Pairing: villain!Adam Warlock x guardian!gn reader
Word Count: 995
This fic contains: some dark themes, abduction, reader is captive, corruption, evil arc, reader has some insecurities, unbeta'd writing
Summary: You are more than a guardian of the galaxy in Adam's eyes.
Notes: I said I missed writing for Adam so I said yolo and revisited a WIP I thought I had abandoned long ago. It's way different than what I originally planned but it'll do for now. Who knows I might write a part 2 with a little extra something something ;) This is my submission for @flashfictionfridayofficial, who I would like to shoutout for sparking inspiration back into my little brain :)
Your eyes fluttered open to what looked like a dungeon cell. As you gained consciousness, you struggled to remember what happened before you blacked out. All you could recall was fighting alongside the guardians of the galaxy. The reason behind the mission was foggy, along with who exactly you were supposed to defeat.
Upon realizing your friends were nowhere to be found, anxiety rushed through your system as you tried to stand and run. However, you failed to move further than a meter as the chains around your wrists sent you crashing to the floor. You winced in pain as the metal tugged your skin.
An ominous chuckle echoed in the room, yet you could not locate the source of the eerie sound. Your head whipped around the room until footsteps against the cobble approached you.
“Who’s there?” You yelled into the void. A tall man with pure golden skin and wispy blond hair emerged from the dark side of the room. You gasped as your eyes set upon a gem in the middle of his forehead. In fact, it was a stone. A stone you and your fellow guardians were awfully familiar with.
The soul stone.
Almost as quick as the snap that blipped your friends away, you immediately realized who you were up against.
Adam Warlock. The perfect man from space created to destroy the guardians of the galaxy.
“What am I doing here? Where are my friends?” You interrogated, masking your fear with an angry voice.
“No need to worry, my little one,” Adam answered. “Those idiots you call your friends are where you and I last saw them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are on their way to find you. Some heroes they would be.”
Goosebumps pricked your skin at Adam’s pet name for you. Then, your stomach flipped as you worried about the safety of the other guardians.
Were they really out there looking for you? The whole reason your team had been roaming the galaxy was in search of Gamora. Unlike you, Gamora was a stronger and more skilled fighter. Not to mention, Peter was still madly in love with her and refused to stop searching until she was found. You were intelligent, in fact, the most intelligent of the group. Hence, why you felt like an outcast most of the time, but maybe just this one time, you were wrong.
What really plagued your mind was what drove Adam Warlock to keep you of all the guardians as his prisoner.
“You kidnapped me? Why?”
The golden man laughed, kneeling to your level on the ground. “You know, I always pegged you as the smart one of the guardians.”
You cocked a condescending smile. “Perhaps their stupidity rubbed off on me.”
Adam matched your snarky smile. “My main purpose may be to destroy you and your beloved friends, but I realized there is more to my being than death and destruction.” His gloved finger lifted your chin up so you were forced to gaze into his eyes. The gesture made your breath falter as his eyes pierced your soul.
“I may be powerful, but I am also lonely. I have desired a mate since my birth and when I was fighting you and those morons on Knowhere, I was instantly drawn to you.”
You wanted to be infuriated, disgusted even, by his statement. Yet, your body betrayed you as your cheeks warmed up and you arched your back away from the wall. This made Adam’s grin grow wider.
“As smart as you are, you’re not very strong. It was very easy to use my powers against you and make you crumble to your knees. And there is no doubt why.” Adam leaned closer to you.
“Your mind and heart are wounded. You loved and lost so many that you latched onto others who are as broken as you are. You hide your emotions to avoid getting hurt again. You’re just like me, little one. You’re lonely. But don’t mind that anymore, I can fix all that. Be my mate, and you will never have to be hurt or lonely again.”
You conjured all of your strength to swing a punch at his face, yet the chains ricocheted your fist back. A frustrated huff escaped your nostrils as your muscles strained from the attempted attack.
“You know, for someone who was born yesterday, you sure know how to woo a lady. But I’ll have you know, I am not broken.”
The same gloves hand smoothed over your face and down your neck, chills following his touch.
“You can stop lying to yourself, little one. I may have been born yesterday, but even the dumbest creature to plague this galaxy can spot a broken soul.” Now, Adam’s face was only inches away from yours. His hot breath fanned over your lips as if hypnotizing you to close the space between you and him.
