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hexusproductions · 2 years

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Smaugust 2022, Day 8 - Sweet Roll

Characters: Mindy, Axel (POV character) and his friends

Prompt list: Found here

Sweet Roll - Best enjoyed sitting outside, recently bought from your school canteen. The frosting is what always gives you the most trouble.

It was the middle of summer, and Axel had just received his first pokemon. His uncle had recently returned from a trip to Unova, and among the gifts he’d brought back had been a Pansage, deciding that Axel was old enough to have a pokemon of his own. Axel was currently in the middle of his local playground with several of his young classmates, arranged in a loose circle.

“He’s so cool. And my mum said he’s all mine.” Axel recounted, his excitement visible as he gestured to the green monkey sitting at his feet, soaking up the warm sun. Emma was sitting near Axel, cross-legged on the wood chips, and she gasped quietly in awe as she looked from Axel to the pokemon. Jacob, wearing his school hat at his parents’ demand, groaned from where he was perched on the edge of the see-saw.

“He’s alright.” Jacob rolled his eyes. Axel shot him a dirty look. Jacob was always gloating about his Houndour, which his parents had bought from a professional breeder in Sinnoh. Right now, the pup was lying on its back beside the see-saw, huffing and pawing at the air. It looked bored and asking for scratches. With a defensive scowl, Axel crouched down beside Pansage.

“He’s the best.” Axel assured. He scratched Pansage behind the ear, and the monkey trilled, batting playfully at Axel’s hand with his paws. “He’s the strongest pokemon in our whole school!”

“Is that so?”

All three of the children stopped and turned towards the source of the unfamiliar voice. A cluster of adults had stepped up into the playground, having clearly overheard the conversation. All four of them were wearing similar outfits, emblazoned with a symbol resembling balance scales. Axel and his friends froze, shuffling back from the newcomers. The children recognised them as members of Team Scale.

“If he’s so strong, then I think we’ll be taking him.” The Team Scale Grunt at the front of the pack smiled, eyeing Axel’s Pansage. Axel grabbed his pokemon, holding him protectively.

“No! Go away!” Axel yelled at them. Beside him, Emma was shrinking back, and Jacob’s Houndour stood up, growling with its hackles raised. The Grunts all confidently threw out their own pokemon; they all looked bigger, stronger, and more experienced than what Axel and Jacob had. Emma didn’t even have a pokemon, her grandma had said she wasn’t allowed to until the end of the school year. Still holding his arms in a protective shield around his recently-obtained companion, Axel searched the playground and surrounding grass for anyone that could help them. They needed a parent, a different grown-up, anything, to fend off the people threatening to take away their beloved pets. His heart sank as he saw that the area was vacant, but as he could hear Jacob beside him trying to intimidate the Grunts into backing off, Axel’s gaze snapped to the nearby bench. A lady was sitting there, dressed in pink and black. She was scrolling through her phone and seemed unaware of the disturbance happening on the park grounds.

His eyes wide, Axel spun around and grabbed Emma’s arm, pulling her along with him as he broke into a run.

“Come on!” He called, and he and his friends sprinted towards the park bench. The Grunts called out in surprise, and to Axel’s relief, they didn’t break into a chase after them. Heart pounding, Axel reached the lady on the bench, who looked up from her phone with obvious surprise.

“Hello there.” She greeted, smiling at them until Jacob pushed in front of Axel.

“You need to help us!” Jacob exclaimed. He pointed behind them to the Scale Grunts, who were still standing on the playground. “They’re trying to steal our pokemon!” The lady peered over them. Her bangs hung over her right eye, but it was easy enough for Axel to see her visible eye widen, and her lips purse into an ‘O’ shape.

“Oh, okay.” She shoved her phone into her purse and stood, using one arm to usher the kids away from the playground. “Let’s go kids. I’ll protect you from them.” Axel was flooded with relief, knowing that he had found an adult who would help them, and he happily followed her instructions and rushed away from the playground, with Emma and Jacob beside him. The lady continued to walk with them, arms out like a shield between the kids and the Grunts. She turned her head to call out to them, “You stay right where you are!” The lady escorted the kids across the grass, moving further and further away from the playground. The Scale Grunts stood there, looking amongst themselves and seeming baffled by the display. The confusion passed, and they started after the group, pokemon in tow. Axel watched them, his arm tightening around his Pansage, who seemed to sense his trainer's discomfort and chittered nervously. Axel jumped as the lady placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay. Don’t look back.” She told him. Axel fixed his gaze forward, trying not to shake as he let out a deep breath. He could hear the footsteps of himself, his friends and this stranger, and the footsteps of the four tailing behind them. The Grunts were getting closer, making up ground, within range by now to attack if they wanted.

“Uh, ma’am…” Emma’s voice wavered, looking back.

“Ma’am?” The lady snapped, sounded offended. “My name’s Mindy, sweetheart.”

“Okay. They’re, um, still following us.” Emma hugged herself, staying close to Mindy. Mindy looked back over her shoulder, and her hold on Axel’s shoulder tightened. Axel started to stop, but Mindy hunched down enough to hiss in the children’s ears.

“Run for it.” She shoved them all forward, and the four broke into another sprint. The Scale Grunts broke chase, whooping and yelling for their targets to come back. Axel ran as fast as his legs could carry him, stomping through the grass and jumping over stray rocks and tree branches. Jacob was ahead of him, if only barely; He’d always been one of the fastest runners in school, but Axel had never seen him more motivated to move. Emma was falling behind, but Mindy kept pace with her, continuing to stay between the children and the Grunts. Mindy stumbled over more rocks than the children did (her chunky platform boots weren’t intended for long-distance dashes), but she always stayed with them. Pansage held tightly around Axel’s neck, jostled by each of Axel’s movements, and Houndour galloped after Jacob.

“Over there!” Mindy pointed, and the children followed her arm, diverting towards a soccer pitch connected to the same patch of land. It was currently empty, just like the playground had been, and they crossed the pitch to the far goal.

“Get in.” Mindy urged, filing the kids into the net. She crouched down beside the children, an arm outstretched across them. Panting hard, Axel backed up against the rope netting. He glanced towards Mindy. Her gaze was fixed on the Scale Grunts reaching the soccer pitch, her brow furrowed. Amongst the jewellery she was wearing, there was a choker around her neck, the light catching on a sliver of an attached charm tucked into her shirt. Axel’s Pansage gripped Axel tightly, digging into his neck and ribs. Jacob elbowed Axel to get closer to Mindy.

“Don’t you have a pokemon of your own?” He demanded, his voice pitching up in panic. Mindy perked up, as if she had forgotten about that, and rifled through her purse to retrieve a pink and yellow ball.

“Nowhere to run!” One of the Grunts called out to them. The Team Scale pokemon moved ahead of their trainers, bearing claws and teeth and talons. Mindy stood and threw out the ball. In a burst of light, a Sylveon stepped onto the pitch, yipping at its new surroundings. Even while panicked, Axel stared; he had never seen one up close before. Jacob and Emma similarly gaped at the pokemon, and Jacob stood up, instructing Houndour to join Sylveon on the field. It must have been easier to reclaim his gusto over his pedigree pokemon when there was a more experienced trainer helping him. Axel considered sending Pansage to join the fight, but fear gripped his chest, forcing his hands to clutch the monkey even closer against him. He had only just gotten his first pokemon, he didn’t want to lose it so soon.

“Alright, attack!” Jacob ordered, pointing towards the Scale Grunts. Houndour snarled, embers beginning to glow in its mouth. Mindy looked towards Houndour, and then back to Sylveon. She took a step back.

“You know what to do.” She smiled. Sylveon planted its feet, chest puffing as it sucked in a deep inhale. Axel could see the ribbons on Sylveon’s body lash at the air, its gaze fixed firmly on the Grunts. Then, it whipped around, and a screech launched from its mouth in solid waves of sound that hit Houndour dead-centre, sending the pup flying across the pitch.

“Hey!” Emma exclaimed. Axel’s mouth fell open and he started to scramble to his feet, but Mindy spun around, arms outstretched and boxing the two kids into the soccer goal.

“What are you doing?” Axel tried to back away from her, but there was nowhere to go. They had all been herded into a trap. Mindy grinned, flicking her hair out of her face.

“I’ll be taking those pokemon now, if you don’t mind.” She pulled the charm on her choker free from her shirt and sweater. It was a metal symbol, resembling a balance scale. Axel watched the Scale Grunts close in, smiling victoriously as they and their pokemon surrounded the three children. Jacob was kneeling over his Houndour, which was lying fainted in a patch of upturned grass, the area blown into chunks of dirt by Sylveon’s attack.

“No! Please.” Axel said. Mindy’s head tilted, pouting in an expression dripping with condescension. She snapped her fingers, and Sylveon pounced, biting into Axel’s arm. He screamed and released his hold on impulse. Pansage fell to the ground, and Sylveon grabbed the smaller pokemon by the neck, dragging it over to the Grunts. Jacob’s expression had fallen into a visible dismay, but he backed away when one of the Grunts approached him, taking Houndour as well. Axel looked to Jacob, and then at Mindy.

“Why did you help us if you’re with Team Scale?” He asked. His hands felt empty now, without his partner curled up in his arms. His Pansage screeched and thrashed as it was thrown into a net with Houndour, the net then closed up and carried between two Grunts. Now successful, Mindy stood up.

“I’ll be honest, I was just going to sit on that bench and stay out of the way until it was over.” Mindy smoothed down her pleated skirt, and she sauntered over to join her fellow Team Scale members. Her eyes swept over the three school children cowering before her, and she giggled, the sound bubbly and bright. “When you asked me for help, I thought it sounded like fun to pretend.” Beside Axel, Emma sobbed. Jacob was shaking, his hands curled into fists, but he remained silent. Sylveon rubbed affectionately against Mindy’s leg, equally as content as its trainer. Mindy waved to the three children, and she and the Scale Grunts turned and took their leave from the soccer pitch. They carried the stolen pokemon with them, and all Axel could do was watch as his first pokemon disappeared over the expanse of grass.

#OC #Original character #my writing #Smaugust 2022 #Pokemon #Mindy (OC)#Project Strand

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rebrandedbard · 3 years

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could I get 49 for the prompts pleaseeee? (:

*weeping* Em, I love you, defending my honour, giving me a way out. You’ve spared me my dignity.

49. “Well this is awkward ...”

WC: 2106

Tidings and Tarradiddles

Jaskier returns to Posada and his path crosses with Geralt’s once more after the unfortunate affair on The Mountain™

How was it? Truly, how was it that of all places on the great, wide Continent, Geralt should come to take a contract in Posada, at the farthest of reaches, after months and months of separation, on the one day Jaskier should be in town? And how was it that he’d come the only hour Jaskier had lingered for a drink? It was too great a coincidence, and Jaskier would not give Destiny the credit. She’d not earned the right to claim it. Jaskier scorned her and had stripped her of the right to interfere in any of his further adventures. After all, Geralt had blamed him for her follies—follies which, by rights, Geralt had brought upon himself in the first place.

Even so, he could feel Destiny’s audaciously long and twitchy nose poking about his business the moment Geralt walked through the tavern door. Jaskier huddled in his corner, hoping the shadows were darker than they had been the day he’d found Geralt hunched beneath them. He ought to have known better than to come in the first place. There had been a whole flock of magpies in the middle of the bridge leading into town—a tiding of magpies. Detestable harbinger of tidings, foul and fair. They’d startled at the sight of him and alighted once more on the tavern roof. But he’d ignored their superstitious warning.

Of course the shadows were of no use to him. The moment Geralt stepped inside, Jaskier saw him twitch, cocking an ear his direction. Probably heard the familiar grinding of his teeth: an annoying habit he so often complained of. Jaskier curled up against the wall, trying to make himself smaller to blend in with his surroundings.

For once, it was not so difficult. He’d grown out his hair, had even maintained a healthy bit of scruff on his face in keeping with the stylings of his fellow tavern-goers. He was tired and worn, but above all, he was plain. He no longer wore bright colors, standing out like a beacon in the dark of night. He wore his linen dyed a plain, sensible, muted green. The jerkin on his back was brown and of a practical fit. Altogether, it did not so much scream of sensibility as it mumbled. If he kept his head low enough, he might pass as just another local come in for a pint.

But he was not just another local.

Geralt stopped before his table, standing at Jaskier’s elbow. The click of metal upon the table made Jaskier look up from his drink. It was a coin, spinning round and round. It wobbled and fell on its face, the etching of a worn coat of arms before him.

“Will … will you sing for us, bard?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier stared at the coin. His ears began to fill with cotton, a faint ringing in them. A flash of hot blood coursed through him and he ground his teeth to a halt. He knew this was Geralt’s way of easing into things, working towards something, whether or not an apology was waiting at the end. He knew this was Geralt offering him an out. It was distant. Impersonal. But even in the depths of his rage, Geralt had called him by name. To call him bard and toss a coin to him like some stranger now … it flamed something red and barbaric to life under his skin. He was so deafened by the blood in his ears, he did not hear the approach of the figure standing at Geralt’s side.

“Well, this is awkward,” Jaskier sneered. He picked up the coin, twiddling it between his fingers. Putting up an impassive mask, he juggled the coin over his knuckles in his best impressive manner, as if it were nothing but a worthless toy. “You see,” he said, “I’m not a bard.”

Geralt was quiet a moment. Jaskier could feel his eyes roaming over him. It raised his hackles to know what Geralt must see: the dark circles under his eyes, the lines of age now more pronounced with exhaustion, crow’s feet so defined they might as well have been dug by the claws of vultures. And then, Geralt must have taken notice at last. Gone were the bold silhouettes and blinding colors, gone were the perfumes and oils—but there was one thing more important than all the rest that was missing.

“Your lute,” Geralt said.

There it was. “Gave it up this very afternoon,” Jaskier replied. He slapped the coin down on the table and leaned back, snatching up his half-empty mug. “I travelled a long way to return it home; Filavandrel has it now.”

He took a drink, still avoiding eyes contact. He continued, mumbling over the rim of his mug. “Had a visit. They’re doing better than they were when last we met. I helped them dig rocks from their crop fields for an hour or two. Figured as long as I was shovelling things, I might as well master the art. Use it productively.”

He was being petty. He knew he was, but by the gods, he’d earned it.

When at last he looked up, he did so because he saw a hint of blue beside the table. The potmaid had been wearing a blue dress, and he thought he now saw his escape. He slid his mug to the edge of the table and lifted his head to ask for it to be taken away when he saw a familiar pair of green eyes looking back at him.

