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imaginesmai · 5 years

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Steve Rogers-Perfect

Requested by anon.

Plot: your date is about to get ruined and not even your perfect boyfriend might be able to do something against it.

With Steve, you never knew what was going to happen next. He had proved himself to be the perfect gentleman and boyfriend, planning perfect dates and bringing you the best gifts. Your favourite flowers, a necklace he saw you looking at two months ago, that teddy bear he thought you would like or the CD that reminded him of you. In his time, men treated women in a different way, and he liked to do that still.

Your favourite dates were when he would get you a cute little restaurant where there were tables outside and fairy lights in the trees, or perhaps picnics in a clearing of a forest. Sitting at home, showing him the most recent movies and facts about the world, was cool for you too; and if he decided he wanted to do one of those ‘Netflix and chill’, you were more than okay with that.

Lovely notes delivered to your work place, surprise pizza at the door of your apartment or a ticket to see your favourite singer were only a small part of what he had done for you over the years you had been together. And that night wasn’t going to be an exception.

“I’ll be there in about 15 minutes” you smiled into the phone, keeping your eyes on the road. “Sorry I’m late, Steve, you know how-“

“Hey, it’s okay” he cut you. “Be safe, I’ll be waiting for you, love. I love you.”

“I love you too”

You hung up and threw the phone in the passenger seat as one of your favourite songs came into the radio. Memories of you showing it to Steve came to your mind, him trying to follow the lyrics but finding no sense at all. He preferred those slow song where you two danced in the living room with the light low and barefooted.

The red light of the traffic light made you stop in the middle of a crossing. The road was empty, as it should probably be on Wednesday’s night. It was starting to get colder, and people had gotten to their houses hours ago. Not you, however, who had a horrible boss that had kept you working until she was satisfied with your pain.

It was worthy, because in five minutes you would see the lovely face of your boyfriend.

A big truck stopped beside you and waved at you. The light became green and he let you go ahead. Smiling at him, you pressed your foot on the gas; and didn’t notice how he did the same, speeding a little until he was by your side, and hitting the side of the car that Steve had so kindly gotten you some months ago.

Your scream died in your throat as your car flipped around. Your head hit the driver window and, next thing you knew, was that you were upside down with the airbag pressed tight against your chest.

“What the…”

Blood was falling off your nose, making it even harder to breath. You tried to blink the confusion out of your head, and the first thing you did was look for your mobile phone. Your hand touched the front part of the car, trying to find it; yet it must had slipped out of the car.

The sound of glass crunching underneath boots filled your ear and made your unresponsive body fill with panic. It was silent for a few seconds until the driver door was ripped off and your seatbelt undone. You screamed as your body tumbled to the roof of the car, and you hit your head pretty hard. Between the confusion, you noticed how you were dragged out of the broken vehicle and lifted into the passenger seat of the truck that had hit you. Small pieces of glass dug into your legs and arms, adding to the long list of injuries you already had.

“Let me go!” you tried to get away from the hands of the driver. “Let-Please, let me go! I-I don’t have anything!”

“Yeah, well, your boyfriend has” the driver scoffed.

Pulling out a syringe filled with clear liquid, he stuck it into your neck and you relaxed immediately. It felt as if you had just ran a marathon and had laid on the most comfortable bed ever. You felt how the little fight you had in you died, and soon you couldn’t keep your eyes open. The strange substance filled your body and made a weird warm feeling spread trough it; before you knew, the stranger was closing the door and you were falling into a dreamless sleep.

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Steve’s greatest discovery would be, apart from the microwaves and massage chairs, were phone games. You had showed him probably most of them, and he had tried nearly everything. His favourite was the one with the ball; simple, he had to put the ball into the basket avoiding flying pigs, dogs and an occasional cat. He could spend hours sucked in that little world; yet it didn’t take his full attention. As a soldier, he was always aware of his surroundings. The people who walked past him. Possible threats disguised as normal objects. Hidden cameras. Time.

He had been very aware of the passing hours as he waited for you to show up in the restaurant he had chosen that time. Your boss had almost crashed your date, but you had told him that you were going to make it. So, why weren’t you there yet, two hours after the date?

“Hi! This is Y/N, sorry I couldn’t reach your call. Please, leave your message when-“

The voicemail was cut off as Steve’s frustration almost got the best of him. He gripped it until he heard the screen crack, to resist the urge of throwing it to the floor.

You were supposed to be there, apologising for something that was out of your control while he told you that it wasn’t necessary. He hadn’t wanted to call you too many times, because you were on the road. Still, he had; and you hadn’t answered any of his calls. Which led him to think that something might had happened to you.

The answer came quickly when his phone, broken then, lighted up with your name and a cute photo of the two of you. It was taken when you two had decided to take a break and go on a vacation; you were hugging him from behind and kissing his cheek, while he was smiling at the camera. He smiled at the memory, and decided that you would be doing one of those trips soon; as soon as he had finally get rid of the diamond that had been kept on his pocket for five months then.

“Hey, love” he said, relieved. “I was starting to get worried. Where are you?”

“H-Hey Steve” your voice was small, and he noticed something off. “I’m not going to be able to go.”

“What? Why?” he frowned. “Where are you? If your car has broken down, I can go and get you.”

“No, that’s-“ you stopped talking and listened to a voice that he couldn’t recognise. “That’s not the problem, baby.”

“Then? What’s the matter?” Steve looked around the restaurant to, maybe, get a glimpse of you and realise that it was all a joke. He didn’t find you. “Y/N, are you okay?”

You didn’t say anything for a while, and Steve felt his heart stop. He remembered the feeling of knowing that the plane was going to crash into the ice; the feeling of knowing that something bad was going to happen, and that he couldn’t avoid it. It came running back to him and, just as he knew back then that he couldn’t avoid being frozen for 70 years, he knew that your answer was going to rip his heart into pieces.

He repeated your name softly, as if encouraging you to saw whatever had happened to you. Meanwhile, he got up from the desk and left some money for the waitress. For the wasted wine and the lost reservation. Steve heard you choke out a sob, and someone rushing you to say something.

“He…Rumlow wants to meet you” you whispered.

“Okay, that’s okay” Steve tried to stay calm, for you and for him. “I’m, I’m going, alright? Everything is going to be fine. I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

“Okay” you said back. “He’s gonna, uh, send you the location through the phone.”

“I’ll be there. Is he with-“

His question was interrupted by a loud thud and your pained scream. Steve got stuck hearing your cries while he ran through the streets, not really knowing where. Before the call was ended, he could made out Rumlow telling him to hurry.

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The wreak seemed like a dream, or a nightmare. The pain on your chest, dried blood on your lips and throbbing of your elbow were a reminder that it wasn’t. Pieces of glass were still buried deep into your skin, and you whimpered softly when Rumlow smiled at your discomfort.

“When he told me about you, I thought I would find something more” he teased.

Rumlow was sitting in front of you, in what seemed a much more comfortable chair than the one you were on. You had your hands tied behind your back and your legs anchored to the chair.

“Maybe a little more like Romanoff, hm?” Rumlow continued. “Damn, I would really hit that. She’s just, wow. But you… I don’t really understand what you’re doing with a guy as Steve. Thought you would be with a banker or a librarian. Someone boring.”

Steve and you weren’t what you could call match at first sight. He was big, strong and the symbol of a country and a generation. You, well; you had a boring job in an architecture office, with a tight schedule and a small work place. Even if you weren’t really alike, you had found on each other what you needed to be happy.

“He was your friend”

At your quiet words, something dark started on his eyes. And soon, your chest tightened until you couldn’t breathe. He placed one hand on your throat, squeezing until your vision was filled with black spots. His thumb traced the cuts on your jaw, inflicting more pain if that was possible. You tugged at the rope with pointless hope, the need to break free and away from his hands and horrible face causing you to try until your wrist were bloody.

His horrible face, if that could be called a face.

In his last encounter with Capitan America, a whole building on flames had fallen on top of him. And that wasn’t even the worst part; the remaining part of Hydra had erased his name from everywhere, a punishment for his failed mission. Since that moment, the rage he felt for the former hero had only increased. And he had the perfect opportunity to make him suffer and have glory shine on his name once more.

“Steve Rogers is a bitch” he spat on your face, seeing as it turned pale. “He could have done the right thing, but chose not to. And now he’s going to pay the price.”

“A-At least…” you tried to say, but it came out as a pained whimper.

“What?”

“At least…”you took a rushed breath when he let his hand a little loose around your neck. “…he’s no one’s bitch. Can you say the same thing?”

A final and hard squeeze was added and then he let you go, leaving you to cough up a little blood and choke down on air. As you tried to regain your breathing, he slapped you so hard that your head snapped to the right and your body fell to the floor.

The chair hit it with a metal thud and you cried out when your arm made contact with the floor. By then, your elbow would be probably broken, and the small pieces of glass were so deep that couldn’t be taken out with breaking skin.

Rumlow grabbed you by your arm and put the chair on its original position. Gripping your hair strongly, he mad you look up to his scarred face.

“Fact is, that Steve Roger is your bitch” he hissed. “And when your life is on the line, I bet-“

He was cut off by crashes and yells. The place where he was keeping you was probably a military base, old but strong enough to hold up a good battle. Steve’s shield hitting every door and wall in his way made you smile softly, knowing that you were getting out of there soon. Beside the pain, you hadn’t been that happy ever.

Rumlow let out a loud laugh and quickly covered himself behind your chair. You didn’t understand the heaviness of the situation until you felt a gun pressed against your temple.

“Cap”

Among the shadows, the towering silhouette of your boyfriend appeared, his shield ready on his right arm. He walked towards you with cautious steps, evaluating the damage that had been already done. Happy tears filled your eyes when you finally saw him in all his glory, and a small sob left your mouth. Steve gave you a small, reassuring smile; telling that everything was going to be just fine.

“Hey love” he talked, and his voice was like a calming balm for you. “I’m here now, okay? Don’t worry, it’s gonna be fine.”

When he heard his words, Rumlow pressed the gun harder against your chin, making you turn your head to the side. Steve disappeared from your line of vision, and you felt your heart falling to your feet again.

“I don’t feel like making a small talk with the man that destroyed my life” Rumlow said. “So, you have it?”

“Yeah”

By the corner of your eye, you saw Steve taking something out of a bag and, immediately, a powerful blue light filled the building. You had to close your eyes for a second to avoid being blinded by it; still, you knew what it was.

The Tesseract had not been easy to get. Steve had had to beg Tony to give it to him, explaining him his plan multiple times to finally agree. It had been Rumlow condition; along with the location, he had sent the request. Either it was the Tesseract, or your brains painting the floor.

So he had no other choice but giving it to him. Even without a plan, Steve was sure he would have given anything to Rumlow to keep you safe.

“Oh, it’s amazing” Rumlow whispered. “Well, you know how this goes Cap. Leave it on the floor and one of my men will pick it. I hope you haven’t killed them all.”

“No” Steve gripped the object tighter. “Let her go first. Then, I’ll give it to you.”

The gun being fired made you scream in fear, and you closed your eyes awaiting for the burning pain of a bullet. Still, the only thing you felt was the hot barrel of the gun being pressed once more against your temple. You hissed at the high temperature of it, but did not complain; the movement had allowed you to return your face to its original position, and you looked at Steve.

His face was not comforting at all, even if he was trying.

He knew Rumlow wasn’t going to hit you, but when he had fired against the floor he had almost thrown the plan through the window. He looked at you with worried eyes, wanting nothing more than taking you out of there.

“Okay” Steve mumbled.

Slowly, he left the Tesseract on the floor and watched as a man appeared behind him and took it. Said man rushed to Rumlow side, and both of them started moving backwards; the gun still pointing at you.

“You can’t imagine how happy will Hydra be when I show them this” Rumlow chuckled. “I will make sure to write your name somewhere. Probably you will appear in the history books as the man who started the final war.”

Steve took one step at a time towards you, until Rumlow was almost out of sight and he could hear your soft sobbing and pained whimpers. It wasn’t his mistake, even if later he would spend nights thinking that it was. He couldn’t have stopped it; neither Tony or the rest of the avengers, who were waiting for Rumlow outside the building.

First, the sound. Then, Steve’s widened eyes. And finally, the pain in your stomach and being thrown backwards, until your head hit the floor. The last thing you heard was Steve shouting your name.

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Cold air fell on your exposed skin, while the other half was covered in cool silk sheets, similar to the one’s you had fallen sleep so many times. Where you had woken up after a night of making love with Steve, sweaty and happy. The ringing that was once on your ears was replaced by a soft beeping and the sound of people talking and walking. But it sound too far away. It only took the disinfectant smell to know where you were.

You were safe.

Opening your eyes slowly, you smiled even when the sunlight flooded your vision and made your eyes heart. You half expected to not be able to move your hand to stop the light, yet you lifted it only with a slightly painful feeling.

Steve stood a few feet away from you, looking at something outside the window. He was leaning against the framing with a small frown, and his body showed the exhaustion and worry that he had been through in the last few hours. Because it didn’t take a lot to understand that Capitan America was in his 99% guilt.

“Baby” you whispered quietly, your voice harsh. He turned around so fast that it probably made him dizzy, but the moment he saw that you were awake, he was at your bedside.

“Oh, Y/N” he gripped one of your hands with both of his, kissing your knuckles lightly. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry you had to endure that. I should be more careful, I should, I-I… S-sorry…”

He was interrupted by a strange sound that left his throat, and soon your realised that you had Steve Rogers crying in front of you. He had been through so much and, still, the thought of losing you made tears fill his blue eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay. I don’t blame you, none does” you took your hand out of his iron grip and made him look at you. “I’m worried about you, though.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he frowned and dried the tears on his cheeks. “You were the one shot!”

“Language, cap” you let out a small laugh, seeing as he couldn’t resist the smirk. “I was hurt physically, Steve. But, when was the last time you slept?”

“That doesn’t matter right now.”

You let out a frustrated sigh at his response. Of course it didn’t matter; for him, his health was just a minor item. Something to look at just when strictly necessary. The bags under his eyes, his cracked lips and reddened eyes told you that it was more than necessary.

Moving wasn’t easy, since you had one arm wrapped in a big plaster and your abdomen hurt with any breath. Still, you managed to pull your free hand on the bed and pull yourself slightly to the left.

“W-What are you doing?” he asked, his voice alert and alarmed.