All of a sudden, the shackles released from your wrists. Yet, you were unphased by your freedom. You should have knocked Adam to the ground and fled the scene before you could get killed. Instead, you gazed into Adam’s eyes, who extended his hand towards you.
“Take my hand. You will never have to experience pain ever again with me.” You found yourself succumbing to his touch, his voice, and his offer. Yet, at the back of your conscience, you thought about the guardians. How hurt they would be to learn that you chose to side with your enemy. All that time becoming a family with them just for it to go to waste. Your mind became fuzzy from this internal conflict.
“So, what’s it gonna be, little one?”
Your once chained hand interlocked with Adam’s. It felt so natural, and you wondered if you were destined to be the villain. As his plush lips engulfed yours, the darkness clouded your judgment.
If being bound to the villain was wrong, you never wanted to be right again.
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As a toddler Mycroft Holmes’ parents understood he was not fond of touch. He especially did not like to have his hands held. He constantly tried to have something in at least one hand to have a reason not to touch or be touch beyond necessities.
A repair was needed to a fence in back acreage. Now a curious aged seven, Mycroft followed his father and the groundskeeper across their land. Accustomed to the young boy’s presence, neither thought anything of it as they hopped random stones to cross the wide creek. Mycroft easily hopped the first few stones, but nearly slipped into the water with his last attempt. He realized his young legs were not a match for the length of the adult men. It was not deep water, but it was nearing winter and he did not want to fall.
“Da!” Mycroft, carefully balanced on a stone, called to his father.
Mr. Holmes turned in surprise at his very independent son until he understood the problem. He reached out, Take my hand.
Mycroft reluctantly put his hand out, the chagrin of having to do so evident, even on his young face.
----
Mummy heard when the front door slammed. Her husband was about to yell when she held up a hand as two sets of footsteps ran up the stairs.
“Sherlock. Leave. Me. The hell. ALONE!” was bellowed from upstairs.
The insulting tones of a younger brother, who knew a lot- but not yet enough, followed.
“Of course he’s mad, you’re stupid! You kissed him; I saw it! And with your tongue in his mouth? Nasty! That’s why he hit you!”
Mummy was on her way up when something heavy in Mycroft’s room hit the floor and shattered.
“Sherlock! Go downstairs and help your father.”
“But Mummy…”
“Now, Sherlock.”
She entered the bedroom, closed the door gently behind her and carefully stepped around the shattered CRT monitor on the floor. Mycroft laid with his back to the door. He curled further in on himself, but did not otherwise acknowledge her. Still, she knew he was aware of her presence. She silently sat on the edge of the bed and waited.
“I didn't know it could hurt so much…” a muffled voice sniffled.
“Unfortunately, the first one almost always does, son.”
“There will not be another,” a broken voice snarled.
She had known it was going to end badly with her son and the closeted boy, but some things cannot be avoided in life, and one’s very first heartbreak was at the top of the list. Her own heart broke as Mycroft sobbed into his pillow.
Knowing he would never ask, after a while she simply put an open palm beside him. Take my hand.
She knew he would know it is there. Moments later an awkward hand silently reached out, his fingers barely touching hers.
----
Hands on his umbrella, Mycroft said nothing as his -no longer a baby- brother’s Red rimmed verdigris eyes slowly fluttered open and tracked the hospital room until they met his.
“How…?” Sherlock’s baritone, a raspy shadow of its normally mellifluous self. He groaned as he tried to sit up.
“Why ask questions you know the answer to, Sherlock?”
Mycroft had flicked his eyes away, but knew Sherlock caught his wince. The beating had been brutal. Sherlock had deleted the details of how they got there from himself, but Mycroft dig not need Sherlock to tell him; he had already deduced it.
“This OD was accidental, a miscalculation…”
“Miscalcu-!” Mycroft nearly thundered before he stopped himself. The sudden silence, was one thing, but nothing could have prepared Mycroft for the tears that slipped from his own eyes. “Promise me, Sherlock.” Mycroft angrily wiped them away, “Promise you won’t do this again…” Mycroft’s voice broke piteously. “Please?”
Sherlock placed his hand on the guard rail near him.
Mycroft knew it was not a promise to stop, but silently asking: should he fall, again, would Mycroft be there.
Sherlock’s hand lingered there for a while silently begging, Take my hand.