“Cirilla?” he asked, surprised. He blinked at the princess, who looked down at the table as his eyes fell upon her. He remembered her as someone taller, regal head held high, smiling, her hair half up in decorative braids and twists. This was not a princess before him, but a girl: her hood casting shadows upon her hollow face. It seemed wrong. She had always been a girl, but a girl with a name. This creature before him stood as a reflection of himself, a thing wishing to hide away, nothing more than a shell.

She glanced up at him, then down once more. Slowly she raised her hand to the table and placed it over the coin. She pushed it towards him with a quiet slide, then dropped her hand once more. “He said you sing wonderful,” she muttered, as if she had not heard him singing in Cintra’s court nearly every midsummer since birth.

Jaskier’s voice stuck in his throat. The memory of a song sat heavy on his tongue. “I … I don’t sing anymore,” he grit out. He turned to look away again, staring at the crack between his bench and the wall. “Can’t sing without music anyway. Might as well be poetry.”

Having no music left him exposed. There was nothing to lift him up, nor anything to hide behind. He could sing among the crowd and raise his voice to join a drinking song, but there was something vulnerable about singing alone. Who sang among bar patrons without some barrier? Even the drunks had their drink to shield them.

He saw Geralt shift out of the corner of his eye. Something new slid across the table, stopping just short of his hand. He looked and saw one of his old notebooks.

“You write good poetry,” Geralt said.

Jaskier scoffed and picked up the notebook. “If there were anything in this worth keeping, I would have remembered to bring it with me when I went down the mountain.” He flipped through the pages, then let the notebook flop back on the table. “You obviously have poor taste,” he huffed.

Without warning, Geralt picked up the notebook and thwacked him on top of his head with the cover.

“Gah! Hey!” Jaskier shouted. He stood up and snatched the book back, smacking Geralt’s arm with it. “What in fuck’s name did you do that for, you brute!”

But he’d looked at Geralt, forgetting to snub him if only a moment. And Geralt plucked the book from his hand with an upward quirk of the lips. “It’s worth keeping,” he said. He handed the book to Ciri, who clutched it tight to her chest in agreement, but still, she looked at Geralt with a stern expression.

“That wasn’t what you were supposed to say,” she scolded.

Geralt’s eyes rolled back and he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Not to me.”

Geralt opened his eyes. He looked at Jaskier, opening his mouth to speak once more. But the look on Jaskier’s face stopped him. Instead, he turned to the door, stalking quickly across the room, words aborted on his tongue.

Jaskier gaped.

“Geralt!” Ciri called. “Where are you going?”

“Just wait here.”

“Geralt!”

“Dinner. I’ll be back in the hour.”

Ciri threw up her hands and dropped onto the opposite bench. She slammed Jaskier’s notebook down on the table and crossed her arms over it. She groaned in frustration, then turned her head to look out at the tavern floor.

“Have you had dinner yet?” she grumbled.

Jaskier looked between her and the door, feeling quite at a loss. “No,” he replied.

“Then you can eat Geralt’s share.” She rummaged in her cloak and pushed a little drawstring bag into his hands. “Here, he left me his purse.”

“And left you from the look of things. Shall I charge him for babysitting?”

“Do. And order another drink.”

Jaskier snorted. “Trying to get me to stay?” He wasn’t so irresponsible as to leave a child alone, even with the threat of Geralt’s return. He didn’t need to be persuaded.

“No. Punishing him for running out; you get his drink into the bargain. Think of it as sending him to bed without supper.”

“I’ll drink to that. It’s the least of the punishments I could inflict.”

They both chuckled mildly at that. A bit of the dense atmosphere lifted and they shared a look. Jaskier cleared his throat and waved for the potmaid. He ordered fare for the two of them, a mug of ale for himself, and a cup of small beer for Ciri. Once they’d both had a bite, they began talking. They traded stories: how Ciri came to Geralt’s care, and what Jaskier had been doing since the separation. Though the conversation was tense, it felt … good … to have a bit of company. He’d been worried since word of the fall of Cintra had reached him. At least Destiny had brought Ciri to Geralt safely. He hoped Destiny would be kind to her where it had failed him.

Jaskier startled when Geralt returned. He’d crept up so silently. Jaskier had been listening to Ciri describe her most recent success in outdoor cooking and hadn’t noticed the movement beside him. Geralt set the lute on the table in front of Jaskier’s empty plate with a sudden thunk, not a word of explanation. He stood there silently, holding the lute upright by its neck.

No one spoke.

Jaskier simply stared at it, felt Geralt stare at him. But this time, he refused to look up. Slowly, Geralt lay the lute down on the table, then slipped away. A minute passed, everything still and quiet. Then, Jaskier peeked out of the corner of his eye and saw Geralt nudge Ciri, nodding his head toward the door.

Ciri looked at Jaskier, her brow anxious and furrowed. She clutched her cup, nearly finished, her plate barren. He could see her mind at work, trying to find an excuse to stay. But she set her cup down obediently. As she turned to stand, she left the notebook behind. Eyes downcast, she slumped to her feet. Geralt held out his hand for her, no longer looking at Jaskier. The moment Geralt’s back was turned, Jaskier felt a cold panic run through him.

“Wait!” he said, fumbling to his feet.

Geralt froze, turning his head back slightly to listen.

But for what? Jaskier reached out, hesitating. He picked up his lute, finding the coin beneath it. The noise made Geralt turn back and Jaskier met his eye. He’d never seen Geralt look so blank, completely unreadable.

Jaskier slung the strap of the lute over his head. He pushed the coin deliberately into his pocket and braced his hands on the strings. When he looked at Geralt again, there was the barest crack in his armour, and hope shined dimly through. Jaskier smiled. It was a timid thing, but he still remembered how it was done.

“You asked for a song,” he said.

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#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #ask game #tidings and tarradiddles fic #the whole situation LEADING to the WRITING of this fic is awkward asdfghjkl #than you em #bless you #pancakes' tag

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sabraeal · 2 years

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Whenever I view the moon on the battlefield, Chapter 3

[Read on AO3]

The streets bustle today, full enough to bursting. Or at least, it feels that way with how the air clings to Kai’s skin, making everything too close, too warm. Every elbow, every brush of cloth is tantamount to an invasion, his own yukata cloying in the heat. And yet no relief threatens, the sky above Fushimi’s roofs remains an uninterrupted blue.

He should be grateful for it; with such irritating weather, few travelers will be looking up. And if the crowds don’t part for him as they are wont to do, then it will be easy indeed to disappear into it; a rare treat for a man as large as him, in a line of work such as this.

Instead, Kai should worry for his companion. In this press, it would be easy for a boy like him to be swept away by its currents, set to crash against the shore of a particularly insistent merchant’s stall. But if he does, it is waste-- Yamazaki weaves through the rapids of Fushimi’s waters with an ease he can only envy. Oh, the waves might part for Kai as he cuts through them, but Yamazaki is one with them, understanding the flow of its streets far better than a man like him ever could.

I used to play at being a samurai, the boy had told him once, while he cleaned up the black and blue mottling his brow. Looking at him now, Kai can only wonder why he bothered; there was no work he could be more suited to than this, to being the eyes and ears of the Shinsegumi.

A good thing too; he’d hate to have the Vice Commander take him to task for losing their quarry over something as simple as a crowd.

An arm jostles against his; he doesn’t need to glance down to know it’s a plain tengui that shuffles along beside him, the cloth flopped over to shield from the sun. Or at least that’s what a passerby might think, their eyes already slipping away.

“Busy, isn’t it?” Kai asks, attention never straying from the pink kimono bobbing ahead of him in the crowd, even if his gaze makes quick work of the sights around him. “A good place for a man to disappear.”

Yamazaki hums, shifting his pack higher on his back. It’s a small sound, a grunt nearly lost over the trudging and sighs of the others pressed around them. But it’s an agreement, or at least an acknowledgement, begrudging as it may be.

Another of the Watch might be daunted by such a response-- or lack of one-- but this past year has given Kai practice enough when it comes to carrying on good conversation, even alone. “Especially if one was a man who was easily recalled. Like a bald man practicing ranpo.”

After a long moment, Yamazaki mutters, “I would have gone with Hijikata.”

His chuckle nearly chokes him; a boon, since it makes the cough to cover it sound more natural to the ear, less an act. Yamazaki still eyes him warily as he adds, “Yukimura should think more about maintaining her disguise. A page would go with the Vice Commander, to better serve their master.”

It is impressive how easily he dances around the fact that he would give both his legs to be in her place if she did. Young men always found a way to dress desire up in reason’s clothes.

“It is only because the men have already fallen for her disguise that Okita could suggest we take advantage of it.” Kai could not see how; Yukimura might not move with the sinuous elegance of an oiran, but there is a feminine grace to the way she walks, a lightness that is not seen in men who wear blades at their hips. But with tresses twisted instead of a comb, a man could be made.

Strange, how little was needed. Especially with how long it took for Yamazaki to fashion himself the other way.

“Still,” Yamazaki huffs, shoulders making a fence by his ears. Ah, even months later, the mere mention of that man still makes his hackle raise. How they live in the narrow confines of the compound together, Kai would never know. “A good deception relies on opportunity. She should be taking more of them, if not making them herself.”

His lips twitch; a good thing that Yamazaki has attention fixed forward instead of up. “Maybe,” he hums, composing his face with the utmost innocence, “you should tell her.”

“I-- I--” His tengui might obscure his eyes, but it does nothing to hide the flush of his cheeks, a delicate pink beneath the off-white of the cloth. “It’s not the right time. Otherwise the Vice Commander would have introduced us.”

The press thins as the day wears on, just enough that it’s no longer a trial to catch the vibrant pink of Yukimura’s kimono through the hub and bub of the crowd. Saito resolves at her side, one dark robe among many, but even still he stands out. While Harada and Nagakura walk with a loose-limbed confidence, the sort that dares a man to try his luck, Saito is staid, coiled tension, waiting for release. Every movement of his is controlled, his arms not swinging naturally at his side but lying straight beside it. He may not have the bulk to have men part for him, but his demeanor sees that there is a healthy space between him and every body that passes.

“She might not have gone with the Vice Commander,” Kai says as Yamazaki circles close once again, slowing his pace to match. “But I’d say she’s chosen well.”

A grunt in his reply, and for a moment, Kai is certain that is all he will receive. But then, with no more than a quick nod for warning, Yamazaki adds, “Between the two reports, this inspector is the one I’d trust.”

High praise, from the man who spent many of his days since the fire sussing out every sighting of a bald man in the capital. At least, when it didn’t interfere with his duties as a medic

“A bald ranpo staying at the Terada Inn,” Kai mused, letting his eyes scan the street. “Promising a lead as it may be, it hardly says much of the company he’s keeping.”

Yamazaki’s face is inscrutable beneath the flop of his tengui, scrubbed of anything like an opinion. A blank canvas, left to conform into what he needed at any moment.

“She believes he’s loyal to the shogun.” He coughs, a flush blossoming on his cheeks as he amends, “I mean, Yukimura says she believes he’s loyal to the shogun.”

Kai takes in a steadying breath, watching as she stops, her hand held out just over the bell of Saito’s sleeve. “The Satsuma are allies of the Aizu and support the bakufu.”

“You’ve heard the rumors.” Yamazaki squints into the distance, wary as Yukimura kicks up one of her waragi, fussing with a strap. “Ronin from the West have been finding the Terada Inn more and more accommodating of late.”

He grunts, dubious. “I find it hard to believe that a loyal man of the bafuku would find himself in the company of Imperialists.”

“I find it hard to believe that a loyal man of the bakufu would burn down his lab and fake his death.” A breath hisses through his nose, annoyance stark in the sound. “Why has she stopped? Did she see Kodo?”

It happens too quick; Kai has no time to do any of his usual tricks before he barks out a laugh, loud and long. He leashes it just as quick, but it’s not soon enough to avoid the betrayed stare Yamazaki fixes him with.

“I think--” his mouth twitches still, not matter how he tries-- “that it’s been a long time since she’s been out of the compound.”

He blinks, the dusky sky of his eyes dawning with realization. “Her sandals are bothering her.”

“Perhaps,” he rumbles, and there’s no use hiding his laughter now, not when Yamazaki already looks as if he’d like the street to swallow him whole. “Do you think when she comes back, she’ll go looking to the compound’s medic for a ointment...?”

“Enough.” His shoulders hunch, a wall between them. “I’m sure Yukimura Kodo’s daughter can handle something as simple as a salve.”

At this time of day, the tea house is lively; not at a boisterous din, the way many might be, but a subdued one, a heavy sense of anticipation flavoring their brew. But Kai isn’t here for the quality of their leaves or the complex flavor of their tea, but instead the girl that sits at the balcony, nursing a cup between her hands.

“She’s doing well,” Kai murmurs into his own, taking a delicate sip. “Perhaps if we had faces as friendly as hers, we might do our jobs with less sneaking about.”

Yamazaki is too young to be comfortable with foolishness, but his mouth twitches anyway. A smile always lurks close with Yukimura in sight, it seems. “Perhaps. But there’s not a person in here that believes she’s a man.”

A boy, he nearly corrects, but to man so soon come of age-- who had so recently waved off his offer of sake, and of Nagakura’s similar one to take him out meet a lady he knew, followed by a more likely promise from Harada to introduce him to one of his-- Kai doubts Yamazaki would appreciate the difference.

“Of course not.” He chuckles softly as she leans over, cajoling an elderly man and his son into playful conversation. “But that is part of her charm. She is a child in a play, and everyone she meets would hate to break scene.”

Yamazaki may try to hide it beneath a sour expression, but when he hums, it’s with something akin to delight. “She’d be a natural if she were doing it on purpose.”

Kai fears the noise he might make if he opens his mouth, so he sips instead, watching Yukimura settle back at her table. There’s a wistfulness to her when she leans over the rail, and were he not watching her eyes, he would believe it. Instead, he traces her gaze, finding it fixed on the door of the Terada Inn, cataloging each head that strolls past. For all the mournful eyes she turned on Saito’s back, shivering like a dog tied to a tree, she has blossomed into her role as an observer.

Good enough to be in the Watch, at least. He would have been happy to make the recommendation, were she not...who she was. And were he not so sure just why she had been left here.

“Saito-san has been gone for a long while.” He’s careful to make the observation casual, conversational, easy. Nothing that might suggest anything other than what’s been said.

Yamazaki blinks up, peering at him through the hack job of his hairline. There’s not a single spark in his eyes, nothing beyond polite curiosity and natural cleverness. “Hm?”