“I’m moving over so you can get it” you breathed out, stopping your movements and looking up to the ceiling. “It would be easier if you could help me.”

“You need to rest love” he sighed. “You have been-“

“Yeah, Steve. Shot” you looked at him. “But you know me, I’m not stopping until I get what I want. So, either you help or I burst open a few stiches.”

Years in a relationship with you let him know that you weren’t taking a no for an answer, so he scoffed but up. Treating you as if you were made of glass, he pushed you to the side and quickly got in the bed. You breathed his scent and smiled happily; you couldn’t describe what he smelled like, but probably like home.

There, both of you laying of your backs without looking at each other, just at the ceiling, you thought it was a good time to laugh. What started as a small giggle, turned into seconds in a full belly laugh.

“What’s so funny, love?” Steve turned his head to the right and looked at you with an affectionate smile.

“It’s just-I had imagined something different for our date” you let out a small laugh. “But, still it’s perfect. Even in a hospital room where I can only touch your shoulder.”

“You know, I used to think I would never love someone as much as Peggy” Steve mumbled. He took your hand and laced your fingers together. “But, I would scream to the top of my lungs that I love you. You’re the best thing I got.”

You blushed slightly and turned your head too, so that you could kiss his lips. He put the hand that wasn’t holding yours on your cheek, and traced a small circle in your cheek. When your teared apart, you kept your eyes on his smiling lips until he took the hint and kissed you again. And again. You probably kissed more times in that hospital room than in your own; but you were happy to be in his arms again.

Because, yeah, to you, Steve was perfect.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry” “I’m not letting anything happen to you” & “I would scream to the top of my lungs that I love you.”From my prompt list Angst and Fluff

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

#capitan america imagine #capitan america x reader #capitan america one shot #capitan america #c.a.#ca #avengers imagine #avengers one shot #avengers #avengers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #prompt list #request #imaginemai

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sunflowersupremes · 4 years

Text

Rocket Man: Chapter 2

On the hunt for his latest story (he hasn’t decided if he’s going to tell it in poetry or prose) Jaskier heads up into the mountains, looking for the elusive group known as The Witchers.

Most humans are content to ignore the little magic that remains in their world, seeing the Witchers as relics of the past. But Jaskier sees them as his ticket to notoriety.

Characters: Jaskier, Geralt, Lambert, Vesemir

Tags: Modern AU, Journalism, Youtube, Gratituious Elton John

Series: Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (Witcher Modern AU)

Read on AO3

“Geralt, there’s a man here to see you.”

Geralt and Lambert exchanged glances across the table. “Who?” he asked, glancing at where Vesemir stood in the doorway to the small room. They’d filled it with all kinds of games - mostly board and card games - but also a PlayStation that Geralt had managed to get after a particularly lucrative contract.

“I’ve not met him, but he claims to know you.”

Suspicious. Geralt could count on one hand the number of people who knew him and not Vesemir that had any right to be at Kaer Morhen. That number was zero.

Geralt pulled up the security feed on his phone (they’d added in the cameras after one too many incidents with teenagers playing ding-dong-ditch). At first he didn’t recognize the man standing on the path, fiddling with the straps on his bag. He was dressed in some of the strangest clothes Geralt had ever seen: maroon pants, a blue sweater with leather on the shoulders and elbows, and a matching beret.

“Is that a college student or a twink?” Lambert asked.

“Could be both,” suggested Eskel, leaning forward to squint at the strange sight.

It was the hat that tipped him off. “Fuck,” he said, as the man shifted and his face became visible.

“So you do know him?”

“Remember the reporter I saved at the concert?” Geralt asked, folding his arms over his chest. “It’s him.” He’d never expected to see the man again, not after having drug him away from his would-be attackers. It seemed the man had been caught in a tent with someone else’s girlfriend.

Geralt had been close by and decided to intervene. The reporter had bought him lunch as a thank you and he’d thought that would be the end of it. Obviously not.

“Why is he here?” Lambert demanded.

“Hell if I know,” Geralt growled, pushing past them and stomping to the door. He pulled open the door with more force than was necessary, glowering at the man on the steps.

“Ah! Geralt!”

“Hello Dandelion,” he replied. The man had introduced himself as Jaskier when they’d met several months prior, but a quick google search had found his online persona: Dandelion, the Great Bard. Geralt wanted to snort.

The man seemed confused, but only momentarily, beaming at Geralt. “You found my YouTube channel? What do you think?”

“You’re wrong about the Yeti. It’s not an ‘as yet unclassified monster’ its an albino Werewolf. Rare, but not unclassified.”

“That was you that commented that?”

Geralt only grunted.

“I thought it was a troll.”

“I’ve never met a troll that could use the internet.”

“Not- ah- not that kind of troll.” Jaskier rubbed the back of his head.

“I know.”

Jaskier took a deep breath, as though psyching himself up for something. Then he said, “Might I come in?”

“Why?”

“Well, I’m a reporter you see, and I was thinking that maybe I might find a story here.”

“No thank you,” called Eskel from behind Geralt.

“Is that another Witcher?” Jaskier tried to peer around Geralt, but he’d had years of practice in blocking doorways.

“Look- I- I think you misunderstand-”

“We’ve had enough reporters sniffing around here to last us a long time,” snapped Geralt. “All they bring is trouble.” And old news reports, like the one who had shown up in 2002, waving a newspaper from 1854 about the Blaviken massacre.

“You know, the youths of today think it’s horribly sad that you’ve been so maligned-”

“There’s four of us,” growled Geralt “and we don’t care.”

“Don’t- don’t you want to reform your image?”

“No.” Geralt slammed the door, forcing the bolt through the lock.

“You know,” tutted Vesemir. “That was rather rude.”

Geralt folded his arms over his chest, leaning back against the door. “What next?” he asked, “What incident from the past is some half-arsed reporter going to use against us next?”

“Geralt’s right,” said Lambert. If any of them had skeletons in their closet, it was probably Lambert. “Eskel?”

Eskel looked thoughtful. He glanced from Vesemir to Geralt, then to Lambert. Finally, he said, “He seems earnest.” That was just like Eskel, to not want to stir the pot and instead give a non-committal answer.

“He seems like a bumbling idiot,” retorted Geralt. He glanced at his phone, where the security feed was still playing. Jaskier was standing on the front steps, looking uncertain, as though half expecting them to come back.

Vesemir sighed. “I suppose I’ve been overruled,” he said, shrugging. “I’m going to the library, I was working on rebinding another book.”

Geralt watched him pass, then looked back to Eskel and Lambert. “Cards?”

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The card game had just started to get really interesting when the doorbell rang again.

Geralt growled and looked back at the security feed again. “It’s him,” he said irritably.

“Well, get rid of him before Papa Vesemir takes in another stray!” said Lambert.

Geralt pushed himself to his feet and stomped back down the hall. He passed the library on his way, and a quick glance inside revealed Vesemir snoozing at a table. Good.

When he opened the door, Jaskier was fiddling with his keys. He’d pulled another coat on over his sweater, and a pair of gloves, but it was clear he’d been unprepared for how quickly the temperature could drop in the mountains. “What?”

“Ah- I- my car won’t start,” he said, swallowing. Clearly he knew he was on thin ice. “I- I tried to call for help, but my phone-”

“There’s no reception here.” Geralt didn’t stop to grab a jacket, stomping outside in his worn button-down and jeans. The cold didn’t bother him the way it did the reporter.

Jaskier had already opened the hood and Geralt leaned over it, inspecting the parts with a quick glance. “It’s the battery,” he said. “I’ll jump it.”

As he turned to head back inside, he cast a glance at the shivering reporter. He growled as he realized what he was going to have to do. “The road is too dangerous at night,” he said. “You can stay here for the evening.”

“R- really?” his breath puffed in the air in front of him, his eyes widening. “Thank you! I-”

Geralt pushed by him, slipping inside. He felt uneasy letting the stranger follow him into the keep, but he’d freeze if he slept in his car. “Don’t wander off,” he said sternly. “Or I’ll let you freeze.” Not to mention, he might fall through a rotten plank.

Jaskier looked around him, surveying the entry hall with wide eyes. The inside of the keep was hardly in better shape than the outside of it, with ancient tapestries covering crumbling walls.

He poked his head into the game room, where Eskel and Lambert were playing cards. “Put a space heater in the guest room, idiot’s car broke down.”

“Aww man,” grumbled Lambert.

“I’ve got it,” said Eskel. “Don’t fucking cheat while I’m gone,” he said to Lambert.

Geralt watched him go, then nodded to Jaskier for the journalist to follow him. Behind him, Lambert was already moving around cards to better his hand.

He took him down to the kitchen, although he still wasn’t entirely sure why. It was just that the man looked as hungry as he did cold. “You eat frozen pizza?”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?” he asked. “Of course I eat frozen pizza! Everyone eats frozen pizza! Wait, you have frozen pizza?” he stared at the stove, fridge, and microwave as though he couldn’t understand what he was seeing.

“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the table. As Jaskier sat, Geralt snatched up a forgotten bottle of White Gull. “Don’t eat anything you find around here,” he said, tucking the Witcher Potion into the cub board. “This would have killed you.”

“How…. Pleasant.”

Once he’d started the oven, Geralt tossed him a beer and sat down across from him.

“Geralt- I- I really can’t say thank you enough,” he said quietly.

“I couldn’t let you die.”

“They say Witchers are heartless.” Jaskier seemed to be studying him, tilting his head curiously. “But I don’t think they are.”

He popped open the beer with his teeth, studying the reporter carefully. “What else do they say about Witchers?”

“That you can smell emotions. Can you?”

Geralt leaned forward, studying Jaskier in return. “To an extent,” he said finally. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had expressed so much interest in him. “It’s a combination of smell and sight.”

“Reading faces?”

Geralt nodded.

“Do you- do you mind terribly if I write this down?”

He ought to say no. Instead, Geralt shook his head. “Go ahead.”

Jaskier pulled a notebook and a pen out from his back, quickly beginning to scribble across the page.

“Why are you so interested in Witchers?”

The journalist seemed to consider his answer. “I’m interested in everything,” he said finally. “But- well, if I’m being honest-”

“Do.”

“I need a breakthrough- something to ah, repair my reputation.”

“So it’s not just out of the kindness of your heart.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Geralt.”

The Witcher inhaled slightly. “You’re afraid of me.”

“I’m…. Uncomfortable.”

“Why?”

“I’m in a strange house - err, castle? - with three men that are far bigger and stronger than I could ever hope to be. I don’t have cell reception or wi-fi, and my car’s broken down. The only person who knows I’m here is my cousin, and I’m not certain he cares. Oh, and did I mention I like listening to true crime podcasts?”

Geralt thought for a moment, then said, “The wifi password is Axii.”

Jaskier gaped. “You have wi-fi?”

“This isn’t the stone age, Dandelion.”

Jaskier tapped his pen on his notebook. “Were you alive in the stone age?”

Geralt folded his arms over his chest.

“Kidding!” laughed the journalist.

They do call Vesemir “Papa Vesemir” in the game and I love it.

Geralt and Jaskier's first meeting will eventually be told in a prequel story (I'm planning to call it Someone Saved my Life Tonight and it's based on how they met in the books.

#jaskier #dandelion #geralt #geralt of rivia #the witcher #witcher fanfiction #witcher modern au #story: goodbye yellow brick road #my writing

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okeuphemia · 6 years

Text

Courage

Domestic life with Bangtan series - Part 3

Jungkook x Reader

Fluff. Comedy. Oneshot. Other works

(a/n: I can’t believe i wrote this. Disclaimer: first time writting comedy. Keep your expectations low. Read on ao3)

There was only one rule in Jeon Jungkook’s house you had always hated, which was not negotiable, which drove you crazy, and it was the following: no microwaves.

Oven? Cool. Electric stove? Fine. Robot vacuum? Unnecessary, too posh, but manageable. But the only thing you boyfriend didn't have, and the only one he never allowed you to bring into his house; and the only one you really, really needed, was a freaking microwave.

Come on, they were so convenient. You hated to cook, so having a lot of frozen meals available to put into that thing and ready to feed your and your boyfriend's starving asses in less than five minutes sounded like a miracle. But he hated them, so it's a no.

Two months after having moved in with him, you began to realize that he only time he entered the kitchen were only to attack the fridge, to retrieve his protein shakes or favorite milks or last-night pizza slices before running like hell back to his studio to keep working (and lately, writing). You had thought… Why not? Probably he would never notice. If you played it carefully, you could probably use it with him around the house and he wouldn't kick you out for it. Because he wouldn't, would he?

So here you were: standing in front of your new flagrant microwave, the tiniest and most silent one you could find in the market, covering your mouth in disbelief and laughing at yourself, because you were really, actually feeling like you were betraying your boyfriend’s trust over A MICROWAVE and this was RIDICULOUS and HOW could you be this stupid. Let’s be adults, no matter what beautiful, mad eyes you had to face later, you needed to be strong. You had to stand for yourself for fuck’s sake.

Two days went by without any notice and you had already forgotten about the elephant in the room. That night, when you both were home, you used it to unfreeze some meat, so you set the timer as you cut some vegetables and then, absentmindedly, went into the bathroom. You fixed your hair quickly, and the moment you sat in there, your heard it. The stupidly-high-pitched sound announcing the meal was ready.

“Babe?” you heard Kook’s voice from outside the door. “You phone alarm is ringing, want me to turn it off?”

“Noooo baby it’s okay! I’ll be out in a second!” you said quickly, trying to sound as innocent as possible. Your heart was pounding. Weren't you supposed to be stronger than this, dammit?

“It’s find, I’ll get it for you” you heard his voice getting away, so you knew he was going to the kitchen.

You held your breath. Counted to three.

One moment later, the alarm stopped.

That was it. It was over.

You exited the bathroom fourteen seconds later, your hands still dripping for how quickly you had washed them (let’s not talk about drying them), only to find in the kitchen the tall and stiffened figure of your boyfriend standing in front of the device with a small pout and a deep frown. He looked like he was facing a wild animal, focused and processing the whole thing. God, his thinking face was adorable. If only he didn't look that upset… No, no, control yourself y/n. You can do this.

“So you bought a microwave.” He said simply, breaking the tense silence. His voice was emotionless but ugh. The guilt.

“I… yeah. I’m sorry”. It was the only thing you could articulate. This was ridiculous.

