#counterstrike go

[good-beans]

*runs into the room out of breath* Prisoner @justzosiahere! Prisoner @archivalofsins ! You thought you'd seen the end of me, hm? Not so fast!

(Who knew healing up from my own injuries would take so long, but no matter 👏) The wardens have named you both guilty, and as their chosen hero, it's my job to ensure you get a taste of your own medicine! I'm sorry, but this is what everyone wants 🤷‍♀️

And @oboetemasuka, don't think I've forgotten you either...

Zosia's - Gunsli's - Kyanako's - and eh, I might as well post more art while I'm already doing my duty 🫡

[nartouthere]

1% of players can make this cs2 jump

[ouchgnf]

george being weird about pronouns is nothing, him telling dream that he should be straight was kinda mean spirited though. coming from a gay person it'd be mildly hilarious but it just reminded me too much of the straight girls in high school who kicked me out of the changing room bc i'm queer.

good thing he’s gay then

[inkandapex]

stream madness pt. 2

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando Norris embraced his now-public relationship as a chance to openly and unapologetically adore his girlfriend. Fans saw it as a win—though it came at the cost of Max F constantly getting roped into their antics.

Words: 4.8k

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, suggestive dialogue

part 1 | part 3 | part 4

Protect Max

Fans were absolutely loving how Y/N had become a bigger part of Max’s streams. They got to see a side of her they’d never caught on social media and beyond the glimpses from the paddock with Lando.

It was just another day of chatting and gaming for the two during a break between races, the pair sat in an ever familiar room in Lando's place in Monaco, but with him absent as Max had mentioned he went out for training.

"We just agreed on not using grenades you cheat! Lando's rubbing off on you way too much. I don't like it" Max exclaims as his character on Counterstrike once again, gets killed by Y/N less than a minute into the round.

"Oh go cry about it Max, just admit I'm better than you" Y/N smirks as she grabs her water bottle to take a sip

"You cheated! I got absolutely knocked by that"

"Fine! You big baby, no grenades this time, promise" Y/N groans as they start another round

"they're so sibling coded" "not bob getting dethroned from being Max's gaming partner" "she's so gonna beat Max again this round"

“Okay, chat, no need to rub salt in the wound—by the way, I was the one who taught you how to play, you should be grateful—shit!”

Max was mid-sentence when Y/N sniped him, knocking him out of the game and securing yet another win—this time, fair and square.

“The student becomes the master,” she smirked, leaning back in her chair, clearly enjoying the moment.

"What's going on here?" the mic picks up Lando's voice before he even enters the frame.

"I'm absolutely dominating on counterstrike—did you just get back?" A playful smile spreads across Y/N's face as Lando walks into the room, standing behind her chair and gently massaging her shoulders.

"I've already showered and everything. Been here the past 30 minutes, you two were too busy bickering—I could hear you all the way down the hall," Lando chuckles, looking down at her with a cheeky grin.

He leans in, but Y/N quickly shifts away, avoiding the kiss.

"You're avoiding my kisses now?" Lando teases, his mouth hanging open in mock surprise.

"The stream, Lan..." Y/N mutters, a little pout on her lips, making Lando laugh softly.

"Alright baby, for our eyes only, yeah?" Lando smirks, leaning back down while reaching for the camera, his hand covering it just in time to hide their kiss.

"Hello?! My eyes! My eyes! What about Max’s eyes?!" Max's shout makes the two burst into laughter as Lando pulls his hand away, revealing Max’s face, twisted in utter disgust.

"lol poor max" "bet he misses P a lil extra today" "i think im going to cardiac arrest they're so cute"

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Snitches get stiches

The night before testing in Bahrain, Lando hopped onto Max’s stream for a few rounds, confident as ever. After absolutely schooling Max, he decided it was time to call it a night, shutting down his setup and stepping away.

What he didn’t step away from, however, was the chat.

Curled up in bed, phone in hand, Lando lurked—dropping smug messages every few minutes. No matter how much Max tried to ignore him, chat was loving it, egging Lando on as he tormented his friend from the shadows.

" 'Just take the L—' Mate, I did take the L. You’re the one still lurking in chat," Max laughed, shaking his head as yet another message from Lando popped up. "You have testing tomorrow, by the way."

Then, a new message appeared.

"Ed said he let you win this morning."

Max smirked, grabbing his phone. Without a word, he held up a finger to the camera and pressed dial. The stream went quiet as he waited. After a few rings, a familiar voice came through the speaker.

"Hey, Y/N, you alright? Sorry if I woke you. You’re in Bahrain with Lando, yeah?" Max finally said, his grin growing wider at the thought of absolutely snitching on his best friend.

"Hey, Maxie. No you're good, just in the other room catching up on work. Lando went to bed about an hour ago. Everything okay? Do I need to wake him up?" Y/N sounded concerned.

"Yeah, 'bout that... he’s wide awake, actually—just finished streaming golf with me. Wouldn’t leave my chat."

The pause on the other end was almost too satisfying. Max leaned back, waiting patiently, his smirk never fading. The sound of rustling and soft footsteps had him turning up the volume, bringing his phone closer to the mic. He even covered his mouth, stifling his laughter, determined to catch this golden moment in all its glory.

"bro is cooked" "oh no she's mad" "not max snitching on lando AGAIN"

"You’ve got testing tomorrow, Lan." "Fucking snitch, Max! Grow up!" Lando’s voice barely made it through, muffled. "You said you were going to bed an hour ago," Y/N said, clearly not amused. "Baby, I am in bed," Lando mumbled, his tone defensive. "You were just playing with Max—" "—For one round, my love. I’m in bed now, aren’t I?" "Don’t play me, Norris. Go to sleep, or I’m taking your phone away." “How am I supposed to sleep without you next to me, huh?” Lando’s voice was full of fake desperation, stretching the words out like he was pleading for a lifeline.

“Right, well, now I’m about to throw up,” Max interrupted, cutting through the conversation with his dry humour.

"Fewtrell, you knew better. shouldn't have entertained him when he asked you to play." "yeah that's right! you get him baby" "Didn't I say go to sleep? I'm telling Jon about this tomorrow" "This isn't over Max!" Lando manages to shout before the line cuts.

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

Taking her back

Lando, Max, and Y/N had been best friends long before Lando and Y/N started dating, and though Lando loved how well his girlfriend and best mate got along, there were times when his jealousy got the best of him.

"Baby, come on. You've been playing with Max forever!" Lando whined, his voice dripping with playful frustration. Both Y/N and Max paused their game, turning to see Lando dramatically sprawled out in the chair behind them, looking all sorts of pouty.

"Lan, you’ve been glued to your phone for the past two hours," Y/N teased with a laugh. "We’ve asked you to join us, like, a million times"

"That’s different!" Lando huffed. "I need you. Did you not miss me? It’s the first time we’ve seen each other in a week!" He gave them a puppy-dog look, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his adorable pout.

"A week’s not that long, mate," Max teased, unable to resist poking fun.

"Shut up, you dickhead. I wasn’t talking to you," Lando snapped back, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "You're only saying that because P’s been with you the whole time."

"Y/N is literally 6 feet away from you—" Max shot back, raising an eyebrow.

"—Yeah? And you’re about 6 feet away from getting punched," Lando retorted, his playful threat making everyone laugh.

"You’re so easy to wind up," Max said, shaking his head in amusement, clearly enjoying Lando's reaction.

"Very mature, you two," Y/N spoke up, watching the back-and-forth between Lando and Max with an amused smile.

"Baby, please, can we kick Max out? I need some me and you time," Lando groaned, rolling his chair closer to Y/N, his eyes full of exaggerated desperation.

"Lando, chat asked her to join my stream today," Max protested, raising an eyebrow. "You’re really gonna steal her away from them?"

"They’re stealing her away from me right now," Lando shot back, narrowing his eyes playfully at the camera.

"Alright, you big baby, one more round, then we'll leave Max alone," Y/N chuckled, turning to face Lando and gently running her hand through his hair.

"No. Now," Lando pouted, shamelessly showing just how needy he was, making Y/N laugh as she gave him a soft, teasing look.

"I'm about this close to bleaching my eyes and ears, mate," Max teased, smirking at the chaos unfolding.

"I'm about this close to kicking you out of my flat—" Lando leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at Max.

"—OKAY. Chat, my kids are throwing tantrums now, I think it’s time for me to go," Y/N sighed in defeat, sitting up straight with a playful roll of her eyes. "You two are impossible." She gave both of them an exasperated but affectionate look, knowing she’d have to be the voice of reason.

"boooo! not bob stealing y/n from us" "NOOO don't leave Y/N" "LN being selfish lol" "hes neeeedy"

Max let out a laugh as he read through the chat, clearly enjoying the chaos. "They're booing you, mate—yeah, chat! That's right! He’s stealing Y/N from us!" Max egged them on, his voice full of mischief.

Just as Y/N stood up from her seat, ready to leave, Lando grabbed her arm, pulling her back down onto his lap. He held her firmly by the waist, giving her a quick kiss.

Y/N gently shoved him, standing up again with a soft laugh, trying to hide the flustered look that had crept onto her face from his sudden move. Lando, now sporting a proud smirk, looked straight at the camera. "Gotta take my girl back now, chat," he said with a playful wink. "We’ll see you guys next time."

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

Look at my girl

"Did you get the code? I sent it to you on WhatsApp," Lando said, setting his phone down and turning his attention back to his screen as he finished setting up the game.

"Yep, got it. We're using in-game mics, yeah?" Max replied, joining the lobby.

Before Lando could answer, a soft knock echoed through the room. He instinctively pulled off one side of his headphones, swiveling his chair to find Y/N standing by the door.

"I'm heading out now, bub" her voice carried through the mic, chat flooded with messages about how soft Lando’s gaze had just turned.

"Look at you all dressed up—where are you headed, my pretty girl?" Lando smirked, leaning back in his chair, eyes shamelessly trailing over his girlfriend.

A blush crept up Y/N’s cheeks as she shifted on her feet, slightly embarrassed by her boyfriend’s proud declaration. "I’m having lunch with Alex today, remember?"

"You look beautiful, my love," Lando murmured, his grin widening before turning back to his stream. "Chat, doesn’t Y/N look absolutely stunning?"

"Maate, start the bloody game!" Max groaned, dragging out the words in frustration.

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Alright, Lan, I gotta go—they're arriving soon."

"Alex is picking you up?" Lando asked, tilting his head as he kept his eyes on her.

Y/N nodded. "Charles offered to drop us off at the restaurant. I'll bring you home food, and I’ll send you the menu when I get there."

Lando’s expression softened. "Have fun, my love. Text me if you need anything."

"Got it. Bye, chat—" Y/N smiled, giving a small wave as she stepped out the door.

"—What?! Hey, hey, no! Come back—baby, my kiss!" Lando whined, nearly pushing himself out of his seat, watching her leave with a dramatic pout.

She let out a playful groan but stepped back into the room, making her way toward Lando.

"Look at her, everyone—stunning," Lando grinned, taking her hand in his. "Alright, bye, gorgeous. Have a great time."

Y/N smirked, holding her hand up to the camera—mimicking the way Lando had covered it on a previous stream—before leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"Thanks for that, Y/N, really appreciate the modesty," Max's voice rang through Lando's headphones, dripping with sarcasm. "Hope you do that to my eyes next time, yeah?"

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

Don't look at my girl

Lando had been on Twitch for a good hour now, casually playing UNO with Max and a few other friends on who were on Discord. It was all easygoing banter, a way to kill time before diving into a more intense Tarkov session.

Y/N walked in not too long after, carefully balancing plates of food in her hands. Without looking up from his screen, Lando muttered a quick, “Thanks, love,” too focused on his cards to even glance her way.

It wasn’t until the chat suddenly exploded with rapid messages that his attention flickered toward the comments. His brows furrowed, eyes scanning the screen.

"hi Y/N" "okay hot mama!" "Y/N you look stunning babe" "can Lando fight?"

“‘Can Lando fight’—chat, what the fuck?” he scoffed, finally turning his head toward his girlfriend.

And then he saw it.

The slightly cropped, low-necklined tank top hugging her in all the right places, a sight he was very much happy to see, just not so happy to share with the rest of the world.

His reaction was instant. “Baby… where’s the rest of your shirt?” Lando whined, reaching out to tug at the hem of her top as if he could magically make it longer.

Y/N only laughed, swatting his hands away. “It’s literally just a tank top, Lando.”

“Yeah, and apparently, it’s starting fights in my chat.” He shot a glare at the screen before narrowing his eyes at her playfully.

As Y/N stood up, completely unaware of the way the camera was angled, she leaned forward slightly to grab something from behind the monitor.

Lando, ever vigilant with his quick reflexes, moved faster than ever, one hand darting out to cover her chest while the other reached for the mouse, ready to slam the stream off if necessary.

“Woah, woah—baby! Careful, please,” he blurted out, eyes wide as he practically shielded her from the world.

Connor’s laughter echoed through the call. “LN’s about to have a heart attack, mate.”

Y/N, finally realizing what had just happened, let out a soft laugh as she sat back down, napkins now in hand. “I was just grabbing these, bub. Calm down.”

Lando let out a dramatic sigh, clutching his chest like he’d just lived through a near-death experience. “Baby, please, I’m begging—could you put on a hoodie or something?” His voice was almost desperate, eyes flicking between her and the chat that was going absolutely feral.

Y/N raised a brow, arms crossing over her chest. “You’re overreacting.”

“Yeah, well, they’re not getting a free show,” Lando huffed, shooting a glare at the screen before rolling his eyes. With one last grumble, he finally turned his attention back to his game, picking up his fork to dig into dinner—all while side-eyeing the chat every few seconds.

Meanwhile, Max was wheezing through his mic. “I swear you just aged five years.”

Connor chuckled. “Bro’s fighting battles no one else can see.”

"still cant believe he was able to pull her" "Y/N leave him be with me" "she looks unreal" "lando better know how to fight"

Lando didn’t say a word, just stood up abruptly and rushed out of the room, leaving his friends confused as his turn in UNO was about to run out.

“Where’s he gone now?” Max muttered, clicking onto Lando’s stream, only to see Y/N sitting there, casually eating and playing in his place.

She simply shrugged, unfazed, taking Lando’s turn for him as she popped another bite of food into her mouth. A few seconds later, Lando reappeared, arms full, determination set on his face.

“Pick.”

“Huh?” Y/N blinked up at him, mid-chew.

“Pick one. Shirt, hoodie, or blanket?” He stood in front of her, dead serious, holding up the options like this was a life-or-death decision.

Y/N let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Baby, pick.” Lando repeated, unwavering.

“Lan, it’s really not that—”

Before she could even finish, he had already tossed the clothes onto the floor and made the executive decision himself, unfolding the blanket and draping it over her shoulders. “Right, blanket it is.”