Only when it seemed Sherlock was about to pull away, did Mycroft lay his hand over Sherlock’s.
“I’ll always be there for you.”
----
It was less than two hours since his parents left his office after a tongue lashing that Mycroft had not been privy to since A Levels. It helped to know Sherlock did not hate him for the keeping the secret of their little sister all that time. Still, his parents’ words had stung. With Sherlock taking their parents back home and Anthea still at Sherrinford straightening the mess left in Eurus’ wake; for the first time in a long time, Mycroft felt utterly and completely alone.
Even more so than when he woke up trapped in Eurus’ old cell.
He had sat on the floor because Eurus had destroyed the bed taking away the only comfort in that space. The floor was cold and he was not exactly young anymore. He was grateful when rescue arrived in the form of Greg Lestrade.
“Here.” Greg offered to help when Mycroft’s cold stiffened bones protested rising.
“I’m fine.” Mycroft used the bedframe to pull himself up.
“You're not alone, just so you know.” Greg had sighed as they walked out.
At the time Mycroft thought Greg referred to the eyes and ears that were always in that room.
Mycroft told Anthea she could go home and he was on his way home himself.
Somehow, he wound up in the carpark of NSY instead.
He does not know who, if anyone, told Greg he was there. He was just grateful when the man acknowledged his driver, then quietly slid into the backseat next to him.
Greg said nothing as the car pulled into traffic; just his presence was enough to chase the demons away.
Only then did Mycroft understand what Greg had truly meant that night.
“I’m not alone, Greg.” Mycroft laid his hand on the seat between them, the tip of his pinky grazed along Greg’s then stilled. “I know that now.”
Understandably unsure, Greg tentatively slid his hand closer so that their respective pinkies fully touched, but nothing more.
“And just so you know; neither are you.” Mycroft turned his palm up on the seat in offering, Take my hand.
“I know that now.” Greg smiled as he slowly slid his hand over Mycroft’s and grasped it.
This was supposed to be a @flashfictionfridayofficial , but I was a bit late and got my timezones mixed up, and then the word count went over and... well here it is anyway.
Or read it on AO3 here.
Also tagging @tagloveandthunderbirds 'cos ❤️
Fandom: Thunderbirds/Thunderbirds are Go
Word count: 1048
Warnings: feet/shoes
---------------
“You ready to do this, Sweetheart?”
Lucy took her time smoothing down the front of her dress, purposely not looking at the empty dance floor yawning in front of her.
“Are you? You know dancing isn't exactly my forte; a first dance in front of all these people just seems like asking for trouble." She shuffled in her chair. "Are trampled feet covered by the wedding insurance?”
Jeff snickered. “I checked the policy just before I came over here. We’re all set.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. But I’m wearing heels, don't forget; it's going to be like Bambi on Ice out there.”
He shrugged.
“Well I did suggest the hiking boots instead, but you shot me down; something about ‘the aesthetic’. Which looks stunning on you, by the way.”
He stood back to better take her in, grinning appreciatively.
“Last time I make that mistake,” she muttered, waving away the compliment. “Given ‘the aesthetic’ is currently cutting off the circulation to my pinkie toe, respectfully ‘the aesthetic’ can go jump in a lake.”
She mentally cursed the salesperson who’d talked her into putting fashion ahead of comfort.
Concern flashed across Jeff’s handsome face. “Are they really hurting you, honey? We can get you other shoes.”
She smiled up at him reassuringly. “No really, I’m exaggerating …sort of. They just kinda pinch, that's all.”
If she was totally honest with herself, it wasn't even the salesperson’s fault, really. She’d been the one chasing a dream of being perfect and ladylike, even if it was only this once. Dammit, why was dressing up fancy so hard?!
Of course it didn't help that her new husband managed it so effortlessly. He was currently working ‘the aesthetic’ to within an inch of its life, cutting a very dashing figure in his elegant new grey suit and tie, dress shirt and shoes all perfectly matched and filled out perfectly.
Seriously, where did he get off being so good-looking?
She’d just wanted to appear worthy of him, that’s all. Jeff Tracy: ace pilot, hometown hero, handsomest guy in the county and a genuinely good man to boot. He was the prince, and just once she’d wanted to feel like she could be his match - a princess - instead of some awkward, clutzy science nerd who’d somehow managed to win the husband lottery.
She sighed. Clearly that wasn't to be.
