onto the mats where he was seated, still repeating his name.

“Jason. Jason. JasonJasonJasonJason - “

Jason deftly caught Dick’s hand before it could poke his ribs. “Do you want to die?” He bit out, finally opening his eyes to glare at the acrobat.

He was met with a shit eating grin. “Little Wing! Don’t tell me you’re still ticklish?”

It took effort not to let his reaction show on his face. “No. Lucky me, the Pit took care of that.”

Dick’s grin grew. “Oh yeah? Hm. You know what the Pit didn’t take care of?” Dick flipped out of Jason’s grasp, landing behind him with his hands on Jason’s sides. “The tips of your ears still turn red when you’re lying.”

Dick squeezed his sides, and Jason lurched forward with a gasp he couldn’t quite strangle. Dick spidered his hands up to Jason’s ribs, and this time Jason didn’t manage to stifle his snickers.

“Fuhuhck off, Dihihckhead, I’m not in the mohohood.”

“Awwww, Little Wing, you might be worse than when you were a kiddo!” Dick teased, watching delightedly as red crept up the back of his little brother’s neck.

Jason quickly decided that was enough of that, thank you, and spun around, tackling his older brother to the ground. “Mahahybe. But unluckily for you, I’ve got ahabout 40 pounds on you these days.”

Dick barely had time to wheeze out a shocked, “Shit!” before Jason dug his fingers into Dick’s underarms and vibrated his fingers back and forth.

Dick immediately burst into cackles. “WAHAHAIT, WAIT, NOHOHOHO,” he managed, his pleas echoing around the cave.

“What’s wrong, Dickie? Can dish it out, but can’t take it?” Jason asked, removing one hand from under his arms to scribble across his brother’s tummy.

“Jahahahahahay, Jahahay, plehehehehehease, Ihihih’m sohohohorry!”

“Mmm, yeah, I don’t care,” Jason said as he reached down to grab one of Dick’s thighs and squeeze.

Dick hollered, begging, as his little brother showed no mercy to his worst spot. He writhed, trying to escape, but apparently more than a decade of vigilante work flew out the window when his brother was murdering him with tickles.

“Don’t forget, Dickie, I’m the biggest one in the family now,” Jason taunted, giving his brother a break by scritching at his knees, not wanting him to actually pass out.

Suddenly, there was a shadow looming over Jason’s shoulder. A deep voice rumbled, “Biggest save for one, Jaylad,” before Jason was unceremoniously tackled to the mats, off of his older brother.

Jason could do little more than suck in a breath before his adoptive father was attacking his ribs with frightening precision. Jason threw his head back as ticklish shocks swarmed his senses, laughing like a loon. 

“FuhuhuhuhUCK! SHIHIHIT, DAHAMMIT, B, WAHAHAHAHIT!” 

“Mmmm, no, thank you.” His father said fondly. “It’s been altogether too long since I’ve heard you laugh.”

“Get him B!” Dick cheered tiredly from the sidelines, still recovering from his own torment.

“FUHUHUCK OHOHOHOFF, DIHIHIHICKHEAD!” Jason bellowed as Bruce attacked his underarms ruthlessly.

“Do you remember what I used to do to get you to screech like a banshee?” Bruce asked, grinning down at his second-eldest son. “Alfred came running with his shotgun the first time I did it.”

Jason’s eyes widened and he started fighting back even harder. “Nohohoho, nohohot thahat, plehehease, B, I cahahahan’t - “ he babbled as Bruce slowly ruched up his workout top, exposing his tummy. 

Bruce smiled as Jason sucked in his tummy as far as it would go, shaking his head back and forth. He leaned down, keeping eye contact with his frantic kid, before taking in a deep breath and blowing a raspberry right over Jason’s belly button.

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA,” Jason arched off the ground, his head thrown back as his hysterical laughter filled the cave. “PLEHEHEHEHEHE - DAHAHAHAHAD, I CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T!”

Bruce took one more breath, knowing Jason was close to his limit, before ducking back down and blowing one final raspberry, shaking his head back and forth so that his stubble would catch on his son’s skin and tickle even more.

Jason’s laughter went silent, tears beading in the corners of his eyes as he rode out the ticklish sensations. Bruce sat up and pulled Jason’s shirt back into place, still grinning as his son’s laughter continued. Jason curled into a ball, still giggling, arms firmly around his tummy to guard against any more attacks, but none were coming.

“He’s too precious,” Dick stage-whispered, sitting up and mirroring Bruce’s fond expression. Then at a normal volume, “Still want to try and convince me the Pit ‘took care of it’?”

Jason, still giggling, uncurled one arm enough to flip Dick the bird.

Dick still wasn’t done. “Is it true that Alfred ran in with a shotgun the first time you gave him a raspberry?” he asked Bruce, smirking.

“I don't know that I’d ever seen him move that fast,” Bruce remembered, then yelped as the butler in question appeared behind him and deftly scribbled across the back of Bruce’s neck.

“I’ll remind you of my extensive knowledge of your own spots, Master Bruce,” Alfred sniffed reprovingly, handing bottles of water to Jason and Dick as Bruce rubbed away the ghost tickles.

Jason, panting but recovered enough to sit upright, smirked. “Alfie’s got my back. ‘Specially against you cheaters.”

“Quite so, Master Jason.”

“Whatever you say, Jaybird.”

“Of course, Jaylad.”

“Fuck off.”

[average-mako-enjoyer]

Back in June, I was doing the hug ask game, and @flyingwolf29 gave me a prompt with a panicked "I'm glad you're okay" hug, and I don't know what the fuck happened and how it happened, but that story grew to 8k+ words, and so here we are, 2.5 months later. Hope you like it, friend! 😅 Huge, huge thanks to @shepards-space-oddessy for editing and @unfair-water-plane & @gemsbokk for reading this thing, you guys are the nicest and deserve your own Star of Terra award.

Title: A Simple Recon Rating: M (for canon-typical violence) Pairing: mshenko Summary: Two human Spectres and one unlucky pilot decide to take on a simple recon mission on a nondescript water planet. What could possibly go wrong?

You can read it on A03

"I don't like this," Kaidan says and hears Cortez sigh. 

It annoys him of course, but Kaidan is far more concerned with Shepard and the look on his face that Kaidan reads as "Of course you are": tenderness hidden between the layers of sarcasm in which he cocoons himself as usual. 

"It's at least fifty years old!" Kaidan continues. "We can't be sure it works properly!" 

"Well, let's find out." Shepard shrugs and, unsurprisingly, it looks nonchalant. It also makes Kaidan want to strangle him, but instead he pulls out the big guns. 

"I'm not letting you go in there without backup," he adds and hears his voice wobble a bit. 

Fuck if it sounds pathetic and unprofessional, and something he definitely shouldn't do in front of Cortez, but at least he's rewarded with the fascinating sight of Shepard's defenses cracking. For a brief moment, the look on his face is of pure tenderness, and Kaidan feels that change with his whole body. The triumph of knowing he is the cause of it rolls through him, but it's short-lived.

"Don't think we have a choice," Shepard says, back to business. "I'm the only one who knows how to pilot this piece of junk. And if we don't find whatever fried our engines and is still jamming our signals, we'd better start looking for food. Because, you know, after a week or so without it, you gentlemen might start to look very tasty."

"Shepard..." Kaidan sighs. 

"What?" There is a shadow in the left corner of Shepard's mouth, the dimple begins to show, and Kaidan is weak for his dimples. He sighs again. This is exactly why you shouldn't sleep with your crewmates.

"I know how to fish!" Cortez suddenly interjects.

"That's the spirit, Lieutenant!" Shepard claps him on the shoulder and looks back at Kaidan. "Come on, Alenko, you're one of the best engineers I know. I'm sure we can fix this thing. Just tell me and Cortez what to do."

"This is about your life…" Kaidan says, knowing full well that he has already lost. 

"And I trust you with it," Shepard says in his private 'John' voice, because that's how he is, even Kaidan's complete defeat is not enough for him.

[destiny-in-the-universe]

if you could see me (in the shadows of my history) [DannyMay 2024: Invisibility]

Night had begun to set in Amity Park which, of course, led to Danny patrolling the streets; this time, he chose to go alone- having already transformed into his ghostly persona, flying above the buildings to get a better view but things seemed quiet tonight. Perhaps a little too much. 

A crisp, chill wind nipped at his hair, and he instinctively shivered for half a second, only to realize the weather didn’t affect him as badly as it did before the accident. As he made another circle around, he suddenly became keenly aware that something - or rather someone - was on his tail. Right as Phantom went to turn around, a small wisp of cold breath escaped his lips; he groaned in annoyance but of course, he had to deal with the matter at hand. 

He had a duty to uphold. 

The ghost wasn’t someone he recognized, but Phantom fired an ectoplasmic blast - a warning - at his opponent. 

“And here I thought you were going to make it a night to remember!” Phantom grinned, narrowly dodging an attack from the ghost who suddenly decided he would make a good snack. “Woah, easy!” 

His irises flashed an even brighter green, firing another shot - concentrating his energy into a ball before flinging it hard toward the ghost which appeared more animalistic in nature. The pair were equally on the offensive, although Phantom was more determined in capturing his foe than truly causing harm- easily gliding and dodging the attacks but things could never be that easy. 

As per usual, the city hero had been too focused on the ghost to notice anything else. 

He startled suddenly when a laser beam shot his way, cursing in alarm- narrowly managing to dodge before a quiet gasp escaped him. 

“Huntress?” Phantom gaped, only to scowl as he avoided being whipped from behind by the tail of his ghostly opponent. “Look, now is a really bad time! I’m trying to capture this ghost, if you couldn’t tell!”

The Red Huntress herself glared at him, only to sneer, “and let you get away? I don’t think so!”

Phantom sighed as he whipped out the Fenton Thermos, quickly ensnaring the incoming ghost and then focusing his attention on Valerie the Red Huntress- trying to reason with her, not wanting anything to escalate when it wasn’t necessary. 

“C’mon, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do!” He exclaimed, readying his hands to fire ectoplasma near Valerie- at least give him a chance in taking off. 

Apparently, she was hot on his trail - no matter what he did - and Phantom sped faster, quickening his pace to make sure he could make it somewhere he could change back; the huntress would never target a civilian, but that didn’t stop his heart from thundering loudly in his chest- unable to prevent the gnawing fear she might actually hurt him.

Would she keep trying if she knew the truth? 

Phantom slowed down when he felt she was out of sight, taking in a forced gulp of air but it seemed Fate had it out for him today. Before he could make sense of what happened, he let out a startled, albeit strangled, cry as he was knocked against the ground; the hero thrashed in discomfort, attempting to escape the net that kept him pinned down - panic seizing his lungs for half a second, wondering if this would surely be his own demise. 

“Finally gotcha, ghost!”

Had he been human, he would’ve felt his face drain of color - attempting to call his powers and make a clean getaway. This couldn’t end like this. 

Not now. 

“Wait-” He pleaded, taking in deep but slow breaths and concentrating on his abilities- anything to escape the net ensnaring him. “Valerie, please.”

The Red Huntress readied her gun, keeping it pointed in Phantom’s direction before she paused, “the hell’s wrong with you? And how the hell do you know my name, scum?” 

“You don’t understand- I’m on your side here!” He exclaimed, but seeing her charge the gun - something which would surely kill him - made him flinch; Phantom watched with bated breath before- now.

He didn’t wait for her reaction, immediately turning invisible and phasing out of the net.

As much he wanted to try and make peace with Valerie, that had been terrifying. 

Just how much longer would he have to remain in the shadows before he felt comfortable making himself known? 

Only time would tell. 

Word Count: 738

[pastelgrungewrecker]

When The Bough Breaks || Sg || Au of an Au of an Au...

Hate me today Hate me tomorrow Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you

{His hands are old and worn and scarred in ways none of them will ever know or understand- wounded by god and glory in equal measures with stories not unlike the religious epics hailed on late night programs and early morning worship.

The scars, they feel like circuitry and Stormy wonders why the scars they carry seem so similar.

He wonders why this ancient albatross is taking a ragged starling under his wings like he cares.}

It starts as all things do- with a dud catalyst; a mute explosion and fire that burns cold behind a chest rebuilt and rebuilt again and again to cover a heart made of suture wire and egomania.

 Stormy feels his chest tightening in the kitchen of his in laws- as he hears the soft sounds of Cyclonus putting little Stardust down for a nap while Pulsar sleeps soundly already in a borrowed crib shining with age and use and history.

Stormy watches his own hands, watches them clean bottles decorated with old designs of bumblebees and flowers and mothwings faded by tiny fingers. He looks over a counter cleaned by a sister (in law, but a sister all the same now), he stands on a floor enemies and friends alike have walked and danced and tripped upon.

He blinks away tears that are beginning to bead up, his chest tightens like it’s trying to strangle the heart that beats with the ferocity of survival and suddenly he’s gripping that same counter- gasping and choking like the air has become tangible and thickened.

He swears he sees old black gloves and bloodstains on hands still wet from bottle washing.

What game is he playing, he asks himself. What kind of joke is he pulling on himself; he knows who and WHAT he is- a creature, a monster. A murderer most foul, a man who thrives in the gutters of morality who drinks liquor cut with tears and he grits his teeth to keep silent and-

“My son, what is wrong?!”

Cyclonus’s words cut through the world like a knife; the shears that snip the threads keeping them tethered to reality.

“I. I don’t know, I- I’m-”, he’s gagging on words too heavy to speak, on feelings too heavy to name because if he names them they’ll be all too real and might tear him to shreds.

Warmaster. Warmonger. Devil of Kimia. Der Industrielle. Die Kommisar. King Marauder. The Grinning Reaper.

Oh the titles he has worn like holy mantles of rotten meat and fly larvae.

Stormy opens eyes he didn’t remember closing- feeling tears balance on doe lashes thick and dark as the shadows along the top of cheekbones lined in circuitry.

“Tell me, starling-boy. What weighs your heart?”

Cyclonus’s accent always comes out when he worries; Stormy remembers Aid mentioning it and he hears it, he hears the fear and concern and knows its for him but does he truly even deserve it-

“I.. I...”

“Breath, bird-child.”

“I... hate. Him.”

Cyclonus’s eyes telegraph the breaking heart behind them, “...Who, my son. Who do you hate, for why?”

“I hate... I hate him. I hate who I was I... I hate myself. I don’t deserve... I don’t deserve ANY of this. He doesn’t deserve any of this.”

Stormy swallows the lump in his throat, blinking furiously to try and dispel the tears still clinging to his lashes like frost on a morgue body.

There is warmth on Stormy’s cheeks, hands cupping his face and thumbs swiping away the beginning rain leaking from brass eyes underlit by old rubies.

“Sssssssh, ssssssh my little one.”, soothes Cyclonus- ever soft, ever distant; always drifting so high above the world and held down only when he deems it so, decides its earned and yet here he is. Here he is leaning enough to kiss the top of Stormy’s head like the fathers in the movies do when their sons wear wounds of pride and doubt and holding the scientist’s face as gentle as he can.

His hands are old and worn and scarred in ways none of them will ever know or understand- wounded by god and glory in equal measures with stories not unlike the religious epics hailed on late night programs and early morning worship.

The scars, they feel like circuitry and Stormy wonders why the scars they carry seem so similar.

He wonders why this ancient albatross is taking a ragged starling under his wings like he cares.

“Wh-Why are you DOING THIS-”

“Be gentle, starling, be gentle.”