Y/N sat there, wrapped up like a burrito, staring at him in amused disbelief.

Max was howling through the mic. “Mate, she’s looks like she's about to go to bed”

Lando glanced over at her, a proud grin spreading across his face as he admired his work. “There. Better,” he said, his tone smug but warm, clearly pleased with himself for making sure she was all cozy and covered up.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at how serious he was about it, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she teased, tugging the blanket a little lower, enough to free her hands.

“I’m just making sure you’re comfy,” he replied, his grin only widening. “Don’t want you catching a chill, do I?”

She shook her head, playfully rolling her eyes, but the smile she gave him was all warmth. “You’re something else, Lan.”

Lando only winked, clearly pleased with his efforts. “I try.”

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

Rumour has it

It had only been a couple of weeks since Lando and Y/N had last been seen together in public, but the internet had exploded. Breakup rumors, theories about a fallout, and even claims of a “divorce era” started circulating among fans. Of course, Lando and Y/N found it all utterly ridiculous. But why not have a bit of fun with it?

Tonight, Max was streaming, and Lando was, as usual, by his side. The chat was absolutely flooded with questions and speculations, with fans wondering where Y/N had gone, why they hadn’t seen them together lately, and if they were still a couple. Usually, they wouldn't entertain it, but Lando couldn’t help but grin at the chaos as Max glanced at him, his face filled with mischief.

“Mate, you’ve been dodging questions for weeks now. People are asking if you and Y/N are okay. What's going on? Is it true? Are you in the ‘divorce era’ now?” Max teased, his voice full of drama.

Lando leaned back in his chair, groaning. “Oh don't even say her name around me. We're happily separated,” he said with exaggerated seriousness. He watched as the chat went wild, fans speculating whether he was joking or not.

"this is NOT funny im fighting for my life over here" "i honestly cant tell if hes serious pls" "stop asking ab their personal lives guys" "theyre clearly fine, look at him" "oh theyre fine lol"

Max laughed, clearly enjoying it. “Heard it here first chat, there you go”

Lando shrugged dramatically. “Sometimes, I still hear her voice"

Before Max could respond, the door behind Lando opened. Y/N walked in casually, wearing one of Lando’s hoodies, hair up in a messy bun. She stopped when she saw the camera, raising an eyebrow at Lando’s ridiculous grin.

“Hey, guys,” she said, giving the camera a casual wave.

"See! it's like she's still here” Lando pretends to wipe a tear

Max burst into laughter, while Y/N, confused as ever, attempts to read the chat. "Why are you guys talking about me like I've died?"

Lando looked at her with all seriousness. “Baby please. We're broken up remember, gosh keep up will 'ya"

Y/N nods, the expression on her face immediately switching from confused to locked in. "Oh— guys, being in this room right now pains me. I can't even look at him"

Max, lounging back in his chair with a smirk, couldn't help but shake his head. "You two were definitely eating up this breakup rumour stuff, huh?"

Lando and Y/N couldn't help but break, letting out small laughs at the comment. “Oh fuck yeah, we’ve been lying in bed, giggling like idiots, reading threads and watching tiktoks about it,” Lando said, acting like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“We purposely stopped liking each other’s posts and hid from the public" Y/N grinned, “And had so much fun doing it,” she added, sticking her tongue out at the camera.

Max threw his hands up. “You lot deserve an Oscar for this shit”

Lando, still grinning, nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, mate, you’re telling me— I had Carlos knocking at my hotel room at three in the fucking morning after reading some random breakup article online.”

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

Not so subtle

It was well past 1 AM, but Lando was still wide awake, glued to his Twitch stream, deep into another round of Tarkov with his friends. The chat was slowly saying their goodnights, viewers logging off one by one—but Lando? He and the guys were more awake than ever, already planning a few more rounds like the night had just begun.

Y/N was not one to stop Lando from enjoying his alone time, but it was getting late. She had just finished yet another episode of her go-to comfort show—but sleep still hadn’t come. With a glance at the clock and a sigh, she finally got up, padding toward the other room. Maybe she could convince Lando to get some rest… or at least come fill the cold, empty space beside her.

“Baby… it’s late, come to bed.”

Y/N’s soft voice barely stood a chance against Lando’s, drowned out by his rapid-fire strategy talk and the sharp bursts of gunfire from his game. He didn’t even flinch, too locked in, too focused.

It wasn’t until she stepped closer, bathed in the soft glow of his monitors, that the chat began to stir, messages flooding in at the sight of her. Only then did Lando pull off one side of his headset, glancing up at her with a lazy smile.

“Hi, gorgeous. Thought you were asleep already,” he murmured, seamlessly giving out directions to his teammates in the same breath.

“Couldn’t sleep… You should come to bed now. It’s late.”

“I know, baby. Just give me ten minutes, alright?”

“Bedtime for little Lando?” Connor teased, earning a chuckle from Max and an eye roll from Lando.

“Shut up, Connor."

Instead of leaving, Y/N plopped down in the free chair beside him, mindlessly scrolling through her phone. She barely noticed how time slipped by—until she glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes had passed since Lando promised he’d be done.

“Lan, it’s been 15.”

“10 more minutes, baby. Just a little longer,” he mumbled, eyes still glued to the screen.

"he's so stubborn lol" "poor y/n" "listen to ur gf pls lando, im sleepy but i have fomo"

Another 15 minutes passed, and Y/N, now visibly annoyed, let out a sigh. “Lando.” No pet name. Just his name. Max chuckled on the other end.

“Mate, I’d log off now if I were you. Y/N is scary when she’s tired and cranky.”

Lando glanced over, taking in her tired expression. “Baby, go to bed, you look exhausted… I’ll be there soon, okay? C’mere, gimme a kiss.”

Smooth. A clear attempt to buy himself a little more time.

Y/N gave him a blank stare, then simply nodded before standing up. No protest, no further attempts to drag him to bed. Instead, she turned to the stream with a small smile.

“Okay… goodnight, guys. Have fun playing with Lan. Goodnight, baby.”

Lando blinked, a little surprised that his plan actually worked. He grinned up at her, feeling triumphant, until she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, her lips barely brushing his ear as she whispered.

“I was gonna let you have me any way you wanted tonight… your loss.”

His smirk vanished instantly, his head following Y/N's trail, now exiting the room.

"WHAT DID SHE SAY OMG" "look at his face she definitely said something" "bro is cooked lmao" "lando fumbled baaad"

Beyond distracted by what his girlfriend just whispered in his ear, he misses an opponent causing Max to get killed in game earning a battering of complaints

"Gotta log off now guys, goodnight" Lando, without saying a proper goodbye, had managed turn everything off, leaving both the game and his stream in record breaking time.

Max, watching Lando vanish without a word, quickly put the pieces together as the chat exploded with teasing. Realizing he could save his friend from some serious trouble, Max cleared his throat and leaned into the microphone.

“Bet she’s got him in trouble now. He’s probably getting an earful for keeping her waiting.” Max grinned, adding, “Man’s gonna need a serious apology when he gets off. You know how it is—no escaping when she’s upset.”

Even the chat could pick-up how he's working extra hard to save the his best friends from a PR nightmare.

"Max working extra hard tonight" "LN and Y/N got Max sweating bullets lol his face" "Max being the bigger man, respect" "Theyre bout to hear an earful from max too after this"

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Shameless

Chat was going wild. It was a random Friday night, no announcements, yet, somehow, Lando had appeared with his own stream. Even Max, mid-game, was caught off guard when the messages started rolling in, asking him to play with Lando.

Lando, sitting in his chair, still looked like he had just stepped out of the shower, his hair damp, he wore a matching grey sweatsuit and hoodie.

“What’s going on, mate? You’re back early. Thought you two were out for dinner?” Max’s unmistakable voice crackled through the speakers as he joined the group Discord, clearly catching onto the sudden shift in the vibe.

“Aye chat, Max is here! Yeah, mate, we were, but got back home and decided to hop on,” Lando cheered, clearly stoked to hear his friend's voice.

“Loving the enthusiasm, man. You seem happy tonight. You up for some golf?” Max chuckled, amused by the energy radiating off Lando.

“We can play whatever you want, Max. Feeling really lucky tonight,” Lando replied, a grin spreading across his face.

Max raised an eyebrow, eyeing him with a teasing smirk. “You’re worrying me a bit, mate. You sick or somethin’? Bit too happy for my liking.”

Lando just kept dancing and singing along to his music, looking even more upbeat, and Max couldn't help but laugh. “Alright, what’s going on with you, seriously?”

It was as if the universe had perfectly timed it—Y/N walked into the room, completely unaware that her boyfriend had already started his stream. She was wearing nothing but the white long-sleeved button-up shirt he had worn during their date earlier that night, the one fans had captured in photos. Her hair was slightly messy, giving her a carefree, just-rolled-out-of-bed look as she casually walked in.

"Lan, did you see my cleanser by any chance? It’s not in the bathroom." Y/N stood just by the door, just enough to be in frame of Lando’s camera.

As soon as she appeared, the chat went wild, and Max couldn’t help but laugh, not even attempting to rescue them this time. “Hey Y/N, my chat's saying Lando’s shirt looks better on you than it did on him.”

Y/N froze for a few seconds, her face turning bright red before she quickly dashed out of the room, her voice still audible through the mic as she shouted, “Lando Norris, you little shit!”

Lando, in too good of a mood to keep it together, couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, chat, calm down—we’re all adults here.” He leaned back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face as he wiped away a few tears of laughter.

After a beat, he stood up, still chuckling to himself. “I’ll be back in a minute, guys.”

He left the room, probably heading off to help Y/N find her cleanser, maybe even consoling her after the little reveal. The chat was buzzing with teasing comments, but it was clear Lando wasn’t too worried—he’d be back soon, and the situation was already too funny to be mad about.

"post sex stream is insaaane" "man was glowing, no wonder" "PR team fighting for their life after this" "Landos phone bout to blow up" "meeting being set up as we speak"

Lando returned, a smirk still tugging at his lips as he casually sat back down, as if nothing had happened. “Right, Max, what are we playing tonight?”

Max raised an eyebrow, eyeing his friend with a grin. “Look at him, so smug. Had a great night, didn’t you?”

Lando let out a laugh, shrugging nonchalantly. “Told you, mate, we went and had dinner.” He paused for a second, then winked at the camera, his smirk widening. “Just had to head home early to have some dessert.”

[iydiamartinx]

THE ART OF RESTRAINT III

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @iydiamartinx word count: 1.9k synopsis: After finally giving Bruce Wayne a chance and putting aside your petty rivalry, he fails to show up for your date. But your night takes an unexpected twist when you meet the Dark Knight himself. a/n: I have no idea where I'm going with this series but here's part 3!

Saturday night came dressed in blues and silver.

Gotham's skyline glittered outside the rooftop windows of one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants. Inside, low jazz filtered through the space, candles flickered in crystal holders, and silverware gleamed beneath golden chandeliers. You sat at a private table on the terrace, draped in midnight blue silk, your heels glinting like daggers beneath you as you checked the time again.

8:02 PM.

You told yourself not to be annoyed. Bruce Wayne was nothing if not dramatic. And busy. It wasn’t the first time he’d been fashionably late—but it was the first time it felt pointed.

8:17 PM.

You sipped the cocktail the sommelier had poured to tide you over. It was warm now. You hadn’t touched it in ten minutes.

8:31 PM.

You stood, thanked the host with a tight smile, and grabbed your clutch. If Bruce Wayne wanted to stand you up, so be it. You were no one’s second option, not even Gotham’s favourite billionaire. The city didn’t stop turning because a man failed to show up.

You left restaurant.

The air outside bit cold against your skin as you walked down the quieter edge of Gotham’s theatre district, where lights still spilled from marquees and late diners drifted out of restaurants in laughter and heels.

You didn’t notice the shadows trailing you at first. The soft click of your heels along the pavement masked the quieter,  footsteps behind you. But then came a sound—sharp, out of rhythm. A footfall that didn’t belong to you. Your pulse ticked higher.

As you turned the corner, a man stepped out from behind a parked car, blocking your path. He looked rough—clothes slightly disheveled, expression tight with focus. But it wasn’t the kind of frazzled desperate of thief who grabs a purse and bolts. No, this man looked like he had a plan or at least knew exactly who you were.

You slowed instinctively, but it was already too late. Two more figures emerged from either side of the street, boxing you in. Their movements were coordinated. This wasn’t random.

It was a planned grab.

And you were the target.

You didn’t panic. You were no stranger to enemies. Not with your name. Not with your reach. You were one of Gotham’s most powerful women, and with that came threats.

“Don’t scream,” the one on your left ordered, already reaching for you.

Screw that.

You pivoted sharply, your heel slicing down toward his instep. He grunted, stumbling, but before you could follow through, the second man caught your wrist mid-swing and twisted hard. Pain shot up your arm, but you gritted your teeth, already preparing to drop your weight, to slam your head back into his nose, to fight like hell.

“Not here,” the third man muttered. “Get her in the car. Quick.”

You were bracing for a counterstrike when the air shifted.

A blur of movement cut across your peripheral vision. Then the first man was ripped off his feet and slammed into the hood of a parked car with a sickening crunch of metal. The others barely had time to react. One turned, but a gloved fist met his jaw mid-pivot, sending him sprawling across the pavement. The third reached for something at his belt—maybe a knife, maybe something worse—but his legs were swept out from under him in a single, fluid motion. He hit the ground hard, wind knocked from his lungs.

The dark figure turned toward you—cowl, cape, all black armour and control—but it wasn’t over yet. Your attackers were already recovering, staggering back up like wolves circling for a second try.

Batman glanced behind him, assessing. His arm shot out and a cable wrapped tight around your waist.

You gasped as your feet left the pavement, your body yanked upward into the air with a jolt—lifted high, fast, weightless—

The street fell away beneath you.

Your breath caught in your throat as the city lights blurred around you, and then you were landing hard against someone’s chest—arms solid around you. You were yanked upward with a jolt—fast, disorienting, weightless—your coat whipping around your legs as the city lights stretched below.

He landed on the rooftop with effortless grace.

Batman.

He set you down carefully on the rooftop ledge, just enough to steady you before turning to look over the edge of the building, eyes narrowing.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, voice gravel-deep.

Then he was gone—leaping from the rooftop like a shadow.

You stood frozen, adrenaline still crashing through your veins, the wind tugging at your hair, your coat, your composure. Below, faint sounds echoed through the alley—fists striking bodies, a grunt of pain, the sharp crunch of something metallic giving way under pressure.

You didn’t want to look. You didn’t need to see the bloody aftermath of your would-be kidnappers.

Instead, your gaze drifted—and then landed.

Of course.