“Oh, nothing.” He forces out a chuckle, but the smile comes easily to his face. “I thought it might be nice if we--”

Kept her company, he means to say. It’s been hours, after all, and by the slump of her shoulders, Yukimura too is starting to wonder if she’s been left by the roadside, meant to make her own way home. Yamazaki would balk, of course; the Vice Commander only told them to watch, to provide back up should Saito be revealed and the Choshu take to the deception like oil does to water. But he’d be tempted, and young men are always so eager to be enticed...

But his purpose is moot now. There’s no point to keep her company when a handsome man has beaten them to it.

“Waiting for someone?” His smile is roguish-- the right kind of temptation for a young girl to be prone to-- his voice pitched to carry over the din. Tall too; even sitting he towers over Yukimura, an imposing height postured like a promise.

“Hm? She blinks up at him, eyes rounded with the innocence of youth, and the man’s grin grows wolfish.

Yamazaki��s hands tighten around his cup. So sensitive, boys his age. Always trying to measure themselves up to find themselves wanting. Especially the responsible ones. “I should--”

Kai holds up a hand. Give her time, he wants to say, but he settles for speaking with his eyes instead, using the weight of his gaze to settle the boy back in his seat. This far into imperialist territory, reason urges caution, and a rescue-- no matter how well-meaning-- is never subtle.

Besides, it’s not as if Yukimura knows either of their faces. They are as much strangers to her as this man, and hardly as handsome.

“Something the matter?” Tosa sits thick in his voice, cloying with the way he presses closer, leaning over the balcony’s rail. “You look dazed. If you’re not waiting, are you looking for someone?”

Yukimura has a natural talent for easy conversation, but a liar she is not. Kai grimaces as her mother opens, as her soft, oh no curls out, like a kitten stretching its toes. With a shake of her head and a too earnest flutter of her her eyelashes, she replies, “Ah, you see, well...I’m looking for my father.”

Yamazaki’s cup clatters onto its saucer, forgotten. Whatever mess he’s made is a much smaller one than the one Yukimura is making.

“Father, eh?” How a man can sit so still and yet close such a distance-- Kai would be happy to learn the trick of it. “That sounds like a predicament.”

“A predicament,” Yamazaki breathes, teeth gnawing on the word. “A predicament? A young woman without a father, and he calls it--?”

“A young boy,” Kai corrects gently, though he doubts this man-- this ronin by the look of the swords he settles by his side-- has fallen for any part of her disguise. Not with the way he looks at her, a starving man about to feast.

Or perhaps a cat playing with its meal is more apt. “Have I heard of him before?” There’s a light in his eyes as he asks, the sort Harada gets when he tosses out his first volley of insults, before blades are drawn. The fire of a man used to winning. “If you tell me his name, I might be able to assist you.”

His words are formal, but even Yukimura can hear the mocking edge to them, squirming in her seat. “Ah...I’m not sure...”

“Don’t,” Yamazaki murmurs, a grimace clamping around the sound, but it’s too late. Even if she knew to listen for him, there is no way for her to hear.

“My father visited Kyoto on a business trip, but he suddenly ceased communication with me,” she admits slowly, cautiously, feeling for the trap. It speaks to her inexperience that she doesn’t know she’s already in it. “I heard rumors that someone with his likeness came to this inn, and I had to see for myself.”

That Tosa twang plucks Kai’s patience as he presses, too familiar, “So you’re from the east, then?”

“This man really thinks fish bite just because he casts his line, doesn’t he?” Yamazaki snorts into his cups, shaking his head. “He can’t think that anyone would fall for--?”

“Yes,” Yukimura replies brightly, without an ounce of hesitation. “I came from Edo.”

Kai always feared his size might give them away, that catching the glance of a giant only tables away might cause Yukimura to flee from this tea house in panic, but now-- now it’s not his size but Yamazaki’s groan that threatens to reveal them. Even so, he can’t blame the boy, not when he’s doing his level best to stifle his own.

“Ah, that sounds like quite the journey. And I assume you’re not familiar with the area either...” The ronin’s smile widens, a trap begging to clamp around the leg of his prey. “I should help you out!”

It’s a pity that Yamazaki has never gotten in the habit of wearing hakama; Kai might have had a chance to keep him seated, like the emperors of old, holding their generals in place. But instead the boy’s on his feet, angled like an arrow toward the balcony, every line of him tense as a bowstring.

“Oh,” Yukimura murmurs, wide-eyed, too innocent to survive in circles like theirs. “No, thank you.”

At once, two things happen:

The first: the man’s face falls. No longer a wolf stalking his pray, he’s now a dog howling at a closed door, and he knows it. At least, the way a man who is used to getting his way is-- which is to say, his expression flits from shock to disbelief to consternation all at once, settling on belligerence. But if there is one thing Kai knows, it is that Yukimura, for all her loving kindness, never changes her mind.

The second: Yamazaki trembles. Not once, a shiver from head to toe, but a whole body tremor that concentrates at his shoulders and takes a toll on his knees. By the time Kai has torn his attention away from Yukimura and her ronin, he’s afraid that the boy might fall, might make an entire scene from whatever malady afflicts him.

“Okyakusama?” One of the serving girls approaches him, bent at the waist, her gaze flickering between the floor and where he stands. “Is something wrong?”

“N-no,” he squeaks out. “I-I...”

One hand claps over his mouth, and when he turns to Kai it’s with desperation and-- and--

He’s laughing. Yamazaki Susumu is laughing. Or rather, he’s trying not to.

“Please excuse my young friend,” Kai soothes, holding out a hand. He’d stand, but that rarely makes delicate situations better. “He is, ah, prone to leg cramps.”

As if on cue, Yamazaki crashes to his knees, trying to muffle the sound in his jinbei. It hardly helps.

“Ah, of course.” The girl glances between them, and makes a clear decision toward discretion. “Please, let me know if I may be of service.”

“Leg cramp?” Yamazaki wheezes. “Leg cramp?”

Kai sniffs, picking up his tea. “If you want a better excuse next time, give me more warning.”

Above the tortured noises Yamazaki makes, Yukimura’s voice rings out, clear as a bell. “Do you just look for people to help often?”

It’s his laughter too that nearly covers the poor ronin’s reply. “Something like that...”

The walk back to the compound is longer in the dusk, though there’s not quite so many travelers on the roads to slow them. But with the job done and Saito as Yukimura’s escort, Yamazaki doesn’t hasten his steps, doesn’t find a reason to seem hurried. If Kai didn’t know any better, he’d think the boy’s pace was almost...casual. Not a word he’s used to putting on that small back.

“Now that,” Kai hums, pitching his voice low to match the murmur of the crowd around them, “was the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

Unbelievably, one corner of Yamazaki’s mouth lifts, half a smile. No, a smirk. “Yukimura-kun is truly the best of us. As long as she doesn’t know she’s doing a thing.”

A laugh wheezes out of him, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. “I might have felt bad for him, if I wasn’t so sure he’d thrown in with the Choshu. What was his name? Ume--?”

“Umetaro Saitani.” The reply is quick, all business, and Kai stifles a sigh. “Not his real name, I’m sure. Not even that man could be so sloppy. From the south though, and definitely staying at the inn.”

Kai nods, rubbing at his nose. “He might have even been looking for Saito-san. Or at least one of the Shinsegumi.”

“It is most likely,” Yamazaki agrees, eyes scanning over the crowd, still working even with the job done. He’ll be playing his part to the hilt until he’s back in his jinbei, wearing the mask of a mild-mannered medic. “He might have been watching them long before the went to that tea house. For him to know that Yukimura-kun is a boy despite her dress--”

He can’t help it, he laughs. It’s quick, a plaster pulled from the skin, but Yamazaki still stares at him, wide-eyed and wounded. “You said yourself, Yamazaki-kun,” he says with as much grace as he can muster, “that everyone in that tea house knew.”

Yamazaki’s mouth opens, his jaw working until he can manages to allow, “maybe,” through it.

“Still,” he presses, his voice riding high in his nose, precise and pedantic. “He said her name was cute.”

It is, Kai doesn’t say. He does wonder if Yamazaki might agree.

“And he even asked her about-- about--” he looks like he might gag on the words if he doesn’t manage to spit them out-- “going on dates.”

“That is what young men do.” Especially with girls as cute as Yukimura, but Kai valiantly refrains from mentioning such a fact. He doesn’t even suggest that perhaps Yamazaki might consider the same once they meet face to face, though he is sorely, sorely tempted.

The boy sniffs. “He only wanted information. You heard the questions he was asking.”

“What I heard,” Kai says, smothering a chuckle poorly, “was Yukimura giving him the run around.”

When Yamazaki grins, it’s all teeth. “She did.”

The two of them made a funny picture: a man used to hearing yes and a girl who never heard a flirtation she couldn’t misconstrue. But still, still-- something doesn’t sit right.

“Do you think...?” Kai hesitates, pursing his lips before he presses, “Do you think this was some sort of test?”

Yamazaki blinks up at him, the first time he’s made eye contact with him since they stepped onto the street. “Pardon?”

“For Yukimura-kun.” Were they still, he’d shift on his feet, but their walk burns off his nerves well enough. “This is her first outing since she came to us, and Saito...he left her for quite some time.”

“Saito-san had his own mission to carry out,” Yamazaki says, confidence burning in every word. “One that Yukimura could only have made harder. And we were here.”

“And who sent us?”

Yamazaki settles onto his heels, hard. Hijikata. Hijikata had been the one to tell them to follow close, but not too close. Just enough to keep an eye on things. “Ah. So she...”

His teeth clack closed around the thought.

“If Yukimura wasn’t who she said she was...” Kai lets the thought settle between them, itchy as a straw shirt. “This would have been the perfect time for her to meet with her allies. Or even...”

Run. He doesn’t have to say the word; Yamazaki’s already heard it, every muscle coiled, ready to give chase. “Ah. Ha.”

The silence is too heavy to settle, so Kai settles for breaking it. “What would you have done if she did?”

Yamazaki hesitates. He might wear a mask, might tuck all his thoughts behind the placid depths of those dusky eyes, but now, now-- his indecision is on display, duty and devotion warring across his brow.

“I would hunt her down.” The declaration is strong, even if the boy trembles. “I am the Watch. I do what must be done.”

Silence settles between them again, still too uneasy to stick.

“But,” Yamazaki murmurs, softer, “I am glad I did not have to find out.”

#yamachi #hakuouki #my fic #this is the longest chapter so far and i think i wrote half of it mentally screaming #but i'm happy with it now!#and next chapter....next chapter chizuru might actually know yamazaki exists 🤣

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thepartyresponsible · 3 years

Note

For the wip ask (they all sound very interesting ngl it was hard to pick just one!) LostSteve

lost steve! yeah, so. what if shield defrosted captain america, and he broke out and just...kept running? what if they lost him? what if he ended up hiding out in tony’s tower, away from the fight for long enough to get his feet underneath him?

this fic is mostly about steve and tony finding each other first, so they can form the heart of the avengers, instead of the fault line that splits the team in half. here’s the first part of it.

—

There’s an alert from Nick Fury that Tony chooses to ignore, for the sake of his convenience and Fury’s ongoing character growth. JARVIS announces its arrival and then diligently reminds Tony about the message twice before Tony tells him to mute it until morning.

“If it’s really that important,” he says, “they’ll just send someone to break in anyway.”

Which is why, on some level, he’s not at all surprised to find a man sitting on a couch in his penthouse twenty-seven hours later. He will admit to being caught somewhat off-guard by the specifics of the situation, though, because Steve Rogers has been dead for longer than Tony’s been alive.

“Zombie?” Tony asks. “Hallucination? Oh, clone? Are you a clone?”

Steve Rogers looks at him the way people look at wax sculptures. Like he’s interested in the details of the creation in front of him, but doesn’t believe for a second that what he’s looking at is real. “Mr. Stark,” he says, politely. His voice is deeper than Tony would’ve guessed.

“Robot,” Tony theorizes. “Sexbot? Updated Trojan Horse? If I let you inside me, are you gonna--”

The man’s brow furrows, and his mouth twists down, and his eyes are too sad for circuitry. No one would code that kind of grief.

Tony pauses for a moment, rocks forward onto the balls of his feet and then back onto his heels. He studies this intruder carefully. Someone sent him a Steve Rogers lookalike in a white t-shirt and stained khakis. He’s hale and healthy, built like a god, but his feet are bare and dirty.

Bloody, too. There are bloody footprints on the carpet.

“Wait,” Tony says. “Wait. Who the hell are you?”

There’s a long beat of silence. The man on his couch just stares at him, eyes tracing over Tony’s face, his shoulders, looking at him like he’s starving for something. He’s quiet and small, somehow, in a way that doesn’t relate at all to the amount of space his body takes up.

And then he stands, light and graceful on his bloody feet. His jaw tightens, and his shoulders pull up, and he’s an American Hero, suddenly and decisively, like he’s made some kind of choice about it.

“Mr. Stark,” he says, again, “I’m Captain America.”

And he is, Tony thinks. The same way that he’s Iron Man. Because once you put on that kind of armor, whatever else you used to be is irrelevant.

—

He’s Captain America, and he’s back from the dead. SHIELD had him and lost him, and Nick Fury wants Tony to go looking for him. That’s the message he left with JARVIS over a day ago. And Tony can’t imagine he was the first name on their list, which means Steve Rogers has been alone in the wrong century for an unknown but considerable amount of time.

“Hey,” he says, calling out from where he’s slouched against the kitchen island, watching Captain America dutifully eat through every scrap of leftovers Tony had in the fridge. “How long have you been here?”

“I was born here,” he says, through a mouthful of fried rice that he hides behind a napkin. He chews, swallows, and jabs his fork over Tony’s shoulder. “In Brooklyn.”

Tony knew that. Of course he knew that. He memorized everything about Steve Rogers back when he thought he could become enough like him to make Howard consider him worthwhile. “No, I mean,” he says, waving his hands, “in this century. How long have you been--- Jesus. I dunno. Awake? Aware? Unfrosted flakes?”

Steve blinks at him. He stares for a second and then ducks his head, stirs his fork through the open takeout box in front of him. “Spent a couple days,” he says. “Looking around.”

Looking around. Steve Rogers, unwitting time-traveler, barefoot in New York. What had he been looking for? Why did he come here?

“Why didn’t you get any shoes?” Tony asks, instead of any of the more complicated questions.

Steve tucks his feet under his chair. He washed them half an hour or so back, walking uneasily into the bathroom Tony showed him and then locking the door behind him, like he thought Tony was some kind of pervert who would bodyslam through the door to catch a glimpse of him sudsing up his bare ankles.

“Didn’t have any money,” he says, surprisingly mulish about it.

“You couldn’t smash and grab a pair of Sketchers?” Tony shakes his head. “If you get lockjaw, you’re gonna have to tell Fury you caught it from somewhere else. Fuck’s sake, when was your last tetanus booster? 1943?”