“Gentle with WHO?!”

“With yourself.”, murmurs Cyclonus, hands moving away from Stormy’s face, “Oh be gentle, little one- you have wandered far and deep in evil and pain and surfaced in a world far brighter than you are used to. I do not believe you hate the Him of Before; but I understand why you say it.”

“I-I do, I DO! I HATE HIM I HATE WHAT HE DID I HATE WHO HE WAS AND... and...”

“You hate that He was made into that, when everything like this was here and waiting and could have saved the piece of yourself you fought so hard to keep hidden.”

Stormy froze, vision blurring like the ocean (he remembered seeing the ocean once, how jealous he’d become of the water and its serenity) and his hands- still wet and shaking- moved to grab Cyclonus’s shirt and hold tight.

The arms of the old Tetrahexian went around his newest child- his newest devotee, his starling son with ragged feathers and cracked beak. He held him close and tight and strong and shushed him from the bottom of an old chest used to hymnals in a language no one could find. Could remember.

“Do not hate Him, little one.”, said Cyclonus, his words soft and warm and steady in all the ways Stormy felt he was not, could never be, “Do not hate Him for surviving. Do not hate Him for doing the only things He could to stay alive. You would not be here without the blood on His hands, just as He would not be able to rest within you without the bottles in the sink and the crayon drawings on the refrigerator.”

Stormy felt the lump in his throat return, the choked hiccups and soft gasps and he squeezed his eyes tightly.

“Forgive Him, starling boy. Let the feathers fall where they may but forgive Him. He had no choice. He never had a choice. But now... Now you do. Forgive Him for being denied what you yearned for- and forgive yourself for what you had to become to make it here. To make it home.”

“H-Home?”

“Yes, son. Home. Where there is no war, no cruelty. Where your children rest without worry, where the one you love smiles and holds you in the cold nights. Where your family will be here to catch you when the bough breaks, and you fall.”

“I-I-I-I-”

“Be gentle, bright eyed one. Be gentle with Him, with You. Give that dark-haired youngling the gentleness you were all denied for so long; and let me give you the gentleness I have that you may rest when memory makes your wings falter.”

“I..I-I’m SORRY!”

He breaks, as all things do. He buries his face against a father figure made of ancient scars and modern joy and sobs open mouthed. He coughs, gags and sobs harder as the tears finally fall like spring thunderstorms and his legs grow weak. He sobs apologies though he doesn’t know who he’s apologizing to (he does, he always has, he recognizes the MTO in the mirror every morning before he combs wild curls and waves) and he coughs his absolution and forgiveness into a soft cotton shirt with old signs of children’s fingerpaint-

He can almost feel his old gloves, old hands covered in blood and gunshot residue and death grip tight to one shoulder in acknowledgement.

“You are forgiven, bright eyed boy; you are forgiven little warrior.”, murmurs Cyclonus, holding tight to Stormy like he has for every one of the children he has welcomed into his heart over these old years.

His hair is long, silvery and silken like albatross wings. It is tied back in a simple tail and one of Stormy’s hands grips tight to it- Like QD did to Whirl’s braid. Like the new double does to the edges of Mimi’s sweatshirt tied around her waist.

Like both of the Chrona’s do to Brainstorm’s labcoat after a shift.

“It’s alright, little one. I am here- father’s here.”, are the continued whispers, “I always will be, now. You are safe.”

“I don’t- hgk- I don’t h-hate h-him.”, Stormy says weakly as the sobs peter out, “I don’t hate. Me. I’m. I’m scared. That I don’t. Don’t deserve this, after all I’ve done, all I had to do I...”

“And all of that is in the past, and will stay there little one.”, says Cyclonus firmly.

He leans back, gently fussing over Stormy’s mussed hair and thumbing away tear trails as he gently soothes the once-mad scientist; the front door opens gently, and a voice calls into the house.

“Hello, Cyclonus? Stormy? I’ve come from the medical facility, Aid says he’s going to be late to the family dinner tonight so we’re...”

Perceptor steps around the corner, seeing Stormy drenched in tears and Cyclonus wiping away the signs of sorrow. 

Stormy tenses, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for the cold cordiality between the pair of them to rise up like it always does, always will because he was once cruel and bitter and Perceptor always answered in kind and-

”What’s all this, what happened?! Stormy is everything alright, what in the bloody hell-”

“Calm, Perceptor.”, said Cyclonus, fighting to keep his smile hidden when Stormy’s eyes open again in the wide confusion that is shared between both of the Brainstorms when things take an unexpected turn, “It was simply... old wounds flaring up. You know how the ache can be.”

“Mmmm.”, mutters Perceptor before huffing and bustling past them to fuss about in the cabinets, “And here you are, you derelict priest- letting him tremble in my kitchen I see.”

A snort of laughter from Cyclonus as Stormy blinks again, the shakes of full body crying slowly taking over him enough for him to notice.

“Sit- I said SIT-”

Perceptor waved them both towards the big dining table, along with a one eyed glare that... held no malice, but a dusting of exasperation.

“You aren’t to tell Aid now- But this always helped me when... when things got too much. However, I’ll refrain from giving you the excessive amount I would medicate with once upon a Wrecker ship, hm?”

Stormy nodded numbly, feeling pins and needles in hands and feet as his jittery breaths began to slow from their panicked tempo and a slightly oversized mug was gently pressed into his hands.

“Sip it slow, hold the warmth. Chases the shakes away.”

A sip, a widening of eyes and a quick swallow.

“...There’s booze in this.”

“Yes. There is. Just a dollop.”

“...Boozey coffee helped you?”

“Cocoa, actually. Cut with a few splashes of light coffee.”, said Perceptor matter of factly before glancing at Cyclonus with the question inferred in facial expression.

“...Perhaps just a little, Perceptor.”

“Coming right up.”

Stormy took another sip- feeling the warmth in his belly and chest before the tension in his back suddenly vanished as he realized it was there, “...Wh. Why are you doing this, you HATE me-”

“I do not hate you. I think you are something of a prick, a raging egomaniac, and an utter bastard on a good day. But... I do not hate you. If I hated you, you would be dead.”

“You literally tried to kill me once.”

“In my defense, it was the second time you tried to off my husband and he was in the ICU on a ventilator.”

“...Good point.”

Perceptor sighed, then chuckled, “Once I did hate you, I think. But... Feelings are not solid; they are malleable. Fluid. And they can change over time or all at once. And seeing you with my son; and later with my grandchildren... My opinions changed. A little.”

“..So. So you don’t... hate me? Even thought I... I did awful bullshit to people you loved, I was fucking EVIL-”

“And I was once a sniper with a love of interrogation.”, said Perceptor quietly, simply, as he dried his hands after handing a mug to Cyclonus, “And Cyclonus was once a self-made death god. Drift and Deadlock were once vicious killers and double agents. No one save the children in this house are fully innocent.”

Stormy stared into his mug for a moment, “...Thank you.”

“Anytime, you little shit.”

“Aw, that was almost sweet you cycloptic prick.”

“And there’s the Stormy we love and tolerate.”

Stormy huffed- hiding his grin in another sip from the mug as he leaned to the side against Cyclonus and Perceptor busied himself with the dishes Stormy had abandoned during his breakdown.

“...Cyclonus, did you. Mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“...When you called me your. Your son.”

“Of course. You are my son, as much as Aid, or either Quickdraw. As much as Mimi and Dani and Kiki and their doubles are my daughters.”

Another kiss to the top of Stormy’s head, “You are family of mine. Nothing will change that.”

“...Thank you.”

The words were whispered; small and scared and without the usual ras of the one-time Warmaster’s usual voice-

The words were whispered by the shadow of an MTO- scared and alone and thrust into a world lacking the one thing no living being can survive without...

Love.

[letaliabane]

Hi seen your Bruce Wayne post!!!

I was thinking how about the y/n is a reporter and always following Bruce Wayne and getting her self at risked!! But deep down Bruce cares about her and also can they know each other but had a rocky relationship? Thank You!!! Can’t wait for more!!!

Danger Zone

bruce wayne x reader/batman x reader

spoilers from the film! (do yourself a favour and go see it)

warning: strangling, very violent

genre: angsty, smidge of fluff, soft!brucewayne, protective!batman

a/n: Thank you for requesting @sararuno!! Loved this idea so much! This turned out a lot longer than intended but I hope you still enjoy it!

In the darkness of the alley way you watched a bike come to a halt within the shadows. A familiar figure ran up towards the Iceberg Lounge, waiting as the bouncer exited before sneaking inside. You smiled. 

As a journalist, you had a knack for sneaking around and keeping tabs on people of interest who were of interest to your case. One person who had become a crucial part of the story you were currently working was someone you were rather good at following.

That person was Bruce Wayne. 

Let’s just say you had history with him, a very long, interesting one. From friends to lovers to acquaintances with affection for one another. You had no idea how to label it anymore and you didn’t care. You just knew that you needed to find out why Bruce was here at the Lounge.

You’d been following the story of Carmine Falcone and the prospect that his drug business was up and running after all this time of apparently “laying low” and "turning over a new leaf."

But why was Bruce here? Did he know more about what Falcone was up to? Was he involved with all this? 

You didn’t know, but you knew you had to find out because your leads were starting to dry up and people were dying in the streets. 

Grabbing a rock you threw it with all your might into some trashcans, the bouncer’s head swivelling to the sound, drawing his gun. When he trekked his way into the shadows you tiptoed your way into the club. 

You winced at the deep base that rung through your ears and the bright lights blinding you momentarily, dodging and pushing past the crowded entrance to over look the entire dance floor. 

Well shit how were you going to find a Wayne in this mess? 

Making your way to the overpass your eyes swept over the entire crowd, trying to find that familiar figure you knew too well for your own good. 

A distant ‘ding’ caught your attention above the music looking down a dark corridor where an elevator rimmed in gold was swamped in light. 

Just as you made your way towards it, a firm grip yanked at your arm, a shriek leaving you. You’d been pulled through a door into a room barely lit by a single lightbulb, jumping when the door was slammed shut. 

‘What the hell are you doing here?!’ 

Rolling your eyes, you spun around to Bruce behind you. He was dressed casually in track pants, a hoodie shrouding his face but you could tell it was him from a mile away. Who else had a stocky stature like he did? 

‘What are you doing here Mr Wayne? Recluse Bruce Wayne coming to the most lavish underground club in Gotham! Seems a bit weird if you ask me. You spending all your time holed up in Wayne Tower and then suddenly start popping up in the Iceberg Lounge of all places multiple times!’

His eyes widened in horror, stepping closer to you. ‘Wait-Have you been following me?!’ 

‘Why do you care what I do?! We don’t talk anymore! Not since you decided to cut me out of my life,’ You said, gasping as you found yourself backed up into a wall, Bruce pressing himself close to you. 

‘You shouldn’t be here-’

‘And you should! What? Don’t want the city finding out Bruce Wayne is like everything other socialite sniffing the good stuff?’ 

He pulled back in disgust. ‘You know I would never-’

‘Do I?’ You scoff, standing firm against him. ‘Do I know you Bruce? Because after everything we’ve been through it certainly feels like I don’t know you at all.’ 

The hurt in his eyes was evident, and God did you want to ease it. But after everything he had done to you, you couldn’t help but relish it just a little. 

Bruce’s eyes flickered between the door and back at you.

‘I don’t have time for this right now. I know you’re doing a story and you think following me will help you in some way you’re wrong! You can’t be here! It’s dangerous!’

Ignoring him, you weren't able to stop laughing at the sight of his face for the first time tonight.

‘Are you wearing eyeshadow? Trying to mix in with all the other kids here-’

‘Y/N this isn’t a joke!’ Bruce snapped gripping your arms painfully, leaving you speechless and wide eyed. Immediately, he groaned in regret, eyes slamming shut, letting his forehead fall to lean against yours.

‘I-I’m so sorry-’

‘It’s okay ...’ You whispered, still shaken. 

Cautiously you pressed a hand to his cheek which he immediately grasped tightly, almost painfully. Breathing deeply he opened his eyes to look into yours, filled with a tenderness you rarely ever saw. He kissed your palm.

‘I don’t want you to get hurt because of me Y/N. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you-’

You both flinched at the sudden slamming of footsteps crashing past the door, loud but incoherent shouts echoing across the corridors over the music that pumped throughout the building. 

Bruce gripped your chin, forcing your eyes back to his. 

‘You need to leave. I-I can’t explain why but it’s not safe here.’ 

‘Why? Are you in danger? Because if you are, you know I won’t leave!’ 

He chuckled with a smirk, shaking his head. ‘No I’m not in danger, but I don’t want you around here in case things go bad. Please Y/N, for once just do this for me.’

You wanted to protest, to plead with him, but you knew if you said anything against his word he would literally drag you to the front of the club. So you nodded. 

Bruce smiled gently, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead he led you along towards the door, and before you could say another word, he was gone. 

Glancing to the entrance, you ran back into the crowd. Yeah you weren’t about to walk out and leave Bruce to fend for himself. 

Screams and shouts resonated throughout the Lounge, the music coming to a screeching halt. Grunting, you pushed your way through the oncoming crowd towards the sound of gunshots. 

Making your way back up the stairs, you slammed the button down to the elevator, glancing around shakily before getting inside. 

When the doors opened again, the shooting was much louder. You knew you were on the right track.

Slinking through the corridor, you grew closer to the shouts. From around the corner, you watched with intrigue; the silhouette of a tall figure fighting against multiple men, easily holding them all off. 

The familiar ‘ding’ of the elevator made you turn in horror, a group of men exiting and coming straight towards you. Without hesitation you ducked into the first room you saw, sighing in relief as their hurried footsteps faded out of earshot. 

‘Your not supposed to be in here birdie.’

You jumped a foot in the air, holding back a gasp at the sight of a large man now standing up from behind a desk of computers. Definitely a gym junky whose clothes were far too tight for him. 

‘I-Uh-’

‘Wait ... You’re that journalist, the one from Gotham Telegraph! What did you think you could do? Bat your eyes and get what you want and walk out of here alive?’ 

Usually you could talk your way out of a situation, something you did on a daily basis, but by the panic that pulsed through your body, you knew that that wouldn’t be the case today. 

Immediately you retreated back to the door, only for your head to be slammed into it. Without hesitation you elbowed the man in the gut, and as he doubled over you turned and kneed him in the face. 

However even with that he grabbed you around the waist, easily picking you up and dropping you onto the ground. 

A rush of fear came over you as the thug stalked in your direction, trying to clamber away but you just weren’t fast enough, screaming when he grabbed your leg. 

He forced you onto you back and immediately you slammed your fists against his chest, scratching at his arms before his hand shot to your neck, the other holding down your arm. 

A gurgle left your lips, the air beginning to leave your you. You lashed out with a cry, digging your nails into the side of the man’s face and he let out a roar. 

His fist slammed into your cheek, forcing you into a daze, an iron taste evident on your tongue. In your weakened state his hands came down once more on your neck.

You dug your nails into his forearms, dragging them through his skin, kicking at any part of his body, but the lights were quickly fading, becoming spots in your eyes as you gasped desperately for reprieve. This man was going to kill you -

Suddenly the air rushed back into your lungs, sending you into a violent coughing fit, blood spilling from your lips. From the corner of your eye you could barely make out a dark figure slamming the thug into the wall. 

Only once the body had slumped to the floor did the stranger draw closer to you. You couldn’t help but scurry away, only stopping until you were in a corner of the room. 

‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ A deep voice came from the Batman, tentatively stepping closer, eyes focused on nothing but you. 

He towered over you, a monstrous shadow of heaving rage. And yet when he leant down and cradled your face in his hands, he was nothing of the sort.

Meekly, you lifted your head at his command, letting him inspect your wounds. Opening your eyes, you took in the Batman’s face.

Suddenly the recognition struck you.

That jawline, those lips. But those blue eyes were a dead giveaway. You knew those far too well. Everything just clicked.

Batman pulled away at the sudden rigidness that overcame your body, your mouth agape. 

‘You-Your Br-’

He pressed a gloved finger to your gasping lips, shaking his head. ‘Not here. Hold onto me.’ 

It took you a moment, perhaps it was the oxygen still hitting you. You reached up despite the pain and clung to his shoulders, tucking your face into his neck. 

Bruce was patient, and only when he knew you were ready, he drew you in close to his chest before getting to his feet.

You were shaking uncontrollably within his grasp and no matter how hard you tried to stop you couldn’t. He squeezed your shoulder gently. 

‘Your going to be okay Y/N, I have you.’ 

You hissed, flinching away from the shock of the ice pack being placed against your tender neck. 

‘Apologies ma’am,’ Alfred murmured as he leant over you, attending to your neck carefully where the swelling and bruising was most evident. 

The trip back to Wayne Tower had been nothing but a blur before Bruce rushed you inside where the old butler had took over in taking care of you. Changing you into some fresh clothes and laying you comfortably on a bed with the softest pillows supporting your neck, he begun tending to your injuries. 

Your eyes opened as distant footsteps drew close, Bruce now dressed into some baggy clothes coming into view, remnants of the familiar black make up still smeared around his eyes. As if he had been in a hurry to return to your side. 

‘Alfred could you leave us? I can take over.’ 

‘Of course Master Wayne. I’ll go and prepare some tea and supper for you both,’ He said as he got to his feet. 

Leaving the ice pack on the side table along with other supplies, the butler gave a squeeze to your hand and a gentle smile before leaving the room. 

Bruce stepped closer to the bed, but didn’t sit down. Instead pacing up and down the room, his eyes rapidly glancing around the room. 

‘You are such a stubborn idiot.’ 

Your eyes shot to him in surprise. ‘Bruce-’

He turned on his heel to look at you, eyes filled with distress. ‘You could’ve gotten yourself killed in there Y/N! What were you thinking?!’

You sighed. ‘It was a risk worth taking ...’ 

Bruce scoffed, shaking his head. ‘For what? Your article?!’

‘No not the fucking article! For you!’ 

This made him freeze, glancing towards you wide eyed. You sat up carefully, glaring at him. 

‘You really expected me to leave knowing you were still in there? I know you think I hate your guts but I care about you too much to just turn my back and leave you behind-’ 

A sudden cough rattled within your chest, making you grasp at your throat as it painfully throbbed. Bruce came to your side immediately, resting his hand at the back of your neck while the other rubbing your back comfortingly. 

‘Easy, easy.’

You whimpered at the pain that pulsed through your neck, trying to calm your breathing down. He rummaged around before the ice pack was back on your neck and you couldn’t help but sigh in relief, leaning into him.

‘Was it really worth your life?’

‘It is to me ... just like saving Gotham is worth risking your life for everyday.’ 

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. ‘You got me there.’

You couldn’t help but smile sadly, leaning your head against his shoulder. 

‘I now understand why you’ve pushed me away all these years. I honestly thought it was because I was a journalist-’

‘No,’ He immediately says, squeezing your shoulder. ‘No you are brave doing what you do to uncover the injustices of this city no matter the cost. I just ...’

Bruce’s voice faded suddenly. Turning your head to him, glancing between your eyes and neck, letting his fingertips drag ever so gently across the bruises decorating your skin. 

‘I didn’t want any of my enemies to get to you,’ He whispered, his voice full of sadness and eyes shining with unshed tears.

You leant into his touch, gripping his hand as you kissed his palm just like he had to you mere hours ago, trailing kisses towards his inner wrist. 

‘Please don’t shut me out again Bruce.’ 

With a heavy sigh, he let his forehead rest against yours, nuzzling your nose affectionately. ‘Never again.’

masterlist - robert pattinson masterlist

tagged: @mischiefmanaged71

requests are welcomed in the ask box if anyone would like one

[besamehyuka]

SKZ Yandere: The Beginning

IN NO WAY AM I SAYING THAT THIS TYPE OF RELATIONSHIP IS OK, IT IS SICK AND DISGUSTING, IF YOU KNOW SOMEONE WHO IS IN THIS TYPE OF RELATIONSHIP, CALL THE POLICE. DO NOT WAIT!

Bangchan:

You just so have managed to catch the bad boy’s eyes. As usual, he could have every girl he wanted, except you. You were a target to him, that he couldn’t get. And he was so determined to get you. No matter who had to die. He stared at you from afar as you talked with your boyfriend at the time. He took in note how you wrapped your arms around the boy, and took the time to feel the skin between your fingertips.

Bangchan waited until you had gone, his face now stone cold, as his eyes took in the sight of your boyfriend. “You have something I want.” Bangchan stated to your boyfriend, who cowered. 

“What? No I don’t.” Your boyfriend repeated over and over again, and Bangchan smirked, punching him in his jaw, realing him backwards. “You have Y/N. Back off she’s mine. I’ll do worse if you don’t break up with her.” Bangchan threatened, his eyes serious.

Lee Know:

He couldn’t help but swallow hard as she walked by him. Her sweet perfume like the sweetest sugar, but for his nose. He wanted to get closer to her, but before he could make his move, your best friend stood up, eyeing him before smiling at Lee Know.

“Hey, Y/N. Would you like to go out with me?” He asked, smirking looking at Lee Know with obvious eyes. In that moment, Lee Know knew he would have to kill him. He crossed the line, all while looking into his eyes. 

Lee Know might have looked innocent on the outside, but he was a raging demon inside. So, as your bestfriend, now boyfriend walked down the hallway, Lee Know kicked him down, smirking at his trembling body.

“You think you’re so smart.” Lee Know answered, reaching for his pocket knife, before cutting into your boyfriend’s face, giving him a L shape scar, before stabbing him numerous times. “Get out of her life, freak.”

Changbin:

“Y/N.” Your friend stated, smiling at you as she handed you a note and you opened it to reveal an invitation from the most popular guy in school. You sighed and threw it in the trash. “I don’t want it.” You replied.

“Why?” Your friend asked, concerned but really taken aback by your sudden rejection.

“I don’t like him, like that.” You replied, and your friend scoffed. 

“Okay, Y/N. Would you mind if I go with him?” Your friend asked, lightly tapping on your shoulder.

“No, I wouldn’t.” You said smiling, but before you could say anything else, two guys jumped out of the shadows their eyes locked on both of you two. It was the popular guy that had asked you out, and his best friend. They shook their heads.

“I won’t accept her.” The popular guy stated, smirking before grabbing your hand in his and leading you far away.

“Leave me alone! I don’t like you!” You yelled, hoping, praying someone would help you at this moment while the popular jock tried to force himself on you. Suddenly, he was forced off of you, by a man with huge muscles. 

“Changbin.” You whispered, taking note of the dark clothes, and the dark hair. Everyone is school was told to stay away from him because he was just too strong for any normal person. “Are you ok?” He asked you as you nodded, and he gripped your hand and led you far away.

“If you ever need me, i’m here.” He replied walking away, almost vanishing into the darkness. You stared wide eyed, did this really happen? The guy everyone feared at school, just helped you. 

As you walked home, you weren’t aware of Changbin secretly and quietly taking the life of the popular boy. The less this asshole was out of your life, the more time he would have protecting you.

Hyunjin:

He took in how you smiled, how you’re cheeks would heat up when your friend would make a joke. He also made a mental note on how you would hold your arm behind your back when you were shy. He loved it. He became obsessed with it.

He saw just how cute you were with your guy friends, and it pissed him off everytime a guy would get too close to you. So, he would have to make an end to that, right?

“Look man. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. You’re not even dating her.” Was what one of your guy friends said, as Hyunjin cornered them in a dark alleyway. His hands were held up in defense as he was trying to decide when to strike.

As he tried to land a punch on Hyunjin, he missed swallowing hard as Hyunjin walked right up to him and strangled the life out of him. “She’s mine. She doesn’t know it yet, but she will.”

Han:

Of course, he shouldn’t have fallen in love with his neighbor, let alone be spying on her as she showered, but his eyes wouldn’t even move. She looked so beautiful as she look off her clothing. Her eyes drifted to the window, almost screaming as she saw eyes watching her. 

However as she raced to the window to see if she saw what she really did, she was met with no one. She sighed, thinking she was watching too many horror films, and continued getting undressed.

However, little to her knowledge, Han was now back, face pressed to the glass, absorbing her every move, even wishing horrible things. Oh, how he could just bust through the window and take you right there and then. He knew how obsessed you were with him. And maybe he would take your word for it.

Felix:

You were surprised to see brownies on your porch as you smiled. Felix must’ve made these. You smile and take them into your house, not knowing of the eyes that lingered on you. 

He had made his way into your world, by asking for you to tutor him, but secretly, planting cameras in your room, watching as you studied, played with yourself, and much more. Everything you did, made his jaw drop. You were just so beautiful. He had to get you soon, but he had to keep it safe for now. 

Seungmin:

“Leave her alone man. She doesn’t like you.” A tall Yeonjun stated, his eyes eyeing Seungmin. In an instant, Yeonjun lay on the floor passed out. Seungmin hated when people doubted him, he was going to have you. He was. 

No matter who had to die, you were his. He chuckled as he saw you walk slowly to him smiling. You were obviously drunk, and didn’t know better, but now that you willingly came to him, he wasn’t going to let you go. As he pulled you in for a kiss, he marked your neck. Just a small sign for now. 

I.N.:

You loved how cute Jeongin looked right now. His cute smile just fit his lips as you leaned in and kissed him. He wanted to tell you, how you were digging your own grave if you did this, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t dare.

He was possessive of you, yes. But you could never know how many people he had made bleed just to get to you. You were too innocent to see that side of him. He just wanted you all to himself. He was selfish. And you never caught on to it. He smirked in the kiss. How gullable you were.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

time stops, though you don’t take a breath (renga)

aka boiling rock but renga written for @capt-snoozles alta / sk8 au

word count: 1,940

~

There was nothing quite like the feeling of Reki’s hair tickling his chin. His hair was so soft and had enough poof for Langa to bury his face in it.

“Langa,” Reki giggled, turning his head so he could look at his boyfriend. “You’re gonna mess it up!”

A soft whine escaped his throat as Reki turned, causing Langa’s chin to slip. “Mmm,” he grumbled, squeezing his arms tighter around Reki’s middle.

Reki sighed and shifted back to where he was before, allowing Langa access to replant his face in the ginger’s hair. “There you go, you big baby.”

Normally, Langa’s cheeks would’ve turned a bright shade of red at the comment, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care right now. It hadn’t even been a day since the group escaped Boiling Rock, and Langa was determined not to let Reki out of his sight for awhile.

The impromptu trip to the prison was to free Hakoda, Cherry, Joe, and Shadow. To be honest, Langa had not been prepared to find Reki or Suki there too. He thought that Boiling Rock was for high security prisoners like supposed war criminals and people who committed treason. He didn’t think the Fire Nation would send two kids there.

Langa could still feel the pang in his chest and the breath of air rushing in his lungs when Sokka had cried Suki’s name. He could still remember the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins when he looked over the balcony and saw not only Suki sitting on a bench, but also Reki.

Reki did something to him that nothing else could. Reki made him feel strong and whole and like anything was possible.

That was probably why, in the heat of the moment, Langa had attempted to jump off the building and into the courtyard.

Yeah, he could also still feel the pressure of Zuko’s arms wrapping around his chest and forcing him back onto the balcony and Sokka’s calloused palm when he slapped a hand over Langa’s mouth to prevent him from screaming Reki’s name and blowing their cover.

Suddenly, their plans had changed. There were two more people they needed to rescue because Langa was not going to leave Reki behind. Not again.

“What’re you thinking about?”

The glorious, heavenly sound of Reki’s voice drew him back to the present and Langa blinked. “You,” he answered truthfully.

Reki blushed, his cheeks turning nearly the same shade of his hair, and Langa hid a soft smile behind one of his curls. “Langa!” Reki pouted.

Spirits, Langa missed him.

“I was, though,” Langa said. “I missed you.”

At that, Reki smiled, the blush (unfortunately) fading. “I missed you too,” he replied softly.

There was nothing like the warmth that filled Langa’s body when he reunited with Reki to escape. They hadn’t been able to tell the redhead their plan in advance due to his echolalia, so Langa still hadn’t been able to hear his voice or hold him or tell him how much he loved him. They had to rely on Suki to relay the message shortly before the escape.

Langa had wanted to abandon the cooler—let Sokka and Zuko roll it down—the instant he saw Reki. And he almost did. It was only Zuko’s quiet “Don’t you dare” through gritted teeth that prevented him from doing so.

Then they were on the ground and Reki was there. He was just a few feet away.

So, Langa opened his arms and Reki came running—

Nothing compared to holding Reki—nothing except perhaps being held by Reki.

The second that Reki had made it to him, the second their arms were around each other, Langa had lifted him up, twirling him around. Reki’s mouth was pressed against the nape of Langa’s neck, so only he could hear his boyfriend’s laughter. Despite how muffled it was, it still filled the night in Langa’s ears.

Reki instinctively wrapped his legs around Langa’s waist the second his feet were off the ground, and Langa didn’t put him down for awhile, even after he stopped spinning. He didn’t want to let go.

Normally, he wouldn’t be able to hold Reki in the air this long—he didn’t have the strongest upper body—but this was Reki and it had been months since they last saw each other. It helped that he firmly planted his feet into the ground once he stopped spinning, and he thanked the Spirits for giving him incredible leg strength.

It also helped that Reki felt a lot lighter than usual, but that wasn’t good.

Langa shuddered at the memory of realizing that Reki was much easier to lift, and when his gaze flickered to Suki (who was having a whispered conversation with Zuko and Sokka), he noticed that she looked thinner than normal too.

And oh, how his blood boiled.

No, he hadn’t put Reki down until after they decided to stay and see if Hakoda, Cherry, Joe, and Shadow were arriving with the next batch of prisoners., despite Reki’s protests and Chit Sang’s complaints that they were disgusting (and they were used to it—they’d heard it all from Miya).

That was when he’d seen the dark bruise coloring Reki’s stomach. He saw it for the briefest of moments when Reki had lifted his arms to stretch after being put down, but they didn’t have time for that now.

“You okay?”

Again, it was Reki who grounded him, it always was. His voice was the gravity that pulled him back to the present and held him there.

“I was…” Langa trailed off, licking his lips. “I was so worried about you.” And then it all came rushing back—finding out that Reki was gone, that the Kyoshi Warriors that came to help were Azula and her friends, the pure rage that filled his body and consumed his mind when Azula said Reki’s name during the battle of Black Sun. Langa suddenly felt like crying all over again. “You were… you were there one day and then you were gone. Reki, I couldn’t—I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re amazing, Reki, you’re the most important thing in my life.”

Reki’s face softened and he squirmed until one of his arms escaped Langa’s hold, lifting it up and placing it gently on Langa’s cheek. “Hey, I’m okay,” he assured. Although it was a moment of comfort, something to help him calm down, all Langa could see was his bare wrist.