Across from the rooftop, illuminated in the glow of the city’s artificial starlight, was a billboard. That billboard. The infamous calendar shot, blown up and backlit like a masterpiece. Framed in warm gold tones, bodies tangled in expensive white sheets. Bruce’s hand at your waist. Your mouth parted, a breath away from his.

Your jaw tightened.

You scoffed under your breath and turned away.

Figures. You wouldn’t have even been in this mess if it weren’t for that stupid photoshoot. If it weren’t for him.

You should’ve known better to get tangled up with Gotham’s billionaire playboy, you’d stupidly thought there was something genuine between the two of you.

It took you a second to realize everything had fallen silent.

“You alright?” a deep voice rasped behind you.

You spun on your heel, breath catching.

You hadn’t even heard him land.

The Bat.

He stood there, half in shadow, watching you closely beneath that cowl.

You nodded once, still breathless. “Believe it or not, this isn’t my first attempted kidnapping. Gotham’s underworld has always been full of opportunists.”

“It wasn’t opportunism,” he said, voice clipped. “It was planned.”

You arched a perfectly shaped brow. “Are you saying you knew they were targeting me?”

He didn’t answer right away—but he didn’t need to. His silence said enough.

This was your first time meeting him in person. You’d heard of his reputation, of course—who in Gotham hadn’t? You’d admired his tactics from afar, even defended them in interviews. But now, face to face, there was something strange about him. You felt as if you knew him.

He gave a slow, stiff nod. “I got word of the attempt earlier tonight.”

You let out a hum, stepping a little closer. “Mm, I see. How convenient for that…”

Your gaze drifted over his shoulder once more, drawn—unwillingly—to the glowing billboard. That cursed calendar shot. You frowned.

Then your eyes returned to his.

His jaw was sharp. Clean. And so goddamn familiar.

Your gaze dropped.

Even his mouth looked—

You tilted your head slowly, narrowing your eyes.

Without thinking, you boldly took a step forward. Your finger trailed lightly across the ridges of his armoured chest, slow and teasing.

He tensed.

You smiled.

“Well,” you murmured, voice low and velvety. “I suppose I should thank you properly.”

Before he could move—before he could stop you—you rose to your toes and pressed your lips to his. 

He was stiff at first and for and for a moment, you thought you’d been wrong.

But then—almost like he couldn’t help himself—his lips softened against yours. He kissed you back.

And just like that, you knew.

You pulled back a breath’s distance, your mouth still hovering near his. You could feel the warmth of his exhale ghosting over your skin.

“I suppose this might be as good a reason as any…” you whispered, eyes locked on his, “…to stand me up on our date.”

Batman didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

But his jaw clenched beneath the cowl.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said finally, voice even. Too even.

You stared at him.

Then laughed—cold and sharp. Not amused.

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Bruce.”

He flinched—just slightly, but it was there. Enough to confirm everything.

You took a step back, folding your arms across your chest. “I kissed you for half a second, and knew. I know your lips. I’ve stared into your annoying eyes enough to know you share the same colour as bruce Wayne and…” You gesture to the billboard. “You have the same jaw.” You shook your head, anger and adrenaline still crackling just beneath your skin. “I began putting it together the second you opened your mouth. The voice. The jaw. The way you stand. It’s all you. So spare me the act.”

He looked away then, gaze dropping to the ledge for a brief moment before returning to yours.

“I didn’t want it to be like this.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. “Yeah? What did you want, Bruce? Because I sat there in that damn restaurant for thirty minutes while you were out running around in a bat costume. Tell me—was I just another fling? A distraction?” Your voice cracked slightly. “Would you have even told me about this side of you if things got serious?”

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, the fight draining slightly from his shoulders. His voice came quieter this time, stripped of armor. “I didn’t stand you up. I was on my way. I got the alert when I was already en route to the restaurant.”

You blinked, startled by the honesty. The timeline lined up. He had meant to come.

And he’d chosen to protect you instead.

That should have made it easier. It didn’t.

Your eyes narrowed, voice low and sharp. “You didn’t answer my question. What is this between us?”

His jaw tensed, and he didn’t answer. 

The silence said more than words ever could.

You let out a bitter laugh and shook your head, turning to leave. “That’s what I thought.”

You didn’t get far.

His hand caught your wrist.

You barely had time to gasp before he tugged you back into him, his body solid and warm and far too close. Then his mouth was on yours.

The kiss came fast and fierce, all heat and desperation. You melted into it—and fought it in the same breath. Your lips parted beneath his, matching every push with a pull, every clash with hunger. His other arm wrapped tightly around your waist, dragging you flush against him, like he couldn’t bear even an inch of space.

You made a sound—half gasp, half moan—as his mouth slid against yours with purpose. His grip tightened, grounding you, anchoring you to the moment. The kiss was rough. Messy. Filled with raw aching hunger and need.

You broke away first, breath coming in sharp gasps, your hands fisted against the hard plates of his chest armour.

His forehead rested against yours. Both of you still trembling with it.

“That—” you managed, voice raw, “—was not an apology.”

“It wasn’t meant to be,” he rasped, lips still hovering dangerously close to yours. “I want you, Y/N. Since the first time you stood up to me in that boardroom. You’re not some fling to me.”

Your chest rose, then fell. Your heart thundered behind your ribs.

You stared at him. At the armour, the cowl, his secret identity— This was the real Bruce Wayne and you weren’t running away, this time it was you who leaned in, your lips finding his again, kissing him just as hard as he kissed you.

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Tag List: @eepyfaerie, @whiteghostlyclouds

[pricelessemotion]

poltergeists for sidekicks | E.M.

summary: [2.3k] the kids drag eddie to the halloween store where you happen to work.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, pining, eddie being a lovestruck idiot, r wears big prescription glasses and is described as having messy hair

a/n: happy halloween! here’s something i’ve been working on for ages just in time for the end of spooky szn! xoxo

masterlist

Eddie doesn’t hate Halloween. 

He used to love Halloween. He likes autumn. He likes watching the leaves change colors. He can appreciate the novelty of a hot apple cider and a hay ride. Hell, ever since he was old enough to go trick or treating, he reveled in it. Free candy and all he had to do was put on a costume and say three magic words? Sign him up. 

As he got older, he started to like Halloween for a slightly different reason. Don’t get him wrong, he still liked the free candy, but he liked the excuse to be someone else for a night. He liked how he could throw on a Michael Meyers mask and go door-to-door and be greeted with glee and sweets. 

It does a funny thing to a kid’s self-esteem, being treated better when he’s wearing the face of a fictional serial killer. 

Now, though, Eddie Munson is decidedly too old for trick or treating. He’s resigned himself to spending the holiday like it was any other day by spending the night in his room, playing guitar, and coming up with new campaign ideas. 

Which is exactly what he was doing when three freshmen started pounding down the door of the trailer demanding entry. Within moments, they are practically on their hands and knees asking, nay begging, for the older boy to take them to get last-minute Halloween costumes.

“Aren’t you guys too old to go trick or treating?”

“This is why we need to go to the store! If we wear masks, no one will be able to tell how old we are, hence extending our years of candy collecting.” Dustin explains, matter of factly.  

Eddie sighs, leaning back into the sofa, steepling his fingers together. “What’s in it for me?”

The three boys huddle together, conspiring in a manner that is not dissimilar to the way they plan their counterstrikes during Hellfire. They nod in sync, turning around so that Lucas is standing front and center, flanked by the two other boys.  

“That one girl you like is working there.”

Eddie remains stone-faced, quipping sarcastically, “That’s very specific.”

Mike lets out an exasperated groan, threading his fingers through his hair before yanking at the ends in frustration. “Y’know, the weird one. Coke bottle glasses, messy hair, always holding a book?”

Lucas’ eyes widen. Dustin smacks Mike on the chest and the hollow sound rings out through the empty trailer. They all start talking over each other, with two of them berating the third for A. being insensitive and B. expecting a good outcome from said insensitivity. 

Eddie wants to make a comment that your hair is not messy, it’s actually more voluminous. Besides, his hair is messy and he likes to think it makes him look badass. The glasses comment was a little unfair. Sure, the frames are a similar shade to the iconic green of the bottles of Coca-Cola. But the magnification was endearing, leaning more towards doe-eyed than bug. Unfortunately, Eddie did not consider that while he was observing you, someone might’ve been observing him. 

The assurance of your presence is how Eddie ends up here, parked outside of a hardware store turned seasonal shop. He’s helping his friends. He’s supporting a local business and therefore contributing to the local economy! You being here is just a bonus.

A bell rings above them as he swings open the door, the motion setting off a scratchy pre-recorded cackle. He’s gotta hand it to whoever is running the store. They’ve gone out of their way to transform the dingy overhead fluorescents and worn-out linoleum into something that actually resembles an eerie boutique. 

“Welcome in! I’ll be right witch you!” Your voice lilts out from the depths. 

You appear out of the darkness, expertly weaving under fake cobwebs and pushing aside fanciful drapes that have no doubt been strung up precariously around the store to add to the ambiance. You’ve got a witch’s hat on, tall and black and pointy, which further explains the pun you greeted them with. 

“How can I help you?” You smile brightly, adjusting your glasses. 

The younger boys barely spare you a glance, just a chorus of we’re good! before running off to the other side of the store, where all of the costumes are located. 

You barely blink at their rudeness. Whether that’s indicative of your experience in customer service or due to your generally sunny disposition, Eddie isn’t sure. You turn your smile and magnified gaze at him, “What about you?”

Eddie startles only slightly. He begins to peek over his shoulder as if there’s somebody else in the mostly deserted store that you could be talking to. What about him?

“Oh, I don’t need anything. I just came here with–” He gestures vaguely in the direction that the boys wandered off to. “The little shits that left me in the dust.” 

You bark out a laugh, a small smile settling on your lips. “It’s sweet of you to help them out.”

Eddie only blushes in response, murmuring a quiet it’s nothing, scratching the back of his neck like he might find a switch that’ll make him remember how to talk like a normal human being.   

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

You pick up a clipboard and a pen and start leisurely strolling down the decor aisle, making inconsequential markings on the paper. Whenever you come across gaps in the shelves you reach back into them, pulling the products to the front edge with a concentration that is quite adorable. 

He’s definitely staring by now. Feigning interest in a skull-shaped candy bowl, Eddie scrambles for something, anything to keep the conversation going. “I’m surprised you’re not busier.”

“You just missed the afternoon rush.” You say, straightening a pair of plastic tarantulas that have gone askew. “Not too many people came today, though. I guess they realized that it’s so close to the holiday that the shelves would be picked over.”

“Really?”

You shrug, “I think by October 30th, most people figure if they’re gonna dress up, they’d rather just pull together something from their closets than spend money. We’re actually busier the day after Halloween because everything gets marked down and people want cheap candy.”

“Makes sense.” He nods. “So, I take it you’re a big fan of Halloween?”

Your smile is apprehensive as if you’re not sure if he’s making fun of you. Your fingers brush the brim of the witch’s hat. “What gave me away?” 

He falls into step beside you, clasping his hands behind his back and puffing out his chest. “I just had a feeling.” Then, feeling much braver than usual, he adds, “I like your outfit.”

You look at him again, clutching the clipboard to your chest. For once, your eyes are leaning more towards bug-eyed. The black velvet dress has draped sleeves and a skirt that swishes with every step. Orange and black striped tights protect your legs from the inevitable chill that comes with October in Indiana. “You do?” 

“I do.” He insists, “It totally adds to the magical vibe. If you told me that you were an actual witch and this was just something you do to pass the time I’d one hundred percent believe you.” 

All apprehension has slipped off your face, replaced by a genuine smile that cracks open his chest. “Thanks…” You trail off.

“Eddie.” He supplies. 

“Well thank you, Eddie. I’d tell you my name but I’m guessing I don’t have to.” You say, rubbing the plastic name plate on your chest. 

Eddie does know your name, but it isn’t because of your name tag. He was far too proud to ask around for your name, and far too afraid of rejection to ask you himself. He’d been lucky enough to get a library book right after you. He’d pulled the weathered paper from the slip, seen your name at the bottom of the checkout card, traced the loopy letters with the pad of his fingers. It had definitely been more than a little pathetic. 

Eddie coughs, clearing his throat, trying to maintain any semblance of nonchalance. “Do you have any plans for Halloween?” 

Your face slowly lifts from the clipboard, twirling your pen between swift fingers polished in a deep burgundy. Directing your gaze at him, you peer through dark lashes and Eddie’s never been more thankful for the inventor of coke bottle glasses. The magnification allows him to see the spark of intrigue dancing across your pupils. 

“I was just gonna stay home. Maybe help my mom pass out candy.” The implication of the last sentence seems to hit you. You look down again, scrunching up your nose. Eddie finds it endearing how your first instinct is honesty rather than anything else. 

“Cool. That’s cool,” Eddie says in a manner that is decidedly uncool. He fiddles with his rings before shoving his hands into his pockets. “Actually, I was wondering if—” 

Suddenly, Eddie feels stupid for getting lost in your eyes and not paying attention to his surroundings. Maybe then he would’ve noticed how the linoleum got ever so slightly softer under the soles of worn-out boots. He would’ve seen the cloaked figure looming in the alcove, waiting for some unwitting soul to step on the pressure plate.

Unfortunately, Eddie did not see any of those things. The poltergeist, or ghost, or whatever the fuck it is swings out. He stumbles backward, releasing a shriek that is so high-pitched, that he wonders if he should start tapping into his upper range. Maybe it would add more texture to Corroded Coffin’s Tuesday night sets. 

Instinctively, his arms fly backward, as if to protect you. He stumbles right into you, and he’s sure that if you didn’t grab his waist from behind, you would’ve fallen right over. Unfortunately, the movement has both of you careening back into a shelf, sending bags of overpriced candy and shitty Halloween decorations tumbling to the ground in a cascade of all things creepy and corny. He quickly spins around.

“Shit, are you–”

“I’m so sorry!” 

“I should’ve warned you–”

At that moment, chests heaving and hearts racing, you both seem to realize that your hands are still grazing Eddie’s waist. You spring apart, scrambling to clean up the display, haphazardly grabbing the fallen items and placing them back in their rightful places on the shelves. Among them is your hat, another casualty of the calamity. 

“I should’ve warned you,” You say again, slightly out of breath. “That thing nearly scares me to death every other day.” 

“It’s fine. I should’ve paid attention to where I was walking. It just added to the whole spooktacular experience.” He picks up the hat from the floor, dusting it off. “I think this belongs to you.” 

You give a bashful smile, but instead of putting the accessory in your outstretched hand, he gingerly places it on top of your head. Your glasses have slid down your nose from bending over to clean up his mess, and his thumbs gently push the joints of the frames until they’re sitting in their rightful place. 

“There,” He punctuates his statement with a resolute tug on your hat, making sure it’s securely on your head. “Perfect.”