He shrugs. He doesn’t seem concerned. He’s busy eating his way through enough calories to keep your average winter-starved grizzly happy.

It’s hungry work, coming back from the dead. Tony remembers the unholy things he would’ve done for a cheeseburger.

“Didn’t have any money,” he repeats, scraping his fork around the sides of the takeout box, diligent and serious, like it’s the very last scrap of food he’ll ever get.

Tony clears his throat, hip-checks the counter to heave himself to standing. “I’ll get you some cash.”

—

There’s a weird moment, when Tony gives him the money. It’s just a few hundred dollars. He’s not Tony’s problem, not his project raised from the dead, but he still doesn’t want to give Steve Rogers the means to get himself truly lost in a world he doesn’t know.

Five hundred dollars will get him some food and somewhere to sleep for a few days, but it won’t get him far enough out of SHIELD’s orbit to get himself in trouble.

He looks up when Tony gets close. There’s a well-worn wariness in his eyes. He watches him the way a dog from a bad home might watch him through the bars of the shelter’s kennel. Resigned instead of hopeful, like he knows how this goes, like he knows he can survive it.

“Here,” Tony says. He leaves the money two chairs away from him, within easy grabbing distance. “And I have shoes your size, if you want to borrow them.”

“I don’t need that,” Rogers says, pointing at the money.

Tony lets his mouth tip up sideways, smirks like this is the part of the whole situation he finds truly unbelievable. “You’re going to come into my house,” he says, “uninvited, unannounced, and then you’re going to refuse to accept my hospitality? Rogers, what would your mother think?”

There’s a stall point in Roger’s stare, like watching a bird fly into a window. There’s a moment, right around the word mother, when those blue eyes blank out, and Tony’s just staring into empty space.

“She didn’t,” he says, and it’s fascinating. He’s stitching himself up right here at Tony’s dining table. Tony can practically see it happening, vertebrae stacking up, pulling him taunt like a needle tugging on a thread. “She never liked charity.”

Tony is familiar with pride. He has something of an overabundance himself, although he comes by it honestly. He knows hurt pride hates an audience, so he looks away.

“I imagine she hated the idea of you starving, too,” Tony says. “Probably worked very hard to make sure that didn’t happen. Going to waste all her work now, Rogers? Seems ungrateful.”

He’s half-taunting by the end of it. He’s not sure why. He finds weak points like a magnet finds iron. Sometimes he doesn’t even know what he’s pulling on until after he’s accidentally ripped out someone’s heart. It’s not one of the traits he’s proud of, but, like his pride, he knows where it came from.

Rogers glares at him, but he hooks the next takeout container over anyway.

“I’ll get those shoes,” Tony says. JARVIS has already measured; Rhodey left some boots that should fit.

Steve doesn’t say anything, but, when Tony comes back, the money is gone, and so is he.

—

Tony doesn’t tell Fury a damn thing. If Fury lost a national icon, that’s his problem. And anyway, Tony’s still not completely convinced that the blonde who materialized in his penthouse was actually Steve Rogers and not some kind of really confused, really well-built homeless man. Or a stripper.

Tony’s never actually met a stripper who showed up in khakis, refused to disrobe, and then ate ten pounds of takeout before silently disappearing, but he’d be willing to pay another five hundred dollars for a repeat performance.

He figures out how the maybe-Steve got into his penthouse. He upgrades the security, but he tells JARVIS to let him in if he ever comes back. He’s not sure what he’s hoping for, but he’s too curious to lock him out.

—

There’s a bit of nothing that kicks off in New York, some Hammer tech that goes haywire. Tony puts it down like the cheap knockoff that it is, but he gets stuck in debrief with Phil Coulson afterwards, because he’s not quite quick enough to abandon the scene after the fight’s over. In his defense, he was holding a car above a partially-trapped bicyclist, and Coulson caught him before the EMTs could finish disentangling her.

He makes it back to the Tower after an hour of mostly-wasted time. Steve Rogers is sitting at his dining table. Tony bites back the ludicrous urge to “honey, I’m home!” him.

“Hey,” he says instead, as he steps in from the balcony, stripped down to the skintight suit he wears under the armor. He didn’t expect company. “You get something to eat?”

Steve seems somehow offended by the question. “I didn’t break in here and steal anything,” he says.

“Okay,” Tony says, moving past him. “Well, that’s a gold star and an empty stomach for you, Rogers. We’re all very proud.”

“It’s not my food,” Steve tells him. If he had hackles, they’d be raised. Tony wants to pat him on the head, but only because he’s always had a sort of neurotic tendency to see how hard people bite before he decides whether to trust them.

“Yeah, and a twenty-dollar grocery bill is really gonna break me,” Tony says. He takes a smoothie out of the freezer. “You want pizza? I’m gonna order pizza.”

Steve stares at him for a long moment before he shrugs. “I could eat,” he says.

“Great,” Tony says. He has JARVIS order three pizzas, because he wants at least half of one for himself, and Steve Rogers is a human garbage disposal.

Steve takes a shower while they’re waiting. He asks first, which Tony supposes is the polite thing to do, and he takes his backpack with him, like he’s worried Tony’s going to steal his wallet.

“You know,” Tony says, when Steve remerges, wearing another knockout set of some grandpa’s Goodwill khakis and button-down shirt, “you keep showing up like this, and it’s gonna get harder for me to lie to Fury about having no idea where you are.”

Steve flips open a pizza box and carefully selects a slice. His hair is wet and neatly combed back from his face. He’s handsome from a distance but damn near devastating at close range. Tony takes another bite of pizza, hopes it’ll help swallow back the urge to sink a few grand into war bonds.

“Fury’s the guy with the eyepatch?” Steve doesn’t settle into a seat. He takes his pizza and wanders over to the window, stares out at the skyline.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Tony says.

Steve makes a face. Tony can see it, dulled and faded, in the reflection on the glass. “He’s persistent,” he says, slowly. Not like it’s a compliment.

“Yeah,” Tony says, again, “that’s him.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else. Tony finishes his slice of pizza, eats another one. There’s an ache in his right shoulder from being wrenched around by Hammer’s ridiculous creation, and he should be icing it, but he doesn’t want to. Not with Steve Rogers here.

He’s never liked looking human in front of an audience. His problem has always been that he couldn’t figure out how to stop. At least, not until he built his armor.

Steve comes back when he’s out of pizza. He’s catlike in his wariness, in the way he seems pissed at Tony for daring to exist in his proximity.

“That fight,” he says, apropos of approximately nothing at all. “Earlier.”

“Oh,” Tony says, rising out of his chair and moving toward the bar, giving Steve the room to loom over the pizza like he’s defending his kill. “You see that on the news?”

“Saw it on the street,” Steve says. “Heard the screams.”

Heard the screams and came running. So he’s still in the hero business. Fury will be happy to hear it.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” Steve tells him. He sounds angry about it. At Tony, not the situation. “Where’s your backup?”

“Backup,” Tony repeats. “Cap, c’mon. Read a newspaper. I work alone.”

Steve Rogers looks up from his pizza perusal just long enough to roll his eyes. It should feel like a slap across the face, and maybe it does. However it feels, Tony likes it. Wants more of it. There’s always been something grounding in being dismissed, like Tony’s never known where he stands until someone shows him how he doesn’t measure up.

“Is that supposed to be impressive?” Steve asks. “Men who work alone die alone, Stark. And they’re not very effective when they do.”

Tony knows he’s meant to be offended. He is, probably. But he couldn’t bite back his smile for anything. “I think I liked you better when you called me ‘Mr. Stark.’”

“Seems to me,” Steve says, “you want everyone to call you Iron Man these days.”

“Oh Captain, my Captain,” Tony says, “surely they had that line about glass houses in the ‘40’s?”

Steve frowns at him. “I never asked anyone to call me Captain America.”

“And yet,” Tony says, tipping a bottle of whiskey his direction, “that’s how to introduced yourself to me.”

Steve gives him a look like he thinks Tony’s being deliberately obtuse. “That’s who I am,” he says.

Tony rolls his eyes and flips a tumbler right side up. “But when I start using a stage name,” he says, “suddenly I’m a narcissistic asshole who doesn’t--”

“Do you think,” Steve says, looming up suddenly, shifting gears like something mechanical, going battle-ready with more decisiveness than a faceplate clicking down, “that anybody spent years, spent—I don’t know. Millions of dollars? Do you think anybody did that for Steve Rogers?”

Tony’s caught wrong-footed. He did it again. Drilled until he found the nerve, cut until he broke the skin.

“I think you don’t get one without the other,” Tony says, trying now to soothe. But he’s not very good at it. His instincts don’t run this direction. His whole life, the only things he could ever repair were machines.

Steve shakes his head. He steps away from the pizza. He looks around, eyes zeroing in on his backpack.

“Stay here,” Tony says, sidling out from behind the bar, whiskey now in hand.

Steve straightens up like a cobra, like he’s going to spit venom in Tony’s face. Tony wants to put his mouth on him, which is probably only half because he’s always been hellbent on his own destruction. The other half is that Steve Rogers is beautiful like something made in a lab for aesthetics alone, carefully designed for universal appeal. Tony likes to tell himself he has a taste for the exclusive, but the reality has always been he wants exactly what everyone else does.

“You don’t want SHIELD to find you,” Tony says, “then stay here. Trust me, this is the last place they’d think to look.”

He’s not standing between Steve and the exit. He was careful about that. Whatever SHIELD might think about him, he doesn’t have a death wish. And also, when he’s thinking about it, he’s not usually deliberately an asshole. It’s just that, most of the time, he’s not thinking about it.

“Why should I trust you?” Steve asks.

Tony shrugs. Hell, he has no idea. “Why’d you come here? The first time. When SHIELD lost you, you came here. Why?”

“I went home,” Steve says, argumentative, all squared shoulders and tight jaw. “I went to Brooklyn. But it wasn’t there anymore. None of it was—I couldn’t find…”

He trails off, shakes his head, sharp and agitated, a horse bothered by a fly. It’s hard to look in his eyes. There’s something in them that Tony doesn’t want to see. It’s like watching a statue bleed.

“I heard there was still a Stark in New York,” Steve says. “I read about you. I thought maybe you’d--”

“You thought I’d be like Howard,” Tony finishes for him. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I thought you’d be like me,” Steve says, which doesn’t make any sense at all.

“You,” Tony says. And then, a little helplessly, “What?”

Steve looks away. He shrugs, looks back. “I saw the suit,” he says. “On the news. I saw what it can do. I didn’t think--- things have advanced a lot. I didn’t understand. I thought Howard had…”

Tony squints at him. “You thought Howard did a Rebirth redux and tested it on his kid?”

“I thought a lot of things,” Steve says, snappy. “It was a very confusing couple of days.”

Tony can imagine that it was. “So you thought I was Rebirthed, and you wanted--”

“I didn’t want anything,” Steve says, and there’s that flash of exposed nerve again, that look like a sinkhole in the backs of his eyes. “That’s not the point.”

Tony takes a sip of his whiskey. It settles, warm and sweet, into his stomach.

I didn’t want anything.

I shouldn’t be alive, unless it’s for a reason.

Tony holds the tumbler out. Steve needs the warmth more than he does. “Here,” he says.

Steve takes it, seemingly on reflex. “I can’t get drunk,” he says.

“Well,” Tony says, circling back toward the bar, “not with that attitude.”

#writing #fic

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avengerscompound · 3 years

Text

It’s You and Me - Chapter 1

It’s You and Me: A Hawkeye Fanfic

Series Masterlist

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x F!Reader

Word Count: 2131

Rating: E

Warnings: Action, Canon typical violence, snakes (further warnings on series, if you have triggers please see masterlist for series warnings)

Synopsis: You and Clint Barton go way back. Since you joined the circus as a child, he took it upon himself to keep you away from the people who really wanted to hurt you. For years the two of you danced a line between dark and light.

When he chooses light the two of you go your separate ways.

Fifteen years later he tracks you down. Those feelings the two of you shared never went away, but now he is not only an Avengers but a single father. Can the two of you make it work after all this time when your lives have gone in such different directions?

A series told in flashbacks and current day.

Chapter 1: Now

The lights were out in the lobby. That wasn’t that unusual. The building you lived in was only barely above the level of run-down most people would consider dilapidated. If it was just the lights, you wouldn’t be as on edge as you currently felt. But as not just one, but two of the security doors leading in were unlatched your hackles went up.

You immediately became aware of someone lurking in the shadow of the stairwell, and you relaxed.

Some people gave off a certain energy. It was comfortable and familiar and if they were there you just knew. It was almost like their molecules blended with yours and spoke to each other without needing to be aware it was happening.

“You gonna hide there all night?” You asked, readjusting the paper bag of groceries you were carrying as you started climbing the crooked stairs up to your apartment. The archer stepped out of the shadows soundlessly and began to follow you upstairs.

You hadn’t seen Clint for what was coming up to fifteen years, give or take. Yet you could always tell when he was there. Even now, his presence in the room just felt a certain way. The two of you were connected through a shared past and in the end, it was always the two of you.

He followed you upstairs, not saying a word. You carefully juggled your groceries as you unlocked your door and he followed you inside and closed it behind him. Your apartment was small. Just one room that acted as your bedroom and living room, with a tiny nook on one side that was your kitchen, and a bathroom on the far end that looked out onto the building next door.

Your grey tabby cat, Jasper, met you at the door, meowing loudly. He wound his way between your feet. You put your groceries down and opened a tin of cat food, and emptied it into his dish. You dropped the tin into the sink and turned to Clint.

“So, business or pleasure?” You asked. Instead of answering directly, Clint spun you and crashed his lips into yours, pushing you back against the bench as he kissed you hard. You braced one hand against the bench behind you and ran the other up his chest. Fifteen years had not taken anything from Clint’s physique. He was just as muscular as you remembered him being back when you were both barely even counted as adults. The kiss was just how you remembered too. His lips were familiar and exciting. This was something you’d done hundreds of times, but it had been so long that it was new as well.

Clint pulled back and looked down at you. Those blue eyes that you knew so well were lined at the corners. “So, business then?” You teased.

He pulled away from you and nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

You started to unpack your groceries. You had assumed it would be work. For a long time, you and Clint trod the same line between dark and light. Then one day Clint had veered directly into the light. Ever since then, he’d used his contacts up anytime he’d needed information. You’d heard stories, often directly from the source about many getting roughed up by him while he was on some mission for SHIELD and then the Avengers.

He hadn’t come to you yet, but you knew it was a matter of time before he ran out of options.

“What is it?” You asked, putting your milk in the fridge.