There was a pause, then without another word her very handsome husband - God, he really did look good in that suit - knelt down in front of her and took one of her feet gently in his hands. He examined the delicate and uncharacteristically high-heeled white shoe with utmost seriousness, before removing it and flinging it across the room.
“Jeff!”
Lucy felt her face burst into flames as a roomful of eyes turned towards them.
“What? Doesn't that feel better?”
In all fairness it absolutely did. She wiggled her newly-released toes appreciatively even as she fought the urge to hide underneath the table.
“You can't just go throwing shoes around. You’re making a scene.”
He stopped and looked at her, ignoring the rest of the room, then slowly and deliberately reached out and took hold of her other foot.
“I want to enjoy a dance with my beautiful new wife, and if these admittedly pretty little shoes are getting in the way of that…”
The second shoe flew over his shoulder, just missing a nearby waiter.
“...then they’ve gotta go.”
The room was hushed; everyone was looking at them. Part of her wanted to run and hide in the coatroom until they’d all gone, but he was holding her gaze, keeping her steady.
“I don't want anything getting between me and the most amazing, beautiful, perfect person I ever saw, ever again.”
He rose gracefully to his feet and held out his hand to her.
“So how about it? May I have this dance?”
…
It was late spring and the cicadas were singing. Airbase staff were bustling all around, knocking into her, sending papers flying everywhere. She knelt down to pick them up, and suddenly there was a hand in front of her.
“Can I give you a hand, Miss?”
…
It was fall, and the trees around them were every shade of red. They’d talked about everything and nothing, walking side by side, until he stopped and reached out to her.
“Would it be alright if I held your hand?”
…
It was winter and the snow was falling softly. His ice skates made long swooshing noises on the ice around her, while hers clacked noisily as she tried and failed to keep her footing. Another swoosh and then he was there in front of her, hand extended.
“Okay, so not my best idea. How about we go get a hot chocolate instead? My treat?”
…
It was the last days of summer, and the clear water of the lake lapped at her toes. She’d never felt so happy in her life. A perfect day. Beside her she felt him shift nervously, and then he was holding his hand out, a little red box in it, one knee on the ground.
“I’ve got a question I wanna ask…”
…
Her head flooded with the memories of a hundred moments, small and huge, all of them important. A hundred images of him offering his hand, and at last she understood.
He'd reached out for her.
She was the one. And she was worthy, just as she was.
Smiling, she accepted the offered hand.
“Of course you may, Mr Tracy.”
He grinned and bowed. “Why thankyou, Mrs Tracy.”
She rose and he led her, barefoot and spotlit, to the dance floor without a care in the world. Keeping her hand in his, he wrapped his other arm around her waist, enveloping her like a delicate, precious treasure, safe and protected. Their eyes met and he beamed at her like his face was made of actual sunshine.
She grinned back at him.
“You’re sure about that wedding insurance now? Last chance.”
“Don’t you worry about my toes, darlin’. Just keep a hold of me and we’ll do fine.”
And with that the band struck up an old favourite, and hand-in-hand they danced the night away.
One of the many things John loved about their relationship, was when Sherlock read aloud to him.
That voice!
It reminded John of black and lush velvet. Elegant, posh, exquisite. Just like the man himself. Sherlock scoffed of course when John mentioned it.
“Don’t be ridiculous, John! You can’t compare a baritone voice with fabric. And no, I’m not going to read the phone book to you to prove that you’ll enjoy that just as much as poetry and novels.”
John just smiled lovingly, utterly besotted with this gorgeous man, now sharing his bed. Their bed. He interlaced his fingers with Sherlock’s and squeezed.
“What do you have for us tonight, then?” John asked.
“Poetry. Unknown author. Anonymous,” Sherlock answered.
Was his voice shaking slightly?
“Alright. I’m all ears,” John said and made himself comfortable against the pillows, still holding Sherlock’s hand.
“It’s called Take my hand,” Sherlock murmured before he cleared his throat and started to recite the poem in question.
I am leading you along a dangerous path but you always follow
Your courage is my safety net
No matter how deep I fall, you’re there to catch me
Never allowing me to hit the ground
The sun never shines as bright as you do
When you are guiding me with your glow
I know I will get it the right
My conductor of light
Come, take my hand, be mine
Because I would be lost without you
John didn’t know when he’d started crying, or clenching Sherlock’s hand so hard it hurt.