You preen at him, eyes sparkling, before you cast them down at the floor. Dustin comes running around the corner, closely followed by Mike and Lucas. All of them are carrying armfuls of miscellaneous Halloween supplies, obviously alarmed at the clamor, but not alarmed enough that they didn’t take their sweet time coming from the opposite end of the store. Eddie takes advantage of your bashfulness and distinctly shoots them a look that says get the hell out of here. Dustin’s eyes dart between the two of you before they widen and his mouth forms a small oh. He sends Eddie an exaggerated wink, walking backward in order to not interrupt the private moment, dragging his two friends along with him.

“Thanks,” You smile at him. “For protecting me. I know who to bring with me if I ever want to walk through a haunted house.” 

He gives a lopsided grin, “My pleasure.”

“Ahem.” You clear your throat, “Anyways, what are your plans for Halloween?”

This is it. This is the moment that Eddie has been waiting for since he put down his guitar and his notebook and opened the trailer door. 

“That depends.” He clasps his hands behind his back, jutting his chin up in the air. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“I get off at four.” 

“The Hawk is doing this continuous horror movie marathon. Maybe you would want to go?” Eddie’s fingers are practically vibrating with excitement. He nearly forgets the most important part. “With me? I mean— Only if you like horror movies, I just figured because I’ve seen you walking around with that Stephen King novel. NOT that I’ve been watching you or anything!”

You let out a small giggle. The fact that you’re laughing and smiling is a good sign, even if it is slightly at his expense. He decides to lean into self-deprecation, hoping it’ll seem more charming than desperate. 

“I’d say I don’t scare easily, but I think we’d both know that’s a lie by now.”

You scribble something near the bottom of the paper on the clipboard, delicately folding it and ripping it off before placing it in Eddie’s palm. 

“Well, I’ve heard horror movies are less scary if you have someone to hold your hand.”

It doesn’t even matter that a ghost animatronic essentially acted as his wingman. The note with your number on it sits heavily in his pocket, thumb tracing over looped ink. Even though it’s cold as shit, he embarrassed himself, and signs of the spooky season decorate every corner, Eddie has a smile that rivals even the best of jack-o-lanterns. 

As Eddie turns off towards the dirt path that leads to Forrest Hills Trailer Park, the smile still hasn’t faded. 

For once, the streets of Hawkins seem a little less haunted. 

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished ♥️

[aventurineswife]

Crossing blades with Argenti. It looks like a terrifying fight where either side could be defeated by a singular blow. They've been going at it for ages now, and onlookers get worried for each side. Turns out its just a friendly sparing match between reader and Argenti...they just got too into it and probably started in the middle of some street...and maybe they 'accidently' get arrested. (Totally platonic besties)

A Symphony of Swords

Summary: Argenti and you engage in an intense, all-out sparring match in the middle of a bustling city street. What starts as a friendly contest of skill soon escalates into a near-disastrous duel, drawing the attention of the local authorities. In the end, you both end up in a holding cell, laughing at your accidental misadventure while plotting your way out. It’s all in a day’s work for two best friends who’ve gotten a little too into their friendly rivalry.

Tags: Argenti x Reader, Platonic, Friendly Sparring, Humor, Lighthearted, Action, Mischief.

Warnings: Mild violence (combat in the form of a sparring match), Minor destruction of property (?), Arrest (but in a lighthearted, non-serious manner).

The clang of metal against metal rang through the streets, echoing off the stone walls of the city square. Sparks flew with each clash, scattering like fireflies in the twilight. Onlookers had long since stopped their evening strolls, their attention caught by the two figures locked in a battle so fierce it seemed one wrong move would spell the end.

Argenti, the paragon knight of Beauty, fought with grace and precision, his blade an extension of his will. Every strike he delivered was poetry in motion, a testament to his dedication. His eyes, shimmering, shone with exhilaration.

You, on the other hand, were holding your ground with equal intensity, your own weapon moving in sync with his, countering and attacking with the same fervor. The fight had started as a simple spar—just a test of skills between trusted companions—but somewhere along the way, it had escalated into an all-out battle.

"Your form is impeccable today," Argenti praised between strikes, parrying your latest attack with a flourish.

"You’re just saying that because I haven’t hit you yet," you shot back, sidestepping and aiming a swift counterstrike toward his exposed side. He barely managed to block it in time, a grin tugging at his lips.

The gathered crowd murmured amongst themselves. Some whispered in worry, others watched in awe. The spectacle had drawn far too much attention, but neither of you seemed to notice—or care. The rush of combat had taken over, each of you pushing the other to their limits, relishing in the challenge.

A particularly strong blow from Argenti sent you skidding back, your boots dragging against the stone pavement. You steadied yourself, shaking out your wrists. "Alright, alright. That one hurt."

"Shall we call it a draw, then?" Argenti asked, though his stance remained poised for another attack.

"You wish," you scoffed, lunging forward once more.

Before your blades could meet again, a sudden voice cut through the tension.

"That’s enough!"

A group of city guards stormed onto the scene, weapons drawn, their expressions a mix of exasperation and frustration. The crowd quickly dispersed, whispering about how this was bound to happen.

You and Argenti froze, both of you still in mid-motion, blades inches from each other’s throats. You slowly lowered your weapon, glancing at the guards with an innocent smile. "Oh. Hey there."

One of the guards pinched the bridge of his nose. "We’ve had multiple reports about two maniacs dueling in the middle of the street. Again."

Argenti, ever the knight, cleared his throat and sheathed his blade. "Ah. My apologies. We were merely engaged in a sparring session. It was not our intention to cause alarm."

"You’re literally blocking half the marketplace," another guard deadpanned, gesturing to the overturned carts and scattered wares from when you two had, perhaps, been a bit too enthusiastic.

You glanced at Argenti. He looked at you.

Simultaneously, you both turned on your heels and took off running.

"HEY! GET BACK HERE!"

The chase didn’t last long—knights of Beauty were formidable warriors, but even they couldn’t outrun a squad of determined city guards. Before long, you and Argenti found yourselves seated side by side in a holding cell, your weapons confiscated for “public safety reasons.”

Argenti sighed, leaning back against the cold stone wall. "A most unfortunate turn of events."

You snorted. "Oh, come on. You can’t say that wasn’t fun."

He cast you a sideways glance, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. "Perhaps a little."

A moment of silence stretched between you before you both burst into laughter.

"Think we can convince them this was all a misunderstanding?" you asked after a moment.

Argenti considered it. "Perhaps if we appeal to their sense of justice and artistry."

You gave him a deadpan look. "Or we could bribe them with free sparring lessons."

He hummed thoughtfully. "A most unconventional approach… but worth attempting."

And thus, another day in your chaotic rivalry with Argenti came to an eventful close.

[arcadia-smith]

MOB!Bucky x MOB!Female reader.

The tension between her and Bucky had reached a breaking point, the air crackling with the weight of the unsaid. After their last meeting, there was no question that he viewed her as a threat—his smoldering gaze told her everything she needed to know.

It had been a week since that first confrontation. Her efforts to fortify her operations were starting to pay off, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Bucky had made his first move—quiet, calculated, like the predator he was.

It came in the form of a raid on one of her smaller, more vulnerable warehouses. The place had been a logistical hub for arms trafficking, and though it wasn’t the most critical part of her business, losing it sent a message. She knew it wasn’t a coincidence. Bucky was sending a message. He wanted her to know that he wasn’t afraid to strike, even in places she thought were out of reach.

The next morning, she stood in front of the wreckage, anger simmering beneath the surface. It wasn’t just the loss of product or money; it was the principle of it. This wasn’t just about business anymore. He wanted control, and he wouldn’t stop until he had it.

She reached for her phone, dialing the one person she trusted to make things right. “Get a team together. We’re going to hit him where it hurts.”

Bucky's Move

Bucky sat at his desk, swirling a glass of whiskey, eyes narrowed as he stared at the map of her territories. He’d been watching her—her every move, her every decision. The raid had been his first strike, and he couldn’t help but feel a certain satisfaction. He didn’t take pleasure in destruction, but he took pride in sending a clear message.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp knock on his office door. Without waiting for a response, it opened, and his right-hand man, Sam Wilson, stepped inside.

“That warehouse you hit last night? It’s only the beginning, isn’t it?” Sam asked, taking a seat across from him.

Bucky didn’t answer immediately, instead leaning back in his chair. “It’s not about the warehouse. It’s about power. She needs to understand that we don’t play by the same rules.”

Sam studied him for a moment. "You’re sure this is the right move? She’s not like the others. She’ll retaliate.”

Bucky didn’t flinch. “She’s good, but not good enough.”

Her Counterstrike

Bucky’s mistake was underestimating her. When she sent word that she was coming for him, she didn’t just send a message. She made it personal.

She'd spent years cultivating a reputation for never being predictable. Every move she made had a countermeasure, a backup plan, and an out when things got complicated. So, when Bucky thought he had her cornered, he didn’t know she had already set up her own trap.

That night, a convoy of his men were scheduled to transport a large sum of money through a warehouse on the outskirts of town. It was a routine operation, one Bucky had probably thought was beneath her notice.

But she'd been tracking his operations carefully. Her crew was ready. The convoy was ambushed—swift, clean, and devastating.

Bucky’s prized money never made it to its destination. She made sure of it. His loss was monumental, not just in terms of the cash, but in the sheer humiliation.

By the time Bucky’s men realized what happened, the money was long gone, and the message was clear: You’re not the only one who can make tactical moves.

Bucky’s Response

It didn’t take long for Bucky to learn that the convoy had been hit. The news spread through his network like wildfire. His fury was palpable, his eyes blazing with a dangerous edge.

He knew this wasn’t just a retaliation—it was a declaration of war.

With a low growl, Bucky leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “Get me everything you can on her operations. I want every move, every person, every secret. I want her found and taken down.”

Sam watched him carefully. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Buck. She’s not someone you can just intimidate into submission.”

Bucky stood, grabbing his coat. “No, she’s not. But I can make her bleed. And I will.”

As the moves and counter moves unfolded, the game between her and Bucky took on a life of its own. Neither of them were willing to back down, and the stakes continued to climb. What started as a business clash had become a high-stakes battle for control—a battle neither of them would be willing to lose.

The lines between enemy and potential ally had blurred, but neither of them would show weakness.

Find the moodboard here.

[eriace]

strictly professional ; kyoya ootori

oneshot & fluff ↪  in which y/n, a sharp-tongued rival from another elite school, and kyoya ootori agree to a fake relationship for mutual gain—until spite turns into tension, and tension turns into something neither of them can logically explain. ↷ kyoya ootori ; ouran high school host club

↳ an order of black coffee + cappuccino from anonymous in the comeback cafe event !

Y/N NEVER LIKED Kyoya Ootori.

He was meticulous to a fault, charming only when it benefited him, and the only person in the school circuit who could outwit her on a budget proposal. She hated that smug glint in his glasses when he caught her bluff. He hated how she always had a counterstrike before his checkmate.

Their rivalry was legendary among elite academies. Two board members' children with brains too sharp and egos too high.

So when the Ouran gala season approached, and both their fathers demanded they behave—work together—and present a united front for future partnerships…

They did what any enemies forced to cooperate would do.

They faked a relationship.

For appearances, of course. Strictly for social leverage. Not because Kyoya’s hand brushing her back in front of investors sent her heart into minor cardiac arrest.

Not because Y/n’s teasing smile when she whispered, “Try not to look like you're suffering, sweetheart,” made him forget his next three sentences.

-

“You’re late,” Kyoya said, adjusting his tie as y/n breezed into the ballroom, dripping in elegance and disdain.

“You’re uptight,” she replied, looping her arm through his with practiced grace. “Shall we?”

They smiled—beautiful, fake, and blinding. Their fathers watched from across the room, satisfied.

“You don’t have to grip so hard,” he muttered under his breath as they walked.

“You don’t have to smirk like you enjoy this,” she shot back.

“Who says I don’t?”

She faltered—just a bit. Enough for Kyoya to catch it. That smirk deepened.

Touché.

The arrangement worked. Too well, almost. They made headlines as a golden couple of two powerful families, were invited to private meetings together, posed for magazines.

And somewhere between whispered insults and shared glances across crowded rooms, the line blurred.

She stopped calling him insufferable with her usual venom. He stopped correcting her posture at galas with the same icy tone.

He noticed when she preferred black tea over green.

She noticed when his smile was real and when it wasn’t.

One night, after another successful event, Y/n leaned against the back of the limo, tired but electric.

“You know,” she said, “for a fake boyfriend, you’re not completely intolerable.”

Kyoya didn’t respond immediately. He removed his glasses, cleaned them slowly.

“And for someone I was supposed to dislike, you’re incredibly distracting.”

That silence stretched thin—taut between them. Y/n glanced at him sideways.

“You’re not going to analyze this, are you?”

“I already have,” he replied, cool as ever. “We’ve passed the threshold of practicality.”

“…What does that mean?”

He looked at her directly now, dark eyes unreadable but intense.

“It means I’m not pretending anymore.”

It was her turn to go silent.

Then, dryly: “Took you long enough, Ootori.”

She leaned in. He didn’t stop her.

Kyoya Ootori didn’t believe in frivolous emotions.

But as her hand slid into his and their lips brushed in the quiet of the car, he decided some things weren’t meant to be logical.

Just inevitable.

© eriace ;; don’t repost my works.

[nartouthere]

apEX Shows Crazy Molotov on Dust 2 in CS2

[midnightcreator12]

I'm playing with an AU. This is a test intro for said AU.

Set up is basically that Stanley took the journal but didn't leave because his car is snowed in. But he didn't want to go back to Ford's cabin so he planned to hunker down in his car....his road trip buddy has options on that

Anyway, enjoy, drop feedback, it's be appreciated!

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

Stanford had gotten used to waking up in pain. He’d gotten used to snapping awake and taking stock of his injuries within a few moments.

Being tied up was a new one.

He felt…. surprisingly less sore than he was expecting. His head was killing him, his nose felt swollen and he could feel dried blood crusted on his lip and his back was stiff from the uncomfortable position…

All in all, very tame for Bill.

Which surprised Ford. He’d thought Bill would be angry about the last Jorneal being lost to him, figured that he’d wake up unable to move when sleep finally forced him under Bill’s control.

Ford grunted, slowly sitting up and opening his eyes. 

His glasses were missing. That was annoying.

Ford blinked, trying to clear the gunky feeling from his eyes and clear his vision as best he could before looking around-

And then he froze.

Because Stanley was sitting at his table, cans and food wrappers discarded around him and looking right at Ford.

His eyes were glowing purple.