“It’s okay” He said, eyes still fixated on the microwave. “If you really want it… It’s okay.”

And then he did the most horrible thing he could have done: he came closer and hugged you loosely, smiling through his sad, slightly disappointed and beautiful doe eyes.

Oh no. Fuck.

Screw this.

You stormed out of his arms and into the kitchen.

“What…?”

“Shut up, you idiot” you cut him before he could even phrase the full sentence.

“What? What did I do now??” He asked, faking being offended at your tone, but showing a playful glint on his eyes.

“Oh you know very well what you did” you said hastily as you unplugged and lifted (no without some effort) the microwave and exited the room.

“Where are you going?” Your boyfriend followed you, laughing, as you headed to the backyard. You dropped the thing on the grass with a loud thud and reached a wooden stick you used to shape your plants. He opened his eyes wide at this. “Whoa, what the fuck are you doing?”

“THAT WAS YOUR LAST TIME SCARING MY BOYFRIEND YOU BITCH” you yelled at the microwave as you landed your first hit. “YOU ARE NOT WELCOME IN THIS HOUSE ANYMORE”. You kept yelling incoherencies at the poor, innocent thing, as your boyfriend’s horror face slowly turned into a grin, and then into an open, huge burst of laughter.

You stopped to see him and your heart jumped of joy. This. This face, this happy Jungkook, was worth everything. You gave him the stick, inviting him to join you, which he did, animatedly.

“I HATE YOU!” He yelled before going down on it as you were dying of laughter. “I. HATE.YOU” he repeated, pointing each word with a strong hit. You found another stick and followed him short. You only stopped when you hit the glass of the front and it exploded everywhere, startling the both of you for a moment before you both broke into the floor laughing, holding your bellies at the insanity of the moment. He crawled towards you and cupped your cheeks.

“You’re insane” He smiled and kissed you. Well, it was true. The only honest answer you could provide was “I know”.

“I love you”.

#bangtanarmynet #jungkook fluff #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fluff #jeon jungkook fluff #jungkook reaction #jungkook scenario #bts funny #bts comedy #bts reactions #jungkook microwave #lol #txt #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk

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wipstoriesandart · 6 years

Text

W.I.P. Chapter 10

Sorry it took so long, I have a few other chapters already wrote out just have to find time to type it out. ____________________ Mady Made her way back to her apartment. Her purse had not been large enough to carry the Bed boxes, clothing, and toys. So the Shelter had provided her with a toat. “Madam, i assure you such extravagance were unessasarry,” Alpha sighed from her shoulder looking upon the bags once more.

“I know they were not necessary, but i thought this stuff might help make my home more like your home to,” She smiled. “I’m sure i could have acquired the needed items for the pups and i,” He looked at the new plastic carrier in her arms ware Stretch and Button slept. “I’m more than sure you could have, but i wanted to help. After all you’ve done so much for the boys already when keeping them safe on the streets I don't see any harm in me getting you all some basics,” She shrugged feeling everything she got was justifiable. “Ordering a Large cat house styled activity center, dishware, signing Alpha up for a Bitty Book club, and a full on wardrobe for all three of us, despite your sewing abilities, that all counts as basics?” Stretch asked from his “sleeping” spot without opening his eyes. “Ok so i lavished a bit. But if it ends up no one likes the bitty tree i'm sure we can find someone to buy it. Plus i need to practice making cloths again and from the ones i bought i can get some patterns, plus you three will need something to wear in the meantime.” “Just try not to spend what you can’t afford to get. I do not want you wasting Money you worked so hard to get,” Alpha sounded as if he were disappointed. “I spent it on you three, yout three needed these things. So it wasn't a waist. Though i'm surprised Button didn't get meany toys.” She looked down at the sleeping Bitty child. “He was far more happy to have been able to visit others like us, and thrilled over the cloths. Plus he already has a plethora at home,” Alpha stated. “True, I still thought he would want more than just a teddy bear his size.” She gave a partial frown as she entered her apartment building. Snow gave a happy wave as Maddy approached her. “Miss. Drake do you need anything?” She held her smile as she gave a nod in greeting to Alpha, who returned the nod like bow. “Sort of. I ordered a Bitty activity center. It was to big for me to carry so it will be delivered here. I still have a few errands to run but was wondering if i left my key with you if you wouldn't mind letting them up the elevator?” Snow’s ears perked up, “Oh! Of course!” she smiled. “Thanks snow, i'm going to drop this stuff off up stairs then i will bring you the keys.” Maddy placed the items she had gotten, at least in the areas they were meant for the clothing and bed boxes in the bitty room, along with the books she got for alpha and extra bedding she purchased She placed a few extra teddy's she got Button on his bed, she managed to sneak them into the basket while he was playing with a foot tall Papy Mini-marrow. With the extra items free from her purse the carrier case fit snugly inside she opened the top so if button or Stretch wished they could come out should they wake or chose to look out. She took a small dolly cart she had purchased to help mostly with laundry or for helping to bring up items to much for herself to carry. She dropped off the key with Snow and looked upon the list as she walked. Everything alpha had put for supplies he or the other two would need had been brought along with far more than he asked. Only thing left was food shopping. Upon reaching the grocery store she left her empty baggies and dolly cart with the cashier as she always did on their very rare days she would go shopping. She set her purse holding the carrier into the shopping cart seat ment for children, making sure it was safe and unlikely to fall over. Button was still curled up asleep beside Stretch. Maddy placed Alpha in beside them as she looked over the list. “There are a lot of fruit and Veggies on this list…. I thought you ate raw meat?” Maddy questioned heading to the fresh produce area. “Yes i do need raw meat, i still enjoy a salad and fresh fruit. But given what i seen of your old diet. I made a weekly meal plan that should be easily enough to fallow. And given your work schedule I plan on making them. And i refuse to feed my pack junk.” He seemed very adamant about on the subject. “Alright… though i hope your weekly meal plan accounts for Bi-weekly pizza night alternating taco pizza and sausage-mushroom,” she started picking up different veggies and fruits all that were on the list, even a large 10 lbs of potatoes… though she hadn't bought them in a long time she did know somewhat of how to tell if food was ripe or not. Alpha gave a single nod in approval, “yes i can accommodate for that. Two pizza’s a month should be pred out enough not to be come to unhealthy.” “Your really going to take turns Mamma?” Button sat up rubbing his eyes. “Of course. I told you we can get it once in a while, So now we each can have the pizza we like once a month,” she spoke as she examined the green peppers. Maddy caught sight of a woman staring her and her cart down. With a Glaring stare Maddy slowly pushed her cart further down the aisle. She didn't know that woman and didn't like how she was staring. Maddy was nearing the end of the fresh produce section, but let out a groan as it seemed the woman didn't get the hint and was now walking toward them. She scooped up alpha and set him in the carrier with Button and Stretch. “Mother what's wrong?” Button asked hugging Alpha. But before Maddy could answer the woman was there. “Do you have a Bitty in there?” She gave a smile that reminded Maddy of the plastic debutantes on beauty pageants. “Three. Is there something i can help you with?” Maddy had a expression of less than pleasantry. She was not in the mood to deal with people. She didn't take her eyes off the woman as she closed the carrier hatch roof blocking the three from the woman's sight. The Woman smiled, “Well my sweet little Yanny is an only bitty,” Her pristeen makeup and flawlessly done hair only added to Maddy’s irritation, and the overly perfumed area was not helping ether. “Well good for them,” Maddy attempted to walk away but the woman put a hand upon the shopping cart holding it in place. “He is such a sweetheart,” She smiled at Maddy beaming as if waiting for Maddy to respond to a unasked question. After a moment of Maddy’s eye twitching and the idiot woman just smiling at her Maddy asked, “Lady, What Exactly do you want?” her patients were wearing very thin. “What do you mean?” she looked agasped and confused as if maddy asked if she ate babies. “I mean nothing of my demeanor should have read “Please-come-over-i-care-to-waste-my-time-talking-to-an-idiot” I try to walk away you grab ahold of my cart. Look i work double shifts down at the hospital, my free days are few and far between. I don't like wasting my free time babbling and chucking like a chicken. I have shopping to get done so unless you have something useful or actually worth my time. Let. Go. of My Cart. So i may finish shopping.” The woman let go of Her cart to place her hand over her chest in a gasp, someone snorted though who went unseen as maddy took the opportunity to walk off, letting out a mutter of idiotic Morning people. “Mamma.. That wasn't nice…” Button muttered. “True, But she had a point. That lady was a stranger and had no right to hold onto the cart and try to keep her there like that.” Maddy smiled, “Nice to know i have your approval in that Stretch.” Finishing the list quickly, grabbing a few Microwave meals to take with her to work. In the check out, Maddy seen the Woman checking out. She stuck her nose up in the air with a hurummf, before paying and leaving. Thankfully the walk back was uneventful, though Alpha Insisted upon sitting on her Shoulder for a better vantage point again. “Ugh, I’m getting a headache , You boys mind if we stop at a coffee shop on the way home?” “What is so great about a coffee shop?” Stretch asked. “Well they have different coffees, and types of drinks, even Muffins and some baked goods. The one i like even has ice cream for milk shakes, sandwiches and soups,” Maddy explained. Alpha was silent on the matter. “I want some ice cream!” Button called. “I’m sure Alpha had dinner planned so i don't think we can stay long, but i don't think a cup of coffee and a bit of ice cream would take to long.” She was thankful she didn't splurge on the freezer goods as she walked up to the orders here counter. “I’ll have a Grasshopper Mochachino, and a trial size cup of ice cream with three small spoons of… What flavor do you boys want to try?” “I-i’ve never been aloud ice cream…” Button looked nervous… “Me ether,” stretch shrugged. Maddy didn't notice the man looking very confused as she talked into her purse, “well then why not try vanilla this time? Then if you boys like it we can try another flavor next time?” “OK!” button exclaimed vibrating happily. “One try me sized vanilla,” Maddy smiled to the Barista who seemed rather spooked but quickly got the small cup. Maddy paid for the drink and took a seat. She opened the carrier and helped Button out smiling as Stretch also climbed onto her hand. “Madam… are such sweets necessary?” Alpha asked teleporting beside the two. “Maybe not necessary. But the boys did behave well at the shelter. Plus it does have a lot of calcium in it. So not only is it a treat but it can help with the order Doc gave,” She smiled. He sighed in defeat, “Very well Madam.” Maddy watched smiling as Button took one of the spoons and a small poke of a dot of the ice cream and licked, his eye pupil turning into a heart shape. “It's cold!” he explained. “It is. It's a frozen sweet cream… though i think they add a few other ingredients,” Stretch was just as cautious at first, but then seemed to enjoy it as he ate, He wasn’t as visually thrilled as button though, as the younger bitty seemed to be getting more on him then in him. Maddy’s drink was brought to her in a to go cup, as she watched the cute sight before leaving. …. It was a mistake. The ice cream was a Massive Mistake. Button not only was covered in ice cream causing Maddy to need to clean the inside of the carrier, but the small bitty was bouncing around wanting to play fight, talk a mile a moment, and poor stretch was groaning from a stomach ache. “Maddy!” Snow greatted happily. “Oh! Snow hi.” She paused though felt she should get the boys home. “They delivered your package, Is everything alright? You look ready to sprint..” “I gave the boys ice cream and it seems the ice cream isn't agreeing with Stretch, and Button is-” “Mamma … i don't feel so well…” the noise that followed caused Maddy to cringe. “-is in need of a bath…” Maddy finished. “Oh my… well here is your key. I won't keep you,” She looked at the carrier pitifully. “Thanks snow. Oh and if you have time later on, I need to get a few recommendations on stores where i can get the boys some magic infused Foods, The doctor at the shelter suggested for the boys diet.” The rabbit Monster’s ears perked right back up, “Oh of course dear! I’d even be willing to take you one of these days.” She smiled handing Maddy her key. “That sounds great, thanks. And i'm sorry to just dart off.” Maddy apologized. “Oh no worries” the rabbit woman assured as Maddy darted to the elevator. As soon as they got into the apartment, alpha turned into his larger size and took the carrier from Maddy, He pulled each of the two out and set them gently on the counter as he started the water. “I will clean the pups up Madam,” Alpha gave a nod as he set to work, Maddy felt guilty and useless but a thought came to mind and she quickly went to the bathroom. Then darted to the Bitty room. Gathering pajamas for each of the two. And Brought them to the kitchen. “Um… Alpha?” her voice was quiet and unsure. He looked over at her confused. “I brought some sleepwear for the boys. And put a hot water bottle under their bedding. I don't fully know if it will help them but i know it helps me when i get an upset stomach.” Alpha looked at the cloths in her hand then to her face and her worried expression he lowered his hand and cupped her face lifting it up to bring their foreheads together. “That is wonderful. Thank you Madam.” He gently nuzzled her before taking the cloths and setting them aside. To keep from going stir crazy, Maddy began putting away the food trying to be as organized as she could. “Mamma,” Button called out for her weakly. “Yes Baby?” Her attention snapped to him. “Can Stretch and i sleep in your bed with you?” Alpha had cleaned and dressed them, but was waiting for her reply. “Of course you can sugar skull. Does stretch want to go thought? I don't want to stress-” “It's fine,” he bit out, almost irritably. “Well alright then, i’ll go get the heating pad i put in your room and bring it to mine.” Maddy was quick to set up their bedding and hot water bottle into her own bed. “Madam, i'm sure you're tired, perhaps you would like to dress for bed as well,” Alpha suggested a pair of Pj’s sitting upon her bed, “I will wake you when it’s time to eat.” “Thank you Alpha,” she took the cloths and changed in the bedroom. She opened the Medicine cabinet to grab pills for later on, only to find… they were gone. Her sleeping pills were missing. “Madam?” Alpha called from outside the door. “Ya just second Alpha… I'm just looking for something,” had she misplaced them? She could have sworn the bottle was near full… strange. “Madam?” ALpha had teleported into the room. “I can’t seem to find a bottle of pills i had, i use them to help me sleep. I was going to set them on my nightstand for later. But the whole Bottle is gone.” “I am aware of those poisons and their absence,” he gave a single nod. “Oh? Did you move them?” She asked, again a nod from Alpha, “Oh ok, Well ware did you put them?” She felt a bit calmer knowing she hand forgotten ware she placed them. “I destroyed them,” He stood his arms behind his back reminiscent of a military “at ease” pose. Maddy blinked unsure she heard that right, “Y-you destroyed them?” again a nod, “Why? I need those to help with my weird sleep schedule.” “If i recall Madam, you only had a strange sleep schedule due to how much you worked. And only worked so much so you didn't have to come back to an empty Den. I’m sure you are more responsible than to leave your den and pack for as long as you claimed,” He spoke almost Matter of fact, “Besides i am more than confident in my tea and aroma methods, but should they falter…” He closed his eyes with a huff as if the words were painful to say, “i will get you more of that filth.” She paused frowning, “Alpha, as i'm sure you felt yourself justified in your actions. Next time you go to get rid of something of mine, that I do not deem garbage will you please ask me first? Or at least check to make sure if it can be tossed out. I'm willing to make changes and compromises but i do not appreciate a decision like that being made for me without having a say in it.” Alpha stood taking in what she said his eyes having shown ralization upon her getting near to the end of her rant, “My deepest apologies Madam,” He gave a bow, “I had not meant to rob you of your choice. I will try to be more considerate of such things in the future.” he gave another bow. “Thank you,” she walked back into her room and laid down near Button and Stretch. Before to long Button had moved and curled up within the crook of her neck. Alpha watched as the three rested Once he was sure all three were asleep he seat out to search once more. ___________________ Next First Previous

#work in progress #Chapter 10 #rewrite w.i.p.