“Wait. Where are your friendship bracelets?”

Reki shifted uncomfortably. “They took them. We weren’t allowed to have anything with us when we got there so…”

Langa scrunched his nose. “But… your wrists. You need them or you scratch and hurt yourself.”

At that, Reki scoffed lightly. “I know you care about my tics, but the Fire Nation doesn’t. It’s not a big deal.”

But it was a big deal. When Langa squinted, he could see red marks on Reki’s wrist. He could seen faint lines where his nails had dug into his skin. It wasn’t fair; Reki didn’t deserve that.

“Hey, Shadow?” Langa called, raising his voice so the man in question would hear it from across the room (everyone could see that the two boys needed some personal time together so they gave them some space, but Joe, Cherry, and Shadow were still a bit on edge and didn’t want to let them out of their sight).

Shadow looked up from his own hushed conversation with Cherry and Joe. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

“We’re fi—“ Reki began, but Langa wouldn’t allow that.

“They took Reki’s friendship bracelets,” he explained, frowning. “Can you make him more?”

The older waterbender’s face shifted from confusion to understanding, and he sent the two boys a small smile. “Of course. Joe, you feel up to making some more charms?”

Joe cracked his knuckles, wiggling his fingers. “You bet I am!”

“And you’ll actually make them good this time?” Cherry said casually, twisting a strand of hair.

The comment made Joe’s eye twitch, and suddenly Shadow was stuck trying to break the two up again. Langa couldn’t tell whether they were trying to strangle each other or if they were making out, but either way, he did not envy Shadow.

Reki chuckled at the scene. “I missed them.” He tilted his head enough to look into Langa’s eyes, and blinked thrice. “You didn’t need to do that, you know.”

“Maybe. But I wanted to,” Langa said seriously (and Reki’s face flushed again—Spirits, it was the cutest thing). “You’re hurt. They hurt you.”

“They just took some string. It—“

“But they’re important to you and they help you so you don’t scratch yourself! And when you lifted your arms the other day I saw…” Langa swallowed, taking deep breaths because he couldn’t cry right now. “I saw a bruise. I don’t know how many more there are—there’ve been. You’re too thin, you and Suki both. They hurt you, Reki.”

Reki faltered for the briefest of seconds, his lips trembling. “I… a lot has happened the last couple months,” he said eventually. “But I’m fine, okay? I’m fine.”

And since Langa knows Reki, he knows what I’m fine actually means and he doesn’t believe it for one second. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not. I’m fine now that I’m here with you,” Reki said, and oh, how Langa’s heart melted.

“But what about—“

“I’ll be okay,” Reki interrupted, his eyes wide and swimming with something that Langa couldn’t quite discern. “You’re here, right?”

Langa nodded perhaps a little too aggressively. “Mhm. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know.” Reki clicked his tongue and his neck twitched. “We’re gonna get through this together, okay? All of this.”

“Okay,” Langa agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of Reki’s head. He paused and then said: “Are you hungry?”

There was a moment’s silence as Reki’s face twisted and he muttered the words under his breath a couple times. “Not really,” he eventually said, giving Langa an apologetic look.

That wouldn’t do. Reki needed to eat… but Langa wouldn’t force it. Not right now, at least. Everything’s happened so fast eating might be too much for him. Langa could still feel the adrenaline pumping in his chest (it hadn’t gone away. it had been there from the second they were running onto the gondola and a firebender had directed a burst of flames Reki’s way, from the moment Langa had shoved Reki behind him and drew water from the boiling lake below and doused the bender in it…) and he was sure Reki still felt it too (he could still see the way Reki’s chest had heaved when Ty Lee was about to hit Langa with her chi blocking—Reki hadn’t hesitated, he pushed himself between the two and blocked her fist).

“Okay. Are you thirsty?”

For a second, Langa was sure Reki was going to say “no”, to which he would’ve had to protest because who knows how much water the Fire Nation had given them while they were imprisoned. Luckily, though, after a moment’s thought, Reki nodded.

“Okay.”

Langa couldn’t help the wide grin that overcome him, and he (reluctantly) unwrapped a hand from around Reki’s waist and wiggled his fingers, popping the flask at his side open and bending the water inside so it floated to Reki’s face.

Reki rolled his eyes, playfully nudging Langa, but opened his mouth anyways, allowing Langa to direct the water inside.

“Thank you,” Reki murmured once Langa had bent the rest of the water back in the flask and made sure it was shut, snuggling closer to his boyfriend. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

of all i am made of (perhaps you are too)

ao3

Hugo does not believe in soulmates.

To be fair, he doesn’t much believe in anything but the feeling of coin in his pocket and the clever bite of his dagger. What use has he for god and destiny when he carves his own path of lies through time, with a sharp tongue and a cocky smile.

Why should Hugo believe the universe would gift him a soulmate when it already has made it perfectly clear that nothing is free?

Besides soulmates are rarities of the past--legends and folktales on the lips of elders and religious fanatics; the former clinging to superstition from the od era, the latter feeding false promises and hope to the instupid masses.

Soulmates are for hopeless romantics and tiny children. Not for Hugo.

“That does not surprise me,” Nuru says, the beginnings of a smile forming on her face.

She’s lying down in the golden field where they’ve set camp for the night. The contrast of the bright yellow against her dark skin is stunning-particularly in the moonlight, with her dark hair fanning out about her head.

Hugo, who is sitting upright a few paces away and playing with his daggers, frowns.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, unsure if he should be feeling defensive or not.

Nuru folds her arms beneath her head, propping herself up enough to make eye contact with him. “Even if you had a soulmate, you wouldn’t know what to do with them,” she scoffs.

He snorts. “ You believe in soulmates?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Yes, actually. I thought you were the rational one in this party.”

Nuru gives him an expression that indicates how stupid she thinks he is. “I might be the only person who can keep their head in a crisis, but that doesn’t mean I can’t believe in a higher power, Hugo.”

She rolls over, so that she’s laying on her stomach, facing him. “Burning stars fall in my homeland every year. There are stories of a sun princess who’s tears heal the dead. Varian somehow hasn’t strangled you yet. I think you’d better start believing in a god.”

“Or soulmates apparently,” Hugo mutters.

“Or soulmates,” Nuru says. “Would it really be that far-fetched?”

“Do I believe there’s someone out there who shares my dreams? Or has my name written above their heart? Hard pass, Princess.”

“Alright then, how about sharing the same soul?” Nuru asks, folding her hands together and resting her chin on them. “You’re telling me that doesn’t sound at least a little romantic?”

“I don’t have a soul.”

“Now that,” she says, a grin stretching across her face, “that I can believe.”

___

“I think Anya’s my soulmate,” Yong says dreamily, staring at Varian’s redheaded cousin like she hung the fucking moon.

Hugo, despite secretly adoring the round child, rolls his eyes. Hard. “Do you even know what that means?”

“It means we share the same time threads,” Yong replies distractedly.

Varian and Anya are nerding out over something-something Hugo would find interesting or fun to mock them over, but right now, for some reason, he’s more interested in Yong’s adorable-if not misguided-crush on Varian’s little cousin.

“Time threads,” Hugo laughs, cracking his knuckles. Yong winces at the noise, momentarily taking his eyes off the two babbling alchemists. “Alright, color me curious. What are time threads?”

Yong frowns. “You’ve never heard of time threads? Every child in Koto learns about them.”

Ah, must be some religious poppycock only spread in the fire kingdom.

“Well, I’m not a child living in Koto, am I?” Hugo replies lightly. “Spill, little pyro.” He pokes the kid in the shoulder repeatedly until he gets swatted.

“Her lady, Odiyesi, spins a thread for each person,” Yong recites in a sing-song voice. “This thread contains the beginning, the middle, and the end of our lives. If she so chooses, two threads will be intertwined-maybe even beyond the Snip, if she wills it.”

“The Snip?”

“Oh yeah, that’s when you die,” Yong says, side eyeing Hugo.

Hugo ruffles Yong’s hair. “And you think Anya is your thread partner. That’s so cute .”

Yong ducks out from under his hand, scowling. “Why did you ask if you don’t even believe it?” he mumbles, face pink.

“You know what I think?” Hugo asks, pretending like he doesn’t hear Yong. “I think you should go right up to here and tell her all that. Give her a heads up about your eternally bound souls.”

“Your soul is eternally bound to the underworld,” Yong shoots back, with a surprising amount of fire.

Hugo bursts into laughter. “That,” he says, “is the first thing you’ve said all day that makes sense.”

___

“What do you think about soulmates?” Hugo asks mildly. He has a glass of wine in one hand, but he’s barely tasted it. Instead, he stands, staring out the stained glass window and into the courtyard.

Donella, sitting behind her desk, looks up from Varian’s Ulla’s journal-recently procured by Hugo.

The amount of deception and sneaking around he’d gone through to actually get it out of Varian’s line of sight had been painstakingly difficult. And it had been even harder coming up with an excuse to Nuru why he needed to spend the night somewhere other than their current lodgings.

He doesn’t really remember the lie. Just the trust in the Princess’s face when she’d briefly patted him on the shoulder, telling him to be back by sunrise.

Donella closes the journal with a snap, leaning back in her chair. “What a curious question. And from you, no less.”

When Hugo turns around, she’s smiling that sharp smile-the one that makes his stomach plummet with discomfort. Something in him churns at that dangerous expression now, unsure of what he’s suddenly gotten himself into.

He gives a casual shrug, raising his glass to his lips. “Just making idle conversation, I suppose.” The wine tastes terrible. Still, he takes another sip before setting it down on an end table.

“Hmm.” His mentor eyes him skeptically. “What do I think about soulmates?” she muses, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I suppose the proper answer would be that I hate them.”

He frowns. “So you don’t believe in them?”

“You can’t hate something you don’t believe in, Hugo. Of course I believe in soulmates.” Donella must see the surprise in his expression because she laughs after a brief pause. “I would be hard pressed not to believe in them after seeing it with my own two eyes.”

Hugo blinks, startled. “You met someone with a soulmate?” he asks, disbelieving.

“You could say that.”

“How do-how did you know they were-”

She opens the stolen journal again, long scared fingers deftly flipping back to her reading place. “Because I could feel when she was in pain. Now shut up, Waif, I still have three quarters of this tedious reading to get through and only five more hours to do it.”

___

Even though Eugene has decided to make the conscious effort not to kill Hugo, the guy still shows mild animosity. And by mild, Hugo-of course-means that he drags him around, making him do tedious tasks and scowls whenever he gets close to Varian.

Whatever. It’s not as if Hugo’s going to complain, considering that it’s mostly his fault there was a demon monster briefly unleashed onto Corona that destroyed most of her capital city. As long as Varian isn’t blaming himself, Hugo calls it a win.

So he lets the Prince Consort drag him around the city and put his alchemy to work.

“You don’t have to stay,” Hugo says, at one point, when it becomes apparent that even though Eugene has no idea how alchemy works , he was still going to hover. “I’m not going to cut and run.”

The man had snorted. “Yeah, I already figured that one out for myself,” he’d muttered and then proceeded to not explain what that meant.

So here Hugo is, with an ever present shadow, hovering like he’s a fucking five year old. Hugo honestly doesn’t see what Varian sees in the guy-or Queen Rapunzel for that matter. She looks at the ex-thief like he hung the moon and all the damn stars in the sky.

“It’s because they’re soulmates,” Eugene’s buddy-Lance, Hugo thinks-had said when he caught him staring.

Hugo had scoffed.

Now, bored and overheated after a long day’s work, Hugo watches Eugene frown over some blueprints in the Queen’s study. Hugo’s not exactly sure why he has to be present for this particular part of the renovation project, but he’s too tired to protest.

“Are you and the queen soulmates?” he hears himself asking.

Eugene lifts his head, eyes alight with surprise. He glances back down at the blueprints once, before leaving the table to join Hugo by the open doors leading to the balcony.

“Weird question, coming from you,” he snorts, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. “But yes. We are.”

Hugo doesn’t know what to make of that. “How do you know?”

The older man hesitates, something like understanding dawning on the man’s face. A small smile crosses lips. “Have you ever met someone that no matter how many times you tried to walk away, you couldn’t?”

Hugo swallows.

“That’s how I know. Now,” he claps Hugo on the shoulder. “If you’ll stop messing around, I need your opinion on whether Yong’s demolition idea or Varian’s solvent solution is going to work best for the lower district’s avalanche problem.”

___

At the end of all things-or perhaps the beginning-Hugo finds Varian on a rooftop.

It’s not hard to find him, as when Varian is brooding, he likes to perch. It’s a habit that the alchemist has either picked up from spending most of his time in a castle with high roofs or perhaps it’s born of chasing his dumb racoon into precarious positions.

Either way, Hugo learns early into his friendship with the darkhaired boy, that when he’s being introspective, he likes to pick a high roof and perch like a fucking woodland creature.

So when Varian goes missing in the middle of Corona’s lantern festival, it takes precious few minutes to find him.

“You are so predictable,” Hugo says, dropping down next to him. Heights don’t usually bother him, but the castle is impressively tall.

The other alchemist doesn’t really seem to mind, however. He lets his legs dangle over the edge, occasionally swinging in the air.

“Or maybe I wanted you to find me,” Varian replies easily. His head--tilted up, toward the stars that are mirrored in the constellations of freckles on his face-is wearing a peaceful expression.

Something in Hugo’s chest clenches tightly at the sight of it. There was a time, not too long ago, where he was convinced he’d never see Varian happy again.

But now, Varian turns his face toward Hugo and offers him a smile. “Or maybe I’m just predictable to you.”

The tightness in Hugo’s chest dissipates. What is left aches for something he can’t have.

“Or that,” Hugo says, instead of doing something stupid like trying to hold Varian’s hand or kiss the stupid expression off his face.

Varian turns back to the stars.

“You know, they say shooting stars fall in the direction of your soulmate.”

Hugo rolls his eyes. “Not you too,” he groans, eliciting laughter from his friend. “I thought out of everyone, you would be on my side here.”

“Aw, don’t believe in soulmates?” Varian teases, grinning boyishly. “Sun and moon, I should have expected that.”

“Yeah?” Hugo raises his eyebrows. “How so?”

“You’re so cynical. And not in the way Cass is-she’s like realistically -cynical. You’re just oh poor me I could never have a soulmate because my soul is made of garbage -”

Hugo clamps a hand over Varian’s mouth, shrieking when he tries to lick him. “I- stop -I don’t have to listen to this slander -”

“-and if you ever did find your soulmate you would be insufferable about it,” Varian goes on, catching Hugo’s wrist when he tries to silence him again. “You would spend the entire time trying to prove to yourself and everyone else that there was no possible way they could be your soulmate and when you couldn’t you would-”

He stops. Blinks at Hugo with realization dawning across his face.

Hugo’s wonders if Varian can feel his pulse racing where the smaller boy’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Yeah? What would I do?”

Varian’s lips purse. “I don’t know what you would do. I’d hope you would be smart about it.”

He lets go of Hugo.

Hugo immediately misses his warmth.

“And what would be the smart thing.”

“Well,” Varian draws out the word thoughtfully. He scoots close enough to Hugo that if the taller boy wanted he could wrap and arm around his shoulder. “Well, an excellent start would be telling them.”

“And how would you tell them? If it were you,” Hugo adds quickly, when Varian shoots him a questioning look.