And Ford felt his lungs seize because this couldn’t be happening! He’d made sure there was no chance of Bill and Stan meeting. He’d consumed every drop of coffee in the house in anticipation…..it had the side effect of his memory over the last few hours being spotty but he remembered Stanley taking the Journal and leaving! Stan had left! He should be fine!

Or had it been a few days?

Ford jerked in his restraints, trying to at least stand. Verdigo threatened to make him collapse again but he refused to let something as silly as fatigue overpower him.

His plans were still salvageable, he just had to get free-

….the purple-eyed thing with his brother's face was watching him, tracking his escapes attempts but…not even twitching with any sign of stopping Ford’s squirming. Just staring at Ford, like he was a bug in a jar.

It made Ford feel even more twitchy.

With his confinement and having to put his focus into staying upright, Ford couldn’t afford to divert much brain function to a verbal counterstrike. But he was not going to let this thing think it had the upper hand!

So he growled at it.

He’d gotten quite good at imitating a large number of growls from a variety of anomalies. In this case, he busted out his impersonation of a Gremloblin. The creatures were fascinating and one of the dominant predators in Gravity Falls. Most anomalies instantly shied away from the sound of its threatening growl.

The thing watching Ford tilted its- or was it Stan's?- head.

And then giggled.

Ford paused to gape at the thing, twisting his shoulders.

This….whatever it was…was giggling at him! Using Stanley’s face and Stanley’s voice to mock him!

And then it growled back. 

Purple eyes flashed brighter for a moment and sparks danced around its fingertips as the growl reverberated strangely in the room.

It made Ford freeze against his will.

And then it spoke, “I’d quit doin’ that if I were you. Just sit tight while I fed this lil bag o’ bones here.”

Ford gaped. Because that was Stanley’s voice but it was also…off. The accent wasn’t right, some inflections were reminiscent of Jersey but most of it…

…reminded him of Fiddleford.

Ford shook his head to clear it, pausing his attempts at escape to glare at the creature, “What are you? How did you get in here? And why do you look…like that?!”

The creature hummed, thunking its elbow onto the table and propping its chin onto its palm.

Or Stan's hand? Ford still wasn't sure if this was a shapechanger situation or-

“You seem ta know a bit about the strange and unexplained,” as it spoke the creature's hand reached over and stood up a red, leather-bound journal. “'Cordin’ to this anyway. So how about you tell me.”

Ford felt his stomach drop.

Because that was his journal. The journal he'd given to Stanley mere…hours, ago? Or maybe a day?

It didn't matter. What mattered was that this…anomaly had it! 

Which meant-

Ford wrenched his arms, managing to hike the binding up the radiator’s grill enough to stand at his full height, “Where the hell is Stanley? What did you do to him?!”

The creature chuckled, letting the journal thump back down as it gestured to its head, “Eh, kickin round in here somewhere. Kid pretty much didn't sleep for the whole trip. Crashed quicker than a runaway hay cart in a day market.”

No.

No, no!

 Nonononono!

Stanley was supposed to be fine! He’d taken the book and left he- he was-

Bill. Bill must have done something! 

How long had it been since-?

Ford jerked again, bearing his teeth, “Bill said I had seventy-two hours! Stanley has nothing to do with this! Let him go!”

The creature blinked again- with Stanley’s eyes because that was Stanley. Oh god, something had gotten Stanley-!

“Who the hell is Bill?”

Ford paused in his struggle and almost flapped his jaw again-

He snapped it shut quickly. He needed to stop letting this thing get to him!

“Don’t try and trick me! I know Bill was planning to send someone to take my eyes! Well, it won’t work! You’ll never get down to the portal!”

“...okay I have zero interest in your portal thing in the basement, just so ya know.”

How-! Bill. Bill must have given this thing directions to the portal!

Ford jerked against his binding. He felt something give.

He grinned and with one last jerk he was free! The sudden lack of tension made him stumble but he recovered, spinning and diving for the journal, “I won’t let you win!”

The creature…barely reacted. Just let Ford snatch his journal back with a raised brow, “.....wow, good to see where your priorities are doc. Your twin is being possessed by a ghost and you go for the beat-up book?”

“Ha! You can’t trick me!” Ford waved his arm out wildly. “Ghost possession does not cause purple eyes! And one can only become possessed if the mind is in an inebriated state!”

“Really?” the creature's voice- that was also Stanley’s voice but not his voice- “You know enough about ghosts to confidently claim that?”

“Of course!” Ford snarled as his eyes darted around the kitchen. Because he needed that thing out of Stanley but he didn’t want it out of his sight and not knowing what it was severely limited what he could do to contain it- “I built a comprehensive category system based on a large cell of spectators inhabiting the old Corduroy cabin!”

The creature slowly blinked, “....your ‘comprehensive category system’ is based on a bunch of spooks in one house? Doc, I’ve been dead since before the wheel was invented and even I know that’s a tiny number for studyin’.”

“Ha! Another lie!” Ford started to sidestep towards the cabinets. “Spirits who linger for too long display extremely volatile behavior! If you were truly a ghost, you would have killed me instead of restraining me!”

“Oooh ho-ho, trust me doc, I really wanted to strangle ya. Especially after that lil comment ya made to the kid. What was it?”

Ford had started to respond when his jaw locked. Because his own voice sprung from Stanley’s mouth, “I’m giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life!”

Ford flinched as his own words were thrown into his face. He hadn’t….had it sounded that harsh before? He hadn’t meant it like that! He’d just wanted Stanley to get moving before Bill-

The creature leaned back in its seat, voice switching back to Stanley’s but not Stanley's, “But the kid here? For some reason, he still cares about you. And if I mess with you too much, I lose a cushy deal.”

That had Ford tensing again, teeth creaking from how hard his jaw was clenching, “Deal? What deal?”

“I don’t got a body of my own anymore,” the creature gestured to Stanley’s body. “So the kid here lets me borrow his. I get to be alive for a bit and he gets to take a nap.”

Oh god, oh no, please no. Bill had said he was the last of his kind but he’d told Ford nothing but lies-

“What-,” Ford swallowed the sudden dryness in his throat. “What are you?”

“I told ya Doc, I’m a ghost,” the creature grinned, stretching Stanley’s face into a wide smile that refused to fully meet his eyes. “But if ya want a name, call me Jay.”

Ford felt like his chest was caving in.

He didn’t know what to do. His plan was destroyed, desiccated, smashed to pieces and his mind was left scrabbling to try and figure out something else-

‘Jay’ suddenly shook. A whole body shudder that had him leaning back towards the table, “Aww, crap, forgot how stubborn this kid is. Welp! Have fun explainin’ you’re whole deal doc! Might wanna clean up your eye!”

Ford sputtered, one hand starting to go up towards his face-

When Stanley jerked and gasped. The purple glow leeched out of his eyes and he blinked a few times.

His normal, brown eye snapped to Ford, then around the kitchen-

Then back to Ford before going wide, “Holy-! Jay what did you do?!”

[burins]

[tim drake owes me five dollars!!!!]

tim: so now that you've transitioned do I need to stop calling you a massive bitch. like is it misogyny now

dick: why thank you for recognizing my lifelong commitment to being bitchy. i absolutely don't care but Babs will make the :[ face if you do it where she can hear

tim: that's LITERALLY everywhere

dick: does put a damper on things huh!

tim: also she calls you a bitch more than anyone

dick: does she! delightful thank you tim

[dick has renamed the chat to bitch4bitch]

babs: I don't want to know, do I?

dick: probably not 🥰

[tim drake owes me five dollars!!!!]

tim: if this is some weird flirting thing you guys are doing I do NOT want to be involved

tim: I have been third wheeling you guys for like five hundred years

tim: ugh you're probably being gross about it right now. babs if you're reading this it's GROSS you people are TOO OLD to not have figured your shit out

[geek squad]

👽: And how are things with Conner?

tim: this is the WORST thing you do and I am counting the time you made the escalator run backward so I would miss my train because you were mad about the holo "incident"

👽: You rewired my entire projection room, breaking it in multiple ways, so you could play Counterstrike with slightly less lag time than you can on your own machine. You're lucky I stopped at the escalator.

(dick is going to save that joke about being so committed to the enormous bitch lifestyle that she transitioned to live in her truth. it's gonna KILL at the endocrinologist)

[akingdomscrypt]

Make a Mercy Out of Me

Part Six

Pairing: König x male reader (slow burn)

Word Count: ~5.54k

Summary: More trials. And König having a bit of a gay crisis.

Warnings: none. Besides maybe König being a bit anxious here and there, an allusion to child trafficking for military purposes if you squint real hard near the end, and a very very brief mention of suicide in a purely logic based standpoint.

A/n: König is oddly horny as hell for no reason, I didn't set out to write him this way. I was possessed 🧍swear it. But he cannot keep his mind off your body.. ALSO I promise 🙏 promise we'll soon actually get into the meat of the plot, this all so far has just been background shit and setting the framework I needed for the story SOON THINGS WILL START CONNECTING 🙏🙏

---"how to cope when you find your enemy hot."---

hint: you don't

König greedily takes the opportunity to separate his body from yours. The match is over, and he inches away as subtly as he can, away from the other sergeants as well who, apparently, cannot help but make the filthiest jokes they can think of.

König pretends the heat warming his cheeks under the hood is due to embarrassment only and nothing else.

Now he had the time to recover and recuperate. And to try his best to push down whatever feelings you had inadvertently caused to bubble up inside him—down, down, deeper, crushing them into a jumbled mess and shoving them into an iron lockbox.

Next up it was you against the infamous Ghost, and, König's feelings aside, he was quite eager to see how this one played out.

You had defeated Gaz and Soap, and had very nearly gotten past König as well. Put up a good enough fight to make even a giant like himself struggle.

König takes a seat against the back wall of the gym to observe from. Not interested in providing the other two immature sergeants with himself as entertainment—though it seemed even those too were more intrigued by this fight than joking around some more.

It starts out typical enough, you and Ghost circling one another just as the past few spars have gone. Though it looks like Ghost has learned a thing or two from watching you with the rest of the team and doesn't give you the time to think, to calculate your every move.

He's feigning left, then taking a step back entirely when you catch on, avoiding what would've been a counterstrike on your end. Ghost gives you no time to recover from that, grappling you into his arms—restricting your arms just how König should've during his attempt—and immobilizing your upper body.

There's a bit of a struggle but the match soon ends with Ghost slamming you down onto the mat. One arm locked around your throat, the other using his hand to restrain your arms, one leg keeping yours tangled and trapped. All while he keeps his balance with one knee planted firmly on the mat in a wide stance. Preventing you from knocking him over.

Ghost only relents when your body goes limp below his, and König takes note of the exhausted droop of your posture when you finally get back up onto your feet.

“That's all for today,” Ghost calls it, sending a meaningful look König's way before flipping around to handle the others. “Back here tomorrow at oh-six-hundred sharp.”

“Soap, make sure Mouse gets cleaned up and fed. Don't let him out of your sight.” Ghost barks. Soap must sense something in the man's tone, because he doesn't make a single snarky quip. Just nods his head and leads the others out of the room. Only after the three disperse does Ghost finally face König again.

“On me,” is the only thing König gets before Ghost is, too, disappearing out of the room. Leaving König to scramble after him.

König wants to ask where they're going, but that quickly becomes clear when they make a sharp left. Ghost only knocks once before entering, not even waiting for an all clear before he's pushing the door open—strange behavior for the lieutenant, that's how König knows this is serious.

“Ah, Ghost,” Price says when they enter, the door clicks shit behind them, a nod in König's direction and subsequent, “Sergeant.”

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” The captain sighs, and it's then that König really sees the man for the first time. He looks tired- no. Exhausted. Looking his age more than usual, or maybe older. And König notes that he hardly ever sees Price leave this cramped, makeshift office space. Back home the man could be seen chatting with his fellow officers or taking a moment to oversee training indoors and out. Perhaps taking a smoke break or two.

“We need to talk.” Ghost says.

Price raises an eyebrow, gesturing around vaguely with a pen as if to say ‘obviously’.

Ghost lets out a weary sigh of his own, shoulders dropping and König follows closely when the man takes a seat. Lingering behind his lieutenant on his feet.

“Mouse, he's-” Ghost cuts himself off, glancing up to König again then back down. “You can't tell me you don't see it, König.”

König considers it for a moment, but even he can't pretend he doesn't know what Ghost was talking about. You were dangerous. A walking hazard that they were lucky hadn't gone running towards your maker. Whoever that may be.

“Mouse is.. complicated.” König admits.

“Has he been causing problems?”

“Well, no, sir.. not specifically.” König isn't quite sure how to confront this, how to tell his captain that their team almost got completely demolished by the small soldier (?)—were you even a soldier, obviously you had some type of professional training, but that didn't mean much.

“We were doing a simple sparring match, getting a feel for his abilities. Figured Mouse would not be able to keep up, especially given his recent injuries but.. but he far exceeded our expectations, sir.”

“He took on Gaz,” Ghost adds for König.

“And Soap,” König finished. “He even almost got the upper hand over me. Taking Mouse down took a lot more effort than it should have.”

“Too much,” Ghost, begrudgingly, admits. “I saw how he fought with each of you, I knew I shouldn't underestimate him.. but there was a moment I doubted I would come out on top.”

That. That really gets Price’s attention, both of their attention, really. König snaps down to look at Ghost, surprised. “Really? You looked like you had him handled fine.”

All three of them sat in silence then. If you could defeat two of them, then provide enough of a struggle for the other two who were seen as almost invincible on the field, even if what was supposed to be a friendly spar.. that was not a good sign at all.

You had been easy to catch. Laughably easy. It didn't track with what they all had experienced mere minutes ago.

“I don't mean to overstep, sir.. but,” König hesitates. As if by simply saying it the sergeant would speak the words into existence, they would lose everything. “Do we.. do we even have anything to hold him? Legally speaking.”

“If it was not for that tip we got, he would just be a random civilian who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time..” Seeds of doubt began to sew in König's mind. What if you weren't who they had been chasing all this time?

Ghost turns to look up at him, and König wavers, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, hands twisting together as he tried to string together the thoughts swirling in his head, but it's Price that speaks up.

“What are you sayin’, König? That we got the wrong guy?”

“Well… maybe?” He squeaks, shrinking half his size under the captain's hard gaze.

“He does have a point..” ohthankfuck, perfect timing on Ghost's part, stealing Price’s attention away from the oversized sergeant.

“The note is circumstantial at best, and with all that blood and mud caked onto it, it's pretty much moot.” Ghost's tone takes on a hard edge, as he too is realizing that they all really had, well.. nothing to hold you on. “Even with all the strange shite he was spittin’ when we captured the runt. Could easily be washed away with the excuse of delusion due to blood loss.”

“Even the video evidence..” Price murmurs in agreement, followed by a heavy sigh as the man drags a hand down his face. “It's all blurry, and of cloaked, hooded figures in black. Faces covered and of varying heights and builds.. fuck.”