Clint began pawing through your groceries pulling things out and scattering them over your benchtop. He found a punnet of blueberries and popped it open and began to eat them. “You can get me into the bar with no name, can’t you?”

You looked at him and raised your eyebrow. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

He held up his hands. “I swear to god, I’m not going to start anything. I’m supposed to pick something up.”

“What idiot told you they’d meet you there? You. Hawkeye of the Avengers,” you asked.

Clint smirked. “Zelda.”

You shook your head and ran your hands down your face. “It’s a setup, Clint. You know that right?”

“She doesn’t know it’s me,” Clint assured you. “I swear.”

“She knows, just like I would know,” you said. “And it’s moot. You show your face in there, and they’ll kill you and then they’ll kill me for bringing you. You’re hardly incognito anymore.”

Clint put down the blueberries and came over to you, he snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you close. “Come on, sugar,” he said, using your old stage name. “Do it for old times sake. Don’t you miss me?”

“I miss the stuff you led with,” you huffed. “Why’s it taken you so long to track me down?”

He frowned and his thumbs drew circles on your hips. “I wanted to…”

“But?”

“But… I didn’t want to get to the point where you rejected me. It was always you and me,” he said. “And I changed, but you never told me no.”

You huffed and pulled away from him. “God, you suck.”

“I know,” he said. “But I’d owe you. And imagine what that could do for you. Having an Avenger in your debt.” He came up behind you and pulled you back against him again. “We can continue with what we were doing after if you like?”

You leaned back against him. “Clint…”

“Come on…” he begged. “It’ll be you and me again.”

You huffed. “She definitely doesn’t know it’s you?”

“No, I swear.”

“How about this,” you said, turning to face him. “I go in. Pretend to be someone picking up the … whatever it is… and I’ll bring it to you.”

“How do I know you won’t just run off with it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

You smiled at him. “You’re going to have to trust me, aren’t you?”

A few hours later you were dressed head to toe in black Kevlar body armor and your sword strapped to your back. In television and movies bars with a large criminal element always had a no-weapons rule. You’d check them at the door to avoid any incident on site. For the Bar With No Name, it was the opposite. They employed a nuclear deterrent method. Everyone was either armed or enhanced and that way no one would start anything if they wanted to avoid anything getting ugly.

You spotted Zelda sitting at the bar. She sat alone with several empty seats on either side. The patrons closer to her eyed her with a mixture of revulsion and fear due to the large Burmese Python she had casually wrapped around her. You knew the name of the snake even though you’d never seen that one before. They always had the same name.

“Hello, Zelda,” you said. “And how’s Precious?”

She looked at you a little surprised. “Oh my god! What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in forever!”

She hugged you and the snake nosed at your side. “I’m here for you.”

She pulled back and looked at you. “No…” she said. “No, you’re not.”

You opened one of the pouches on your belt to show her the wad of cash Clint had supplied you with.

“Well then,” she said, pulling a microdrive out of her pocket. You went to take it from her but just as you started to close your fingers around it, she flicked it back over her knuckles and out of your reach. Precious the snake lifted his head and hissed softly. “But first, tell me, why are you working with Hawkeye.”

As you’d expected, she knew. “I’m not,” you lied.

Zelda put the drive on the bar and the snake slithered off her and began encircling it. “That’s funny,” she said. “Because I’ve been talking to Clint Barton for two months about this drive and yet here you are.”

“You’ve got it wrong. You’ve been talking to one of my people,” you argued.

She laughed loudly and Precious reared her head and bared her fangs. “Honey, you, me, and Clint go way back. You think I wouldn’t recognize that idiot’s voice when I heard it?”

“If you really expected it to be Clint then why would you suggest meeting him in the only place in the city he can’t get into?” You asked.

“Because,” Zeda said, leaning forward a little. “I can’t kill him, but maybe all these people can.”

You looked directly in her eye not moving, aware that Precious had started to sway slightly where she sat. You were burned. No matter what you did now, everyone in here would soon know you were working with the Avengers. Even if it was just this once and just Clint Barton. If you stood up and walked out, Zelda would tell everyone about it after. If you grabbed the disk, chaos would break out and they’d all know now. You didn’t want to hurt her snake, but if you were burned, you were burned. Might as well get what you came for.

You moved quickly. Too quick for Zelda. She wasn’t really a fighter and even back at the circus it was her snakes over fitness. Precious on the other hand was fast. As your fingers closed around the drive, Precious lunged at you, sinking her fangs into your arm. You screamed out and yanked your hand back as you drew your sword.

Everyone in the room drew their weapons as their attention snapped to you.

“She’s working with the Avengers!” Zelda shouted.

“Liar! She is!” You countered and slammed the hilt of your head down on Precious’ head. The snake let go of our arm and you started gushing blood. All around you chaos broke out as people decided which of you was lying. You ran for the door as the snake lunged at you again. This time you were quicker than the snake, ducking to the side so that the large python slammed into the chest of a large man who had come running at you. He screamed and began wrestling with the snake and you launched yourself over his head using four more random people as stepping stones to get to the door as gunfire broke out.

The large security guard blocked your exit. You squared off with your sword, preparing to fight on all sides, when the door blew in suddenly, flattening the guard. Clint stood on the other side grinning. “What are you waiting for?” He said.

“God, you suck,” you laughed and ran out after him, half the bar close on your heels. Clint fired a series of his trick arrows at the group pursuing you. Two got pinned to the wall of the building as they existed, blocking the path for anyone else. Another got clocked on the head with a concussion arrow. And three more were captured in his net arrow. The last arrow he fired exploded into a cloud of smoke and the two of you ducked down a side alley while the remaining pursuers disappeared from view.

“Where are we going?” You asked.

“Subway,” Clint said, pointing to the entrance on the other side of the road.

You ducked through the traffic, jumping over the hood of a taxi and sliding down the railing into the subway below. You jumped the barrier as Clint pulled out a ticket and scanned in and the two of you got onto the very first train you saw as its door closed behind you.

“Did you get it?” He asked as the two of you stood panting and leaning against each other. You held out the drive. Blood was still running down your arm but it wasn’t until now that you were aware of how bad it was. You swooned, and Clint caught you. “Woah. Did the snake get you?” He said, pulling off his shirt and wrapping it around your arm.

The other people in the carriage had all started backing away and moving down the train and Clint got you to take a seat on one of the plastic chairs. “Yeah. It’s just a python though. It’ll stop bleeding.”

“I’ll take you back to my place and patch you up. Might be better if you don’t go home tonight.”

“Are you kidding me?” You asked. “You burned me. They’re gonna swarm my place looking to see if I am an Avenger. No one will work with me now.”

Clint shrugged. “Maybe it’s better that way.”

“Easy for you to say, Mister Avenger,” you snapped.

“Come on,” Clint teased. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t fun.”

You huffed and nodded, a reluctant smile playing over your lips. “Yeah… I guess it was.”

// NEXT

#clint barton #clint barton x reader #hawkeye #hawkeye fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #it's you and me

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lorelylantana · 3 years

Text

Luminescent

Written at @hestuu‘s request

Oneshot Rating: G

Ao3

Link hated how his reputation was leveraged against the Princess. He hated how his name was twisted into a blade raised against the one person he was sworn to protect at all costs. She had every right to be angry, to rage against the insults spat upon her by an ungrateful court. She didn’t deserve to be treated the way she had been, least of all by her own father.

He welcomed the bursts of outrage, the sneers and snide remarks made against him when they were out of the castle’s shadow. Link, of all people, knew how crucial it was to have an outlet for the tide of emotions she choked back when the court was watching. Her wrath was much easier to withstand than the quiet sobs that he heard much too often as he watched over her room at night. There was life in her rage. Power in her voice when she shouted her displeasure. A far cry from the defeated, weary gasps for breath that tore at his heart in the dark of night, anger gave the Princess strength. He was grateful for the force of Zelda’s fury driving her forward, even if it was away from him.

So he was calm in the face of her frustrations, and his patience was rewarded a few months after he was assigned as her guard. She still didn’t hold him in high regard, but she had grown accustomed to his presence. Thus, he was thoroughly ignored while she went about her studies of Hyrule’s plant life. He couldn’t help but notice how different she looked out in the wild. It was difficult to notice when he just started as her guard, but the more time he spent with her, the more relaxed she became.

That’s when he began to notice it. It was faint, and invisible in the direct sunlight, but when it was overcast or they walked under the shade of a tree Link could see this glow about the Princess. He could only catch glimpses of it at first, only when the stars aligned and she was content. These sightings were so few and far between that for a long time Link was convinced that they were mere tricks of the light. This phenomenon seemed to accompany a discovery of some sort, be it the perfect sample or a breakthrough in her research. This very observation led Link to cast aside the fanciful notion of a sparkling princess in favor of a much more reasonable explanation. Her expression brightened, nothing more. These moments stuck out to him for their rarity, nothing fantastical about it.

Looking back, it put into stark clarity how much pressure she was truly under.

Things changed after that day in the desert, though he wasn’t sure why. He could understand how an attempt on her life might shake her up a little, but to have her demeanor change completely worried him. Perhaps the incident cut deeper than he’d originally thought. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to regret the difference, because she began to smile more. She had a spring in her step, and her hackles no longer raised at his presence. This newfound ease fostered a friendship between them.

Any doubts Link had about those little flickers of light, they were banished in short order. Freed of the suffocating disdain for the one person she couldn’t shake, the glow surrounding Zelda’s happiness became undeniable. He could see it filtering through the trees in the rare moment of separation when she walked ahead of him. Link brought a slice of fruitcake along one of their trips after a particularly harsh scolding, and she burned brighter than their campfire. People began to tell stories of a light spirit traveling the land, a beautiful young woman drifting through the woods and leaving sparks behind. The whispers insisted blessings awaited those lucky enough to glance at the shining maiden.

Link was inclined to agree.

Instead of being ignored, Link was sucked into hundreds of Zelda’s little inquiries while they walked the wilds together. Scientific endeavors were a bit out of his wheelhouse, but it didn’t matter. Zelda thrived simply by having someone to bounce ideas off of, turning to look at him with a glowing grin and a theory. Bit by bit, her smile began to chip away at his reservations, replacing his professionalism with a growing desire for her companionship.

Joy was a precious commodity in those years leading up to Calamity, tenuous and fragile and oh so precious. Indeed, any levity in those shadowed times was to be savored, but what Link coveted above all was Zelda’s delight. The Princess of Hyrule deserved every speck of happiness she could get her hands on, King and court be damned. It was hard won, but worth every effort to see her grin. Link pursued Zelda’s smile with the same relentless dedication that made him the youngest knight in Hyrule’s history, and he swore to do anything in his power to make her happy. Anything to see those rays shine around her.

It wasn’t long until Link’s rising affection began to overwhelm him. He began to crave Zelda’s light, spending days gazing at her. He told himself that it was only natural, because he was her guard and he was sworn to protect her. It had nothing to do with the flutter in his chest, that strange flavor of anxiety that drew his eyes to her like a magnet. A byproduct of almost losing her to the Yiga, surely.

Link was mesmerized, he would go out of his way to make her smile. Not because of romantic interest, of course not, but because he wanted to name the elation that rose whenever he saw her in the light. He wanted to soak up as much of her luster as he could. One flicker of her sweet, gentle luminescence set him adrift in a sea of contentment and affection. It was intoxicating. He’d bring her flowers, only because she was looking for specimens, and various odds and ends nicked from the Ancient Tech Lab, all to nurture the small bursts of incandescent glee that sent his heart pounding against his ribs.

They were sitting among the flowers when he succumbed at long last. She was trying to convince him to eat a frog. He wasn’t keen on the idea, but the pleading look of anticipation on her face was enough to make him consider it even as he recoiled in disgust. She leaned too far, however, and she tipped over, tumbling over without her arms to steady her. Link couldn’t remember the details, all he knew is that when they were still once more Link’s hands curled around her hips and her hands pressed into his chest, that wretched amphibian sitting primly between her wrists. They were frozen a moment, caught somewhere between confusion and embarrassment, before Zelda let out a stream of giggles that struck him down.

She had a smile like the sun, but when she laughed she was radiant.

He watched her shine above him and realized that this is what it felt like to be in love. He understood, now, why she always seemed to brighten his day, how she sent his blood running hot to the tips of his fingers and toes. He loved her because who wouldn’t? Who could look upon this young woman so full of fire and compassion and not be awestruck? Who could hear her voice, an elegant stream of thought and wisdom, and not be weak? All the stars were in Zelda’s eyes and she still shone brighter.

Of course he loved her. It was only natural.

To bask in the warmth of her presence was a privilege he thanked all the gods for.

The light shining from Hyrule Castle cuts through any lethargy left over from the Shrine, replaced by a searing, deep yearning to see more of it. When night fell and she was silent, Link found himself wandering around, looking for any substitute convincing enough to trick his mind into ease enough to sleep. At first he slept surrounded by fireflies, but there were precious few places that were safe to sleep. Later he would keep a candle burning when he was in his house, and when he wasn’t he’d settle for clutching a star fragment to his chest. It could lull him into a fitful sleep, but it couldn’t banish the nauseating restlessness writhing in his stomach and constricting his heart.

It wasn’t enough, he wanted to bathe in that light, and if that meant wading through darkness then so be it. This sentiment drove him to complete all manner of miscellaneous, almost random tasks. It doesn’t take long for a pattern to emerge, however, after he learns more about the princess, either through stories or his memories.

He learned that she’s most likely to shine when he wears his Champion tunic, so he rarely takes it off. He kept the ingredients for fruitcake on hand at all times, and has hundreds of wildberries tucked away. She liked to see Link swing the Master Sword, or watch him wield weapons Robbie crafts for him, so he does at every opportunity. Then, when Link was stronger, he began to hunt guardians down for their parts. She liked watching him clear Hyrule Field, perhaps it built her confidence in him. It didn’t matter why it made her happy, all he cared to know was whenever he’d dispatch a particularly troublesome guardian he could see her light reach out to him from the Castle Sanctum to wash away his exhaustion.

He liked doing these little things for her. It gave him a sense of normalcy that anchored him as he stumbled about Hyrule in search of who he was, and he couldn’t help but feel a deep, vindictive sense of satisfaction whenever he watched her light pierce the darkness swirling about the castle. Each glimmer from high in Hyrule Castle renewed his determination, sending him running towards the power he needed to slay the beast.

Link thinks she loves him, but he’s not sure. Or perhaps it seems too good to be true, and his doubts shield his heart from disappointment that would prove too much after the journey's end. He really hopes she loves him, because he cherishes every gleaming inch of her being.