Varian leans back on his hands, head tipped back, exposing his throat to the sky. “I would tell them my heart started beating at the same time as theirs when we touched. That there’s a silver dagger inked on my shoulder that burns when they’re angry and sings when they’re sad-”

“Varian.” Hugo’s heart clenches so hard he briefly wonders if he’s having a heart attack.

“-I would tell them that I dreamed in color the first night we lay side by side in the forest,” Varian goes on, ignoring him. “I would tell them that when we touch I see every color-even the ones that don’t belong here.”

“Varian.”

Hugo’s hand finds his soulmate's.

Varian turns his head to the side slightly, finally meeting Hugo’s eye. With his free hand, he cups the side of Hugo’s neck, tentatively.

“I would tell him that our souls are made of the same thing.” He smiles gently. “It’s just science, Hugo.”

Hugo laughs, pressing his forehead into Varian’s. “How is that the most romantic thing you’ve said yet?”

“Because you’re a closet nerd,” Varian says, right before he leans in.

Underneath a starlit sky, Hugo kisses the boy made of the same stuff as him.

___

[dameronology]

tea and whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 6

summary: despite his best efforts, it appears as though you're completely slipping through jack's fingers. it appears as though he has no choice but to put everything out on the table in a last ditch attempt to keep you by his side. {series masterlist}

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, mentions of death

this one's a bit of a rollercoaster, but i promise it's fun <3

- jazz xx

You'd told Jack that things between you were fine.

They didn't feel as much.

You had meant it when you'd said it - it was just that the more you thought about it and the more you pondered on your concerns, the more worried you became. Did you even know Jack Daniels at all? His mysteriousness had been attractive at first but the closer you got to him, the more you found yourself wanting to hold him at an arm's length until you had your answers. When the situation between you had been a co-workers-with-benefits affair, it hadn't mattered so much. But now, you'd agreed it was something more intense, something more meaningful. Was it unfair to think that you deserved to know a little more? To get a more substance than just it's fine, trust me?

Whilst you hadn't wanted it to get in the ways of things, you couldn't help it. It hadn't changed anything the first few days after your conversation about where you stood, or about his seeming vendetta against Ginger, but the more you thought about it, the more it got to you. It had been almost 2 weeks since then, and you'd spent most of the second one lying to him. Telling him you had to call Eggsy, or your mum, or that you had to work late to get some paperwork done for Merlin.

Tonight had been no different - it was a Friday, the last six of which you had spent at Jack's. You'd given him some ridiculous waffle about timezones and reporting to the Kingsman. He had seemed to believe it; if he didn't, he'd chosen not to comment on it.

You were sat in your shared office, heels kicked to one side and feet propped up on the table. There was a glass of wine in one hand and your phone in the other (you were exchanging memes with Eggsy), and an episode of the The Crown playing on your computer. It was a nice way of getting your mind off of the situation with Jack, and the fact that you had a mountain of Calahan-related paperwork.

"So, this is the important meeting that you ditched me for?"

You froze at the sound of Jack's voice. He was leant against the doorway, arms folded over his chest and a look on his face that didn't seem too far off of pissed. Your first instinct was to lie, but the urge quickly faded. What was the point? He'd already caught you in one. Might as well just rip it off like a band-aid.

"I lied."

"That's clear as fucking day." Jack shot back. "Am I boring you all of a sudden?"

"Jack." You sighed. "I just needed some space to think."

"I thought we were good?" His brown eyes fell to the floor. "What's with all the lying? I admire your brutal honesty."

"I was only brutally honest with people I didn't mind hurting." You paused your laptop, pulling your feet down from the desk. "I care about you and I don't want to hurt you-"

"- I have pretty thick skin." He cut you off. "Be honest - you have my blessing."

"I thought I was okay with how intense things were getting," you began. "But the more, I think about it, the more I'm not sure."

Jack's face fell. "That's why you've suddenly been distant these past two weeks, huh?"

"Yeah." You nodded.

"What brought this on?"

You were silent.

"I know." Jack sighed. "It's the thing with Ginger, isn't it?"

"Not just that." You said. "You asked me to trust you and I agreed to, but I'm not sure I do."

"What have I ever done to make you not trust me?"

"Nothing, but that's my problem." You replied. "This is all on me."

"It sure as hell is." He sniffed. "If you want space, I'll give you space. Just don't count on me to be here when you get back."

--

The tension in Champ's office the following morning was almost fucking suffocating.

The poor man had no idea what had gone down between the two of you. Heck, even you were struggling to understand it. You'd got yourself into situations before with your tendency to overthink, but this one might have taken the cake. Relationships - or whatever the hell you and Jack had going on - had never been your area of expertise, and you had no idea how to navigate your situation. It had seemed like a good idea to act on your doubt and be honest with him, but now you were just worried that you'd ruined it.

"You two are making excellent progress with your mission to get Calahan." Champ said.

"Thank you, sir." Jack nodded.

"We need to discuss the matter of when you catch him."

"I appreciate your faith in us, but if we catch him, rather than when we catch him might be a little more realistic." You replied.

"I'm not certain of many things, but I am absolutely sure that you and Jack have this in the bag." Champ shot back. "And when you do, I'm afraid there is only room for one name on the arrest forms."

You sat up in your seat. "What do you mean?"

"I know that you two have made a completely join effort in this matter." He began. "But as far as Interpol, and every international agency has seen it, only one person's name can be on the paperwork."

"But we can both take credit, right?" You urged. "Surely, they can recognise us both for our work."

"I'm afraid not, Percy." Champ sighed. "The paperwork can only be processed under one name-"

"- why?" Jack cut him off. "I mean, why, sir?"

"Traditionally, only one agent would go into the field, to keep the casualties as low as possible." He explained. "Things have changed in practice but on paper, things still stand."

"So what are we meant to do?" You asked.

"You'll have to decide between yourselves who gets that recognition." He replied.

"Right." You murmured and stood up. "Thank you, sir."

Champ gave you a nod. "And you, agent. I'm sorry it has to be this way."

Me too, you thought.

You stalked out of Champ's office, Jack hot on your heels. If things had been a little tense before, they were going to be strangling now. The cowboy was already hurt by your revelation from the night before, and now, that was only going to get worst, because there was no way in hell that you were about to give the reins over to him. You'd make it clear from day one that your job came first, so that shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone.

Heels clicking loudly against the floor, you sped up slightly in an attempt to lose him. It had been foolish, though, because before you could sprint into the ladies' room, Jack grabbed you by the arm and pulled you to the side.

"Lying to me and running away from me?" He asked. "You're breaking my fucking heart, baby."

You swatted his hand away and puffed out your chest. "I'm taking credit for Calahan."

Jack thinned his eyes at you. "We should talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about." You said. "I chased his ass all the across the Atlanic and I've been working on this project longer than you. Personal feelings aside, it makes sense."

"It sounds like you're saying you've done most the work."

"That is what I'm saying."

"I've done most the physical work." He shot back. "The chasing, the jumping over walls, the field work."

"None of which you could have done without me."

"Is this because of what I said last night? Are you mad?" He asked.

"No, I'm mad because you know how much this means to me!" You shoved him. "A win like this is all I've ever wanted. You know that!"

"It means a lot to me too!"

"I am putting my name on those papers." You snapped. "I've spent my whole life living in the fucking shadows at Kingsman and I'm tired of it. This is my win."

"With an attitude like that, I don't blame the damn redcoats for wanting to keep you in the shadows."

Your mouth fell open. If that had come from anyone else, you could have dealt with it. But Jack? The man who had always encouraged and loved your fire? The man you'd opened up to about how suffocated you felt at Kingsman? It was though he'd thrown your trust right back in your face.

"Wait, I didn't mean that-"

"- fuck you, Jack."

--

Drinking was, essentially, the thing that had gotten you into this whole situation in the first place. It was this very bar, in fact.

It was beyond you why you'd gone to Jack's favourite cowboy bar to simmer; probably because it was the closest thing you could get to actually being in his presence right now. Which was quite funny, because if you were in his presence, you no doubt would have decked him right there and then. His stupid fucking words were playing on a loop in your head, and it felt like a punch to your gut every time they circled back around your pre-fontal cortex.

You could have called Eggsy and vented to him, but that would involve recounting the whole story to him. He'd want to whoop Jack's ass for going near you in the first place, and eject him into outer space entirely for his petty jab. God, you missed your best friend.

Despite your anger, you hadn't even drank that much. Maybe a beer, or three - way below the amount you needed to even get tipsy. Drunken rage barely did you favours at the best of times, and right now was definitely the worst of times. It was just that sitting in a bar was a much better alternative to wallowing in your pity, alone in your larger-than-life apartment.

You sighed and took another sip of your drink, glancing over at your phone. There were three texts from Jack; a please call me, a I'll explain everything and a I fucked up, I know. You couldn't help but snort - what reason did he even have for talking to you that way?

With a twenty tossed on the bar and an empty glass, you shrugged your jacket on and began the walk back to your apartment. The air was cold and everyone was rushing around you to get back to their own respective homes. You had never wanted more in your life to go back to yours - your home in London. The one filled with pictures of you and your family, with memories of dumb sleepovers with Eggsy and late nights with your favourite films.

"So you're stalking me now?"

You could't muster up any other words when you saw Jack waiting by your door. Apparently his ignored texts and calls hadn't been a big enough sign.

"I didn't know where you were." Jack murmured.

"I was out." You shoved your way past him. "You can go now."

"We need to talk."

"Not right now." You groaned. "I'm tired, no thanks to you."

"I don't like when things are like this." He continued, following you inside as you unlocked the door. "I can't stand the idea of you being mad at me."

"So why do you do shit that makes me mad?" You shot back.

Jack sighed, leaning against your kitchen earlier. "I shouldn't have said what I did earlier. I was hurt-"

"- you were hurt?!" You snorted in disbelief.

"It fucking killed me when you said that you didn't trust me, sugar." He admitted. "I get why. I've been holding a lot of stuff back from you and I...I don't think it'll excuse my behaviour, but it might at least give you a reason."

"Okay." You murmured.

"I've barely told anyone this, but I trust you." He reached out and took your hands in his. "It's a lot."

"Jack, you don't have to-"

"- I used to be married." He cut you off. You froze at his words. "Her name was Georgia, and we'd been in love since high-school."

"I..." you trailed off. "Used to be?"

"She was killed in a shoot-out during a robbery." Jack's voice wavered slightly. "She was pregnant at the time. I lost two people that day."

"Shit." You murmured. "I'm sorry, Jack."

"It's fine." He replied. "Not your fault, sweetheart."

"Who else knows?"

"Ginger." He said. "She was a friend of mine, long before we were at Statesman. Georgia's best friend, too."

"You're trying to protect her, aren't you?" You glanced up, eyes meeting. "By keeping her out the field?"

"It's a shitty excuse." He half-heartedly shrugged. "She's all I have left of Georgia. The only person who really shares my pain."

Jack was right -- it hadn't been an excuse, but it was an explanation. You couldn't even begin to get your head around the kind of pain he must have felt then, or even the kind he felt now. You'd had weeks worth of deep conversations and late-night talks but he had never, ever even remotely mentioned Georgia, or his unborn child. You couldn't blame him for that. Not in the slightest.

You were struggling to find the words, really. A thousand new layers had just been added to a man you were already struggling to understand.

"That must be a real weight on your shoulders."

"It is." Jack nodded. "But it lifts slightly when I'm with you."

"Really?" You asked quietly.

"Completely." He countered. "That's all I've wanted my entire life -- to feel again, and I do with you."

"That's deep." You tried to crack a joke, to lighten the mood.

"Even if this ends when you go back to London, I'm still grateful." He continued. "You gave me that, so I should give you what you've always wanted."

"A real-life Batmobile?"

Jack snorted, despite the emotional atmosphere. "Your name will have to go on those papers. It should never have even been a question."

"Jack, I-"

"- that's all there is to say." He shook his head. "There'll be other arrests and missions, but I'll never find someone like you."

Without anything to say, you placed your hands on either side of his face and pulled him into a kiss. That in itself said everything you needed to- thank you, I'm sorry, maybe you don't suck that much, etc. The entire conversation marked a definitive shift in your relationship, and even though it was one that neither of you could quite work out, that didn't matter. You'd thrown yourself back into the deep end, even though you'd been so hell-bent on breaking to the surface just hours earlier.

There was no doubt that it would only complicated the whole let's not fall in love promise you'd made -- but that was something to worry about later, right?

taglist: @b0nnyzz @xremember-me-notx @somenerdyuser @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @javisjeanjacket @phoenixhalliwell @no-droids-on-sunday​ @paintballkid711​ @waatermelon-sugaar​ @hepburnwritess​ @haileyybird​ @xjaywritesx​ @jabbajambler​ @the-mandalorian-clone-lover​ @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky​ @welcometothepedroverse​ @wickedmuse​

[moxfirefly]

This comes as result of an idea and going through some hard times as of late. The reader here has their issues but hey we aren’t inherently perfect and I like getting into that mindset and seeing what comes up. So consider this somewhat introspective piece when a ‘relationship’ maybe isn’t the best.

Mikey x Fem!Reader

Rated Mature/Angst/Feels (18+ Only)

“I am human and I need to be loved”

A lifespan isn’t enough to understand that love is a complicated emotion. It’s addicting caress can remain in ones soul for ages. Love is kind they say, but what of those moments where it’s not? When the heart strangles itself and you choke on desperation?

Love isn’t perfect, that very imperfection glued us to those we worship. That hurt can be addicting as well.

He’s aware of it, he knows that his innocence only hides a questioning.

Because Mikey has gotten so good at hiding those dark parts that linger like shadows in his brain. There’s pain behind that smile, there’s sadness hidden beneath the foundation he’s lain.

You see it, you’re aware of it.

You can’t help but feel ashamed you’re the cause of it.

You want to take ownership of it but every time your mouth opens that tightness in your jaw increases. Before the words can be processed you’re doing most of the speaking with your hands.

And your lips.

Mikey’s never denied you, the thought of rejection paralyzes him so profoundly he aches. But it would be unwise to state there isn’t any trace of doubt. He’s mindful of your distaste for love, that you aren’t a believer. He’s mindful of what cracks inside of him when you flirt your way through the day. He’s at the forefront but he isn’t unwise to the way you linger a hand on Leo’s arm or how your eyes light up when April walks into a room.

Your eyes have that same bright hue when he’s the target. When it’s the two of you and your fingers map out a path on his thigh. It’s so palpable in the air that surrounds the two of you when you suddenly crash into him and swallow his soul whole.

You’re greedy.

The first time you had kissed him he swore there was no way he could verbally describe what erupted inside of him. He remembers it clearly like a fond dream, the way you had pushed him into a darken corner. Your hands on his waist, pink tongue tasting orange crush and sweets.

He had been so shy it had melted you. His hands tentatively resting on hips. Lips merely following your lead. When you had stopped with your lips lingering so closely to his, you had simply giggled and asked him where the night could take you both.

Mikey knows what whiplash feels like, but emotionally this was his first time. He let it go, slowly watched whatever this had meant leave his grasp.

He lets you lead.

You’re so greedy.

He can’t blame you as much as he can blame himself. This isn’t the only time naturally, he could switch the memories like tv stations, often settling on his favorite ones.

He tries to avoid the ones that hurt.