“Do we have.. anything?” König reluctantly asked, regretting opening his mouth again when Price's eyes immediately locked on him again. The captain sat up a little straighter, reaching for the papers on the desk and shifting them around.

“We have one thing..” Price doesn't expand on that idea further, mouth pulling into a thin line. There's a far away look in the man's eye, but König knew better than to question his captain. “You two are dismissed.”

“But-”

“I have enough to keep him. For now.” Price waves them away. “Now begone, shoo, I've got work to do.”

König puts his hands up in mock surrender while Ghost grumbles an amused, “yessir.” Then the two of them are out of the office, and more importantly, out of the captain’s hair.

“Thought you had left me here for dead.” Are the first words out of your mouth when König arrives back at the room you two unofficially share. König turns after locking the door behind him—by now he's certain you wouldn't try to escape, but it didn't hurt to be cautious and the bolt would at least slow you down in the case he was wrong—raising an unimpressed brow as he considers you.

You. Sitting there, on what used to be his (unofficial, again) bed, small and cute- dripping wet. Getting water all over the thin mattress. Looking like a drowned dog.

“They give you a towel..?” König's words are met with a scoff on your end and he is surprised you don't cross your arms over your chest and pout. Or, well, he supposed he didn't know whether you were actually pouting or not. Given the mask obscuring your features. Speaking of the mask..

“You do not take it off even to shower?” He asks, eyeing your damp—that had to be uncomfortable, did you really not trust them that much?—mask. The fabric leaking little droplets that raced down the column of your throat.

König tries not to linger on the other ideas that sight shoved into his mind.

He also pretends not to acknowledge the odd feeling that stirs in his chest, knowing you would rather-

“Just enjoy waterboarding yourself, then?”

Do that then risk being seen by them—by him. Fair enough, he supposed, it wasn't like you had been there long. Or had joined willingly—but you were here willingly, weren't you? …Ah, decidedly, you weren't. It was either this or- or death. Because they couldn't let you go, not when they couldn't even imprison you for your crimes—crimes they weren't even sure you had committed.

“Mm, something like that.” You retort. If König didn't know any better, he would assume the damn thing was glued onto your face. What kind of person used a straw like that if not because the thing was stuck on? That must be it; the thought elicits a private huff from the sergeant.

“What is so funny? I don't see you taking yours off either.” And there it is, crossing your arms like a defiant child, König bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing at the comparison.

“You are not with me all the time.” He says instead.

“Yeah, right,” you say, grumbling, a furrow to your eyebrows König refuses to admit is almost- almost adorable in some way. “You are practically glued to my hip half the time. I'm almost surprised you do not drag me with when you go to piss or something.”

“You think about me peeing often?”

“Only the healthy amount.”

“Uh huh, that so?”

“It is.” König can hear the smile in your voice—a real shame he can't see it—and breaks himself. Cracking a grin of his own under his hood, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the situation. It's not too long ago that he had held a blade to your throat—the same damn throat that was stupidly tempting when still damp with water, could do easily be mistaken as being slick with sweat-

It looked so out of place, the mask. The only black piece of clothing on you, mismatched when paired with the oversized shirt and pants, a belt cinched tight around your waist to hold the latter of the two up. König definitely doesn't briefly consider what it would be like to tug it down.

That would be unprofessional.

And he certainly doesn't have to force his eyes away from your body, thankful once more for the hood to shield his blush from view, and push his body to take a seat at the little desk in the corner instead.

“You should rest.” He says, stupidly keeping his back to you. But it was better than letting the little beast in his mind continue to devour the sight of you. “The lieutenant's got more in store for you tomorrow.”

There's a sigh a few moments later, joined by the rustling of fabric as, König assumes, you get comfortable on the bed.

“Yeah, yeah…” you murmur. “Just don't kill me in my sleep.”

“I make no promises.”

König was a fool. It was the next day—his back twinged now and again after he accidentally fell asleep at that tiny desk—and he really, really should not be as excited for this as he was.

Gaz held the record, Soap close behind. A part of König hoped you would surpass it.

All in all, he was a foolish man. A foolish man who was horribly excited to see you run this course. To see you sweaty and panting with exhaustion- and pocket that imagery later to think back on in a wholly different context.

König can't remember the last time he felt like this. It was dumb, beyond foolish—how many times was he going to say that?—, and so on.

You were the enemy still, technically. Yet his mind appeared to be hooked on the idea of you being so much more than that.

He was slipping up—promised himself he never would again, not after what happened the last time he let another occupy his mind like this—and not even bothering to try and catch himself before he fell. Hard.

And with no one there to catch him this time.

You're running this course with Soap and Gaz; Ghost had decided to keep him on the sidelines to help observe the three of you. It's just a simple obstacle run, nothing but climbing and sprinting and rolling around in mud. Alejandro had agreed to give them free reign over this area for the afternoon, the set up was a bit different than the one back home, but the premise was the same. First one to the end won.

Ghost was betting on Gaz,

“The lad holds the record in the other, why not this one as well? And that's with a gun, this should be a milk run for our boys.”

“Shouldn't you be rooting for your boyfriend?”

Ghost sends him a glare, but König snorts, knowing it held no heat behind it.

“Mind your own, Sergeant.”

“Just saying..”

“Soap is plenty good, but we all know Gaz is the most proficient in speed and agility.”

“Right, right,” König nods along, finding it impossible to keep the grin out of his tone. “As we all know, you have a thing for the beefy ones.”

Ghost elbows him, and König supposes he deserves that one, even as he silently chuckles. Shoulders shaking along with his amusement.

“Shut it, before I send you in there with them.”

König straightens up. “You wouldn't.”

“I would.”

“Mm, you would.” As much as König loved suffering under the heat of the sun—even in the winter, it was a far cry from the frigid temperatures back home—, he also loved keeping his dignity intact. However little was left. And getting distracted by you and ending up dead last would absolutely destroy the last bit he was clinging to.

“Maybe I should,” Ghost pipes up again a few moments later—they’re still waiting on Gaz, who had to make a brief visit with Price this morning—, though the lieutenant's sights are still on you and Soap. The two of you goofing around over by the course. “Give you somethin’ nice to look at, trip you up, knock you down a peg..”

“You are a heartless man, Ghost.”

“You started it.” Ghost says with a shrug, but König doesn't miss the squint of his eyes, following his gaze to catch as Soap says something and you turn around to playfully shove at him.

“What are you, five?”

“Oh, for sure. Didn't you know? You've been following the orders of a toddler all this time.”

“Now that I think about it, that makes a ton of sense, sir.”

Jealousy. König recognizes it with an amused huff. Then he watches as Soap does the same to you, a big grin on the Scot’s face as he does it, and König can't even pretend he doesn't know how Ghost feels.

Only it's a bit different. As Ghost is actually dating the erratic pyromaniac.

And you're not attainable. For him, or for anyone.

“Uh huh, righ’,” Ghost speaks after a moment of silence, and König had almost forgotten they were talking- seriously, what could possibly be so funny to have you giggling like that? König can't hear it from here, unsure if you're even making any sound. But people don't just double over like that unless it's from laughter.

“You both are hopelessly pathetic.” A voice from behind them jolts both men out of their reverie, turning at the same time to catch sight of Gaz standing behind them.

“Christ, it's creepy when you lot do that.” Gaz shivers under their duel stares, breaking the tension König hadn't even realized had sprouted in the air. “We ready to start, or…?”

Ghost turns back around and Gaz tracks the man's stare, barking out a laugh when he puts the pieces together. “Don't worry, he's all yours, big man,” Gaz says, patting Ghost in the shoulder.

Ghost shrugs it off, grumbling.

“Soap, Mouse, line up!” Gaz calls on his way over to the other two, Soap calls something back but König isn't paying attention. Too caught up on the little glimmer in your eye, a far cry from the dullness that has resided there these past weeks.

If König didn't know any better, he would say you look almost fond as your gaze flicks between the two sergeants. A look that soon shifts into something deeper, darker. Longing.

You glance away then, and König catches your eye. Giving you a small nod not even he knows the meaning behind, but it works and you perk up again just the slightest bit.

“Alright. Enough goofing off, you three.” Ghost barks. Full lieutenant mode is back, it seems.

You come in first place, not even looking a smidge out of breath. König pretends he had been paying attention to all three of the men on the course, but he wouldn't be able to recite a thing if asked. Ghost doesn't ask.

Good. Because he's certain the lieutenant doesn't want to hear all about the way König had stood there on the sidelines, categorizing all the different, minute shifts, the tense and release, of all the muscles in your arms, the ones peaking out in the glimpse he could get of your back. Watching closely as you pull yourself up the wall in just a few bounds—too short for just a running start to get yourself up, but a quick burst of energy from kicking against the wall is more than enough to boost you.

There isn't even a speck of sweat on you when it's all said and done, and König swears he's probably perspiring more than you from simply standing there. Observing.

Ghost knocks him out of his doomed, one track mind before calling time. You first, with Soap and Gaz just barely lagging behind. Gaz, predictably, gets there a mere millisecond before Soap, but Soap doesn't get any pity points from his boyfriend.

The only difference between you and the two sergeants is that they, at least, appear like they just ran a full obstacle course. You, on the other hand, look as if you've just gone for a casual walk in a park. Eyeing the other two with—adorably—furrowed eyebrows, as if confused as to why Soap and Gaz are a bit out of breath.

“Christ above,” Soap takes the offered water from Ghost when he gets close enough, wheezing a bit. “Ah'm never doin’ that again.”

“It was just an ordinary course, Sergeant.” Ghost says, but König heard the hint of humor in the man's tone.

“Ordinary my arse,” Soap grumbles after gulping down half the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “The set up, maybe. But Ah'm pretty sur’ I best ma’ own damn time.”

Ghost looks down, checking the little scribbled down time stamps he'd made in his wrist. A small doodle representing each of the three and the times right beside it. “You did.”

“Huh??”

König snorts, listening in even as his eyes flick up to catch sight of you again. Still chatting with Gaz, and looking so, so confused by all of this.

“You and Gaz both,” Ghost clarifies. “Both of you beat your own record.”

“Ach, damn. Ah knew I was pushin’ mahself, but I dinnae think it was that much.”

“Not confident in your own abilities, Soap?” König teases, glancing down at the other sergeant just in time to catch his pout.

“S’not like tha’,” Soap grumbles, but now that he's been able to catch his breath, his words gradually become more intelligible again. “You're runt just cleared us with zero effort, dinnae even look back. Had to push ourselves just to keep up.”

“And yet you still came in last.”

“Gaz is a speedy bastart, nothin' can help that.”

Ghost puts a hand on Soap's shoulder, the latter leaning into the touch just barely. And soon enough the lieutenant is calling out the next instructions. Soap soon disperses to join you and Gaz once more.

“C'mon now, inside. This time it's just you, Mouse.”

Again, this next one is similar to what they have back home, but just different enough to be interesting. A typical small urban layout with cardboard cutouts as targets. Some that moved, some that stayed stationary, and others that popped out at you when triggered.

“Just me? I am honored.” You interject when close enough. Leaving the two spent sergeants behind to join Ghost and König at the front.

“What are we doing this time? Another obstacle thing?”

“Sort of,” Ghost says. “Jus’ your typical urban combat setting. I'll set another timer, see how quick you can get in and out without losing any points or having time added to your overall score.”

“Sounds straightforward enough.” You nod along, soon coming up to a door which König opens, letting the four of you file in first.

“It should be.” König muses, letting the heavy door fall shut behind you all with a weighted clunk.

The temperature is vastly cooler indoors when compared to the stifling warmth of outside—why, why is it warm in winter??—and König can finally breathe easily again.

“Who knows,” Ghost cuts in. “Maybe you'll even beat Gaz’s record.”

The possibility put open into the air drags a deep, exaggerated groan from the sergeant in question.

“Why, Ghost, whyyy? Don't say that! You're goin’ to speak it into existence!”

Ghost shrugs, dismissive, but they all—with the exception of you—, see that the action contained an underlying thrum of amusement.

Ghost gives you the brief rundown while the other three find their place from which they will sit and observe.

“Do ya think he'll manage it?” Soap asks from König's left, nudging his arm with an elbow to get König's attention.

“To beat Gaz? Or have a good score?”

Gaz grumbles something to König's right, but Soap responds before he can tease the man some more.

“Uh, both? But mostly the first. Y’don’t think he can really do it, d’ya?”

“I'd say it's best we don't underestimate him,” Ghost interrupts, coming over to sit on Soap's other side. Apparently he had already gotten you set up. “At all. The runt's already far exceeded our expectations.”

The three nod along in agreement with their lieutenant.

“That's for sure,” Gaz says. Obviously the man isn't truly that worked up over the possibility of you surpassing his old score, but the easy jokes were more manageable than facing the reality that they still had no idea who—what—they were dealing with.

They knew nothing about you, a persistent fact that bothered König more and more every time it resurfaced in his mind. They didn't know your real name—if you even had one—, nor did they know where you came from. They had found you, here, in Mexico, but that didn't mean this is where you originated from.

No origin, no name, no age, no clear goals or motivation. No purpose. It was almost suspicious, with nothing—at least surface level—to live for, it was a wonder you hadn't simply.. well, to put it bluntly, committed suicide yet. Taken the easy way out.

Not that he would ever want that, but from a purely logical standpoint.. it made the most sense. Which, given that you were still here and had something to prove, there must be something you were doing all of this for.

An oath? Responsibility? Someone to return to?

Something to live for. Someone to live for. To greet you when it was all over, whatever ‘it’ was in the first place.

Maybe that was the key. You had someone waiting on you. A friend? Someone more—though given your clear disdain for socialization at any point, König figured that wasn't the case, but he couldn't rule it out, and he ignored the way that made him feel. Or, rather, didn't make him feel.

You were enemies. Reluctant allies at best. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Rubber?” Soap's voice brings König back into reality, the four of them watching you do a brief inspection of the weapon you had been given for this test.

Ghost shakes his head, negative. “Paint.”

“Paint?”

“Need to see where the shots land, but the last thing I wanted was to give him a real firearm. Rubber hurts more. So paint it is.”

Huh, König doesn't think he's ever seen anyone do that before. Not that it would be more difficult, maybe a little light if the faux weapon wasn't properly weighted. Other than that, you shouldn't be at any disadvantage. Or advantage.

König zones back in to watch you work the moment the alarm blares through the speakers, signaling the start of the course.

They watch you run through the twists and turns of the mock interior of a home, and it puts König on edge when you somehow manage to predict where the cutouts are going to spring out before they even happen. Some you aren't even in the same room as. In a run you've never been through before.

It reminds König of that time before, when you picked up on the sounds of apparent bombs. A noise Gaz nor himself ever were able to hear. Not until the detonation itself.