He notices what he thinks is affection in her eyes when Zelda smiles at him. He notices the little rays of light, precious and small during the first few days when she was tired and grief stricken, but there all the same. Then he set about cheering her up. Link was always a man of few words, so whenever he saw her dim and space out he would bring her back to earth with bits of fruit and give her the trinkets he’d gathered. Countless little gestures that made her glimmer against the desolation.

It’s arrogant, but he thinks she shines brighter when she looks at him. The thought makes him grin for hours, which makes her smile in turn. They fed off of each other’s fragile glee. His touch sends sparks leaping off of her skin and sometimes he grabs her hand just to see her shine a bit brighter. One night, he holds a Silent Princess from Satori Mountain out to her, and rather than take it she takes his tunic in her hands and pulls him close. She kisses him, and he has to shut his eyes against the blinding light that radiated out when he wraps his arms around her.

There was not a single word in any of Hyrule’s languages that could properly describe the bliss of holding Zelda in his arms. The euphoric radiance when he grins down at her. Zelda is warm, and so beautiful, a living ray of sunshine tucked in his embrace. Link pushes a shining strand of hair behind her ear while she looks up at him, a smile on her lips. Link rests his chin on her head, finally at peace.

#oneshot #zelink #botw zelink #loz botw #botw #legend of zelda #legend of zelda breath of the wild #botw zelda #botw link #writing request #LantanaLore

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munku-collar · 3 years

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Munkustrap takes so much comfort in Demeter: in her touch, in her scent, in her voice. Whenever she’s at ease, focused on a task but sharing the same space as him, he’s transfixed, in watching her work, and if she brushes against him on her way to get something, turns a little to offer him a glance or smile, there’s just something about it that sends him over the moon. When she sings a song to herself, or when he catches her enjoying a dance, and laughing, or when she ducks under his arm, presses herself against him and rests a paw against his midsection, a gesture which has long since become second nature, everything feels right with the world.

Even when she’s angry, or stressed, and her voice raises as quickly as the hackles on her neck, he feels nothing but the privilege of seeing her every day, of being the one to smooth away her negativity, to offer his love, and be given her love in return. He just feels so warm and light when he’s with her, in a way that no one else can make him feel, and his responsibilities don’t feel half as hard to carry. Even his darkest memories and pains dim at her side, and for the moment, he is utterly content. He looks at her like the stars in the sky are in her eyes, and feels a rising tenderness in his already soft heart.

And he feels such calm. She grounds him, in a way, even if she’s the one who needs actual grounding, needs a shield from her worry and fear. It brings him reprieve when he holds her until she can breathe again, until the anxious shuddering in her body abates and she’s relaxed and pliable in his arms and whatever plagued her thoughts has disappeared. The worried chatter in his own brain always retreats, is always made irrelevant when they’re touching. In guarding her he is guarded, made safe and sound.

And when he does need comfort, or distraction, she’s always there, quick to cradle his face in her paws, kiss him gently, assure him of what’s real and not real. She reminds him how good he is, how kind and wonderful, and he never feels unloved. She holds him back when he pushes himself too far, reminds him of his value, of how amazing he truly is. She is firm when she needs to be, with everyone, even him, and he knows that if she pushes back against an idea of his, or something he’s doing, that she’s in the right. She reminds him to take care of himself, to treat himself kindly, as he often reminds her too. If there’s a solution he’s not seeing, she is guaranteed to point it out to him. If she’s lost sight of the reality of a problem, blown it to excessive proportions(a trick of her anxious mind), he can convince her to take it more lightly, that it isn’t so serious. What he lacks, she makes up for, in all things, and visa versa.

It’s a wonderful kind of balance, he thinks. They bring out the best in each other. They accept the worst in each other. And he finds courage in her. He finds the strength to fight, to take each day and whatever it brings. He can bear any burden, handle any problem, and any challenge, so long as she keeps staying by his side, and filling his life with love.

#my shit #demestrap #munkustrap #demeter #cats demeter #demeter cats #cats 1998 #cats the musical #many thoughts 2nite #let munk romanticize his wife a little #JH #i dont like when people make demestrap v one sided. like deme's super weak and munk is a savior #it's the balance of it baby. they both need each other. he gets just as much love and support out of it as she does #loooooooooooooooooooooooooooove

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red-archivist · 2 years

Text

MELANIE

What? You’d have told me? Let me learn it from one of your statements instead of from Elias? I just- I don’t see that changing anything.

ARCHIVIST

Even so, I… am… I’m sorry.

MELANIE

I don’t need your apology. Or your pity.

Melanie is still hurting from Elias’ attack and pulls anger and prickliness around herself like a shield

and she has always hated pity because she sees it as other people thinking she is weak

she is so headstrong and so fiercely independent- so certain that she can handle everything on her own- that any trace of sympathy gets her hackles up, especially with the slaughter bullet unknowingly in her, she turns sharp at being treated softly

#im :< but also >:< bc jon is genuinely sorry #the great tma relisten #tma #tma 113

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dessarious · 4 years

Text

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt68

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

AO3 Beginning Previous Next

Discorde waited impatiently for the light filtering through the vent in front of her to go out. Her body and even the air around her felt tense with anticipation… and something else she did quite know how to describe. It only increased her unease since Plagg told her that the more in tune she became with the Miraculous, the more she would be able to sense shifts in luck. The real problem was that she had no idea how it was shifting even if that’s what she felt.

As soon as the light went out she moved to the vent silently. She could hear Hawkmoth below her cursing and banging on the door. It loosened some of her anxiety since any small noises she made while removing the cover would go unnoticed. She stuck her head through the opening and found him exactly where she expected him. She dropped to the floor and called for her power as she approached her target. The man was still trying to find somewhere he could grab the sealed door to try and force it open.

As soon as she was close enough she brushed her hand over his cane, before immediately moving to his non dominant side. As she expected he turned as soon as he felt the cane give in his hand. She reached around the other side to take his Miraculous but he grabbed her arm and threw her over his shoulder back into the middle of the room.

“Red, now.” As soon as she spoke soft lights turned on and Ladybug dropped through the vent with Raphael following as soon as she was clear. Viperion apparently decided to stay in the ductwork. One more surprise should things go wrong. A shield surrounded them and she felt her hackles rise at how calm the man in front of her was.

“It’s over Hawkmoth. Give up your Miraculous, there’s no need for more violence.” As much as she appreciated her girlfriend’s belief in people’s ability to change she mentally rolled her eyes. If it were that easy they would have taken him down on the first try.

“Stupid child, you don’t even know the power you possess. If you did this would all be over.” Ladybug frowned at him, but not in annoyance. Discorde knew that look all too well. She was actually going to try and reason with the bastard.

“I know that I could easily have used my and my partner’s Miraculous to wish for yours, or even to wish that none of this had happened. I know exactly how much power I have and unlike you I know the consequences of my actions. Making a wish, any wish, throws off the natural balance of things and whether you realize it or not it sets a chain of events into motion that could have devastating results. Chances are high that whatever it is you plan to wish for will only bring you more pain and suffering. If you tell me what it is you want the Miraculous for perhaps we can help you without it.”

The man’s stoic facade broke as he burst out laughing. She saw Raphael tense at the sound that held more madness and disdain than humor. She wouldn’t say that the man was ever stable, but this was a new level of crazy she hadn’t expected. She felt a pressure in her mind and knew Plagg was trying to warn her of something. She also realized that her ring hadn’t beeped so he was forcing her transformation to hold longer. That couldn’t be a good sign.

“Do you honestly think you can do what all my money, power, and connections could not? I don’t care who you are under that mask, there is nothing you can do. Not to mention now that the Wayne brat and his father have decided to ruin me, the only way to fix things is to make my wish. I will have your Miraculous.” He seemed far too confident and Plagg was pushing at her mind again. That air of luck shifting was getting stronger and she could only wait to see what it brought. Too late, she saw the hand behind Gabriel’s back twitch and noticed he held something.

Discorde dove for Ladybug as soon as the motion penetrated but she could only watch as some sort of throwing knife entered her midsection and she fell to the floor. She was vaguely aware of Raphael moving to attack and shielding them. The only thing she could concentrate on was the blood until Ladybug forced her to look her in the eye.

“This needs to end now. Get his Miraculous.” The pain and determination in her words caused something inside Discorde to snap. Suddenly she didn’t have to find that deep dark well of energy that Plagg had taught her to tap into. It was all around her, begging her to unleash the chaos and destruction that was always waiting just out of sight. She had just enough reason left to know that if she let it take over she’d become something far worse than Hawkmoth could ever hope to be.

She turned to see the man taunting his opponent. It was obvious he expected it to be just another teenager who had no training and no idea what they were getting into so he wasn’t taking the fight seriously. She was channeling her rage and power into a specific point though she had no idea what it would bring until a crossbow appeared in her hand pulsing with energy. She felt the luck shift again as she took aim and this time knew exactly what it meant.

She loosed the bolt and watched as it went through his left palm only to embed itself in his right. He let out a howl of rage and pain but she ignored it as she lined up another shot. That one embedded itself in his thigh and she actually heard his bone crack as the full force of it hit. He fell to the floor, crippled and bleeding, as she walked over calmly to stand over him. She saw real fear in his eyes as she stood over him and the only thought she could manage was ‘it’s about time’. She kept the crossbow trained on his head before addressing Raphael.

“Take his Miraculous so Ladybug can cast her cure and end this.” She didn’t even recognize her voice and all she could focus on was how easy it would be to just end the worthless person in front of her. The darkness around her urged her to remove him from the world so he couldn’t upset the balance further. It wasn’t until a familiar figure stepped in front of her that she even realized he was no longer transformed.

“Discorde, I need you to breathe with me. You can’t let it take over or you’ll lose yourself. I’ll lose you.” She could only blink at Ladybug in confusion for a moment as the power slowly receded. She heard her tell the others to take Gabriel to his office to wait for the police. She said something about a safe and a book too, but Discorde was too busy staring at her girlfriend’s abdomen, making sure there was no more blood, to really pay attention.

“Chloe, I need you to take me somewhere.” It was only when she used her real name that she even realized her transformation had finally given out. Plagg was silently shoving cheese down his throat to recharge and Ladybug’s face held both worry and resignation. “The cure didn’t work completely and I need you to take me to someone who might be able to help.” Chloe watched in horror as her transformation dropped and she fell to the floor.

“Mari!” This couldn’t be happening. She searched for a wound but couldn’t find one. “What happened? What do you mean the cure didn’t work?” She was frantic as she tried to find something to explain what she meant. It was Tikki that answered.

“You and Hawkmoth both used pure energy. For you it was pure chaos, for him pure spite. I couldn’t heal all the internal damage and the knife made it all the way to Marinette’s spine. While transformed I can make up for the deficiency, but I can’t fix it.” The Kwami sounded so devastated but Chloe still didn’t understand.

“I’m paralyzed Chloe. The knife severed part of my spine. I need you to transform and take me to Master Fu because it will take Tikki hours to recover from trying to heal me.”

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#maribat #marinette dupen chang #Damian Wayne #bffmaridami

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agoodgoddamnshot · 4 years

Text

Maelstrom - Hannibal/Will [Alpha/Omega (G)]

Twitter Prompt: A/O!Verse & Baby!Graham-Lecter

The silence is deafening. Out in the halls, he can pick out muffled conversations and announcements echoed overhead. They pulse against his ears. Hospital ward sounds that fade into the background as he strains to hear Will. The screams cut deeper than any knife ever will. Every lash across his skin dug deeper and deeper with every fumbled step he was dragged away.

He fought. Of course he did. No sane Alpha would ever part with their mate, unless something, or someone, interfered.

The metal and plastic and rubber sitting in his mouth are almost suffocating. The scent of it alone, mixed with the sting of disinfectant in the halls, coats the roof of his mouth and turns his nose. The harness digs into his skin and his teeth gnaw against the bit.

His hands are free; trembling and fidgeting with everything but the harness’ buckle sitting at the back of his head. Some small sliver of logic whispers to him that it’s just for a moment, for the safety of others, and the safety of his mate while they work on him.

And the logic cowers as whatever primal, vocal part of his being snarls and stalks. Whatever that sane part of him can whisper against the shell of his ear, it will always be chased away by the same part of him that sends him into ruts and leaves his reason at the door.

So he paces, and listens. All the while his jaw flexes against the bit caught between his teeth and a harness keeping his mouth shut.

He’s away from his mate.

And his mate is in distress.

And the silence stretching out over him is too much—

“Doctor Lecter?”

His pacing falters. He reels around, looking to one of the many doors that stand between him and Will’s side. A nurse steps through the door, a hand clasped tightly around the handle, ready to pull it shut if the alpha inside the room lashes out. A security team is probably waiting outside in the hall, ready to intervene again if needs be.

That logical, sane part of him rears its head. Settle.

The nurse squares her shoulders. A brave woman, facing down a distressed Alpha separated from his labouring mate. Then again, she probably can’t smell the scents souring the air inside the room.

“Your husband is ready to see you,” she says, a small smile ghosting her lips. She takes a step inside. Brave woman, not only facing down an enraged Alpha, but a hunter. A maelstrom of thought swirls around; plans to hunt those who kept him from Will, other assurances that what he’s feeling is just hormones, and that Will is fine because of those said people—

The nurse lifts her hands, gesturing to the muzzle holding his jaw shut. “I can take it off of you now,” she explains, “just as long as you agree that your walk from here to your husband’s room is a peaceful one.”

There’s definitely a team waiting outside in the hall. Hannibal’s ears twitch at the sound of people shuffling around outside. Their footfalls are too heavy to belong to scrub-clad nurses and doctors.

Maroon eyes regard the nurse for a moment – a colour made all the more deeper by the swirling emotions and hormones flooding him. It started the very moment when he surfaced, his nose wrinkling at a change in scent. He’s known Will long enough to know what he smells like, no matter what state he’s in. The usual scent changed; it soured and twinged with something that had sleep washing off of him as he nudged his mate awake.

It was time.

Hannibal’s jaw flexes. He eventually nods.

The nurse is slow with her movements, not unlike approaching a wild animal. And maybe, at one point during their evolution, that might have been the case. No matter how many generations pass through the aeons, something primal will always remain. And he’s gone much of his life ignoring it, pushing it to the side because it was a great inconvenience.

Then Will broke down those walls and let his feral nature loose, engulfing the both of them.

A low growl clambers up his throat when the nurse slips behind him. His hands clench into fists by his side at her fingers deftly unlatching the buckle. At the slightest hint of give from the muzzle, Hannibal reaches up. The nurse backs off as he wrenches the godforsaken thing off, clamping down on the urge to fling it across the room and charge for his mate.