You want to blame life, blame all past events that led you to develop a thick skin. It’s so impenetrable, but the dents are here and there scattered across two decades. Mikey sees the road map of damage, it hides behind your smile and your nonchalant attitude towards the tomorrow. He kinda likes it though, that you can build up a wall for whatever tries to infiltrate your barrier.

He’s addicted to the fact that you allow him in, that your guard goes down when he’s there. Mikey just wishes he had a clearer read, that whatever is happening could have a description a fucking name tag maybe. But soon enough you’re jumping into his open and awaiting arms, pressing yourself so flush against him and whispering how much you just missed him.

Mikey doesn’t miss how you stick like glue to him one particular night. The gangs there, everyone watching some horror flick that Casey had brought over. He can’t keep his eyes straight when you’re so warm next to him, tracing lazy circles on his palm before gripping it like it was some habit.

You were a habit basically, a tick that comforted him and somehow kept him grounded into this plain of existence. It’s a rush of blood to the head. Something that swims inside of his soul, wraps around him like ivy.

You wish it could be simple, to face up and just accept the cards laid out. But you were never one to just take it at face value. Easy just wasn’t in your vocabulary and well, it’s obvious that it’s not in Mikey’s wether by proxy or his own doing.

So when you quietly excuse yourself and feel Mikey’s blue orbs follow you, you obviously text him to come with after a minute or so.

The minute he follows into his and Raph’s room and finds you sitting on his bed with your legs crossed looking pleased as punch, he knows he’s so utterly screwed. Cause he’d do anything to have that image frozen in time and place, just you and that beautiful smile that robs him of thought and oxygen. Even as you beckon him closer with a gleam in your eye that means trouble and a hundred more questions for Mikey to stay up all day and night over.

He follows.

He comes to the foot of his bed and almost overloads when the tip of that beckoning finger runs a path over what would be his navel. Mikey swallows hard, breathing through his nostrils.

It guts you how he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Mikey honest to god admires you like living breathing art. He takes a sharp inhale when you press your face to his clothed crotch and moan at the sensation that greets you. Mikey can’t erase the image of you, looking up at him as you push down his shorts, lust and what he registers might be love in your e/c orbs.

Much less when you take him into your mouth and the heat rushes down your body to your core. Your red cheeks hollowing in and creating such a tightness that Mikey whimpers, one hand gripping the back of your head and the other somehow interlocking with yours. It’s the intimacy of it, with your eyes fluttering closed as you take him as deeply as you possibly can. How his fingers play with yours.

Mikey tries to mumble something coherent out, he wants to tell you that he’s close and he knows it’s proper etiquete to tell you. It’s actually sweet and you almost giggle with a mouthful of him even when you feel nails dig into the back of your head as Mikey tries to not moan too loudly.

The way your throat bobs, lips swollen with a sticky sheen to them. He’s punch drunk, loves struck when he cups your cheeks and kisses you, tasting himself and falling further down into the rabbit hole that’s become the two of you not questioning this.

And god he should question it before his mind keeps running every possible scenario that’s caused this to be so unidentifiable. Because after that night he’s got radio silence from you for four days. He feels like a ghost floating around his brothers, going from motion to motion until he decides to take that step.

He shows up at your apartment, contemplates knocking on that window for fifteen minutes but what can he say? What does he want to ask? What if it drives you and whatever this is away?

He caves, eyes not so bright when you pull apart the curtains and he’s met with the same look he’s been sporting these past few days. You do smile though, that smile that digs nails into his soul. You let him come in, already putting on a mask that fits too perfectly.

“What’s wrong...Are you mad at me?” Mikey asks tentatively like peeling a hangnail. You freeze on your way to the kitchen, looking down at your bare feet like the answer might sprout from beneath them. “Nothings wrong, was just busy is all” It’s a pathetic excuse and not entirely truthful because you’ve been stewing in your apartment knowing full well that the boy behind you has planted roots in your heart.

And it scares the shit out of you.

So you turn, that shield up so high that Mikey notices and the whiplash is hard when you close the distance and wrap your arms around his neck. “What? Miss me that much?” Your scent hits him like a fresh hit to an addict. Four days without the warmth of your skin burning him. Mikey wants to test that shield, destroy it with his bare hands and find the real you in there, he pulls back far enough to look into your eyes and drown in them.

He quietly accepts his fate right then and there, ready to hand over his heart into your hands and watch you squeeze. And you see it all, your chest tight and jaw set, you run a finger across his cheek in such soothing slow motion. You want to tell him that this isn’t worth the heartache and headache, that you won’t come around any time soon.

Instead, you start to strip off his gear, bit by bit, each carefully taken apart. You untie his sweater from around his waist, hands lingering and maping out every detail you want forever engraved in your brain. You grab his hand and put them on you, a silent agreement for him to do the same. Mikey strips you out of your hoodie, finding a sports bra beneath it, eyes glued to new skin as he kneels and hooks his fingers in your shorts and slides them down slowly.

You walk him to your room, hand tightly clasped around his and there’s no hesitation in your steps because you want this and he wants this but every question that’ll come from this will just have to wait. You truly do go about things the wrong way.

The innocent touching makes your heart twist, the way his blue eyes run over you like you’re stolen art and he’s got dibs on it. It’s so sweet, asking his permission with a look to strip you of your bra, to run his hands towards the newly exposed flesh. It guts you so deeply when he pulls you close against him and just holds you, cause it dawns on you that Mikey has never held somebody this intimately. You shiver with the way he circles your back in ghostly touches, just basking in what it feels to feel your skin so close to his.

“We don’t have to do this” ‘I don’t want to hurt you’

“It’s okay, I just...Don’t disappear on me like that please” Mikey feels you tighten your grip on him and it takes every inch of his resolve to not crumble and just say that he loves you, that he’s loved you from the moment you rested your head on his shoulder, from the moments you’ve kissed him and made his head so clouded with questions of ‘If’ and ‘maybe’ but he knows he won’t be met with the same words.

Maybe not now, or simply not at all.

So he holds you close, even as you start to tremble, feeling tears on his shoulder. You can’t say anything, you can’t say a single damn thing.

See I've already waited too long

And all my hope is gone

[meher-sumedha]

Gwynriel Headcanon - The Autumn Court Heist - The plan

When Gwyn turned around to see who it was, she started beeming with happiness. “ERIS”, She almost shouted.

Azriel didn't care that Gwyn was watching. He stood up faster than lightening and went up to Eris and punched him in the face. The prince staggered back and smirked. He wiped the blood from his lips and didn't even bother punching Azriel back. He just went towards Gwyn and knelt at her side.

Azriel's POV : because I am so insecure I need to know what's happening in the male character's brain at all times.

What the hell was that. I could have ruined the night court's relations with the Autumn court. Why did I punch him? Well, he did give the book to Beron..... "Jealousy" his shadows whispered to him. Oh shut up, he told them. But he couldn't ignore the feeling that he felt when Eris went and knelt beside Gwyn.

Eris frowned slightly. Two faced bitch.

Gwyn suddenly decided to break the silence, hoping it would help, "Can you please tell me why we're here?" She asked Azriel. But Eris asked a question of his own, his voice sounding angry,"You haven't told her? Why would you follow him if he hadn't told you?"

"Well I didn't exactly have a choice" Gwyn said, suddenly embarrassed and started fidgeting with her fingers. Why is she so nervous?

"What" Eris asked, his anger now clearly visible in his voice. Azriel replied, "Talk to her like that again and you won't have a tongue". Eris calmed down and said, "Look who's talking. You didn't even tell her the reason you're here-"

Azriel cut him off and said, "The only reason I'm here is because your stupid ass gave Beron the book". "What?" Gwyn asked, completely puzzled. She frowned and said "I thought you were our ally".

"I am" He said and took Gwyn's hand in his own, the surprise was written on Gwyn's face, clear as day, but she didn't pull back. Azriel was going to kill someone today, nope, right now.

But Eris continued, "I am your ally, I needed some conformation that the Night Court would be my ally, I suggested taking the book as I didn't know how to use it anyway. But as I was carrying the book in my palace...... My father came."

He didn't need to continue after that, Gwyn already understood. "So does he know? About our relations?" She might have been talking about his relations with the night court but it still hurt. It sounded like Beron didn't approve their relationship.

Eris replied, "No, I was able to cover that up but he still has the book. He has told me where the book is kept but nothing else. I think Koschei still controls him."

Gwyn started speaking, "Then we just need to get the book back....... I can help you-" Azriel AND Eris cut her off, "ABSOLUTELY NOT" and then they looked at each other, hated each other, but this was one thing they both agreed on.

"I am already training to be a spy-", Eris cut her off again, "It is not safe for you-" It was Gwyn's turn to cut him off, "Do not interrupt me, I can take care of myself, I am training to be a spy and I can handle the pressure, I am a valkyrie and no one, no one will tell me what to do. I wish to accompany both of you on this mission and neither of you can deny my request. We shouldn't waste time and start planning"

Azriel and Eris were stunned by her words, but he was definitely not going to go on her bad side. "Where do we start" Eris said through gritted teeth, he hated this as much as Azriel but there was nothing they could do now.

Azriel said, "We can go through the back, I have some spies ther-", Eris interrupted him, "We can't go from the back or any side and as for your spies, they were found and are currently being controlled by Koschei, they have been feeding you wrong information since a week, this week they were going to tell you that Koschei has been killed, so that he could get more time making his army."

I want to strangle him.

Azriel replied, anger laced in his voice, "When were you gonna tell me?". Eris smirked and replied, "Never actually, I wanted to see how much time it took for the so famous shadowsinger to figure out the riddle. Looks like you would have failed spectacularly."

"Fuck you" Azriel said outloud and Gwyn was startled a bit. He suddenly noticed her and gave her apologetic glances.

Gwyn said, "As much as this entertains me, we need to find a way to enter the palace"

"There is one way" Eris said and Azriel shot him a look, already knowing where this was going.

Eris continued, "You both can enter in plain sight, but.... you'll have to enter as" He almost choked on the words, "A married couple"

Ahhhh, it's coming to an end, I have soo many oneshots and series ideas in my mind but I'mma finish this first.

Taglist - @trashforazriel @imsointobooks @hlizr50 @katiebellf @shisingh @positivewitch

[mettywiththenotes]

That Lost Child I Once Saw

*MANGA SPOILERS*

When Izuku enters the Void, he’s expecting a lot of things.

For Shigaraki to be strangled by All For One, like the first time they did this. For Shigaraki to be immobilized by shadows, just as he once was within One For All. Even for Shigaraki to be unconscious within his subconscious as the possession takes hold.

What he’s not expecting to see is a little boy, about 5 years old. The crying child he saw before.

He looks like Izuku did at that age. He’s seen himself in his mother’s photo albums, how small he was and his big mop of hair.

The only difference is that this child isn’t smiling. This is a child that needs saving.

He didn’t expect this to be the first thing he saw, but nevertheless, he walks up to the boy. The kid seems way too aware of his surroundings, and when he hears Izuku’s footsteps, he turns around panicked, small eyes widening in fear.

The Hero’s footsteps falter at the action, but he carries on until he’s stood in front of him. The child watches him nervously, and fidgets with his hands.

Izuku can’t help but take note of the scars on his face; across the bottoms of his eyes, and no doubt spreading over the child’s forehead, it’s unmistakable. Though there is no scar over his eye or lips, like Shigaraki already has. But that mole is way too familiar to mistake.

“... Who are you?” Izuku tries to ask nicely, even though he already knows who this is.

The child watches him, but doesn’t speak. He looks afraid, and he’s shaking.

“It’s okay... I’m a Hero. I want to help you.”

Something flashes in the boys eyes, an emotion much older and experienced that Izuku has seen before. It almost mirrors in the child’s expression, face scrunching in anger and hate, and his hair starts to whiten at the roots, slowly inching down dark curls. Quick as a flash, though, the anger is gone, and what replaces it is a sense of wonderment. The white strands regress back to black and everything goes back to normal. It takes Izuku aback, resisting the urge to pull away.

What the hell was that?

“... A Hero?” The child looks up at him, his eyes now shining. He’s stopped shaking too, thankfully.

Izuku nods “That’s right. Could you tell me your name?”

For a moment, the child seems confused. Raising his palms, he looks at them as if they have all the answers. He doesn’t speak, searching, searching his mind.

“I... I’m not sure... My name is... TeOnMkUoRA, I think?”

A second, older voice morphs with his own, echoing from around the void along with the smaller one.

“I’m sorry, what did you say it was?” Izuku is becoming more nervous with this atmosphere, but still he presses on.

“ TeOnMkUoRA .” The child repeats, and still the two voices mix, but the child seems to look more sure of his answer.

“What was that? Tenko? Tomu-” Izuku stops midsentence with the realization and stands straighter. Was that who that second voice was? He whips his head around, looking at the shadows in the distance. “Shigaraki?” he asks the void, as if it will answer back. And of course, only now does it choose to shut up.

This is getting a little too creepy. Where is All For One? Where is Shigaraki? He needs to find answers now, or else he could get trapped here. Or else All For One could steal One For All.

He looks back at the child, a little more shaken. Or maybe... maybe this child is also Shigaraki?

Is that where the dual voice is coming from? From him? But how? And why, why is Shigaraki in this form?

A lost child that needed saving... That’s what Iieda had said about him at Kamino, right? So maybe this is the same, except more literal?

Gulping, Izuku tries to confirm his suspicions.

“Tenko? That’s what you said, right?”

“That’s what I said.” Tenko nods, a small smile now appearing on his face.

“R-Right...” Izuku blinks.

This child indeed seems to be the younger version of the Villain, but it’s also possible that he is only another version of him, and the real older Shigaraki is somewhere else in here. He can’t rule that out. He is basically sharing a mind with Shigaraki after all, and All For One could easily be luring him into a trap.

“Hey, have you seen anybody else around here? A guy with white hair, um... might be shirtless, and he has scars all over his face... kind of like you.”

Tenko thinks for a second. “In here?” he gestures to the surrounding environment. When Izuku nods, the boy shakes his head.

“Ah... what about a tall guy in a suit? And he uh... he has no face. Well, he has a mouth, but no eyes, or hair. Or ears? He smiles a lot.”

Tenko once again shakes his head.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone like that. Or I don’t remember...” The child suddenly holds his head and lets out a low whine, like he’s in pain, and Izuku crouches down to him.

“I’m sorry... I always have trouble with my memory... I don’t think I can-...” Tenko begins to tear up, and tugs at his roots in frustration.

Izuku reaches to the little boys hands and gently guides them away, cradling them in his own hands palm up.

“It’s okay. We can search together. We’ll figure it out.”

The boy sniffles and the Hero’s heart aches for him. Was this really Shigaraki? He seemed interested in Heroes, in both a good and bad way, but he’s so tiny...

Izuku thinks back, briefly, to the first time he’d seen the crying child in the void - little Tenko crying in a garden of some kind. And he was hugging a dog?

What had this child-... no, what had Shigaraki been through to become like this?

Izuku stands and offers his hand. He has to hurry, but he’ll keep Tenko with him, and confirm whether this is, in fact, the real Shigaraki in a smaller form.

He wonders if the child has his quirk by this point, but when Tenko shyly places his hand into Izuku’s, nothing happens.

It doesn’t feel real, that the Shigaraki he knows could be this small. Of course, everyone has been a child at some point, but he’s always known the Villain to be all encompassing and tall. In the mall, he’d towered over Izuku and kept a strong hold on him. He could fit his entire hand around Izuku’s neck. And when he’d shoved his hand at Izuku in the war, it was almost as big as his face.