Could it be.. could it be that you were just naturally gifted with excellent hearing? Or maybe it was the vibrations of the sound waves in the floors.. no, that wasn't right.

König suspects even someone with ears in perfect condition, never damaged and born with zero imperfections, would be able to hear the things you do. You have.

This wasn't human. It wasn't natural. It was technical. Man-made. Enhancement.

Of course, devices to aid in hearing weren't unheard of. But that's just what they were. Assistive device. Designed to give those with hearing impairments the chance to experience what the average person did, or close to.

They didn't do.. this. And those eyes. König had thought it was his imagination when it first happened, back in the little city along the border. A reflective glare, like a cat's when a phone tried to capture them in the dark.

He catches it again when you turn into a darker room—once again locking onto a target before it gets the chance to even straighten out—a little sheen. A reflection when the overhead lights hit just right.

This wasn't some fantasy bullshit, obviously you were human. There was no other option. But you were for certain.. enhanced.

That brought up questions of how? Why? Who? And, further, what was the purpose of it? If you had increased hearing and sight, what other senses had gotten the same treatment? What were the limits?

Were there any limits?

Who did this to you? Why? Were there more like you?

A sinking feeling tells König he doesn't want to know the answer to that.

19.8, that's your final score. Gaz is, understandably, thrilled by this. Letting out a loud whoop and springing to his feet.

“I'm just glad I can keep my dignity after the disaster of the last run.” Gaz says, turning to Soap and clapping his palm down on his shoulder with a deep, dramatic sigh. “Can't say the same for you, mate.”

“Oi, shove off,” Soap grumbles, swatting the other man's hand away while Ghost looks on with amusement.

König's attention is drawn away by your approach, a slight crinkle to your brow that grabs his focus. Odd. You should be thrilled by this, few managed to get below Soap's score, much less beat the Scot and almost reach Gaz as well.

Ghost starts to go over your score with you, but König doesn't zone in on that. No. He pays mind to your stiff posture and wonders briefly if your injuries were acting up again. Perhaps that was the source of your soured mood.

When all is said and done you're dismissed with a wave and barked order that you would meet back here again tomorrow. More testing—more opportunity to watch how you move, to gauge your responses and capabilities. To understand how exactly they would need to act if they had to put you down, if it came down to that.

The walk back to your shared sleeping quarters is short, and you keep up with König better than expected after today's adventures.

Once you both are back in the room, though, that is when you finally break your silence. You had been quiet when Ghost had given you the rundown, not even joining Soap and Gaz in their banter like you had after the first test.

“What the fuck was that?” You growl, flipping around to face König as he locks the door behind you both.

“Mm?” He inquires, taken aback by your sudden outburst. Huh. König had thought things had been going well. Guess he had been wrong.

“Do not give me that look.”

König's frown deepens, completely out of his depth here. Was he supposed to know what you were talking about.. comfort you maybe? How would he even begin to do that? He didn't know why you were upset- and surely it wasn't his responsibility to comfort the enemy-turned-reluctant-ally.

“Ughh!” You throw your arms up and turn around, just in time before König can catch the wince you make because of the action.

“I truly do not understand, Maus..” König mumbles, eyebrows scrunched together as he drags his gaze over your body again and again. This time under completely innocent intentions, truthfully. He just cannot comprehend what could possibly be bothering you.

“Does your shoulder hurt? Your leg?” He asks, probing for more information. If he could just figure this out then he could get you to sleep, get out of these damn clothes and into something comfortable, maybe take a shower..-

“Are you kidding?” You huff, one gloved hand dragged roughly down your face.

“Uhh.. nein?” König shuffles in place, his shoulders curling in slightly. He's exposed, more vulnerable than he's felt in years and he's not even in public this time. König just desperately hopes you don't turn around—doesn’t think he could handle being seen right now. Being observed.

“Fine. Fine.” You flip down on the thin cot, both hands over your face, grumbling. König lets out a small breath of relief when you don't look at him. “Pretend you don't know. Like you all weren't making a complete fool of me out there. Giving me those stupid, easy assessments. The kind of shit fucking teenagers know how to do.”

König is yanked from his spiraling thoughts. Teenagers? What did- what?

“I don't understand.” König finds himself repeating, dumbly. “You beat two out of five of the best soldiers in this regime. You nearly broke a years long standing record, injured, mind you. How were we treating you like a, uh, ‘fool’, or so you say.”

König catches you peeking out from between your fingers, confusion swirling in those striking hues.

“What?”

“What?” König parrots.

“You are telling me..” you begin, pushing yourself up into a seated position. “That.. that was a good score? A good run?”

“Uhh.. yes?”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“... Yeah, goodnight then, König.”

And the conversation is over, leaving König utterly puzzled. “Okay…”

König drags out the last syllable, muttering to himself under his breath as he turns around, grabs a change of clothes, and dips out of the room. Locking it firmly behind him. He needed to speak with Ghost again, then probably Price too.

First, a shower.

__

Masterpost | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Next..

__

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[docgold13]

Heroes & Villains The DC Animated Universe - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

More Batman

In the midst of the Thanagarian invasion of Earth, Batman was forced to reveal his identity to his teammates and provide the Batcave as a temporary meeting place for the League in planning a counterstrike.  After successfully retaking the Watchtower from Thanagarian forces, Batman resolved to end the threat by sacrificing himself and piloting the Watchtower through the Earth's atmosphere in an attempt to plunge it into a Hyperspace Bypass (a machine that would generate a wormhole through Earth). Before launching the escape pod containing his comrades, he expressed his gratitude for having known and served with them. As Batman lost consciousness due to the heat surrounding him, Superman rescued him as the Watchtower destroyed the Bypass.  

Following the the defeat of the Thanagarians, Batman and the five remaining members reformed the Justice League with a new Watchtower and an expanded roster of heroes. Batman was instrumental in recruiting Green Arrow who, along with other normal human Justice League members, helped keep the League from becoming an autonomous metahuman army. 

Despite being far from the most social among the League members, Batman would go beyond certain expectations to save his allies. One instance where Wonder Woman was transformed into a pig by the sorceress Circe, Batman sang ‘Am I Blue?’ in front of a live audience so that she would change her back. He also succeeded in demonstrating to Amanda Waller that Cadmus was being used as a tool to further Lex Luthor's personal agenda to discredit and destroy the Justice League. Waller was so impressed with Batman and his unique skill-set that she created Project Batman Beyond to ensure that the world would always have a Batman.  

The legendary Kevin Conroy provided the voice for Batman with the hero first appareling in the debut episode of Batman: The Animated Series.   

[aether-wasteland-s]

The Shadows of Neverland

chapter 6 — communing with the dead

After finding what they did, James and William try to adjust to a brand new belief system as a pair of once-sceptics, hold council with brand new members of their crew, and actually try to formulate a concrete plan. Meanwhile, James thinks of a way to spread the news to the lost boys.

FROM THE BEGINNING || PREVIOUS || NEXT

“So, you’re asking me to believe in ghosts now?”

James and William had immediately begun christening their ship the moment they arrived back on shore, with an old piece of driftwood and some black lacquer they’d found on the lowest possible deck. Potentially used for keeping the ship in some sense of order, now their first little ticket to freedom.

This felt like a bit of them. When she had her name, they were one step further from Pan’s grasp, however small that step was. At least, they knew it would feel like they were a little further away.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

“I’m not asking you to believe in anything. But, we both saw it. Vaughan was— you could see right through the man! I don’t know how else you expect to explain that…”

“I wish there was another way to explain it, but nah… We saw a ghost, didn’t we?”

“I believe we did. That, or the heat’s finally getting to us, and Vaughan decided to fuck with us a little… But either way, there’s gonna be twenty more of them coming down the coastline shortly, I reckon it’s something we need to get used to.”

“Such is the way, it seems.” William spared a glance towards the sign, where James was leaning up against the board with his elbow and adding the final, albeit shaky touches to the lettering. “’specially round here. We ain’t gonna win if we can’t match what this place is throwin’ at us.”

“Exactly why I think these ghosts might actually do us some good.”

They met in the middle of the paint job, and James held off to let William finish off, and possibly even neaten it up more than he ever could. He ran to fetch a length of rope from which to suspend it, and by the time he returned, William was already in the middle of a conversation with Vaughan, and James made note of a number of other spirits stood a little way back.

“… Breached from the cave, or so I heard.”

Vaughan shook his head slowly. “I tell you, I haven’t seen that godforsaken demon in such a long time, it almost feels a grand relief. It wouldn’t think about us, really. Not after it had its way.”

James returned down the gangplank, winding and rewinding the coil of rope around his arm over and over. William’s brow creased. “Not at all?”

“Its already killed the lot of us, what’s the damn point?”

“I mean, there was little, but I’m fairly certain that’s about to change now…”

“That’s true,” James agreed quietly. “You’re going to be a target again, we seem to be frequented by the thing. Good day, Vaughan. Is this all of you?”

“Yes, I didn’t exactly promise numbers, Mr Callaghan…”

“I can’t say I’m disappointed, anything would be better than the two of us trying to face it together, that’s for sure.” He turned his attention towards the gathering. “Well met, gentlemen,” he called, trying to ascertain some confidence. “I’m afraid we’re very much at liberty here, its whims are unpredictable, but you will be a welcome cause to start planning a counterstrike.”

“Tell me more about this plan for revenge you have,” Vaughan hummed, intrigued.

“I invite you and your men aboard to discuss it. I’m afraid I have little in the way of an actual plan, but now I know what I have, it’ll be far easier to come up with something.”

It didn’t take long before the deck actually looked somewhat functional, as if there had been a crew on the planks for a long time. The spirits each took a little adjusting, but most of them had been sailors in some previous years, and immediately knew what was what. James and William admired it, in a way, and the familiarity of a full deck definitely seemed to help some.

James led William and Vaughan into the plan. They stood around the hefty desk in the captain’s quarters, over an empty spread in the journal and an opportunity. From the little window at the side, they could just about make out the cave, and that served as more than enough inspiration for what they had in mind.

“You’ve tangled with this shadow before, yes?” Vaughan asked warily, sparing a glance outwards.

“Aye,” William admitted with a slow shake of his head. “We’ve seen it and tangled with it both.”

James sighed. “Seen both that demon in the darkness, and the boy he’s puppeteering to fulfil whatever it has in mind. I’ve the scars to prove it.”

Vaughan nodded stiffly. “This is no light matter, as you both well know. There’s something about that darkness that’s… Consuming. Dark in a way nothing’s ever been dark before.”

“I remember being swarmed. Tryna find a way out. There’s no escapin’ that thing, that’s all I know.”

“Exactly,” James agreed. “It’s intent on taking all the advantage you have, leaving you with nothing but your own wits. That’s why we have to be sharper, and that’s why the numbers are gonna help. Vaughan, as I said, we can’t deal with the shadow on our own— as well you know, I assume…”

“I know. Believe me, enough of my men tried to fend off their fates, but there was no running from that thing.”

“Conquering the darkness is only part of it. With enough preparation, we could put up a stand with you and yours. I don’t believe it would be capable of being in that many places at once, since it seemed to control the shadows in the cave en masse. William, what did you see on the coast that first time?”

“Near enough the same thing,” William admitted. “It was one large mass, that just kept multiplyin’.”

“Right, so its only one entity. By all accounts, capable of taking any shadow it can, but have we proof that it’s truly anything but a way to hide?”

Vaughan’s eyes grew wide. “What are you saying, Callaghan?”

“I’m saying that it may not be as much a threat as we believe. It’s almost… Natural, dare I say, to be afraid of the dark for us. And by now, I’m sure it knows that. It’s using that.”

“I think you’re onto something.”

William wrote that down. James presented a theory he’d been dwelling upon since he was left stranded in the black with a barely shining torch as his only beacon. Pan hadn’t taken more than one of the lost boys, even though it had claimed multiple. If it were capable, he thought aloud, then it would have had all of them on its side. Thus, he thoroughly believed that it had a limit, and that limit extended to the darkness, and trying to make itself seem as intimidating as possible.

“Think about it,” he leaned forwards against the table, looking between Vaughan and William. “William, it didn’t take you on, because you only saw shadow. Mr Vaughan, did it ever try to best you or any of your men by itself?”

Vaughan fell silent in thought for a moment, running his hand through his hair. “No. It tried to turn us against each other, sure. Cooper almost paid the price for it, but it never tried to take us on from the darkness.”

“Sorry, it tried to turn you on your fellas?” William asked, stunned.

“Mhm. There was something awful strange about it. Cooper turned on us without explanation. One moment, we were tryna get back on our feet, figure out where the hell we were, y’know how it is… Next thing I knew, Cooper was lashing out.”

“Did you notice anything strange about him?” James pressed, intrigued.

“Now you mention… His eyes. Dead. Clouded over. Such as they are now, I’d say… It was like the lights weren’t on upstairs, if you know what I mean…”

James nodded slowly. William took a slow intake of breath. “That’s the other thing, isn’t it? We need not be afraid of the dark, especially if we now have the numbers to fight it off if needs be, but there’s the whole matter of what it does to people. Clearly, we need to be wary of the possession.”

“You of all people know that one, James.”

“Aye, too true. There’s a boy, I don’t know whether he’s living or dead, but he’s with the shadow now. And there are others. I wouldn’t ask any of them to join this effort, not on my life, but is there a chance that we could be too slow, and that we’d have to end up taking on all of them?”

“The lost boys?” Vaughan seemed to spark some kind of recognition in the mention of others, and he absently looked out beyond the cave.

“You know of them?”

“Where are they these days?”

“In the forest…”

“It was us who suggested they move inland. Especially given how likely it was they were going to be found.”

James sighed, relieved. “I owe you credit, Vaughan. They live on because of that.”

“It has been a while too long since last I saw them. It’s good to know they’re still kicking.”

“Am I the only one who don’t know ‘bout these kids?” William asked.

Vaughan looked to James. James looked to Vaughan. Seeing the same results, both of them nodded.

“Don’t worry about that, William. Come the right time, if and when we finally disperse of this demon, I plan to leave this godforsaken island and take as many of them as possible with us. If we make it, then we’re home free, and need never turn back towards this place so long as we might live. You’ll get more than enough of a chance then.”

William inclined his head. “Okay. And what of now?”

“The plan? Well, there’s only one place to start, of course. Gents, would we have the better advantage if we went storming on in there and tried to battle it in its own domain, or if we waited and let it come to us?”

“We have the advantage of the water,” Vaughan commented.

“That is true…”

“But on the other hand, if we went stormin’, it wouldn’t be able to garner when we were gonna strike. It’d have the advantage of location, but wouldn’t be able to tell shit about when the fight was.” William countered.