He shifts his jaw, letting the ache slowly work its way out. The harness sits heavily in his hand. The rubber bit is imprinted with teeth marks, impressions left behind from just wanting to gnaw at something to take the edge off. Every primal, deep-set part of him screamed to claw and bite and roar. Maybe all those aeons ago, held up in a cave somewhere, when it would have been just the two of them, he could have fought off wayward intruders.

But nowadays, he understands the measures taken by hospitals to keep their staff alive and in one piece. They had the same thing in John Hopkins. Sometimes the Alphas of families hearing unfortunate news turned feral.

He turns to the nurse, a small courteous smile ghosting his lips. “Thank you,” he rumbles. His voice will be changed, altered to be a pitch recognisable by their baby. And the thought of it has his blood beginning to curdle again. He wants to see them. And Will.

The nurse lifts her chin. “Come with me,” she says, already leading them out of the room.

He winces at the sharp, bright light out in the hall. The noise is almost too much; staff and visitors chattering among themselves, the distant cry of other labouring women and omegas. He catches the inside of his cheek between his teeth. Will.

They can’t weave through the halls quick enough. It’s a typical labour ward – painted dust pastels and with overtly friendly and calm-speaking midwives and nurses who drift between rooms. A few of them glance at the alpha being escorted by one of their own, and a small army of security guards trailing behind them. But no one looks surprised. Or even bothered. The speed in which guards flooded Will’s room and clamped his alpha’s jaw shut to stop him from lashing out only tells him that this is a regular occurrence.

At the sight of Will’s room door, his heart leaps to his throat. He has to stop himself from rushing past the nurse and bursting in himself.

The nurse stops just outside of the room, peering in the opened door and greeting who Hannibal can only presume to be a colleague. She gives a firm nod to whoever is inside before turning back to him. “Alright, you can go in.” The silent threat lingers. But behave, or we’ll take you away again.

The second he steps into the room, his hackles fall. A familiar scent twinged with sweetness coats the roof of his mouth and settles on his tongue. He takes a breath of it, letting it bloom through him like sunlight warming a room.

A gentle thrill calls for him. Hannibal’s eyes dart to the bed. Amid machines and monitors and IV stands is his mate, propped up against pillows, guarding a white bundle against his chest. Hannibal’s feet carry him over. He practically falls into Will’s side, a gentle rumble rattling out of his throat to mix with his mate’s own sounds. A nurse and midwife still remain in the room, strategically keeping themselves as far away from the mated pair and their new pup as they can. Eventually, they leave the room with muffled footfalls and the softest of clicks when the door shuts behind them.

A tired, worn-out smile tugs the corners of Will’s lips. “What was all of that about, doctor?” a light huff of a laugh slips out of him. A tiny whelp escapes the bundle in his arms; one snapping Will’s attention back, earning a small thrill out of his throat.

Hannibal hums, utterly lost of where to look. “I may have let instincts get the better of me. I apologise, darling.” His gaze eventually settles on the small, clenched fist that wiggles free of the bundle of blankets. One of Will’s hands, pinned with a cannula, gently pries the blanket away. A small, red face peers out. Still wincing at being hauled from a quiet, safe place into a world such as this; but Hannibal’s breath catches in his throat at how rounded their cheeks are, their pursed lips and squinting eyes. Even the faintest of sand-coloured wisps dusting the crown of their head.

He’s aware of Will’s eyes on him, blearily watching him for anything to slip through that impenetrable wall he shields himself with. But the omega knows all too well that he’s chipped enough of those bricks years ago to have that wall crumbling and cascading down. A new pup is the last blow, sending dust and debris to the wind. He swallows against the lump trying to lodge in his throat.

Will’s smile only grows when their pup reaches out and nabs one of his fingers. They’re so small, barely wrapping around his fingertip. “A girl,” he whispers, suddenly mindful of the quiet that has fallen over the room. Monitors whirl and beep occasionally, but it’s a world different to when they arrived. Pain wracking through Will’s body as labour moved on without him. Growls, snarls, shouts flung down the hall. It was chaos. Will brings the pup closer to his chest, letting her forehead rest against his bare skin.

Hannibal watches, perched by the side of Will’s bed. He looks beautiful; bleary-eyed with shadows clinging to the hollows of his face, sweat-coated curls sticking to his forehead. A show of strength and resilience to bring their child into this world, by himself. Hannibal’s stomach sours at the thought of not being there. The first cry to pierce through the room should have graced his ears too. He should have been there to soothe and gentle and encourage. Those who kept him away rattle through his mind. Faint glances at nametags and a general knowledge of how hospitals and their rotas work—

“Hannibal.”

The Alpha glances to his mate. Any ounce of tiredness that plagued his mate is gone. Or at least, pushed behind hardened blue eyes. Will lifts his chin, challenging. “Don’t blame yourself or others,” he says firmly, the words almost slurring together in a growl.

“Forgive me, my darling,” he dusts a kiss to Will’s temple. “I am only now coming out of the storm.”

Will hums, letting his head fall forward and rest against Hannibal’s. The air sweetens with plumes of Will’s scent drifting around. His usual smell is intoxicating. When he can, Hannibal sets his noise to the join of Will’s neck and shoulder, or to the hollow of his throat. Most nights, curled around each other and sweat beading along skin, Hannibal can’t sleep unless his lungs are full of his mate’s scent.

And it’s all the more sweeter now that a pup is here. She’s a tiny thing, swallowed completely in a swaddling blanket and gentled against Will’s chest. Tired, cut-off whines slip out from between her lips; calls matched by her mother cooing back, gentling, assuring her that she’s safe and they’re here for her.

There’s an unspoken agreement between the two of them. It wasn’t ideal, the pup’s birth. It had been challenging from the moment Will caught the change in his scent. Mornings spent curled around a toilet bowl, gagging at every dairy product under the sun. Swollen ankles and sore feet that found a permanent home on Hannibal’s lap, with the Alpha’s fingers dutifully coaxing out every tense and painful muscle.

But instincts are instincts, and this is their first pup. Their first. Whether any more appear, that will be up to Will. Hannibal didn’t think he could have any, being the age he is. And Will isn’t that free from concern either; a body littered with scars and worn out from illness. But here is a pup, healthy and squirming and scowling at the sheer noise of the world and trying to burrow her way into her mother’s chest to escape it all.

“I don’t want to see any of those nurses or midwives on our table,” Will rumbles, just teetering on the edge of slipping asleep, “do you understand?”

A small huff of a laugh escapes Hannibal. He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Understood.”

The explanation sits between them. The people who brought him away are the same ones that brought their child into the world; the same people who made sure that Will weathered labour and birth and came out of it unscathed. And despite scenting the tang of blood in the air, his mate’s heart still thumps steadily in his chest, and his eyes are as quick as ever.

Something does linger on the tip of his tongue, peering out between his lips. A mother’s eye looks down at their pup, finally settling in for a short rest as she gets her bearings on the world.

Hannibal purrs. A gentle encouragement. They’re alone now and as soon as Will’s body is able, they’ll slip away with their pup and go back to hiding. But for now, it’s just the two of them. And thorned words and death wishes can be aired. The corner of Will’s lip twitches. “If you’re desperate for a hunt,” he murmurs, dusting his fingertip on the button of their daughter’s nose, “if you want to bring a feast to our table to welcome her into the world, there was a matron who came in to see what all the fuss was about.”

Hannibal’s purr vibrates through the air. While he can be cruel and violent in his own right, Will is even more so. And he suspects being a mother will only hone that urge to snarl and draw blood. The doctor hums. “Oh?”

Something wicked flashes in Will’s eyes. “Alphas have no place in a labour ward; especially ones that cannot control themselves.” He doesn’t distort his voice, knowing that the pup in his arms might just cry at his own normal soothe slipping away.

A low rumbling growl claws up Hannibal’s throat. He manages to catch it behind his teeth, but Will’s shoulders shake in a tired laugh. He nudges his nose against his Alpha’s. “I’ll be out of action for a while,” he lulls, “because your daughter saw fit to not enter this world without a fight.” Will’s lips part, a flash of fangs catches Hannibal’s eye. They’re close, but not close enough to catch Hannibal’s lip as he leans forward for a kiss. Will nudges him back, just so. A wounded sort of noise crawls up Hannibal’s throat. “Will you hunt for me, husband? For our daughter?”

He’ll line their table with whatever they need. Their home, wherever it may be, will be flooded with food and gold and warmth. A deep-set primal urge coils tightly in his stomach. One that sets his blood ablaze and has his throat rumbling. Will has a talent for igniting his blood, careful with plying with just the right words and glances.

The world outside their room, outside this hospital bed, all seems to slip away. Hannibal’s throat bobs. “I will give you everything and more, my love.” He glances down at their pup, nestled in Will's arms. Reaching out, he lets the pup nab and hold on to his finger. Warmth blooms through him. He swallows through a lump in his throat. "Both of you."

#hannigram #hannibal/will #hannibal x will #hannibal lecter #will graham #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy #hannibal #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal

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r3volutionary-queen · 4 years

Text

Ignition Chapter Seventeen Sneak Peek

He dreamed of her.

Bucky hadn’t told Steve, hadn’t planned on saying a word about it until he was sure where the other man stood, but every night since he had been pulled from the stone, Bucky dreamed about Darcy Lewis.

Maybe even before then.

It was never the same dream, but it was always the same woman. He could never remember the words exchanged between them, but he knew the shape of her smile, the way her eyes would squint and her nose would wrinkle when she was truly, completely happy. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew the feeling of her touch and that she liked to absently play with his fingers and her voice; fucking hell he would hear that voice for the rest of his goddamn life.

It was a voice like warm sunshine on his skin at Ebbets Field, like the spray of the salt sea at Coney Island, a voice like home.

After Steve had slipped inside and closed the door to Darcy’s room, Bucky had debated going back to his own bed to get some shut eye. Instead, he chose to wait in the clinic, because he meant it when he told Steve that if he needed him, he would be there.

Settling down in a rolling office chair that was almost too small for him, Bucky slouched, folding his hands over his chest with his legs bent at the knee and spread out before him. He aimlessly pushed back and forth with his heels, making sure he was never not facing the clinic entrance. It was a habit he wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to shake, no matter how many things Shuri pulled from his head. Some things would just stick.

Never having his back to a door was one of them.

And he was glad for it when his eyes caught the sudden arrival of Thor and Jane in the window a few seconds before they walking through the door.

Bucky straightened in his chair, instantly alert.

Thor’s gaze swept over the place before landing on the private rooms in the back of the clinic. Target set, the blond marched in, pulling Jane along slightly behind him.

Bucky eyed the god silently, his brute-like approach, and his hackled raised. He had watched over the last few days how Thor had played his cards with Darcy, placing himself between her and Steve like a wall of impenetrable muscle whenever Steve tried to reach out to her. Bucky wasn’t even sure if Darcy had been aware, but Bucky had seen it and it pissed him off.

Well, now it was Bucky’s turn to give the god a taste of his own medicine.

Steve was vulnerable, not really himself tonight, and there was something savage that lived in Bucky, would always live in Bucky, and it gave him the ability to not just be Steve’s shield but his sword, too.

Without warning, Bucky gracefully unfolded himself from the chair, knowing full well that the movement itself was innocuous but to the trained eye, they’d see the threat in the set of his body. He casually rose to his feet and as he did, Thor’s eyes darted his way.

But Thor wasn’t the type to be easily intimidated and Bucky knew that, appreciated it in a fighter, and at the same time decided it still didn’t mean shit.

Thor kept moving forward like a bulldozer and so Bucky stepped directly in his path, blocking the way. Behind Thor, Jane’s mouth fell open in agitation, her face pinching like she had taken a bite out of a big lemon.

Bucky honestly didn’t give a flying fuck. Not right now. Not when Steve was in there baring his soul. He wasn’t playing games, not tonight, not after what he saw. It was one thing to know that Darcy had died for him, it was another thing to see how it happened, to watch it unfold.

That kind of thing changed a person.

“Step aside, James,” Thor growled and Bucky just tipped his head with a slight shake.

“Yeah, you’re gonna give him a minute.” It wasn’t the Winter Soldier that spoke through him, no, this was Brooklyn. This was all James Buchanan Barnes and the razor edge growing up watching a punk like Steve Roger’s troublemaking back had given him. Thor’s eyes flashed dangerously but the dark-haired man was made of stone as he repeated slowly, “I said you’re gonna give him a goddamn minute with her.”

The two faced off and Thor’s gaze simmered but Bucky refused to back down even an inch.

“I’m glad we understand one another,” Bucky told him with a smirk and a tilt of his head and then he turned and slowly walked back to his chair, calmly sitting back down, silently daring Thor to try it.

Jane looked like she wanted to rip him a new one but Bucky ignored her, keeping his eyes solely on the main threat, waiting to see what he would do.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Thor gave way. Bucky watched in no small amount of satisfaction as he and Jane moved to sit across the way. Jane hissed something quietly at Thor and it sounded suspiciously like she was calling him a bastard and Bucky nearly laughed.

She was right, Bucky was a bastard, and he’d be one every day of his life if it meant protecting Steve.

And sometimes protecting Steve didn’t look like bloodying his knuckles, sometimes it looked like sitting in a clinic for the most awkward thirty minutes of strained silence in his entire life.

Hi friends. I’m still feeling pretty damn sick. Writing is a bit difficult for me, but I’m slowly hacking away at this chapter between naps. Yay. ALSO HELLO BUCKY.

#bucky barnes #darcy lewis #steve rogers #wintershock #wintershieldshock #shieldshock #stucky #mcu fanfiction #endgame fix it #ignition #sneak peek

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fanficshiddles · 4 years

Text

First heat, One shot

Thank you for the prompt, blairdiggory I hope you like it.

Imagine: In the Omega-verse, the reader is an Omega and Loki is an alpha. She’s hanging out with Loki one day and goes into heat. She admits she’s never had sex before, and Loki offers to help her through it, so she accepts (smut please!)

Loki and Megan met up for brunch, like they always did on a Sunday.

They’d been close friends for years. When Loki was banished by Odin to serve out his days on Midgard, Megan had been hired by SHIELD to keep an eye on him. But instead, she often turned a blind eye towards any of his escapades and mischief.

Loki liked her, unlike the other mortals. She gravitated towards him often when she needed help, and being an Alpha, he would do anything to help her out. He protected her and she often looked after him if he’d gotten into trouble. She would tend to his wounds and give him hugs when he was feeling down.

They were good for one another. The only thing Loki disliked, was when she was dating other Alphas. They would always end up being assholes and would break her heart, she never went into details over it but Loki was always furious at them for hurting her.