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iamvegorott · 6 years

Text

A Small Glitch Chapter 19 (Final)

Settling In

“This itches,” Jackieboy whined as he messed with the bandage around his neck.

“If you complain as much as Anti did, I’m putting you in a cone.” Dr. Schneepelstein threatened as he double taped the end of the bandage.

“My nose isn’t going to look ugly, is it?” Bim asked as he poked his wrapped up nose. “Ow...Ow!” Bim said the second one after Dr. Iplier slapped his hand.

“It will if you mess with it.” Dr. Iplier warned, earning a whimper from Bim and the show host sat on his hands.

“I’m still really sorry for getting blood on ya,” Chase said for the tenth time in ten minutes as he blotted the blood stain on Marvin’s shirt with a wet rag.

“I can get a new shirt, it’s fine.” Mavin took Chase by the wrists and lowered his arms. “You should rest.”

“I’ve gotten shocked by alarm clocks, controllers, microwaves, this is nothing.” Chase chuckled. “Although I never imagined I would be tasty cooked up.”

“Most humans taste like pork.” Bim stated, getting strange looks from everyone. “What?”

“He is technically correct according to research.” Google said, the looks turning towards him.

“Canadolism aside, I think we should talk about how fucking dope all of that was!” Bing threw his hands into the air. “Fucking wings and shit!”

“Anti also came back from the dead.” Wilford said as he stretched, his joints popping loudly.

“Did you see that in your prediction, Host?” Chase asked.

“Host could only see harm for Anti, but was unable to see the specifics and could only say so much about it.” Host answered.

“Your future seeing is kind of a dick.”

“Host has holes for eyes because he attempted to look into his own personal future, he does not wish to tempt fate more.” Host’s mouth stretched out to a flat line.

“He can prod at it thought.” Wilford chuckled.

“What do you mean?” Marvin asked.

“Someone had a prediction about Anti and Dark, as we all know, but you guys don’t know is that Host knew that if Dark went to the Septiceye house that night, it would kick-start their relationship.” Wilford wagged a finger towards the Host.

“Host will not dignify that with a response.”

“I knew it.” Dark said as he entered the room. He patted a gentle hand on Host’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

“How are Anti and Annalise?” Chase asked.

“They’re both out.” Dark sighed. “I should inform Mark that all of his devices are currently dead and he’s going to need to reboot his computer.” Dark took out his phone. “I also need to ask where his chargers are.”

“They got mine, too.” Wilford laughed a little after checking his phone.

“I’m shocked Mark let them on his bed.” Bim said.

“I was not going to let my husband and daughter sleep on a couch after everything they have gone through. Has anyone been able to contact the Jims? The Iplier house is probably on fire right now.”

“All of our phones are dead, how were we supposed to get a hold of them?” Jackieboy asked with a raised brow.

“Oh yeah, of course, I just…” Dark pinched the bridge of his nose.

“There’s been a lot of trauma today, take it easy, Dark.” Dr. Iplier said.

“Alright, I’m back.” Mark said as he came back into his house, grocery bags in his hands. “I got the pain meds, extra band-aids, and bandages. I bought a couple of pizzas I’ll toss in the oven and I even got a coloring book for Annalise. I got her one with princesses and one with cute animals, I’m not sure which one she’d like, but I’m sure she’d like something to do.”

“She likes butterflies.” All of the egos answered together.

“Okay, don’t do that...ever again.” Mark said as he unpacked the bags. Dark went over to Mark and helped him. There was a tense silence for a moment before Dark spoke up.

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Dark said, taking out the coloring books.

“You guys literally just saved the world. I can spare some money to help you recover and get out of my house in one piece.” Mark said as he stacked the pizza boxes.

“Again, thank you. I’m sure Annalise will adore these.” Dark held up the coloring books before setting them aside.

“There should be crayons in that bag as well.” Mark noticed that there was a strange look on Dark’s face. “Yes?”

“Are you sure you’re Mark?” Dark asked.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Never mind.” Mark made several sputtering sounds as Dark walked away, handing the medical supplies to the doctors.

“Fine. Whatever…” Mark started to chew on his lip. “Why do I have a feeling that I forgot something?”

“Dude! I thought you were gonna pick me...what the fuck?” Jack stood frozen at the front door, suitcase in hand and was greeted with a view of egos in the living room.

“Oh, that’s what I forgot.” Mark said, going over to Jack. “Well, things got a little crazy here.”

“I can see. What the hell happened?” Jack rolled his suitcase in with him.

“Long story.” Mark sighed.

“Did I just hear a loud Irishman?” Anti chuckled as he came into the room.

“Anti!” The egos all cheered while Dark rushed to him and grabbed his face, pulling him in for a deep kiss.

“Alright...”

“That’s a little weird.” Mark and Jack said.

“Is it cause they have a resemblance to you?” Google asked.

“We can make it worse.” Anti rubbed his hands as his body changed, slowly becoming an exact match to Jack’s. “This form’s really easy to do.”

“As is this one.” Dark said, becoming a clone of Mark.

“And now to...” Anti grabbed Dark by his shirt and yanked him into a kiss.

“Okay!” Both Jack and Mark yelled, covering their eyes.

“My offer still stands on letting you know everything about Mark’s dick.” Anti said with a wink.

“I’m going to go start cooking the pizzas!” Mark said loudly as he walked away while Jack just made sounds.

“You are not going to discuss my genitalia.” Dark said in a lower tone.

“So, there’s this vein right at the-” Anti was cut off by Dark picking him up and throwing him over his shoulder.

“No fair!” Anti laughed. “Top of the mornin’ to ya ladies, my name is, put me the fuck down!” Anti kept laughing as he lightly hit Dark’s back.

“Hello, everybody. My name’s Markiplier and today we’re not going to do that.” Dark chuckled and started walking around the living room.

“Cranky crew!” Annalise cheered as he jumped into the room.

“Ann!” Anti started slapping Dark harder and after getting put down, he and Dark both went over to Annalise, crouching down to hug her.

“Aw, she watches Ethan.” Jack chuckled.

“We should give him a call and let him know that the child of a literal demon and a virus watches his videos.” Mark laughed from the kitchen.

“Daddy look funny.” Annalise said. “And papa.” Anti and Dark both went back to their normal form in a blink.

“How’s my princess?” Anti asked.

“Good nap.” Annalise said with a nod.

“Do you know what happened today?”

“Daddy got hurt. I help him.” Annalise puffed out her chest. “I use glowy.” She held out her hands and orange pixels started to dance on her palms.

“Our daughter...brought you back from the dead.” Dark straightened up.

“Sweet.” Anti said as he did the same.

“How? Just...how? I don’t-” Dark stopped when Anti put a hand on his arm.

“Virus’ are weird.” Anti turned his hand over and his own palm had pixels on it. “I can heal myself with my pixels, Annalise must have used hers to bring me back. My brain must not have fully died before she got to me.”

“Okay…” Dark shook his head in disbelief.

“What else happened today?” Anti asked.

“Rus and others get time-out.” Annalise looked around before cupping her hands around her mouth. “Forever time-out like mommy.”

“Do you want to color?”

“Yes!” Annalise clapped her hands.

“I am one step ahead.” Dr. Schneepelstein said, holding up the coloring books and crayons from the couch he was sitting on.

“Sheep!” Annalise waited until Dark and Anti nodded their head before rushing over to the doctor.

“So, she’s kind of aware of what happened.” Anti said.

“Our child is going be in desperate need of therapy when she’s older.” Dark sighed.

“Nah, she’ll be fine. She’s one of us, but I’m sure if worse comes to worse, we’ve got enough money to bribe someone to keep quiet and help her.”

“Can we please talk about the wings?” Bing asked.

“Wings?” Jack and Mark both said as Mark left the kitchen and came back into the room, only hearing the last word.

“Yeah! It was so cool!” Chase said.

“Dark was like a stain-glass angel and Anti was a glitchy bat and Annalise was a butterfly!” Bing added.

“Extreme emotions cause extreme reactions.” Dark stated.

“We could probably work on making them pop out whenever we want.” Ant said, joining Annalise on the floor. “Ann’s our little butterfly.”

“The wings fun.” Annalise said. “But I no fly.”

“Next time.” Anti chuckled.

“So...Anti and Dark are married, they have a daughter and now they can grow fuckin wings?” Mark said.

“Language.” Dark warned.

“Eat my ass!” Annalise shouted, making Dark but his lower lip.

“I bet I know where she got that from.” Jack chuckled.

“If we get a call from the school saying the Annalise cursed, it’s your fault.” Dark said to Anti.

“Eat my ass.” Anti stuck his tongue out.

“I already do.” Dark said with a smirk, making everyone in the room but Annalise groan.

“I did not need to hear that in my home.” Mark huffed.

“I no get.” Annalise looked up at Anti.

“Later.” Anti patted the top of Annalise’s head.

“Or never.” Dark added, crossing his arms.

“So, Dark’s the one with the shotgun when Annalise brings a boy home.” Jack said.

“That’d probably be uncle Wilford.” Mark pointed at the man he spoke of.

“Revolver, not a shotgun.” Wilford corrected.

“Papa, lookie!” Annalise held up the coloring book.

“That looks amazing.” Dark went over to Annalise and joined her and Anti on the ground.

Dark listened while the others started talking, their voices being nothing but noise as he watched Annalise color and Anti giving her suggestions for which color to use. Anti looked up at Dark and gave him a smile when he saw that the demon was already doing so.

This was it. They were finally happy. Dark and Anti were both filled with joy as their daughter had fun and the others were all safe and sound. They could finally move on with their lives. They could live in peace, or as much peace as a family of two virus’ and a demon could have. They were excited to continue a journey that they never expected to begin in the first place.

Raising Annalise.

I hope all of you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! This series is not over and more is to come. There may even be a sequel in the near future.

Tag List: @readeatfightlove13 @kenzie-110101

#danti #this story was a lot of fun!

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meenasmoon · 7 years

Note

What about the first time Meena saw Johnny with glasses?? ( /w\ )

I don’t wear glasses myself but my sister does and she hates them so she helped me with this as much as she could. I will not apologize for my perfect sight! Enjoy this domestic little piece everyone!

Glasses

Johnny woke up slowly to a blurry world, which he could neverquite get into focus on his own. He slowly got up off of the pillow neston their living room floor and shuffled carefully to the bathroom. No matterhow hard he tried he couldn’t make out the details of the blurry shapes on thefloor so he carefully stepped over each one, praying that he wouldn’t fall oversomething and wake the two girls sleeping in his living room. He and Ash haddecided to have a movie night in their new apartment and of courseMeena, Johnny’s girlfriend and Ash’s best friend, had joined them.Since he was just now waking up and they had all been cuddled on the floormoments ago he assumed that they had fallen asleep some time during the nightwithout turning off the TV or going to their respective beds.

Johnny finally made his way to his bathroom and fumbled through theobjects on the counter, feeling them until he found the one that he had beenlooking for: his box of contacts. He shook the box slightly and groaned aloudwhen there was no noise from inside. He was out of fresh contacts and withoutsome kind of help he was essentially blind. He opened the medicine cabinet andbegan digging through it as quietly as he could in an effort to find his worstenemy. His fingers brushed the glass lenses and he triumphantly pulled hisglasses out from their hiding place. He took a deep breath, slowly slid them onover his face and looked up at the mirror.

The glasses were kind of chunky, black, and a little outdated for hisprescription, but they did the job and he now saw his face in themirror rather than the shapeless black blob that had been therebefore. He frowned at his reflection and tried adjusting the glasses so thatthey would look better. He spent close to ten minutes trying to adjust them butno matter how he placed them they still looked dorky and out of place on hisface. He almost considered taking them off and just going blind today but heeventually resolved himself to wearing them. With a sigh he walked out of thebathroom and into the living room where his companions were still deep insleep. Ash had created a little nest for her self and was currently spooningone of the couch pillows. Meena was curled up in his vacant spot, sleepingpeacefully with a little smile on her face.

Johnny shuffled sleepily into the kitchen and opened up the fridge,looking through it for something to eat. Neither he nor Ash could cook to savetheir lives so they mostly stuck to takeout and microwave meals but every nowand then Meena would get sick of pizza and bring over some ingredients andcook up a real meal for them. Unfortunately, Ash had devoured the rest of theirleftovers the day before for lunch so their fridge was relatively empty offood. He looked down at his pajama pants and tank top and decided that it wasmuch too early for him to care about how he looked.

Johnny grabbed a sweatshirt and was in the middle of pulling itover his head when he heard movement from the living room. He froze with thesweatshirt half pulled over his head and stood in the hallway, waiting to seeif he had been caught. His stomach sank to his knees when Meena’s voice camefrom a few feet in front of him.

“Johnny?” Her voice sounded sleepy, but he knew that once she woke upshe was awake for the rest of the day so there was no chance that he could gether to go back to bed, “Where are you going?”