“Take both of those into account, William.” James absently pushed at one of the loose leafs of paper, weighing up both of the choices. “As William puts it, we could have an advantage either way, either through the element of surprise or of the location. But, we’d have our disadvantages as well, you’ve gotta consider that.”

“Play us both sides, then,” Vaughan gestured for James to continue, and he started to pace the length of the table.

“Well, obviously, if we were to storm in there, we’d have the element of surprise, but it has the location. It can spin that however it wants to, and then who knows what’s going to happen after that? But, if we were to wait it out, then we’d have the advantage of the ground. We can choose how that fight’s going to go, but it’ll only last for so long. As soon as it gets its feet, so to speak, we will be swarmed on our own turf, and none of us are capable of guessing how far the darkness can go. Besides, if we’re all in one place, then it can take us too, pick us off one by one.”

William sighed quietly, just about managing to keep up with what was being said. He was on the verge of making a tally, counting up everything that had been said and measuring it from both ends, when Vaughan seemed to perk up with the spark of an idea, and muttered, “but what if most of us were dead? Can it even pick us off?” and suddenly, everything in the room stopped.

James seemed to hold his breath. William’s pen stopped running across the page. All eyes were suddenly on Vaughan, and he saw the hint of a smile creep onto James’ face.

“Wait, you might be onto something here…”

Vaughan nodded eagerly. “I would like to offer the thought that, as evidenced so far, its only taken over the living. And, this crew is comprised of men mostly beyond those years.”

“The only real threat is to me an’ you…” William mused, looking over to James.

“So we can’t even be picked off. What does that leave it with over this way?”

The three of them gathered around William’s notes. Once again, William ran them through what they’d decided was their greatest disadvantages. Seeing what they’d talked about, and narrowing it down with Vaughan’s given advantage, they were left with only one thing. James’ smile grew into a grin, and he nodded triumphantly.

“The fight is ours to take! We have no reason to take it to other territory, we have the better chance here, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I certainly would,” Vaughan glanced over William’s shoulder one more time. “It gives us the chance to prepare, too. If it’s on our terms, we can have it our way, no?”

“Right! And don’t we deserve that right?” The two of them turned their attention. “What say you, William?”

William deliberated. Looked over his own notes until he knew every word by heart. Felt the flood of victory crawl into his heart and set it alight with passion. He slammed the pen onto the open notes. “What say I? I say we best get ourselves prepared!”

James laughed. The crew outside the cabin heard an eruption of cheers, as if they’d already won the battle, despite none of them having made a move to start a fight.

“That’s the spirit! Today, we begin! Drive this shadow from the land, if we must!”

“And how d’you propose we start that one?”

“We get our numbers on board with the plan, let everyone know what we plan to do and talk specifics in the future.”

“And the boys?” Vaughan asked.

“I’ll make sure they know. Join as they might, or avoid as they might, they deserve the right as much as we do, yeah?”

“Go and spread the word. Smee and I will handle the crew.”

James nodded once, already running what he was going to say before he even left the cabin. He wandered off onto the beach and heard the raise of excited voices as the news spread from spirit to spirit before he even made it to the treeline. If this was as easy as they had planned it, then they would have Pan within their grasp before long.

He near enough ran the length of the forest, only stopping by the point of his sword when he needed to carve himself a new way through the trees. Branches broke underfoot, and for the first time since his arrival, he hadn’t the mind to wonder whether something was going to follow him into the thicket.

What he had was a solid plan. It had been such a long time since his desperation had shone through so prevalent, and even longer since he’d managed to create any semblance of a plan with that much success. And it seemed a breeze, too. It seemed like waiting and luring Pan to their territory was the one thing that was going to guarantee them the freedom that they wanted, and the revenge that they deserved.

They had the time. They knew what they were going to be working with, and now, they had that much needed upper hand.

He’d been trying to translate his thoughts as he went, looking for a way to break the news. Frankly, he was mulling it over for a long time, even with his haste and the added speed, and it took him a while before he began to wonder whether he’d gotten himself lost.

The undergrowth had never been this well shaded before, had it?

Not even in the dead of night…

Even then, he had some form of sight, didn’t he? The moonlight had broken through the canopy, but now, he was wandering blind. Either this was an area unfamiliar, or—

He stopped abruptly. Of course it had been a fools’ errand to run into the forest after making such a plan, still riding the high of everything falling into place. Of course he had been the fool for thinking he, or anyone, could get away with trying to spread the plan.

The darkness was roaming. If he thought it couldn’t get darker around him, he found himself sorely mistaken when the black haze drew in thicker around him. His eyes widened, and he tried to force any kind of sight above him, or through the trees, or…

Shit.

Instinct started screaming at him. Turn around and run. Run. Just run!

Without a second thought to the matter, he turned on his heel and began sprinting through the trees, uncaring what he was following and where he was going to end up. The further away he was from the camp, the better, and that was all his mind let him care about.

His breath started running short as he stumbled through, and he dared to spare a glance over his shoulder, just in time to watch a spike of pure darkness wild its way out of nothing and pass like a dart through the air.

It struck him in the centre of his back, and he had to fight to keep his feet. The trees’ shadows seemed to morph around him, twisting until their branches turned gnarled and entirely wrong. James shuddered, but tried to ignore it as much as he could until it seemed that they were coming out of the ground itself.

They were.

They were coming out of the ground.

The shadows cast by the trees were set against him.

He didn’t have the time to think. He all but threw himself through the forest, dodging the clawed shadow branches as they reached up like the arms of corpses towards him, trying to find purchase against his ankles, his shins, his thighs…

A laugh— that laugh— tore through the rush of the wind and the catching of James’ own breath. James grit his teeth, tripping over his own feet to get away. “Fuck fuck fuck—“

“Think yourself smart enough, James?”

The branches began to twist, physically jamming themselves together as the tendrils shot up from the ground. James looked up, trying to find some consistency in the actual vision of the trees.

Asides from the interruption from a slight breeze, the trees looked all too ordinary. The branches were just that— strong, sturdy branches— and for what it was worth, he was almost relieved by the sight of it.

In his moment of pause, the twisted branches snaking across the ground latched onto his ankle. It was freezing cold, and so quick to snare that he was forced back into perspective. He tore his gaze from the final shreds of normality that remained in his scope of vision, and tried to pull himself free.

Something started moving beyond the surface, and James just about managed to pry himself from the branches and start running again before he could really think about it. He drew his blade, aware in part that it wouldn’t actually do anything, and tried to find clear ground.

But sidestepping the shadows and the unnaturally sharp reaches of foliage trying to scrape him back grew harder the longer he made himself run. Eventually, there came a point where he almost tripped over his own feet, and he saw the branches grow unholy thorns.

For a moment, he stopped, and drove his sword into the ground. Maybe it was desperation, or maybe he hoped he could create his own lightning rod for the darkness, but something made him stop in the middle of a glade and plunge the business end of his sword into the middle of the amassing shadows.

One of the spectral branches curled up the edge of the blade, and James couldn’t help but to stare as a lingering feeling of momentary power washed over him. He kept his hand firmly on the hilt— half afraid that he was about to lose that one too, and half determined that his little plan was actually doing something— and lifted his head towards the darkness that had been following him.

The sword started to creak under his hand, and in a motion that he’d had no time to think about, he ripped it from the earth, and took the shadow with him.

“My god…”

It didn’t make a modicum of sense, but that didn’t matter. Before he could turn one way or another and ascertain his location, he swung out, and watched the branches start to retreat to avoid being struck. He didn’t care how strange it was, he could use this.

He started backing off slowly, and kept the ambush at bay by the point of his sword as he retreated. After that mix of stupid decisions and instinct talking in a hastily concocted cocktail, finding his way back to the coast was easy. There was a part of his memory attuned to which way the forest stretched out, and for how long in each direction. He’d already been escaping for long enough that he was aware he was heading in the right direction, it was just a matter of how long he could keep his assailants at bay with this wispy root he’d torn from the mix.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the Revenge. Never had a more welcome sight emerged from a point of actually failing what he set out to do…

With a final arc, he left the myriad shadows behind in the forest, turned away, and started sprinting down the beach. The moment he entered back into light, the tendril of branch he’d picked up along the way vanished like it was never there, leaving behind only a single black twinge at the end of the sword.

He collapsed to his knees in the sand, far from anything that could cast a shadow over him, and breathed.

If he hadn’t been ambushed, Pan would’ve kept advancing… It would have only been a matter of time before it found the camp, and then what? Would it have been too late?

“You’ve returned early…” Vaughan’s voice drew him out of his thoughts, and he looked up quickly to avoid pressing the matter any further.

“Didn’t make it…” he breathed, brushing a hand through his hair. “It was waiting.”

“What?”

“It was waiting. I dunno, I think it might’ve been heading for the camp, but that’s—“a brief glance behind him. The forest had seemingly returned back to it’s normal state. At least, there was nothing creeping out from beneath the trees, so he assumed the worst had passed.

“Does it know of our plans?”

“Hard to say. Most of the time it just likes taunting the hell outta me, but I can’t assume anything either way.”

[eden-writes-stuff]

Christmas 1977

Tags: wolfstar, jegulus, marylily, bets, Christmas at the Potter's

It was probably the last Christmas they were going to spend together like this, so James was more than happy that they could manage to gather everyone.

Sirus and Regulus already lived with them anyway and Remus and Peter visiting was also mandatory. Of course, they had invited the girls. Mary and Lily - a happy couple since August - appeared on their door right before Dinner on the 24th, quickly followed by Marlene.

Euphemia loved having guests over. Especially James' friends. Although times were dark and a war could be declared any minute, James had set his mind to making these days happy days.

"Stop staring at me."

He blinked a few times, eyes focusing back in on Regulus. "Sorry, what were you saying?" "I was saying that you should stop staring at me." "But you're so pretty in this sweater." "It's ugly and if you say another thing about it I will strangle you with it."

James tried not to imagine it too hard. "But it's festive. And everyone else is wearing ugly Christmas sweaters as well, so you won't be the only one." Regulus stepped closer and fixed the gigantic tie on James' present-sweater.

"Wouldn't you rather be unwrapping me?", he grinned with a wink. Regulus' pale cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. "You know how that turned out the last time..."

It had been over a month since the... incident. At Sirius' birthday party, they both had ended up in the Marauder's dorm room, due to alcohol and years of built-up tension - at least on James' side. It was the birthday boy himself that had interrupted them, bursting through the door right as James' trousers dropped to the floor. Sirius hadn't looked at either of them for a week after that and neither of the two had mentioned it towards each other. Until now...

"I honestly didn't think it was that bad. Or bad at all. At least not until Sirius came into the picture..." Regulus bit his lip. Merlin, he wanted to kiss him so badly. How could anyone think clearly with this beautiful boy before them?!

Before Regulus could answer Sirius poked his head through the door. He obviously still hadn't learned his lesson. "You two coming down? Effie said dinner is ready."

James sighed quietly and nodded. Before he could follow him, Regulus grabbed his wrist. "I didn't think it was bad either. The part with you. It was nice." James was sure his heart was going to leap out of his chest any second. He wanted to jump and scream and do something incredibly stupid. Instead, he just grinned widely and took Regulus' hand into his own. The long fingers wrapped perfectly around his own.

"Come on. Don't wanna miss dinner", he smiled, softly pulling Regulus downstairs.

Eight pairs of eyes, all beautifully underlined by flashy Christmas sweaters, met them, then their hands. "Hand over those Galleons", Lily grinned. Everyone sighed, pulling coins out of their pockets.

"Whoa. We're not together", James interjected.

"But you're holding hands..." Mary pointed at their hands. James quickly let go. "So? You and Lily have been holding hands since first grade, but none of you fessed up until last summer. Moony and Sirius were sharing a bed in second and third year."

"Am I the only one who finds it irritating that you guys are placing bets on us?" "No, I'm with you on this." Peter raised his hand. "One sane person in this room."

"Liar. You were one of the first ones in." "And the first one out. Pete had way too much faith in you two." Insulted, Peter poked his tongue out. "This is still insanity. I didn't think this would go on that long. Remus thinks you guys won't make it until you're 25." Remus shrugged. "I'm just being realistic."

Regulus threw one of the bread rolls at him. Remus dodged it and immediately got ready to counterstrike. "Monty and Effie bet too!", he yelled, pointing at James' parents.

Everyone at the table gasped - except for Sirius, who seemed to simply enjoy the chaos.

"My own parents?!" "James, listen...", Monty started. "They pressured us!", Effie yelped, cheeks turning red, as always when someone caught her lying. "We did no such thing!" Mary clutched imaginary pearls around her neck.

"Yes, you did!", Monty defended his wife. "They kept on asking what we thought about it and eventually just cracked." "What was your guess?", James demanded. They shared a look before Effie took Monty's hand. "Two weeks around either one of you moving out."

James took a deep breath. It could have been worse. At least they didn't have an age limit to it. He shook his head and left the table, quickly followed by Regulus. He stopped on the front porch, where his breath turned to heavy smoke in the cold evening air.

"I wanna fuck with their bet!" Regulus crossed his arms. James raised an eyebrow and looked down at him. "And how would we do that?"

For a minute he considered before his eyes lit up with mischief. "Okay, hear me out. We let each of them walk in on us at a different point and then tell them that we've been secretly dating for however long we want to make it. That way each of them thinks someone else won." James nodded in understanding, turning the plan in his head.

"And most of them won't tell the others because then they'd have to admit that they lost. And the others we can just ask to keep quiet 'until we're ready' or something like that", he added, "It's brilliant!" They grinned at each other.

Carefully James moved closer. "And when would we actually get together?", he asked, voice low. "I think today is as good a day as any", Regulus murmured, eyes fixed on James' lips. A shiver went through him and before he could stop himself he was kissing Regulus.

Within the second he forgot all about the cold around them. Regulus was warm and soft and kissing him made everything in the world seem alright. He pulled him closer, arms wrapped around the smaller boy's waist.

When he felt Regulus' hands in his hair he was done for.

Behind them, someone cleared their throat.

Regulus wanted to jump back, but James held him close.

"Moony. What-" he cleared his throat, "whatcha doing here?" "Well, I thought that if I stayed here longer without saying something it would be weird." James nodded, agreeing.

"And how long have you been standing there?" "I know your plan." Well, there went that. But Regulus didn't give up that easily. "If you tell anyone I will gut you in your sleep." "Nah. You like me too much. Plus, Sirius would be pretty pissed at you." Regulus sighed, obviously regretting, having shown his emotions.

"I'll tell you one of Sirius' dirty secrets for every month that you don't tell anyone", James offered. Remus seemed to consider it. "One secret, plus a chocolate bar" "Done."

And without another word, Remus disappeared back inside.

In the end, the evening was all James could have wished for. They all were together and no one was even thinking of the war. Not even mentioning the gorgeous boy in his arms.