Now, in a twisted turn of events, Izuku’s hand looks so much bigger in comparison to the tiny one holding his.

The knowledge that this child, who is so small and fragile, could turn into such a violent Villain... it made Izuku shudder.

What even happened to Shigaraki back then?

Together, they walk off into the shadows. Izuku doesn’t know what will happen when they finally find All For One, or even if they’ll find the older Shigaraki, but he’ll make sure to protect them. Both of them.

He just hopes All For One hasn’t done too much damage to Shigaraki’s mind.

-----------

Hi uh I decided to try writing a small thing on here lol. This is based on a fun [and angsty] little concept of Izuku meeting Tenko in the void that I like to think about now and again.

First time sharing! And thank you for reading :)

For those confused as to what is going on, please read under the cut: 

This is based on a concept of Izuku entering the void, but instead of meeting AFO and Shiggy again, he comes face to face with Tenko.

The way I see it, the void operates on a state of subconsciousness, so I wonderered if Tomura could possibly regress into his younger self, stuck in his memories of what had happened, constantly replaying the events and wandering for however long the possession lasts as little Tenko in the void.

I actually made a post about it here!

With the morphing, I just really love the idea of a creepy effect where Tenko gets triggered by the sentence of “I’m a hero. I want to help” because of Tomura’s own experiences, so his hair starts to change and that hatred is back, almost like a hardened adult face on a baby face, but only for a moment. An effect of once repressed memories coming back to the surface and also reliving the experiences he had as Tomura with Heroes.

Idk I think Tomura being in his subconscious for so long would fuck him up a bit, and lead his memories to mix up, so much so that he takes on the form of Tenko but wonders about his own memories.

I feel like Izuku would wonder whether this is actually a seperate Tenko away from his real older self that the subconscious conjured up, or whether this is actually Tomura taking on the form of Tenko and he’s just been possessed for so long that he doesn’t remember why he’s like this, or if this is just AFO up to his old tricks and trying to lure Izuku away with something and distract him so he could take OFA.

Also! The name thing with the dual voices, if you can’t read it, is the names Tenko and Tomura mashed together. I just put the letters inbetween each other and bing bang boom - a creepy two-voiced garble lol

Bleh anyway enough explanation. Thank you for reading!

[animemangasoul]

You Are Wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summery: Qui-Gon lives and Mace gets a new Padawan.

[In which Qui-Gon repudiates Obi-Wan and Mace isn't about to let the kid leave the order without a fight.]

Chapter: 3/10

No one gossiped quite like the Jedi. A miniature change, a Knighting, a death, a Trial gone wrong. All of it spread like wildfire and within a blink of an eye, the words were across the Temple, twisting the realities behind said words and painting the walls with new and highly unlikely truths. Breathing in the swirling masses of twittering gossip was just part of every day life of the Coruscanty Jedi.

Qui-Gon of course knew how much Jedi liked to gossip. Knew very well how vicious rumours could get; even if it was never done out of malice, just too much curiosity and the indulging need to share things. He knew, and yet…..

"I heard Kenobi tried to leave the Order again."

"I heard he touched the darkside."

Qui-Gon came to a stuttering halt. Head tilted just so, chin high and gaze fixed on a far away spot as he tried and failed to tune out the Naboo crises that had for the last couple of weeks become the hot topic of the Temple. Why was the refectory three floors too far from his quarters? Was it always like this or was every step suddenly too heavy, too slow, now that Qui-Gon desperately needed to get away.

"He's lucky the council hasn't kicked him out," filtered through to him. Spoken too loud for him to be able to ignore and….

Something foreign, something cruel crawled it's way up his throat. Each whisper of curiosity making him burn. Burn as if the force itself was being ripped from his soul.

Fingers clenching around each tray, one filled with all assortments of dishes; little Ani was all too wide-eyed and adventures with his need to try all types of food now that he realized it wouldn't be withheld from him, and the other with nothing more than the bare essentials.

They shook; both trays vibrating with the unsteadiness of his hands.

"Master Qui-Gon had to stop him from turning into a Sith. At least that's what people are saying."

"Did you know he isn't even a Padawan anymore?"

"Really? I mean, I know Master Qui-Gon has a new Padawan but I thought they'd Knighted Kenobi. Didn't he kill a Sith?!"

'Yes!--' he wanted to scream. A strangled sort of cry dying in his throat as he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other.

'Ignore them. They don't know. They don't understand. Ignore them,' he told himself. But how could he, when all he wanted to do was scream at them. Frayed edges and all. Scream the bloody and raw truth for the entire Temple to hear.

His boy had killed a Sith. Had defended him. Had protected him. His Obi-Wan was a SithKiller. He was an exceptional Padawan. Brilliant and radiant and so so kind. He wasn't….. He wasn't what they thought. With their soft whispers behind lifted hands and flittering glances.

They didn't know the truth.

They could never fully understand the truth.

What did they know….. What did they know.

"Master Qui-Gon most have seen something wrong with him."

He kept walking. Snippet of unwanted conversation filtering through despite his best effort to ignore them.

"My friend told me no Master want to take him."

"But Padaw--- Kenobi is so nice! Why would he-----"

And on and on it went. Anywhere and everywhere in the Temple. Rumours about Obi-Wan and his supposed disgrace kept circulating like month to flame. Padawans, younglings, even Knights scurrying away the second they noticed him walking by, mouths clamming shut and shame clouding their eyes for letting their fantasy run away with them.

Qui-Gon wanted to snap. Shout at the top of his lungs that none of their ridiculous rumours were true. That they were so far of base they might as well be striding across space. That his boy was good. He was kind and gentle, and the truest of Jedi there was. That he saved his life. That he scared him as Qui-Gon's last fading moments were filled with sheer and utter terror that he'd wake up to a dead Padawan that had given too much of himself to save his dying Master's life.

Obi-Wan was good. So good. So how dared they defame him like this. Slate his name…….

He wanted to set them straight. Wanted it so badly it burned. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

To protect Ani, he couldn't.

Anakin was feeling out of place as it was. Scared and lonely, missing his mom terribly. If people around the Temple realized the truth, that Qui-Gon had let go of his Padawan of ten years to take a kid that was too old….. It would put Ani in a difficult position. And the poor child was already dealing with so much. Missing his mother, learning all these foreign cultural norms, adapting and even worrying about Obi-Wan on top of it all. Qui-Gon couldn't in good consciousness clear up the rumours while also protecting Ani from them.

In the end it was a matter of who needed him more, and right now, that was the Chosen One.

So he clammed his mouth shut, gritted his teeth, pulled the trays closer to his chest and kept walking. Blocking out every curious, hurtful word, and let his emotions fade into the force.

Repudiating Obi-Wan hadn't done his young Padaw-- former Pawadan any good. Especially with the boy's spotty reputation as it was, but Qui-Gon was sure as soon as Obi-Wan got a new Master this would all die down. He just needed to hold on a bit longer. Besides, his former Padawan had been in the Halls these past couple of weeks; and oh, if his heart didn't give a painful tug at the thought, so none of it would have reached him. The Temple gossip wouldn't last much longer.

And maybe when Obi-Wan got a new Master, when the rumours died out, Anakin too wouldn't have to be kept away from the Temple life any longer. Maybe then Qui-Gon wouldn't have to keep little Ani secluded; shielding him from curious eyes and less than flattering opinions of Obi-Wan. Besides few friends the kid had made, Anakin didn't go out much, not even to classes. Qui-Gon having decided it was for the best he homeschooled him for now.

It was for the best.

The gossip wouldn't last forever.

Even if Qui-Gon didn't like it. Even if he wanted to put a stop to it. Even if after killing a Sith and saving his life people were likening Obi-Wan to Xanatos. Even if…….

It was for the best. At least for now.

So Qui-Gon kept walking. Kept his head down and wondered how his boy was doing. How he was healing. If Master Che was taking care of him. If he was smiling or laughing. If he was worried, if he was thinking about him. If, if, if.

"Greeting, Master Jinn."

He didn't startle, but it was close. Qui-Gon blinked slowly, re-entering himself.  "Knight Vos," he said pleasantly. "Back from your mission I see?"

Shadows didn't talk about their missions, even newly assigned Shadows like Vos, so Qui-Gon wasn't surprised when the young man's only response to his question was a careless shrug. "Dinner?" he asked instead, nodding at the trays Qui-Gon was balancing in his hands, one eyebrow arched.

"Yes. Ani is just about done with his homework so I offered to grab us a bite."

Something crackled around them, the force nearly suffocating with emotions Qui-Gon couldn't quite decipher before it vanished just as quick. Vos, for it most have been Vos, clamming down on his emotions as fast as he had let them slip. The Kiffar's shoulders were tense, a tiny grove appearing between his eyebrows darkening his expression. Suddenly Qui-Gon felt as if whatever little regard the Shadow might have had of him, had evaporated.

It felt like he'd failed a test he hadn't even been aware of taking.

"Is that so? How nice." The last word was practically spat at him. "Good to see that you have moved on from the Naboo incident. Content with your new perfect life are you now, Master Jinn?" If looks alone could kill.

Qui-Gon frowned. "We are all making due with the hand we were dealt, Knight Vos. But I can assure you Naboo haunts us all. However as Jedi, we cannot let our emotions get the best of us."

Quinlan stiffened. "Have you even gone to see him? Do you even--" Clenching his fists, Vos's glare was almost too much. "He isn't dead you know. There's no need to act like he is."

And that. No. That was one step too far.

"Knight--" he hissed, trays perfectly still even as his heart shook and his breath hitched. "Know your place."

"My apologies," Quinlan muttered, eyes flashing as he bowed, deep enough to be respectful, shallow enough to put his point across. "I did not mean to overstep."

Giving him a stiff nod in return, Qui-Gon tried not to think of his own hurt, his own anger, of Obi-Wan. "See that you don't."

The Kiffar nodded back, sidestepping to walk past him. Air too tense to continue any meaningful conversation. Qui-Gon listened as the newly Knighted Jedi's presence drew further and further away from him, but just as he was about to make his way back to his quarters; the clawing desperation scrapping against his throat boxed away for another day, Vos spoke up again. His voice distant, but in these empty halls, all the more potent.

"Some Padawan's thrive because of their Master's guidance," came his words, cutting across the distance between them as if he was right next to him, whispering into his ear. "Others thrive despite of it. I pray for Skywalker's sake he follows Obi-Wan's path of the latter."

And, oh….. That was….. That hit harder than Qui-Gon expected it to.

It's as if Vos was suffocating him. As if he'd reached across the hall and squeezed his heart in an unrelenting grip of death.

Years of mastering his emotions is all that prevents Qui-Gon from stumbling back. Quinlan without realizing it having dug up a pain so profound it's scars were still screaming with agony under the shell that was Qui-Gon Jinn. Feemor, Xanatos, now Obi-Wan. He doesn't even notice Quinlan's footsteps fading away, no. All he can focus on is his shortened breath, his pounding heart and the shake. He's shaking. Because……… he'd somehow managed to fail Obi-Wan like he'd failed everyone else and……

He can't breathe.

He can't.

And it's only what feels like hours later that he comes to. Curled at the farthest corner of force knows where. Food nowhere in sight, knees pulled against his chest as he tries to just breathe.

Quinlan Vos's words shouldn't have gotten to him but they had and Qui-Gon hated himself for it. Because….. Because, what did Vos know. What did he know about his struggles. What did he know about the sacrifices Qui-Gon had made. This was the Will of The Force. Why did no one understand that! This wasn't about him or Obi-Wan. This wasn't about the council or hurt feelings. This was about the Chosen One and how he needed training. The force had willed it so, so why was everyone trying to stop him?!

He hadn't failed Obi-Wan.

He hadn't.

Not really.

Obi-Wan was the man he was today because Qui-Gon had done right by him even as he was still recovering from Xanatos. Even with all the scars Xanatos had carved into his heart, he'd let Obi-Wan in, raised that boy like he was his own. And Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan had repaid his devotion by being the light in his otherwise darkened soul. Obi-Wan had saved him. Loved him, respected him and…..

Did they honestly think he would abandon his boy if the force wasn't guiding him?

This wasn't his fault. This was the council's fault. They had forced his hand. Made him choose. If they'd only Knighted Obi-Wan like they were supposed to none of this would have happened. They had changed and twisted tradition before, so why not now?

Qui-Gon knew why.

It was to spite him. They didn't like that he wasn't bending to their every whim and they took it out on his Padawan.

This wasn't his fault. It was the council and their incessant need to punish him for not being a puppet like everyone else.

Now Obi-Wan was Masterless and Qui-Gon couldn't fix it. Couldn't take back what was done. 'And you wouldn't,' his consciousness whispered traitorously. 'Training the Chosen One is more important. Obi-Wan isn't more important than bringing balance to the force.'

And Qui-Gon knew he wasn't and that's why he'd let him go.

It was for the best.

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

"If you really wanna visit Mr. Obi-Wan, you should!" Anakin chirped, stuffing his face with another spoon full of stew; having finally let go of being cross with Qui-Gon for the late dinner. The old Master having gone back to the refectory; after his unexpected breakdown to get them two new plates of food while still not quite knowing what happened to the previous ones.

"Is that so," he muttered, slowly sipping at his tea. "And don't talk with food in your mouth, Ani."

"Sowwy."

Qui-Gon glared and Anakin flushed. Chewing and swallowing quickly, the kid muttered a soft apology under his breath making Qui-Gon smile in satisfaction. "It's ok. Just don't forget it next time."

Nodding and looking a little less enthusiastic now, Anakin fidgeted in his seat. "So are you?"

"Am I what?" He knew he was being difficult and by the tiny frown on Ani's face, the kid knew it too.

"Visit Mr. Obi-Wan," Anakin huffed, crossing his arms. "He's awake you know and he's super good at talking without falling asleep in the middle of it now, and he has all this candy and gifts that he shared with me and maybe he'll share it with you too and he's really nice and he misses you and why don't you go visit?!" The last words were practically shouted at him. Anakin having stood up in the middle of his rant to slam his hands on the table.

"I can't," Qui-Gon said, voice sharp even as he tried to temper down his emotions. "Master Che won't let me."

The surprised little "Oh," Anakin let out, eyes wide and mouth slightly gaped open in disbelief made a flush of jealousy course through Qui-Gon's veins. Because-- "But she lets me visit all the time!"

How was that fair?

The fact that Ani could visit his boy when he was denied. The fact that Vokara didn't think the kid that upended Obi-Wan's life would give him stress but he, Obi-Wan's Master. The man who raised him through his adolescent, somehow would. How everyone from his friends to the council members to even Anakin could visit his Padawan, but all Qui-Gon could do was brush his mind against his son and drink in his presence from afar.

How was any of that fair?

It burned. It curled around his throat and burned. Anakin had just arrived. He hadn't even been here for a full cycle and yet he knew the state Obi-Wan was in better than him. Could eat his breakfast, finish his school work and bounce of to the Halls to go see the one person Qui-Gon wanted to see above all else.

Oh it burned.

Anakin didn't know what he'd taken from him. What the Will of The Force had taken from him….

And just as soon as the jealousy flared up, it died down. Overwhelmed by a sense of shame and embarrassment that Qui-Gon had even let himself entertain such destructive and baseless emotions. This had nothing to do with Anakin. The kid hadn't made his choices for him. Ani was innocent in all of this. How could he even blame him?