“To the shop. We’re aht of… well we’re aht of food.” He let out anembarrassed chuckle and began struggling with his sweatshirt again, hoping againsthope that she wouldn’t notice his glasses. He heard the tinkling of hiskeys and Meena’s voice came closer.

“I’ll come with you.” She walked over and gave his sweatshirt a tug,making it pop down over his head and sending his glasses askew on his face,“I’ll get some stuff for pancakes and…” she trailed off when she caught sightof his glasses.

They stood frozen, staring each other down. Meena was standing there inher untied sneakers, pajama pants and tank top, her eyes glued to his eyes orrather his glasses, and he was frozen in embarrassment, his cheeks coloringslightly as he waited for her reaction. After a few minutes of silence, Meena’scheeks began turning red and she finally blurted out what she had beendying to ask.

“A-are those glasses?” She asked nervously, still unable to pull hergaze away from them.

“Yep. Better get garn. Daan’t wanna keep Ash waitin.” His wordscame out in a rush and he hurried out the door, trying desperately to escapethe embarrassing encounter.

“But… Ash is still asleep…” Meena mumbled to herself, her brow furrowingin confusion before she noticed that she had the keys and raced after Johnny.When she caught up to him he was waiting by the car, his hands shoved in hishoody and his foot tapping nervously on the sidewalk. She tossed him the keysand as soon as he caught them he was unlocking the vehicle and hopping in. Hewaited as Meena hurried around to the other side of the car and hopped into thepassenger side, and then fired up the engine and started the short drive to thegrocery store.

They sat in silence for most of the drive, Johnny fretting the whole wayabout what Meena thought about his glasses. The tension continued to mount andwhen he pulled into the parking spot at the grocery store, Johnny reached hisbreaking point. He just had to know what Meena was thinking or he was going toexplode. She was his girlfriend for god’s sake; her opinion mattered more thananyone else’s.

“Meena.” he said, stopping her from getting out of the car. She jumpedslightly when he broke the silence between them and nervously began to wringher hands. She had never seen him this nervous before, even when he asked herout, and she wasn’t sure what exactly it meant. Had she done something wronglast night? Did he want her to go home? Was he going to break up with her? Sheimmediately began to panic ad pulled her ears in close to her face to protecther from his words.

“Be honest. Wot…wot do ya think of me glasses?” He gulped and held thesteering wheel in a death grip, needing something to ground him in that moment.Meena, who had been freaking out about nothing actually relaxed at his questionand let out a relieved sigh.

“Oh Johnny… I think, well I think that they’re r-really cute.” Shestuttered out and her face turned red again.

Johnny sat there in shock for a second, absorbing her words and runningthem over and over again in his head until he was sure that there was no otherway to interpret them. Meena liked his glasses; she thought he looked cute inthem. His heart fluttered in his chest and in that moment heremembered just why he was going out with Meena. He leaned over and tookher hand in his, giving it a little affectionate kiss.

“Thanks love.” He squeezed her hand and her blush began to fade a littlebit as she regained her confidence and her heart stopped trying to beat out ofher chest. She reached over and adjusted his glasses slightly so that they satstraight on his face in the adorable way that made her breath catch in herthroat. Johnny chuckled and leaned forward, kissing her gently on the mouthbefore pulling back and hopping out of the truck, a new spring in his step as aresult of her sweet words.

Meena followed him into the store and they walked around filling thebasket with ingredients for a pancake and egg breakfast as well as a few otheressentials that Meena insisted that they needed. Most importantly, the pickedup new contacts for Johnny, because despite Meena’s kind words he stillwasn’t a big fan of the glasses. Although now he wasn’t afraid to wear themaround Meena if he needed to, she definitely wouldn’t mind. The whole timethey were holding hands and exchanging smiles as Meena admired his glasses andJohnny admired that happy look in her eye. Once they got to the register theypaid in exact change with crumpled dollar bills and coins like any other risingmusician still trying to be frugal. The checkout lady raised her eyebrowat them and Johnny grinned while Meena shrugged nervously. Once they had paidthey hurried back home and Meena began work on breakfast while Johnny slippedinto the bathroom to put in his contacts and hide his glasses once more.

He sighed in relief when he looked at himself in the mirror and he wasonce more free of the glasses of doom. He pulled off his sweatshirt now thatthey were home and went about making Ash’s coffee. He had learned within a fewdays of living with Ash that if there wasn’t coffee ready when she woke up shewas almost scary in her level of grumpiness. The coffee was ready just as Meenafinished flipping the pancakes and started loading up plates for everyone.Johnny brought out Ash’s coffee and her food as an offering while Meenafollowed him with their plates. Cautiously Johnny set the coffee mug down nextto Ash and set her plate on the tale behind her. A few seconds after he set themug down her small hand shot out and pulled it in close to her mouth so shecould take her first sip of the life-giving nectar.

As she slowly awakened, Meena and Johnny settled next to each other andturned on the morning cartoons as they ate. It was as if the glasses incidenthad never happened, but when Johnny looked over and caught Meena staring at himonce more he knew that it wouldn’t be the last time. Until then it would remaintheir little secret he mused and then leaned over to pepper Meena’sfreckled cheeks with kisses.

#sing the movie #sing johnny #sing meena #meena x johnny #fanfiction #send me prompts #Glasses

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iphoenixrising · 7 years

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200 Followers Prompt Fill

Ah, over 200 actually, so THANK YOU ALL! I’ve taken a bunch of Asks and answered them here. This is only part 1 tho, so there will be five more I believe? Anway, thanks for the loves :)

From Anon:

Prompt: What if Dick or Jason or both;) are taking care of Tim while he's got the concussion of the century, and staying awake with him and having fun. Tim, noticing Dick or Jason eyeing a really bad scar, and him not being in the right state of mind, tells them where the scar came from. Not from vigilantism or anything dangerous or villainous as Jason/Dick came to expect, but from small Tim taking care of himself (while his neglectful parents were away) and not being careful enough. Love you <3

You got it, babe.

And

—W—

Walter is just a pissy companion for the night.

Seriously.

Walter is a concussion that comes with a distinct lack of boundaries apparently. He’s already told Dick how much he just really enjoys his hands, and Jason is now aware of how fucking cute he thinks that little white tuft of hair is, and just…

He’s never going to live this one down.

Ever.

The Perch is at half-lighting, softly curled around the edges of his vision because of things like sleep dep and owfuck. Luckily, the two eldest Robins tried doing a rock-paper-scissors for who got to come find Timmy’s hurt ass—since, well Bats and shit, there was no chance at ever getting a winner. Dick is just that good and Jay cheats like a nasty bastard.

Cue the two of them jimming the windows open shortly after O put out the word of a possibly bad end to a little fight Red might have been in on down in the Narrows. Commence with the Where’s Red? protocol, Bat edition.

In a little less than twenty seconds using nothing more spectacular than his crappy iPhone to hack into some traffic cams, Dick verifies Red is still in Gotham and looks to be moving toward his own little nest in the city.

B at this juncture just waved them both off into the pre-dawn with the same old, same old: call me if he needs transport, call me if you need transport—just call me.

And yes, B is paranoid as fuck—that doesn’t mean his dad instincts don’t rise to the fore, especially when one of his Robins gets hurt…and doesn’t come back to the Manor for proper treatment (reads as mother-henning).

The call was promptly made within twenty seconds of N and Hood breaching the Perch, strafing through the apartment until the injured bird came out of the shower in only a towel, giving them both an ample chance to look him over for anything else. Gloved hands turned and prodded while B asked a ton of questions over speakerphone.

Anything Tim might have had to say is drowned out with a mix between finger wags, the know your limitations speech, and absurdly attentive vigilantes.

N wrangles him to sit long enough for Hood to dig out boxers and sweats, then kneel down to get the things up his legs, and even if his balance is just fine fuck you very much, N still holds him standing for Hood to get them the rest of the way up. A t-shirt is pulled over his head, muffling his useless protests; the only pause in the mother henning is when a short noise escapes when one of the wrangling hands brushes over his bruised (but no longer bleeding) temple.

Hood tilted his chin with absurdly gentle hands, leaning close to get a good look at the scrape while N fits together a small device from pieces hidden around his suit, effectively pulling out a mini X-ray scanner.

Agent A gets immediate results from the scan, looking at Red’s skull for any fractures.

And coffee is made, frozen pizzas thrown in the oven, calming over-protective Bats taking turns changing into civvies, the fight is discussed, and diagnosis per Alfred made.

Of course it’s a concussion, like he hasn’t had enough of them to know.

“What letter ya on, Timmy?” Jason just happens to ask, putting coffee right in front of him.

“I think W, so Walter it is.”

“Right on. Eat yer pizza.”

From there, since, you know, why bother trying to sleep anyway, the three of them end up on his overstuffed couch, watching something he never gets time to check out, and he just blurts out all kind of embarrassing shit.

The worst is when Jay traces a fine white line on the inside of his forearm, making Tim feel even hazier where he’s laying against Dick’s side, nudged between them. It’s telling how close he’s come to being back.

“Where’d this one come from, Timmy?” Is asked low and quiet, in case he might have dropped off (just to be woken up in an hour or so? Nope, all good here).

“Making dinner when Mrs. Mac couldn’t come for a few days,” he blurts out, “I was trying to make chicken the first time and slipped.”

And that is apparently not what Hood had been expecting to hear.

He makes a noise of protest when Dick straightens a little and reaches a bare hand over to grip his wrist and look closer.

“How old were you?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it, and that’s the problem. With Walter hanging with him, his eidetic memory is at the concussion’s mercy, and he blurts out, “almost eight.”

Both vigilantes stop, the creepy-like Bat-stillness. The only movement is Dick’s hand tightening on his wrist and the increasing downturn of Jay’s mouth.

“How long did she leave you alone, Tim?” Dick asks in a low, dangerous voice.

Tim blinks, knowing he’s walking a very, very fine line here.

“She was snowed in at her sister’s house,” he carefully adds, trying to deflect. “It was a bad blizzard that year.”

“You were seven years old alone in a fucking blizzard?” Is the Red Hood’s snarling reply. “Jesus-motherfucking-Christ, Timmy. How many times were you left alone?”

His mouth drops open (because Walter) automatically, but he manages to stop all processes and laugh a little instead. “Having a housekeeper let me have the opportunity to be Robin, you know.”

“Not the point, Tim,” Dick fills in for a not-happy Red Hood, who is still grinding his teeth. Like, obviously.

But there are hands, making him sit up from his comfortable slouch, and his clothes are pushed, pulled, lifted off while the two are looking for the oldest scars, but it’s not enough. And the two finally manhandle Tim up on his feet to strip him down to boxers and take in every mark on his body, causing a flush to stain his cheeks down to his chest while they find, touch, and ask about a majority of the oldest marks, horrified at his years in a silent house, being left to his own devices.

“Mrs. Mac usually made me meals once a week and left them in the freezer. It wasn’t hard to work a microwave.” He argues at one point, and had no idea why Jay looked completely crushed.

“I think it was fine,” he finally tells them, “that they were always gone. I mean, they couldn’t get sick of me if they never saw me, right?”

Dick completely engulfs him in a full-bodied hug, almost suffocating him enough that he has to literally tap out. Just please stop trying to kill me with your love.

“This one?” Jay points to a tiny nick on the back of his right hand by the knuckle.

“Trying to make a grapple so I could follow you and B better,” he yawns, finally allowed to get dressed again.

The grapple, well, it sort of worked, but really no one needed to see the scars from when it failed. The boxers and sweats are, fortunately, covering that one. (Just, it’s bad enough he’s got such a thing for these two anyway and it’s getting worse each time he comes back to Gotham, each time one of them finds him on patrol, calls out, eats roof tacos, just all of it. Their hands all over him is just not fucking helpful and Walter isn’t making the sitch better.)

“How old?”

“…” They wouldn’t want that answer.

“And none of us noticed?”

“Um, well—“ and he breathes and glances over, “I think Jay saw me. Once.” Then Tim’s face gets hot, cheeks flush a little, a sign that draws both older vigilantes like a moth to a flame.

“Timmy,” Dick draws out.

“I…” and he breathes out, “I may have accidentally been trying to get up to the old Mylar building and…”

And he just leaves it off because really.

Dick blinks down at him; he and Jay exchange a look.

Tim wakes up enough to shift, shove the waistband of his boxers down only a few inches or so by his spine, showing them an old mass of white scars. “I think B took a beating at the hands of Killer Croc because Nightwing and Robin were patrolling side-by-side. It was the first time I’d seen you two together.”

And Jay might be smiling rather than smirking because even with the Pit messing with his mind and memories, he knows he has that time, the one Tim’s talking about, buried so deep, a memory so important, not even death, his death, could smear it. And the Robin that never talks about it, about that time in his life, breathes out through his mouth softly.

“Was the first time B got all kinds of fucked, well ‘a-cause of me anyhow.” And Jay smiles faintly, accepts Dickie’s broad palm on the back of his neck. “Nice that someone took a break from his team ta come home.”

“I’m glad I did,” Dick shrugs, grinning back, and both vigilantes look over at their Baby Bird, slouched over. “How did you get the scars?”

There it is, his face heating up again, “I didn’t know you’d be up there, it surprised me so hard, I fell.”

Both older vigilantes flinch. Everyone in the cape and cowl crew knew the Mylar and its damn treacherous design, four stories of possible doom from crumbling brick to thin wrought iron.

“All the way down?” Jason’s eyes are blown wide, picturing a little kid with a camera falling four stories to the unforgiving pavement below.

“Ah, no,” and Tim scratches the back of his neck, cheeks pink, “Robin caught me, actually. Smelled like cigarettes and told me to get my stupid ass home before I got hurt.”

Dick’s brows shoot up into his hairline at the same time Jay’s jaw drops, “seriously, Baby Bird?”

“Yeah,” and it’s low in his chest because, well, he’d already told Jason when the Pit was riding him and he needed something to bring him back, “you were my Robin.” Literally, it’s true.

“I don’t remember it either, Timmy, I’m sorry,” Dick claims softly, a hand inching into Tim’s hair to rake blunt nails gently against his scalp. And he feels awful about it, the majority of his memories from that night about trying to make it work with the kid that took his place as Batman’s partner. It was the first time he’d been back to the Manor for any length of time since their fallout, and Nightwing had been the next feasible step. Something to keep going.

“S’okay,” Tim slurs, falling right into the motion, “big vigilante now, remember?”