‘So what’s new?’ Megan asked when they sat down at their favourite café.

‘You mortals are still ruining your world, I finally got SHIELD off my back completely aaaaand I’m still as gorgeous as ever.’ He grinned and winked at her.

Megan rolled her eyes and laughed. She was used to his sarcasm and insults, knowing she was immune from his usual jabs at mortals.

‘I’ll ignore the first and third, but how did you get SHIELD off your back?’ Megan asked, tucking into her food.

Loki chuckled and started explaining himself. They talked away as usual, the conversation flowing from one thing to another. But Loki noticed she didn’t finish all her food, or her coffee. And she looked a little bit paler than normal, too.

Another thing he noticed was other Alphas eyeing her up a bit too much for his liking. He was always protective over her, but he noticed they were sniffing around too much. That’s when he focused in on her more, actually using his senses to subtly sniff the air around her.

His eyes widened a little, he could smell very slight hints of her being in heat…

Loki had attuned his instincts to her smell over the years, getting used to her without wanting to jump her bones like most Alphas would for a beautiful omega.

‘Are you alright, darling?’ He asked, while instinctively feeling like he was getting his hackles up.

‘Uh… I’ve been feeling a tiny bit iffy today, but otherwise ok. Why?’ She looked confused.

Loki noticed more and more Alphas looking interested, looking over at her and sniffing at the air as they passed by. He got up and moved round the table to her, putting his hand on the back of her neck.

‘Come on, we need to leave.’ He said softly, yet firmly.

It wasn’t often, if at all, that he used his Alpha tone with her. But he needed to get her to safety, so threw his usual rules with her out of the window.

‘Ok…’ She grabbed her bag and got up, Loki quickly helped her with her coat and then with a hand on her lower back he guided her out of the café.

That’s when she noticed that some Alphas were staring at her, making her feel uneasy. She moved in closer to Loki, looking for security from him. ‘What… What’s going on?’

He slipped his arm right around her, holding her close. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart… I think you’re going into heat.’

Megan gasped and stopped dead, looking up at Loki horrified. But Loki managed to get her walking again, he steered her towards his place.

‘I… I’m scared, Loki.’ She said shakily.

‘I know, it’s ok. You’re safe with me, I promise.’ Loki soothed, giving her a squeeze.

They got back to Loki’s apartment, luckily it wasn’t too far from the café. But by the time they got there, Megan’s heat had suddenly got much worse. She could really feel it now, a burning inside of her.

It felt worse when Loki let go of her once they got inside. She whimpered and clutched at her abdomen as she quickly sat down on the sofa.

Loki was doing his best to fend off his natural instincts to just take her. He tried just breathing through his mouth so he wouldn’t smell her, but that only made him able to taste her, even in the air.

‘Loki… It feels weird.’ She gasped. He hated seeing her in distress and he could hear the fear evident in her voice.

He sat down next to her and pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back. She instantly felt a little better, relaxing into him.

‘This is your first heat, isn’t it?’ Loki asked, his tone slightly strained.

Megan nodded and buried her face into the crook of Loki’s neck, he smiled and stroked the back of her head as he pressed his nose into her hair. He breathed in deeply, enjoying her scent. But he was letting his senses cloud his mind, he tried to focus.

‘You’re not going to be safe around Alphas… Including me, your heat is going to get worse.’ He said after coughing to clear his throat.

She looked up at him with doe eyes, making his heart melt. ‘I… I’m really scared, Loki. I’ve never even had sex before.’ She whispered.

Loki leaned back a bit and gently cupped her face. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. Her skin was hot to touch, almost like a fever. He knew the best way to help her through her heat… And he had often dreamed about helping her through one, but he had never acted upon it, worried about ruining the friendship they had.

But then he threw caution to the wind and decided to go for it.

‘I can help you through your heat… If, you want me to. I’ll be gentle.’ Loki said softly, uncertain how she was going to take it.

Though he knew that her inner instincts would be screaming yes at him, he still wanted to check with her.

‘Please.’ She whined, opening her eyes to look at him.

Loki smoothed his hand through her hair and lightly trailed his thumb across her lower lip. He leaned in and kissed her gently, making her whimper against him.

She was feeling relief the more he touched her. When he slid his hands underneath her top and stroked over her, she about cried in relief because his hands felt so good on her.

They progressed quickly to Loki’s bedroom, surrounded by a strong Alphas scent made her mewl in utter delight. Loki growled as he tugged her clothes off, tossing them to the side along with his own. He pressed himself down against her, getting as much skin on skin contact as possible, knowing it would help her.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him, wanting him as close as possible. Loki kissed her, everywhere he could reach. He found the most sensitive spot on her neck rather quickly, making her tremble beneath him.

Loki usually liked to take his time, but he could feel how eager she was for him to get inside her. But at the back of his mind he knew she was a virgin, so he still wanted to make it go as smoothly as possible for her. Even if her body would be prepared with her being in heat.

He reached down between them and stroked her softly at first, she was responding well to him and was soaking wet already. Taking his time as he kept kissing and nibbling her neck, he slowly inserted one finger into her with only very slight resistance from her body.

‘Oh god!’ She gasped at feeling something inside her for the first time, even if it was just one finger so far.

When he added a second, there was a little bit more of resistance again, but being gentle and slow he was able to start thrusting his fingers into her.

‘Please, Loki. Please.’ She begged, wanting more.

Loki removed his fingers and took hold of his cock, he lined up against her and pressed the tip into her. Her eyes widened upon feeling the broad head of him starting to press into her. There was some pressure, but Loki kept pushing through it. Knowing that she would feel better once he was inside her.

With lots of kisses, whispers of encouragement and praise, Loki found himself fully sated inside her. She was so unbelievably tight, it was taking all of his strength to remain calm and slow to let her adjust to him.

Once he was sure she was ok, he started to move, taking it slow and steady. In time, he picked up the pace when she started digging her heels into his ass, wanting him to go faster. And because he was a gentleman, of course he obliged to her wishes and started really rutting into her.

‘Oh Norns. You’re so tight around me, darling.’ Loki moaned.

Neither of them lasted long, Loki thrust deep into her and stilled as he came, cumming deep inside of her and putting out that fire that had been causing her distress, easing her heat, for the meantime. Just like nature had intended of an Alpha and omega.

#first heat #one shot #fan fiction #tom hiddleston #loki

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yeet-imma-skeet · 4 years

Text

Great, There’s Sky Everywhere

(Based in @starr-fall-knight-rise 's unique universe. Part 6 of the story)

(Part 1: https://yeet-imma-skeet.tumblr.com/post/613232997621202944/the-sky-is-falling)

"So, Olive... what is it that is so important that you need to tell me in the middle of a lake?"

The head human doctor, Olive as she goes, laid still on her floaty as she eyed around the bio-dome in suspicion. Captain Silva waded near her, shaking droplets of cool water off his peppery hair at her squinting. Both were inside the bio-dome of the strange alien ship along with quite the gaggle of humans and drev exploring within it. Raucous laughter could be heard through the whispering of ruffled leaves. The low rumbling of drev voices and the clanging of weapons echoed from the wide plains as they sparred each other with glee. A few adventurous humans attempted to climb the tall trees and rock formations, only to fail in climbing the plants. Their bronze trunks were strangely smooth with no handholds to grip. The vines that grew from them were the same, though the yellow leaves proved to be sturdy enough to hold their weight somehow. The doctor and captain absentmindedly watched some crewmen climb up the dangling vines like demented ladders. A leaf managed to smack one across the face as she fell down in a heap, rubbing a leaf-shaped mark across her head before she angrily chased her laughing crew mates.

Silva was happy to see them up and about, giggling like children after all that happened. He really wanted there to be nothing else after their ordeal, but the grim look across the doctor's face only concluded his fears.

"The...disease," She started, "I've finally looked over it and the research the AI-ball-thing did and... it’s disturbing."

"More disturbing than the dead zombies?"

"Yes. I've noticed some subtle affects it causes besides pigment changes, uncontrolled strength, and neural decay. It nearly matches the affects caused by the Infected Starborn Incident a while ago."

His heart pounded at the implications, "What?"

"Well, like I said, not exactly the same. Of course we're dealing with an entirely new species unlike ourselves, but the amount of residual brain activity the AI managed to capture before they died showed similar symptoms."

She somehow brought out a tablet as she swiped through it, never mind the fact that she was wearing nothing but a skintight swimsuit, "In the accounts of the Incident, the Starborn Convict described the spikes in brain activity in these logs as the infected humans receiving some sort of communication from somewhere. After that, they went nuts as they were... mentally tortured."

"...Go on."

"The AI's records found the almost exact same reaction in the infected that it scanned. The infected was closing in on its position in the med bay, sort of sluggishly like a fictional zombie would, before they heard the cry of another being taken down by Galia at the time. Their brainwaves spiked in response and so they went into a frenzy. Thankfully, she got there in time to kill them, but it’s a terrifying thought."

Silva bobbed in the water, barely hearing his crewmen's laughter, "We are safe from this, right?"

"The bodies are quarantined in the lab, there’s no sign of potential infection from the disease, and we have made vaccinations in case so we are safe in that aspect..."

He noticed a hesitation, "But?"

"Let's just be happy that we're in space with no chance of meeting a live one. It would very well snap us in half before we could get sick."

—————————

Galia watched as another caldat—er marine, tumbled off the vines like a newly hatched sky dweller. She had to admit, they were remarkably good climbers despite not having claws. Instead of forcibly marring the plants, they would search for existing handholds as they slowly made their way up the trees. A quiet huff made her perk up an arial as she remembered the marine perched beside her on the rock plateau, the very same marine who had crashed his wheeled plank of wood in front of her before. Apparently he did reckless things on the daily, his resilience showing as he climbed everything inside the bio-dome with nary a complaint after falling so many times. He joined her in her people watching, quietly appreciating the view atop the tallest pillar.

Despite their differences, she was reminded of her planetary days when she would perch up high with her fellow Vigils. They were strong, aloof, untouchable to many, and she was one of them. But at the same time, she wasn’t. Her insides did a flip as she remembered those times, always doing something past what should be done. The only thing that kept her sane was the thought of seeing her litter mates again wherever they were.

“Uh, are you okay?”

She glanced over at the sitting marine, noting his concerned look as she tilted her head in confusion.

“Your nails—er claws are kinda...” He motioned towards their perch.

Twelve jagged lines cut through the hard stone leading to her clenched fists. How she missed her own hands grinding down rock unnerved her as she flapped her arials in nervousness. Surely the human would be terrified by the show of strength.

“As cool as that is, are you really okay? You were looking pretty off.”

She gave him an incredulous stare, “I’m fine, but aren’t you... scared?”

“Scared? Of what?”

Galia didn’t know what surprised her more, the fact that the human looked so genuinely unafraid or that he was still insistently asking about her condition. A quiet hum of laughter escaped her as his face changed from confused to weirded out.

“Ah, pardon me.” She curled her tail around her sitting form once again, “Any show of emotion is forbidden for my occupation. Unless it is an order, I should not convey any.”

“Well that sounds like a load of bull.”

“What?”

“I mean, it sounds like a stupid rule. You mean to do that all the time and don’t have any breaks?”

“It is required if I don’t want to be terminated.”

A flash of some unknown emotion crossed his earthy eyes, “Term-Terminated?”

“I am a Vigil, a weapon and shield for my king’s use. If I break or warp, I’ll be tossed away.” Her body seemed to stiffen, “There is no use for a caldat who knows Vigil training yet can’t utilize it to their best ability. Holding any of that knowledge is a threat so it must be controlled.”

A terse silence grew between them as the joyous sounds below did nothing to break it. The marine, in question, felt quite awkward. Like celebrating a birthday next to a funeral home awkward.

A quick idea popped into his head as he though of a way to change the subject, “Wait you guys have a king? Like crown-wearing, sword-wielding, do-as-I-say king?”

Amusement crept into her mind as he swung an imaginary weapon, “We have three who share Farris, our planet. One for each people and place.”

“Each people?”

“Though we are of the same species, we have three variants made for each dwelling on our planet.” She flexed an arial towards the gigantic dome, “The sky, the sea, and the land.”

“Sky... So where we are now? This rock thing and the forest?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re a sky person?”

“The official term is sky dweller and not exactly...”

“Oooooh, so you’re half and half? What’s the other?”

A flicker of anger and confusion reignited itself within her, “I don’t see a reason to tell you.”

His eyes widened as he watched her tufted tail hackle into spikes, “Oh shit, I’m so sorry if I offended you!"

For a moment, he thought that she would deck him flat and that he totally deserved it. His big mouth managed to piss people off for all the wrong reasons so it wouldn’t be the first time he got what he asked for, even if he had no bad intentions. Her golden eye seemed to burn a hole into his head as he kept apologizing. Damn, he just had to piss off the one person who owned the cool spaceship.

“...I am part land dweller.”

His bowed head perked up as the alien’s tail tuft flattened and her head turned towards the expanse of savanna below. He followed her gaze to see some of his crew mates playing a game of tag in the tall grass. The drev stood at the sidelines, sometimes serving as living obstacles to dart around much to their amusement. With a pounce, an engineer managed to tag a marine as she scrambled atop one of them. The drev took one look at the determined tagger, and before they could react, had two humans dangling from their body as they ducked and weaved around.

A question snapped the marine out of his observation, “What do you call that game? It looks similar to one we have.”

“Tag. Where one person is ‘it’ and they have to touch another person to make them ‘it’ and it continues from there. It can get pretty intense.”

“Hm.” Her tail flicked back and forth, “You humans are okay land dwellers, but we can be much faster.”

Sensing a challenge he grinned, “Oh yeah? Care to demonstrate?”

“If it will keep you from asking too much next time.”

He sheepishly nodded as she stood to her haunches, stretching a lithe leg behind her. The marine's eyes widened even more at the full length of the leg that almost reached his height. With little hesitation, the white alien began to skid down the cliff, leaving a trail of cuts down the side. By the time he scrabbled down to join her, the small gathering of his crew mates ended their game with gasping breaths, watching her stroll by in curiousity.

She crossed her arms, a new intimidation tactic she picked up from the humans, "Who's the best sprinter out of all of you?"

The panting humans and bystanding drev all pointed to the last human that was 'it'. Galia had been watching them and knew that this man had been 'it' a lot less than the rest as he ran literal circles around the others. The strangely bald, lanky, and dark skinned man straightened his back at the guard's scrutiny, exuting a challenging puff of air. Knocking him down a peg would probably make her feel a lot better.

#alien #fantasy #scifi #original species #humans are space orcs #farrisan #humans are space australians #starr fall knight rise #original story #short fiction

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