"Maybe…. Maybe you can ask again? I'm sure Master Che will let you see him if you ask super nicely?" The lilt of uncertainty in Anakin's side of their bond, pulled the Master back out of his own head. Eyes landing on the small boy sitting across from him; dinner long since abandoned and if that didn't make Qui-Gon feel even worse. Anakin ate with vigor because he still couldn't comprehend that the food would still be there afterwards, and now Qui-Gon had worried him enough to abandon it in hopes of appeasing him.

Sighing deeply, Qui-Gon shook his head. "I'm sure she will Ani." Smiling gently at the poor boy, he was rewarded with a wobbly one in return. "Let's finish eating shall we?" Lifting his fork he clinked it playfully against Anakin's own, which made the kid's uncertain smile bloom into something more real, and that was enough for now. If this was all Qui-Gon could do at the moment, make a little boy smile, that was enough for him.

Especially since he knew deep down; despite the irrational feelings that suffocated him sometimes, that none of this was Anakin's fault. This was all new and scary to the kid as well. He didn't need Qui-Gon's issues on top of his own.

Besides, he mused tiredly, taking a bite out of the Tufkus cake Obi-Wan loved so much. This was his own cowardly fault in the first place.

He was the one who'd broken Obi-Wan's trust. He had been the one to run out of the kid's hospital room after unbraiding his hair because he was too afraid to look him in the eye and tell him what he'd done. Selfishly he'd still wanted Obi-Wan to look at him as if he'd hung the moon, so he couldn't, he wouldn't…….

It had been so much easier to do it while his boy was unconscious. To run his fingers through his hair one last time, file away every little detail of his peaceful face to memory. To never forget. To never let go. Even as his fingers fumbled to untie the braid. The moments, the days, the history.

It had been so incredibly hard.

Putting it all away. Cutting their bond.

And now there was a brown wooden box under his bed were familiar beads and bands once tied to Obi-Wan's bbraid, lay collecting dust.

Yes, it had been…. Hard. But duty rose above all else, and Qui-Gon knew with time, Obi-Wan would come to accept it too.

Still, not all hope was lost. Because no matter how many times Master Yoda had told him to stay out of it, Qui-Gon was going to fix this. He had a last ditch plan if all else failed. There was no way, force wills it, he was going to let his kid be sent away again. Not under his watch.

He'd been keeping an eye on Mace and Yoda's efforts and it was safe to say it wasn't going well. Which wasn't a surprise seeing as Obi-Wan's records were well, not exactly perfect. Leaving the Order left a stain on someone's legacy and while Qui-Gon had already forgiven him for that transgression, not many would be able to do the same.

No, it was definitely not going well. Master Yoda all but admitting it to him when he'd checked in with him for the fifteenth time; Mace unwilling to look at him let alone talk to him after that fated council meeting.

"Looking we are. Little success we are being met with. Have heart you most. Abandon Obi-Wan we will not."

'Unlike you,' had floated between them, unsaid.

But it was Yoda's parting words that had stayed with Qui-Gon. Lingering in his head, days after the wise old Jedi had looked at him with such sadness and regret.

"Hurting, you are. But band-aid to your pain Obi-Wan is not. Band-aid to your pain Obi-Wan should have never been. My mistake it was, assigning him to you."

My mistake. Assigning him to you.

Mistake. Assigning him. Assigning Obi-Wan, to him.

Yoda regretted creating their partnership and Qui-Gon didn't know how to process the absolute devastation and anger that ignited within him.

There was nothing wrong with his partnership with Obi-Wan. Sure they'd had their ups and downs, but the good times far outweighed the bad and for Yoda to say something like that, to hold such conviction in his voice as he said it……

No. Neither Master Yoda or Master Windu knew what was best for Obi-Wan. They wouldn't find him a Master to take him in. They wouldn't succeed, and in the end, his boy would once again end up on a train taking him far away from home.

Qui-Gon would be damned if he let that happen.

In fact, he had the perfect plan to prevent it all and keep his Padawans with him.

"Master Qui-Gon sir?"

"Yes?" he said, momentarily putting a pause on his running thoughts. "You finished your dinner, Ani?"

Nodding eagerly, Anakin pushed his empty plates away and jumped off the chair. "Can I go now?"

Shaking his head a fond smile playing at the corner of his lips, Qui-Gon stood up too, collecting their plates. "Have you finished your reading?"

Anakin moved restlessly. "I wanted to do it tomorrow? But-" he said, giving him a pleading look. "I did all of my other work. I promise! Can I please go?"

Frowning thoughtfully, Qui-Gon made his way into the kitchen, well aware of the hasting footsteps hurrying after him. "Why leave it for tomorrow?"

"Um," looking over his shoulders he watched as Ani twiddled his thumbs.

"Um, what?"

"Well," the kid smiled, uncertainty practically flooding the force. "Obi-Wan said he'd help me with the reading and it's really late right now and Master Che said I couldn't visit when it's late so I can't go and ask him for help. So….. Tomorrow?"

Something lodged itself in Qui-Gon's throat and for a second, it was almost too hard to breathe again. "That's…. Nice," he managed to force out. Not daring to look at the little boy who practically gave him everything while taking away all that mattered to him. "Where are you planning to go?"

"Aayla said she'd show me the hangers and I promised to meet here after dinner! Please?"

Aayla Secura. Quinlan Vos's Padawan. Gritting his teeth, Qui-Gon released his bitterness into the force. Apparently nothing was going his way today.

"So can I go?"

He sighed. "Yes. But--" he called out as Anakin let out a little yeep and darted to the door. "Be home at a reasonable hour this time."

"I will!"

Qui-Gon scoffed. He doubted it.

But Anakin was very independent, not like Obi-Wan. And he didn't want to hamper that independency, especially since the kid was destined to save the world. And with the kid having to stay home and study alone for majority of the day, Qui-Gon didn't think refusing him his nightly outings was fair. So he wished the Chosen One goodbye and settled down for an hour of meditation.

He felt far too restless for mediation these days, but it was only through centering himself that he found that he could get close to Obi-Wan's force signature. And loathe as he was to admit this level of attachment, he did not feel ashamed enough to stop. Being near his boy. To quietly hover around that bright, warm presence. It eased something deep and painful within Qui-Gon.

And it strengthened his determination to carry out his plan all the more.

Dooku, he thought, kneeling. Eyes closed and mind wandering despite his almost desperate need to find that serenity so he could seek out Obi-Wan's presence within the force. Master Yan would arrive back at the Coruscant within a week, and as soon as he got back, Qui-Gon would corner him and somehow convince him to finish Obi-Wan's training.

He didn't get along with his former Master and frankly Qui-Gon was all too willing to carry on with their current norm of never speaking to each other outside of polite greetings, but right now, Dooku was his only option. The right option. After all, Master Yan had shown keen interest in Obi-Wan's education in the child's earlier years; thankfully Qui-Gon had managed to keep his Master away from his very impressionable student, but now he might be his very last triumph card. And Obi-Wan was twenty-three now, he wouldn't be so easily corruptible by Master Yan's distinct interest in Sith history. Besides, Qui-Gon knew how distant the older man was. He could probably convince him to take Obi-Wan as a Padawan and then leave him here, with him. That way Qui-Gon could keep both his Padawans, train them and no one would be sent away.

It was the perfect plan. The perfect idea. And with his former Master being much kinder now that Qui-Gon had barely escaped with his life against a Sith, he was sure it would all work out like it should.

He was sure of it.

Letting himself sink even deeper into the force, he filtered out all the pulsating force signatures around him. Drowning them all out as he sought out the one candle light that was as familiar to him as his own and there. He smiled.

Obi-Wan.

Warm like a crackling campfire in the middle of freezing winter. Comforting like a hug given by a tiny thirteen year old who'd seen too much of the world far too quickly and yet managed to retain his innocence.

His Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon wasn't going to let him down again. Not this time.

Slowly drawing himself back away from his boy, he breathed in and opened his eyes. The loss of the blazing presence that was his former Padawan making his chest ache, but he knew he couldn't linger, less the kid noticed him.

It didn't matter either way. Because it was only matter of time before he would be reunited with him.

Standing up, he brushed imaginary dust of his robes; faintly hearing the echoes of Obi-Wan's laughter at his old man habit.

Today was the day the auburn haired youth would leave the Halls. It should have been yesterday, but according to one of the Padawan's in rotation that he'd coaxed the information out of, a small complication had delayed Obi-Wan's release.

Since no Master had claimed him yet, Obi-Wan Kenobi would be assigned to the Initiate dorms again, and Qui-Gon was not willing to let that happen.

He would go pick him up and surprise him with the good news that he could stay with them. Him and little Ani until they found him a Master; Yan Dooku if Qui-Gon had anything to say about it. And he was sure his boy would be so relieved to know that Qui-Gon still had his back. Maybe that could be their first step in mending what had been broken? Especially since Anakin and he seemed to already get along splendidly.

Of course it might be mildly embarrassing for Obi-Wan for a bit; sharing quarters with the boy who'd replaced him, but he would settle down eventually. Qui-Gon was sure of it. His boy was nothing if not adaptable. And after he heard the effort Qui-Gon had put into keeping them together, he would forgive him. He had to.

If he didn't, Qui-Gon wasn't quite sure what he would do with himself.

Making his way through the living room; ready to grab his boots to go, he stumbled over a box by the sofa and nearly fell. His quick reflexes the only thing keeping him standing.

Frowning down at the scattered boxes of Obi-Wan's things that he'd packed away weeks ago, so Anakin could have more space for his own stuff, Qui-Gon sighed. They'd have to find somewhere new to place them. Maybe Obi-Wan could take his room, since Ani had already moved into the older boy's? And Qui-Gon could take the sofa, just for now. Just until he applied for bigger quarters. Nodding to himself resolutely, he sidestepped the rest. But just as he arrived at the door, there was a knock. Followed by three more rapid bangs.

"Hold on," he called out, reaching for the panel and as the door slide open he came face to face with Muln. Garen Muln. Another of Obi-Wan's delightful friends. And by the sour look on the kid's face, just as delightfully furious with him.

"Knight Muln," he greeted softly followed by a bow.

Garen grinned, all teeth and stormy eyes. "Master Qui-Gon," he said cheerfully, bowing back. "I'm here to pick up Obi's things."

Qui-Gon stiffened, folding his hands under the sleeves of his robe. "Ah, he's being released today," he said. Neither making it a question nor a statement.

The shaggy haired man nodded enthusiastically, his force presence practically swallowing them both up with a sense of coldness that sent chills down Qui-Gon's spine.

"Yeah," he answered, jaw twitching. "He's finally leaving the Halls and I was sent to get his things." Nodding his head at the boxes strewn around the floor behind him. "So if you could just get them for me--" clapping his hands, Muln smiled; his eyes were cold. "That would be wonderful."

Clearing his throat, Qui-Gon gave the clearly resentful Knight a tight smile. "There is no need to take Obi-Wan's things--" He ignored how Muln flinched as the name left his mouth. "To the Initiate dorms. They can stay here until he gets a Master."

Now. Now Muln's eyes were sparkling. There was a sense of vicious glee swirling around them in the force and it made Qui-Gon tense. What was going on?

"Oh you don't understand," Garen smiled back at him and this time, his smile did reach his eyes. But it looked foreign on the face of the otherwise furious man. "I'm not here to take Obi's things to the Initiate dorms." Here he paused, his force signature practically dancing. "He already has a Master and said Master asked me to bring his things. So you see--" a giant grin. "Nothing for you to concern yourself with."

"What?"

"You heard me. Master Jinn." The last two words were dragged out, Garen's lips widening even further into an almost sadistic smile. "His Master sent me to get his things."

But Qui-Gon couldn't quite comprehend it. He couldn't……

A Master? Already?

When, how, why?

"Who?" Was what came out. The burning question that mattered the most…… who?

Garen Muln slid in past him and chuckled. "Believe it or not," he said, voice practically a giggle and tone conversational. He was enjoying this. "Master Windu."

Wi…..

"Mace?"

Qui-Gon could barely keep a lid on his shock. Because…. Mace? Why would he take Obi-Wan.

'Why would he take Obi-Wan away from me?'

The young Knight shrugged. "Yeah. He asked him yesterday and Obi agreed." Lifting his hands he concentrated and before long all the boxes were floating; Qui-Gon couldn't even muster the necessary disapproval to scold him for the improper use of the force.

"Obi-Wan….. Agreed?"

Floating the last mementos of his Padawan past him, Muln smirked. "Yup. The Master of the Order. Isn't that crazy."

It……

Mace…… Mace had taken his Padawan.

But it wasn't supposed to be Mace. It was supposed to be Yan.

Yan Dooku was supposed to take on Obi-Wan and then give him back. So they could all stay together. Here. Like they were supposed to. Not….. Not Mace.

"Now Obi doesn't have to leave, you get to keep your prized Chosen One, Master Jinn. And all will be sunshine and rainbows." Practically skipping out the door, Garen Muln gave him a wink. "All as the force wills it, right?" And with that he was gone. Leaving Qui-Gon in a stupor he couldn't shake. Not even hours later when Anakin snuck his way in, letting out a yelp when he found his Master sitting listless by the door. The poor kid nearly stumbling over him.

"Master, what's wrong!"

'Nothing,' he wanted to say. 'Obi-Wan found himself a Master. Isn't that great!'

But he couldn't. The thought alone made him want to rip his hair out. Because deep down he'd assumed there would be no capable Masters willing to take Obi-Wan, not with his spotty record. And those who might have been willing to see past it, would have already had Padawans or were far too young to train a Padawan as old as Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon had; loathe as he was to admit it, almost counted on it. Subconsciously relieved each and every time he'd heard of another rejection. Even as he felt great sadness for his former Padawan. But he'd known Master Dooku was coming. His Master was coming back to fix everything, help him restore what had been broken. Qui-Gon had been so close to getting his family back. And now it was gone. It was all gone, thanks to Mace Windu.

Mace had stolen his Padawan from him.

"Master, Master! What's wrong?!"

Nothing, nothing at all.

The End

Never have I ever found a character as hard to write as Qui-Gon Jinn. I literally ended up putting on robes, letting my hair down and pretending to be him for a full 24 hours to get his stupid character down. Hopefully he came out ok. I didn't want to make him a 100% bad person but I also knew he wasn't a great person either, so he had to land somewhere in the middle. In character, yet an asshole. So in the end, I have summarized Qui-Gon like this [Everything is about him. Even though he loves Obi-Wan it's about Qui-Gon. His pain, what he needs, his jealousy, trying to keep both Padawan instead of finding any other solution blah blah blah].

He isn't a bad person. He's just a really shitty Mentor. Like imagine telling Obi-Wan he will stay with them, while being an absent mentor's padawan just so Qui-Gon can continue playing at being a dad...... this man needs serious help. And I actually feel kind of bad for him because he does love Obi-Wan. He's just not good at anything else besides that first step. (Sorta reminds me of Bruce Wayne actually lol)--- sorry for the super late update guys! Please enjoy!!!

Qui-Gon: You can stay with us!

Obi-Wan [......]: You gave my room away. You disowned me and you never even looked me in the eye when you did it.

Qui-Gon: Semantics.

Chapter: 1,  2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

[toosicktoocare]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to be here.”

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

“Jay-”

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

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

“Muggers.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m here to help.”

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

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

“Jay?”

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

“Jason? What’s wrong?”

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

“You’re at the manor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“B?”

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

“Thanks. I guess.”

“Of course, son.”

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

Son.