Jason hums as Baby Bird’s eyes finally flutter closed and Dick settles him more comfortably against his chest. He finally passes out to the old scars, the foundation of his life, being outlined, and catalogued by the two vigilantes that will eventually be his undoing.

Justice is Blind AU (for @satire-please) :D

“Ah, there you are, little bird.”

And that voice. He’d know it anywhere. Well, hard to forget the first person that taught you how to maim, isn’t it?

Tim smiles faintly, fingers moving over the grooves of the delicate tea cup in one hand, “long time.”

She hums a little, and with the modified shades covering his dead eyes, the radar array pings just the outline of her lithe form sliding into the chair across from him. The sweet Jasmine always a part of her wafts over in the breeze; she only surprised him being down wind. Well, touché.

“What are you doing in Beijing?” She signals for tea, acting like they’re just here in a random tea house, you know, just hanging out. Not like he was pretty damn sure they’d been an inch from killing each other the last time. But, if there’s one thing he’s learned in his time as part of the cape and cowl crew—bad guys who generally seem to want to kill you? They get all kinds of messed up when the heroes are down for the count.

But Tim Drake smiles, flashing white against the dark sunglasses. “I think you already know the answer to that, Lady Shiva.”

And the gentle laugh rolls down his spine, settles somewhere in the base.

“I suppose you need a reminder then,” and he hears the exchange, get the impression, the outline of the waiter bringing Lady Shiva a fresh pot, her own cup, bowing low in respect.

“Things…are more complicated.” And in his civvies, a young American, ratty jeans and hooded sweatshirts, miles away from the clean-cut CEO he played on video screens wherever he happened to be needed in the world. It’s been painfully easy keeping shades on, making sure he’s in bright enough rooms to explain it away while keeping the confidence of Wayne Enterprises Board of Directors after the successful transfer of power. In less than five months, he’s already expanded Research and Development, put several new products into Production, made suggestions to exiting products to adapt to a changing world.

Profits were up, the Board was happy, and no one was more the wise about his “condition.”

Except Tam, that is.

Being taken by surprise by the Widower is the epic fail of his life, but to be blinded before he’d even found Bruce?

Not to mention that somehow during the punch drunk blood loss and perpetual night, he’d managed to patch Pru up enough that she could pilot the Jeep to one of the League of Assassins’ safe houses not far from the site of the attack. It was Tam’s bad luck to get snatched up by the League’s spies when word reached them she was hot on his heels, wrangling him for Wayne Enterprises. They thought she already found him and was the only reason Ra’s ordered her alive.

Luck of the draw there.

The downside of it all was that Tam had been there while he danced between the League and the Council of Spiders, trying to acclimate to his new condition, trying to bring everyone down, trying to keep himself from falling apart, not when he was ass-deep in bad guys of oh shit proportions.

And yeah, he’d pulled it all off like a boss. Well, other than getting kicked out of a window to a potentially fatal free fall. That? Slightly sucked.

But, all’s well that end well—he’d pulled Bruce out of space/time with the help of S.T.A.R. labs, sent him back to Gotham, and…

Came directly here.

Tam is covering his ass at WE for a few weeks while he gets his head together. The documentation is signed, sealed, and delivered.

Other than that, well, there’s really no reason to go back, is there?

Bruce will train, get himself back, and take up the cowl. Damian will keep breaking criminal faces. Nightwing will start appearing again.

Everything in its place.

Except—

To Do List:

1) Figure out where to live

2) Figure out what to do

3) Figure out how to do it

4) Figure out who to do it with

5) Figure out who to do it against

Yup, that’s why he’s here.

“You must find your balance, little bird.” She sips delicately, “to learn yourself again.”

The laugh coming from his chest is one of those unfunny ha-ha ones because that sounds a lot like one of those crazy platitudes she sprouts just before the fight starts.

“Let me guess,” the radar array pings back, and he gets the impression she’s smiling, “you can help with that, right?”

“I think,” she fills in, steadily sipping her tea, “I have an old acquaintance who may be better suited.”

“He’s in prison,” Tim fills in because she can’t really be suggesting—

“The King Snake is here in Beijing, little bird. Perhaps a week with each of us, and you may find what answers you are desperately looking for.”

His useless eyes are wide behind the shades, his brain picking up on the impossible theme happening here. His career as Robin began with Lady Shiva and the King Snake, Sir Edmund Dorrance, the blind crime lord and exceptional fighter. Kind of fitting to either end his walk down vigilante lane if one of them decides this is the perfect opportunity to kill him, or to give them all the kudos if they manage to get him able to move again.

Either way, it seems like things have a way of coming full circle.

*The list is from the Red Robin comic series ;) Just FYI

Angst

travellover1245 said:

Hey! I am craving some angst right now. Any chance you can take up this prompt: Tim/?? with someone else having feelings for Tim that Tim has never or no longer feel for that person. Please and thank you!!!

Angst, babe? Let’s see what I’ve got ;) Maybe something from the No Home for Dead Birds Verse, yeah? But Mentions of Adult Themes.

And it’s more than he remembered.

The sweet press of their bodies together, hands fitting in the most perfect niches of flesh, muscle, and bone; like this body is made for him, made to respond to his touch, made to give in.

His mouth is still soft and always slightly bitter with coffee or sleep deprivation, and it’s almost painful how much it’s like getting something back, something so crucial missing from beside him in bed, in a fight, in the shower, in all aspects.

Thumbs in the dip of hips, moving in circles, and he growls low, refusing to let up, to let go—

He needs this back in his life.

Hands grip his wrists and push.

An abrupt pain arcs in his chest, thumping hard against his sternum.

“Wait,” is hoarse, a plea, don’t go said right into Tim’s mouth.

He’ll swear it was all muscle memory, grabbing on, pressing Tim against the wall, quieting his messy rambles until they’re both panting, ready for more.

Well, that was all before the downward spiral, the one that cost them one former Robin in Gotham—back when he took up the mantle to keep Jason from staining it with blood, from defiling the meaning behind it all, Bruce’s mission. When he made the call for the right reasons…

Not that it mattered now.

“I can’t do this,” and Timmy doesn’t sound any better, pushing away even further, breaking him open wide. “I can’t—I can’t do this.” And the tone of voice, the words, the deep, husky quality fills in a lot of blank spaces for Dick Grayson; he knows the reactions, knows the subtle tells of Tim’s body when he wants. Under Dick’s hands and mouth, Tim had shown all his previous weaknesses in spades, allowing the eldest Robin a look into his very depths, to unravel all the secrets and mysteries. The only time Tim had ever offered insight into his soul.

Being pushed away, denied, is like a stab, sharp, cutting, biting, in the soft meat and ripe viscera rupturing underneath. It literally feels like he’s dying.

“I miss you,” and oh God is it true. He’s been functioning, moving for over a year feeling like one of his limbs has been cut off, turning automatically to talk to someone—who isn’t there anymore. When he’d taken the tunic away, when he’d done it without thinking, without reminding Tim just how much he was needed, wanted, would always, always, be utterly and completely necessary, when he’d done that, he’d been cutting himself off at the knees. “I miss you and I’m still crazy about you, and—and I did what I thought was right, but I should have done it differently.”

Tim backs up until the kitchen counter in his Perch stops him, looking back at Dick without a cowl or a domino, just those blue-violet eyes narrowed slightly, full of old pain. (And it wasn’t as bad as the look Dick finally saw on old video footage from the Cave, when he was at the big computer with his back to his former boyfriend, missing the way Tim’s expression just crumpled in on itself, a mask of real, true pain before that terrible realization, the ‘I was never really part of it all anyway’ changed his face into the same separated neutrality Dick gets to this day).

And he cuts through Dick’s ramblings, forcing himself not to focus on the sentiments and false declarations (because really), he keeps his tone soft and firm, “unfortunately…I’m not available. Even if I was… I couldn’t. Not with you, not anymore.”

Oh.

Too late.

The pain is an immediate thing, low in hidden places he didn’t realize could hurt like this (too little, too late).

And Dick Grayson just lets his body slide back, brace against Tim’s fridge because his knees feel weak, and for a man that knows his body, knows his limitation, his strengths, his capabilities, he inanely thinks how odd it is. He dives off buildings, throws himself into fights, bends and twists to escape fatal traps, he’s an acrobat, a vigilante, and weakness like this is so uncommon.

With a shaky hand, he pulls at the domino, looking up bare-faced, and makes the question easy, “Kid or the clone, Timmy?”

It’s telling when red heats up Tim’s cheeks, darker against his pale skin, and his eyes move away to an uninteresting spot on the floor, and as absurd as it is right now, with his held hopes crumbling, the old recriminations biting at his heels, that the reaction can make him choke on a laugh, a genuine one. That he can drop his face into a gloved hand and snort because some things just never change.

And even getting this much is more than he could have hoped for.

Anon Sick!Tim or Sick!Tony prompt

Okay. But. If you had to choose. Tim Drake being the absolute badass he is but the second he gets sick around someone he trusts he turns into goo. Like be prepared to be a pillow and a servant until he's better where then he'll pretend it never happened. Or. Tony Stark being the badass he is and when he gets sick he gets more stressed (he thinks he's a burden) that he gets MORE sick until someone stops him and makes him sleep and eat and he never forgets so lots of secret gifts.

You know, I’ve done Sick!Tim, so maybe a little Sick!Tony just to round it off ;) And, ah, sorry but just fluffy? Maybe?

“Sir, this is the third warning. I have permission to set U lose should you not cease and desist at once.”

J.J.’s voice is just so matter of fact that it actually does permeate Tony’s running train of thought; he leans back from the hunched over crouch, several vertebrae popping in succession.

Unfortunately, leaning back makes him immediately light-headed enough that almost falls off the damn stool anyway. “Well, fuck,” is about accurate. The last fight had more of an impact than he realized.

“Scans indicate your core temperature is elevated.” And, yes, his AI sounds smug about it. All that Sir should rest after that many hits taken in one battle.

Well, going to feel it about now then. Fantastic. Schematics for the new navigation systems are due to R&D ASAP, and there’s a whole lot of damaged uniforms in need of fixing before the next Avengers fight, then he owes Fury the upgraded designs for the new helicarrier’s defense system.

Which means he has no time for this.

“All right,” he claps his hands, completely pretending not to feel the tingly soreness in his muscles, the headache starting right at the base of his skull, or the abrupt chill hitting him right in the upper body, “taking a break, J. We’ll start back on the Nav designs in four hours.”

“In that time, I suggest you contact Dr. Banner for a medical exam.”

“He’s not that kind of doctor,” Tony fills in as he stands, rides the headrush that makes the pounding progressively worse. Besides, Bruce always has to gossip to Nat, and Nat will tell everyone in the Tower just for her own amusement. She is exceptionally good at being an evil hell bitch when she wants. Hm, making a t-shirt with that phrase, just for her. In every color.

“I am certain he has and will make an exceptions for you.” Is J.J.’s smooth attempt.

“Touché, but we’ve already got a protocol,” he waves to DUM-E and U from their charging stations, and as he walks to the double doors (maybe slower than usual), the lights and systems power down behind him. The elevator is already waiting to take him upstairs to the Penthouse where he can start checking the reactor seal, make sure nothing was breached.

But, with the familiar arches and sick sucks feeling, he already knows the answer. A low whistle and Butterfingers is rolling out from the stocked shelves, following his creator to the elevator, and whatever previous events he’s learned from are telling when he sticks his arm straight for Tony to strategically lean on without seeming to do so. The bot probably thinks it’s a game, Tony is grateful one of them has some kind of discretion.

When they make it to the Penthouse, Tony gets as far as the island, sliding himself into one of the tall stools and braces himself for the next few steps. He breathes in, tightening his hands into fists to get the tingling sensation in his joints to calm down enough.

Butterfingers boops at him nonchalantly, small talk how about that weather, while he wheels to the cupboard at the back of the island where his tracks can fit just fine. And yes, the name is Butterfingers, but the bot is completely competent in grasping the handle of the bottom cupboard and opening the door. Likewise, he rolls back in to grip the handle of a large kit inside on the lowest shelf and sliding it on to his chassis to wheel around to Tony with more enthusiastic beeps.

“Mmhm,” his creator murmurs, eyes half-mast, “those really are the best kind of wrenches. Next time I’ll get you something better to play with, okay?”

Butterfingers boops back happily in agreement and lifts the large kit up in a claw, moving back and forth to wave it in Tony’s directions.

The mechanic takes it, choking on a laugh, and starts with the preliminaries. He spins slowly (to keep from falling) to scrub his hands at the kitchen sink in hot water before removing his shirt. He lays out the two sealed, sterile trays from the stacks, and gloves up before he opens any of them.

No blood around the reactor, but the bruising is absolutely beautiful, all dark blacks and purple. Apparently, that hit to the chest was a little more ow than he realized. Any compromise to the skin-on-metal seal could allow on-set infection, hitting his system like a freight train. The plan is to get the appropriate samples, ship them to Helen, and see what kind of antibiotics & etc. he would need to fight it off.

All the pizazz of being the Tin Man. Metal heart and all that.

He starts with a blood draw, leaning back to breathe, gathering himself to be steady when he already feels like doing nothing other than falling into bed for a few hours.

Priorities.

Well, that and a slightly compromised immune systems stemming from the metal magnet in his chest.

The band he manages to get around his bicep is faded blue, the ends already have teeth marks from other instances just like this one; he manages to get it tied without more fumbling than necessary and moves on to open the package with the syringe and vacuum sealed container.

He has to sit back and breathe, working the hand open and closed, getting himself steady before he can stabilize his left hand enough to actually hit a vein.

The bright red splashing into the container makes his eyes hurt slightly above aching sinuses.

Butterfingers accepts the padded envelope, one that would be sent to Helen’s lab for a discreet testing, wheels over to the far wall next to the door, and drops the envelope down a suction tube built in to his floor that could disperse anything necessary throughout the Tower (Pep hated it, just gave him more of an excuse to miss meetings).

The next samples are from the reactor/skin connection, the swab opened in gloved hands, run below the primary casing. It’s placed in a sterile vial with shakier hands, fumbled into a padded envelope and given again to Butterfingers.

Now the rough one.

Tony leans back for another get it together moment, waiting to crack the next swab just to make sure the sample is as pure as possible.

“Sir, this is highly unrecommended,” J.J. breaks in and there must be something terribly wrong with the intercom system in here because the voice cracks, fades in and out a bit.

Tony blinks owlishly up at the ceiling, adds checking the systems as another thing on the honey-do list. He ignores the warning and starts up with prepping his chest for the arc reactor seal to be disengaged and the unit to come partially out of his chest.

“Won’t be a problem,” he assures his AI, fighting down an abrupt roll of nausea. “Just a quick swab.”

Butterfingers boops worriedly at him this time, sliding his arm under Tony’s to brace. Agreeably, Tony wipes down the metal with an alcohol wipe; with a deeper breath than necessary, he palms the reactor and—

Opens his eyes to the Winter Soldier crouching a few feet away on top the island.

In full regalia, Jim’s eyes are granite gray and miss nothing.

Tony doesn’t jerk in surprise, but it’s a good damn thing.

“Troll,” the mechanic sneers.

There’s enough light that Tony can see the flash of teeth, a sharp smile, through the slits in the mask (reads as muzzle).

“Doll face,” Jim cocks a brow up at him, “thought we had a talk about this.”

“How was the mission, dear? Did you get to blow up anything exciting?” He diverts immediately and still feels like crap about it since he’s not in the best shape to meet his significant others home from a hard week at the office.

Jim moves out of his crouch, off the island, to look at the charming, charismatic pain in his ass. Between Tony and Stevie, Jim Barnes had enough to keep him mother hen instinct working overtime for the next seventy years. He works his sleeve up to press against Tony’s forehead, tisking at the smirking mechanic.

“Heya Sugar,” Jim calls to the ceiling.

“Yes, Bucky?” She chirps back, sounding suspiciously smug (and she had better not be on their side now—it’s enough Jim and Steve already have J.J.).

“Tell the others I found ‘im first, okay? Hundred points ta me.”

And because it’s just hilarious, he feels like ass and still laughs at the little things.

Good times.

The mask and gloves come off while he chorts, layers of the Winter Soldier sliding away on the island until Jim’s exasperated face makes his eyes dart away and pause in the last swab of the night, admittingly violating his own protocol for sick is ass. Besides, Helen would be able to make a diagnosis with the samples he’s already sent.

“Hit up Stevie too. Let ‘im know our fella ain’t feelin’ well.”

Oh God, not both of them.

“Completely unnecessary, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Belay that!” Tony leans up enough to brace his elbows on the island, talking that loud making his head do that thing again. He snaps the gloves off, still feeling shaky, “this part? Not conducive to hello, honey, how was your day. But, no, seriously, welcome back. Everyone good? Mission go well?”

Jim already puts a glass of water in front of him and two white pills. The flesh hand against his forehead is nice and warm while the metal one cool on the back of his neck.

“Mmhm. Standard usual, Tones. Y’ didn’t miss nothing good.”

As silently commanded, Tony takes the pills and drinks, keeps going until the glass is empty, and sleepy is starting to look like the perfect state of mind. The bandage underneath the reactor from this morning is still holding, so he can definitely take a few hours to get it together before uniforms in need of mending start coming in from the mission, just another thing on his never-ending plate of shit to get done.

“I hate it when I do, you know,” he returns with a somewhat pathetic yawn, and Jim steps a little closer, the hand on the back of his neck directs his listing upper body right against Jim’s stomach and chest where the Winter Soldier can be a total sap and wrap a throw stolen from one of the couches around his shoulders without letting go.

“Considering yer fevering and already starting with the shakes, I’m glad y’ didn’t come anyhow. J.J. woulda ratted you out faster than Sugar-Pie up there.”

“Need to reprogram him, both of them” Tony huffs right into Jim’s abdomen, eyes half-mast. The metal hand rubbing against the ache in his joints, making him huff out low, almost imperceptible moans (but, well, got pretty good ears over here, doll face).

Jim laughs low and soft, the flesh hand tunnels in to the mechanic’s curls, gently raking nails over his scalp, easing the painful points of the headache.

“Don’t much matter. He knows how ta take care o’ you, so’s only a matter o’ time until we got ‘em both on our side.”

Tony hums (because true, rude but true) closing his eyes, letting himself shiver against Jim and pull the blanket further around his shoulders.

“S’okay, Stevie’s gonna carry ya ta bed and I’m gonna make some warm soup, take the chill outta ya bones. Sound good, doll?”

But the shorter man is already half gone, making Jim’s mouth quirk just slightly.

He doesn’t have to wait much longer for the elevator to open up and the Cap, shield on his arm, to take the floor. Always the strategist, Steve’s eyes take in the scene, narrow, and he’s striding across the room, flipping the shield to his back and pulling his gloves off, shoving them in the tactical pocket of his uniform.

“Whadda we got?” He asks low, taking in the snoozing mechanic.

“Dunno. Looked like he was trying ta take a sample of the AR when I caught him at it,” Jim waves a hand to the open medical trays. “Pretty sure he was gonna pull it outta his chest, Stevie.”

The two super soldiers exchange an irritated glance, but Steve is already bending down, sliding his arms carefully under Tony’s back and knees. Jim’s hands gentle as the two of them ease Tony up into the Captain’s arms (and yes, Steve holds him up high enough to kiss the top of his head a few times, glad to see him after a week of being knee-deep in bad guys).

“Plan?” Jim starts down the hall first, opening the Master Bedroom door for Steve and moving to turn down the blankets.

“You hit the showers first. I’m going to start some soup and sandwiches.”

“Aw, Stevie. I was gonna make matzah ball. You geta wash first, and I’ll throw everything together.”

“Haven’t had the Barnes’ special recipe for a while,” Steve admits with a grin as he eases Tony’s lax form down into bed. “Sounds good.”

“When Tony wakes up, we’ll find out what all the trays are for. Gotta feelin’ this ain’t the usual round o’ the flu.” Jim shakes his head and eases the covers up over the sleeping mechanic.

Steve paces over to the wall-length closet and opens a section—one with very familiar jeans, khakis, and t-shirts. He pulls the black case on the floor, the one Tony made for the shield, out of it place first before getting out of uniform. Jim does likewise, opening his section and hanging up the Winter Soldier gear.

“Something with the reactor, huh?” Steve muses, toeing his boots off. “Anything you can tell us, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“I apologize Captain.”

Both men quirk a brow at the ceiling.

“What if he uses his fancy pass code?” Jim snickers, down to an undershirt and the tight pants. He palms the twin .45s and slides them both into the holsters Tony had built in to the back of the closet door.

The notable pause is well worth the question.

“Avengers Emergency Protocol will allow the Captain to request a medical update of the team members, Bucky,” she fills in after a second. A very non-subtle hint, hint.

The Captain gives a put-upon sigh, “fine. But don’t think I’m not aware you just wanna get something to laugh at—“

“True,” Jim cackles, “don’t mean it ain’t gonna work, babe.”

“All right, all right. You take too much enjoyment outta of busting my balls, Sergeant.”

Now that look—that look is the same one from Brooklyn a lifetime ago, when shameless and scandalous was the fella’s M.O. Steve just laughs to himself when he catches it, when his heart stutters for half a second before righting itself. The curse of any time traveler—metaphysical vertigo.

But Steve puts himself back in the moment. They’ve had a rough week, Tony is apparently working his usual hectic schedule while feeling awful (and yes they recognize the signs and can now do something about it—another glaring benefit in the transition to “significant others” as Tony specified), and the others are in various stages of hurt, tired, and grumpy, getting themselves together on their own floor. The usual post-battle communal meal wouldn’t be for a few hours if everyone is already on their way to sleeping off the mission.

So: first, take care of his fellas, then make some food for his people.

Sound plan. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.? All right, here it goes. ‘This is Captain Handsome ordering you to rock and roll on that 45.’” *

As usual, Jim plain out laughs (softer than normal since Tony is just passed out a few feet away) with it, and Steve gives him a patient look.

“Subject: Iron Man.” A hologram from one of the wall projectors pops up in front of them, a 3D image of a shadowed human body with circular arc reactor in his chest, a red splash of color around the bottom.

“Was it breached?” Jim asks, stepping closer, eyes wider. How long had Tony been getting sick?

“Not substantially,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. fills in. “A small tear in the connection between skin and metal, Bucky. It is, however highly susceptible to infections.”

The two exchange a look. The look.

“What’s Iron Man gotten into while we were gone, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

The AI goes silent a moment. “Boss has been answering the Avenger’s alarm since your mission, Captain.”

“By himself?” Jim interjects, eyes going to the lump on the bed. “We left Bruce and Wanda—“

The soldiers exchange an irritated glance and go back to eye-balling the bed.

“All right. When the team gets somewhat lucid, we’re having a meeting,” Steve growl out, pulling his undershirt over his head. “Next protocol for consideration: no one goes out on an alarm alone.”

Jim peels his pants down his legs, tossing them in the special uniforms only bin. “He’ll be a pain in the ass about it, Stevie.”

And the Cap, hair a mess from pulling his shirt off, grins a little at one of his two best guys, “really, Buck? When ain’t he?”

They share a rueful expression and lean in, hands pulling, bodies fitting together in all the right niches. A week of being around the others and toning down the PDA was just professional courtesy, but here, in their own bedroom (well, Tony’s but possession is 9/10th of the law, and they own the mechanic as much as he owns them), they can hold, touch, kiss, and take comfort in intimacy—the same way they did in their shared apartment in Brooklyn a lifetime ago, the same way they did in tents stationed outside France, Italy, Spain, and Normandy. The time may be different, the mad mechanic may be part of their bond now, but this, this, hasn’t changed.

Steve holds on to Bucky for another important second, breathing out against the brunette’s temple, stirring the hair there, and Jim sets his worry for Tony aside just long enough to shudder delicately at the press of skin, at Steve’s arms around him, holding on.

It’s comfortable and necessary, only one thing missing from the embrace—

A small noise from the bed, the mechanic shifting to his side, a hand flung out where other bodies should be.

The two soldiers laugh softly and pull back, looking at Tony with warm, soft eyes. But Jim, as much as he claims the opposite, is just as much of a sap as his two boys, and presses his mouth softly against Steve’s before pulling back to throw on sweats and a tank top. He’d get more details out of the AIs while cooking and fill Steve in on them. Once Tony was up to fill in the extra blanks, they were going to feed him, medicate him, cuddle the ever-lovin’ hell out of him, and make him sleep for another day.

“Going to hit the showers,” Steve leans down, noses at Jim’s jugular.

“Mmhm. I’ll have something fer ya ta eat when ya get out, babe.” Jim just tilts his head enough to allow the touch.

“Still worried too much about me, Barnes. Gonna make ya old before your time,” is a gentle tease, Steve sliding into the old accent when he feels particularly warm.

“Stop doing dumb shit then,” Jim snarks back, not even raising his head.

“Really?” And one broad hand goes up, fast and sharp, comes back down with feeling, aiming for Jim’s right ass cheek, the sound muffled through his sweats, and dammit if he doesn’t have to bite his lip to keep from yelping.

Smart, but Steve is already through the bathroom door, doing a little snickering of his own.

Rubbing the spot, Jim sneers at the closed door, but leans over and presses a few kisses to Tony’s forehead and jaw line without even making the mechanic twitch. Once he was awake, at least somewhat, and they got all the details on how do we take better care of you?, Jim will make sure he eats plenty, takes more medicine, and gets better.

After years of making Steve toe the line, Jim Barnes already has a plan.

A noise makes him come to blearily, an itch of panic takes hold. His body works even if his mind hasn’t caught up, legs and hands moving to try and stave off a blow to the—

Broad hand cups the back of his neck, pulls him into a familiar chest where a strong, clear heartbeat sounds like good things.

A hand in his hair, being gentle with nails scratching lightly.

Circles on his back made by a hand without any give.

“—oughta just give her a call, babe. It’s Cho, right?”

“Pretty sure. Don’t think she’ll tell me a whole lot—“

“Aw, Stevie. Like she can resist Captain America?”

Lips on his forehead, warm and just so nice.

“Spiking again?”

“Yeah. Need to try and get some food in him. I don’t like how light he feels.”

“I’ll get a bowl, get Sugar Pie to order us some raw ingredients, make ‘im a couplea good meals. Maybe if he eats, we can get some details on the arc breach.”

“You ask. He gets all weak when you give ‘em that look, Buck.”

“Who ya kidding? You get the same way.”

“…That’s…that’s so true—“

“A’course it is, punk. Just makes ya all the more susceptible ta my charms,” and a soft noise, lips touching, gentle hums.

Consciousness is here, and here to stay (for the moment), and he feels even more like ass when his brain finally catches up with the rest of his synapsis.

The pressure in his chest and sinuses, the ache in his joints, the cold feeling down to his bones, all big flashing signs of reactor breach.

Dammit. One of the unfortunate side effects of having a magnet in one’s chest—getting sick is usually worse than the normal garden variety.

“Hey, hey,” is Steve’s soft voice admonishing when Tony makes the attempt to get up, “don’t gotta move ‘til Buck gets back with some soup, Tony.” And those hands pulling him in just that much closer, do an excellent job of thwarting his well-meaning motion to get up and get back to the workshop.

He rambles, still muddled, about the list of things waiting for him, eyes already falling half-mast because Steve is just always so warm and comfortable, and there’s this perfect place on the shoulder/ collar bone so his ear doesn’t hurt, and he can smell Steve’s aftershave and fresh, clean skin.

“Nope, not happening, Shellhead. No workshop for you.”

The ensuing conversation might have some placating or some justification, but the Captain obviously ignores him, all for keeping a hand in his hair and the other around his back, keeping him completely weak and helpless and—

“Startin’ ta come around, doll face?”

“Work.” Is his slurred return reply because Jim would understand. Things needed to get done and if Tony’s down for any amount of time, who would—

“Ya ain’t going nowhere, Mr. Stark. Already had a word with Pep and One-Eye. Nothing gonna be needed ‘til ya fever’s down.”

Shit. Usually having at least one of them on his side means winning, but it’s really a moot point because he’s getting tired just from being awake and makes a questioning noise while his eyes slip closer and closer to good night.

And the feel of Jim’s warmth against his back again, the other soldier turning him with gentle hold, maneuvering Tony to be laying on Jim’s chest instead of Steve’s. Something warm close to his face, metal arm pressing around him—

“Open up, doll. Slaved over a hot stove ta feed my poor fella.”

And Jim smells absurdly good too, recently showered and shaved (and no fair his brain taunts him, missed the communal shower—saving water and all that), enough that he hums in appreciation and sighs in contentment.

Home. They’re both home—

“S’good ta be home,” is said softly against his mouth while Jim noses at his cheek.

“Missed you two, worried—”

Jim half-hums, half-laughs, and his eyes are that soft kind of gray, one that means he’s happy and safe and—

“Yer a good boyfriend, Tony. Gotta heart and all that. C’mon an open up fer me, yeah?”

When his mouth opens next, something good and warm is spooned in, and he swallows on instinct even if his throat is sore and scratchy. If he was just a little more on the up-and-up, this might be mortifying, being hand-fed like he was helpless. But Jim is relaxed while he focuses on the task, making soft humming noises in his chest, and Steve is right beside him against the headboard, running a hand through Tony’s hair and checking his forehead at intervals.

They talk softly and fondly, mission details he picks up between a spoonful of soup or a drink of water, his mind fuzzy with their presence and the medicine Jim made him take.

And since he’s lying in the tangle of their bodies, being fed, held, and oddly pampered, well, the usual urgency fades down to mild irritation, an itch of creation and completion. But the warm broth, fresh vegetables, noodles, and spices sliding into his stomach rules out the itch just as sure as Steve’s hands and low tone vibrating against Tony’s back and Bucky’s gentle laugh and equally gentle scolding.

*This phrase was really one Tony gave Steve in the comics. Lol, just because Tony couldn’t remember his own birthday.

Sad Anon: JLA Posthumous Award

Just throwing this out there: Tim Drake, AKA Red Robin (or whatever alias he was going at that time given his split from the Batfam), is posthumously and unanimously inducted into the Justice League. This could be after he dies during the multidimensional counterattack in the Fractured Destroyed universe/timeline, or some other verse where Tim dies in the line of duty away separate and away from the Batfam.

Tim is remembered as a Robin of legend among the Titans and the JL at large, but the Batfam struggles with their regrets for the rest of their lives. (I might be a little vindictive on Tim's behalf.)

Ah, I did something similar to this one time because SUFFER BATS! Lol, but I’ll give it another go for you, babe, okay?

Outside the Hall of Justice, the Batman steps out into the early morning quiet. Flanking him, the other founding members follow silently, solemnly. They stay with him, close, as he lowers each flag to half-mast.

The nameplate is added to the wall, below the original seven.

For the ceremony, the Titans accept the award, something to hang in their own remembrance hall. They all wear a yellow bandana (red, gold, and green was the OG Rob) tied around a bicep.

Kon-El and Kid Flash are turned slightly, trying to hide wet eyes and trembling forearms, trying to be the epitome of super and hide their mortal weaknesses.

Superman follows the group away and wastes no time in pulling his sidekick right into his chest to hold on, talking softly against the teenager’s ear—how sorry he is, how much Red will be missed, how he’ll be here for Superboy anytime, anytime.

It’s not the first time the hero has ever taken his “clone” (reads as son) into an embrace, given him desperately needed comfort, but it’s still not an easy thing, stiff and awkward, but Superman can’t help it. Some inner instinct drives him forward, wraps his arms around the younger man to just try. When Kon-El allows it, slumps to let the older hero take his weight, to let the pain and recriminations (where were we when he was bleeding out on the battlefield? Why didn’t I hear his heart slowing, stopping, until it was too late?) overcome him, Superman just picks him, carries him like a child while rubbing circles on his back and making soothing noises in the base of his chest where he can.

It’s a crucial moment that shows him how remiss he’s been—the moment he swears Kon-El, Conner, won’t be left alone without a safety net again.

The rest of the Titans disburse before the service is over—BB and Rave leave go back to their own little apartment in the Village to hold one another and remember the bird, their bird. Bunker will be taking some time off, to remember what it is he’s fighting for, or so he tells Cassie before he leaves, back to El Chilar and the man he left behind. If anything, Miguel has learned to cherish what he has while he has it.

Wonder Woman goes for Wonder Girl, making certain she puts a gentle hand to Bruce’s shoulder first, gives him a squeeze, just before she wraps an arm around the floundering teenager and flies.

A small inlet off the coast, a place where they once trained together, where Cassie Sandsmark was first given the lasso and bracelets, was taught how to use them, she tells all the stories, hands shoved in her thick hair, weeping while she recounts the best times, tries to burn them in her memory. It’s Diana that holds on to her, making supportive noises, laughing when necessary, her eyes wet and heavy with the terrible ones. And when the sun sets, when night picks up a peaceful pace in the rhythm of the sea, Cassie feels like she can breathe again without pain.

Without a word, Kid Flash runs. He runs like the world is ending. He runs like the Speed Force is going to suck the life out of him. He runs like he’s trying to escape the future. He runs until he’s screaming.

The Flash finds him in the Swiss Alps, bent over in the snow, tearing himself apart, ripping his uniform because he just wasn’t fast enough. And the older speedster knows what it’s like to bury someone you love that much—someone that would walk with you from one fight to the next, one catastrophe after another, someone that would step out in front of the fatal shot to save you. Someone that knew you, not the mask. And that’s why he doesn’t let Kid, his little bro, fight him on it. It’s why he breaks off from the JLA, lets the rest of them see to the obviously grieving Batman, follows no matter how far or how fast. It’s why he refuses to let Kid push him away, convince him all good, nothing to see here, it’s why he just sits his ass down in the snow and grips the smaller speedster tight, tucking the smaller boy into the shelter of his body to shake apart, to scream, to rip himself apart at the seams.

The bravest thing he’s done all day—is to keep holding on.

Flanked by superheroes on all sides, Ra’s al Ghul steps up to the podium, dressed in the colors of mourning.

The immortal speaks briefly on the character of the Red Robin, to agree his membership is long overdue. There is no mention of the Council of Spiders, the Widower that ended his life. The undertone, the he died alone in the desert while the rest of you moved on, is certainly there.

Slyly, he laments the loss of a great detective, one that would have fit among the ranks of the League of Assassins with such ease, and turns just enough to catch the Batman’s shadowed figure, offering his condolences for yet another dead bird.

From the audience of mourners, O makes a note to put cameras up around the sparse span of ground where Red would be buried in his civilian identity. Best not to give Ra’s the opportunity, he already has plenty of motive.

Beside her, Batgirl and the Black Bat look pale and worn against the darkness of their masks and suits, even with the whiteouts, O is aware Batgirl has been crying since she heard the news. Of course, didn’t they all have their regrets? Batgirl certainly for the deceptions and betrayal, the broken friendship and lost respect. And O knows the next few weeks, few months, few years are going to be full of the should’ve, could’ves in respect to keeping up with the former Robin, that maybe a phone call, an attempt to catch up, an attempt to get back into his life, no matter how miniscule, some level of effort on the part of the Bats could have made all the difference.

None of them would have felt like he wouldn’t want them to be here.

All his arrangements had been made, his final wishes come through lawyers not associated with Wayne Enterprises. The instructions were short, and obviously never meant to be seen by anyone in the cape and cowl crew. Just a simple coffin already purchased, an ordinary blue suit and white shirt, a generic headstone with his full name and the dates. O and Agent A are the ones who went to see the stone the day after when B was falling apart, down in the Cave, stripped of the Batsuit, and working the punching bag until Superman finally gave in, came to Gotham, and restrained the Bat in his massive arms, forced him to stop trying to work through the pain with more pain.

O and Agent A let the two heroes have their privacy so one of the few people on the planet Bruce would actually yield to at time could get through self-destructive rage.

Instead, they found themselves on the outskirts of Gotham, a husked-out neighborhood, staring down at the stark engraving, and O could keep it together, did so in fact, for N if nothing else. She prides herself on the ability to keep moving despite all the wrongness of the world, the burdens it wrought upon her, prides herself on the distribution of strength—until she and Agent A realize the only other markings on the stone is a small picture in the lower corner.

A robin.

When she cries, Agent A kneels down with old, creaky knees, wraps his arms around her shoulders, and holds on.

In this moment, with the JLA inducting Red Robin into their ranks, to honor his deeds and sacrifices, O is the one with both arms around Batgirl’s shoulders to keep the teenager grounded, to try and give her some much needed strength. Since Nightwing and the Red Hood refuse to let anyone comfort them, to let anyone near them, this is the best she can do.

One week

Robin stands in front of the glass case, staring at the familiar (and yet not) suit displayed. It’s the first one Drake wore during his time in the tunic—red, gold, and green instead of the strict red and black Robin recognized, one that signaled his predecessor’s downfall, when Drake’s Robin lost the vestiges of innocence, of light that previously embodied the Robin mantle, even after the years of fighting the worst, most twisted criminals on the planet. As he learned later, the red and black suit was meant to be the colors of remembrance when really it signaled something in his predecessor breaking open wide.

It is little wonder Father chose this suit to display. To remember Drake as he was before.

And his eyes take in the details, the shuriken R, the laces over the chest, the nearly imperceptible broken stitches to create hidden pockets; he catches the glint off the ring added to the memorial—the same ring Father wore on occasion, the entire obvious one with JLA in a circle.

He had said the appropriate words during the ceremony: a good soldier. He knew the risks and died bravely. The epitome of a positive demise.

He said the right things Robin would have said about anyone in their ranks.

And yet, he has been in the Cave for hours, staring at this suit.

Father is finally sleeping, the alien apparently successful in pinning him down long enough to let his eyes close for longer than a few moments—to put his grief on hold. Grayson is in the wind, Todd chasing after him all over the country probably. Cain remains in residence, seemingly in no hurry to return to Hong Kong.

The three of them, him, Brown, and Cain, patrolled tonight, planned on where to meet up tomorrow.

Like him, like Father and Grayson and Todd, they show how deeply they mourning by fighting, trying to drown out the emotional pain with physical. The least he can do is be there should the situation become dangerous for them, to try and do his best to protect them, these two Drake cared about so deeply.

He’d played Pennyworth’s role in a safehouse close to the Wallstone apartments when dawn was but a few hours away, patching up the road rash on Brown’s arm up to the shoulder, making Cain wiggle her fingers while he bandaged her bloody knuckles.

When they parted ways, Cain followed Brown back to her own haven, and he returned to the Cave, his own meager injuries notwithstanding.

Rather, it is here, in front of the display where Pennyworth brought him tea and toast, informing him Father was out cold and Kent still in residence. Summer is here and no school to attend, so Pennyworth left him to his thoughts while he stares up at the colors of remembrance.

Nightwing has shaken off the Red Hood off his trail twice while he fights his way through Detroit’s seedy underground. He’s in the same suit he’s put on for days, clean, but ripped up and worn, an obvious I don’t give a fuck, I’ll still break you.

The fight tonight is a good one, constant to keep his mind from taking a stroll other places. A lot of guns and knives to keep him on the move, a lot of strong players with righteous left hooks or upper cuts, guys in fight clubs that earn the real cash. It makes the vigilante that much more vindicated when bone crunches under his fist, his boot, when blood arcs wildly, when he takes a few good ones himself.

It’s pain he needs.

And the ghosts follow him when he moves to the next hot spot, only a duffle of belongings for the trip. The next BI safe house is outfitted with the usual gadgets and first aid; he wraps his bad knee and ignores the laptop, the comm link, and anything else that would let O trace him. Instead, he drinks water while standing at the kitchen sink, staring out into the daytime like it’s a curse—he needs nightfall, he needs the dark and the shadows to twist and bend around him (Batman). He needs the fight and all the broken skin that goes right along with it.

It’s the only thing that can stop him from seeing Ra’s al Ghul walking into the Cave holding Tim’s body in his arms, close against his chest.

It’s the only thing that can stop him from screaming until his throat rips and his ribs creak, until his lungs tear, until he can forget the feeling of cradling Tim’s cold, stiff body, of the matted blood around the fatal wound. It’s the only thing that can cover up the recriminations and regrets, the where-were-yous and how-could-you-have-let-this-happen-agains. It lets him get out of the endless loop of reliving the last time they’d spoken in person, when he’d given Damian the Robin mantel without Tim’s knowledge, when he let Tim leave Gotham alone.

In the broken mirror of the shoddy bathroom, his upper body is a roadmap of bruises and contusions, half-assed sewn-up lacerations; he peels the falling apart gauze pads off, ignores the old blood, and gets in a weak shower of cold water, his eyes falling half-mast while the water washes over him.

And it’s just like that moment when he’d taken Tim’s body from Ra’s, fallen to his knees, and laid his cheek against Tim’s to cry, it’s pain and regret, cold and terribly hollow.

It’s a place he expects to be for a while.

One year

Ra’s al Ghul is not normally one for anniversaries. In his extensive lifetime, he’s had many moment, dates, he could celebrate, and all those instances would fill a year ten fold.

Rather, he is a man to celebrate accomplishments. The ones in need to careful planning, time, care, those are the ones he chooses to remember.

This will be one of those.

“Demon’s Head,” one of his soldiers bows low, “we are ready at your will.”

“Excellent,” said absently while he raises a hand to the large, wooden box sitting on a stone slab, the usual eerie green glow reflecting off the dark wood. “Prepare the platform.”

His people do as instructed, working to bring the descending platform level. When the Demon’s Head is pleased with the results, he gives a simple nod to continue.

The box is loaded on the platform by four more soldiers, centered perfectly.

“As I once said to your mentor,” he begins casually, “true greatness cannot be learned or acquired. It cannot be made. It must be bred.” The platform rises steadily, pulled by a soldier at either fulcrum points, and Ra’s eyes follow the progression intently. “Those in this world with the genetics are the ones bound to save it.”

Carefully, the platform moves, follows the track until it looms over the suspicious body of liquid. “I had planned to wait as long as necessary. Until you were older, mature, until you understood the real way the world must work and why the balances of power must be occasionally tipped.”

He sighs a little wistfully for those days, for better days.

“The unforeseeable circumstances almost foiled all of my carefully laid plans, plans to tip the balance. Plans that hinge—on you.”

The platform comes to the end of the track and sways just slightly, alarmingly. An ominous click begins a slow descent.

“But we can still have our day, can’t we? You will still save the world. At my side, we will be unstoppable. Where I have failed with others, I will not fail again with you.”

And the platform starts to sink into the turgid green waters, the box sinking with it.

“We shall have our day, won’t we, Timothy?”

Thank-you for following and reading! I’ll post Part II when I get them done, lol

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