“Sherlock,” was all he was able to utter, the lump in his throat was too thick and aching for anything else.
Sherlock looked down at him with an uncertain look and John couldn’t bear that look, so he lifted his other hand to stroke Sherlock’s cheek. Relief washed over that beloved face, and he bent down to catch John’s lips. The kiss was sweet, tender and John tried to convey all he was unable to say at this moment into that kiss. He knew Sherlock would feel it.
This is written for @flashfictionfridayofficial with the prompt #FFF238 Take my hand and for @fluffbruary February 2 prompt : engagement | scent | jam
—
Beware of manga spoilers for the latest chapter. This is exactly 1000 words. I was totally into it at the end. I hope the ending makes sense. Heh!
Toto takes a shot from his whiskey glass, easing himself up. It’s his turn to sing. The screen monitor shows the song that he’s chosen awhile back. The truth is his singing is only confined to the four corners of the flat and his shower cabin in Asakusa.
Ron mentioned once that his love for singing in the shower is one of the rare times when Toto lets himself go apart from his innate resoluteness. But come to think of it, Ron didn’t say much about the quality of his singing voice, Toto has only been just self-conscious ever since that incident that he never sings anymore whenever he stays at Ron’s apartment.
Who suggested going to the karaoke bar anyway? Ah, it was Kawasemi-san. Today is the last day that he’s going to be in town and coincidentally his birthday that for all intents and purposes, Dr. Mofu asked him what else he wanted to do in Tokyo before going back to Aichi.
They rent a private room at the Karaoke Kan in Shibuya. The shop became famous when it was featured in a Western film in the early 2000s about two Americans, who found each other amidst the backdrop very alien to them: from food to cultural references. The premises have become a Mecca for tourists.
The whole gang is here. Amamiya, who tags along these days, and Dr. Mofu didn’t have the time when they went to Kamakura for sightseeing two days ago. So, they made sure that they were present this time around before sending Kawasemi-kun back to Nagoya. The only one who’s missing is Spitz, who cannot leave London at the moment and is disgruntled with a dash of envy in his body when he finds out their plans.
“Ack, Tototo! I am going to miss your performance. Ron-kun says that he has a rock ‘n’ roll singer living in his house.” Toto laughed when he heard this.
Should Toto stand up?
An arm gathers around him, as if grounding him. While the hand holds his shoulder, firm and yet tender. Toto turns to his left; Ron’s blue eyes confront him. Relax.
“Y-yeah…” Toto has calmed down a bit.
The first notes of a raunchy electric guitar surge, he poses to belt out the text that flashes on the screen.
“I'm an alligator/ I'm a mama-papa comin' for you / I'm the space invader / I'll be a rock 'n' rollin' bitch for you / Keep your mouth shut … Keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe … Press your space face close to mine, love / Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah!”
His friends are fired up, hooting at the way Toto playfully sings a David Bowie song. Chikori-kun’s admiration skyrockets to 200 per cent. Her eyes scream of glowing stars. Kawasemi kun sings along. He knows it by heart and has been a Bowie fan. He’s so glad that Toto made a little research about him. Dr. Mofu’s face breaks into a giggle as she stops conversing with Amamiya, who cannot stop smiling. Toto, gyrating before her very eyes, has transformed into another person. And Ron? He’s looking at Toto with his hungry eyes, his hands won’t stop rubbing his thighs clothed in loose jeans. He then places his right hand into his pocket and reaches for a small box inside, feeling glad that he hasn’t lost the engagement ring.
You deserve all the good things in the world, Toto!
As the Tokyo police officer hits the end notes, Toto bows to the delight of his friends clapping and whistling on his way.
“Thank you so much!”
Ron hands him a glass of water and half-hugs him when he’s already seated.
“You did well, Toto!”
Toto mouths his thanks as he downs another glass when the next song starts to play. Chikori kun can’t stop herself from gushing when he notices that Ron stands up.
Oh, he’s next. Toto is darn curious now. He knows that Ron can sing really well as expected of him.
“Wise men say / Only fools rush in / But I can't help falling in love with you / Shall I stay? / Would it be a sin / If I can't help falling in love with you?”
All of a sudden, the whole room turns quiet. No one claps, nor whistles. As if a magician does his trick enchanting the audience. Everyone is glued watching Ron does his interpretation of a popular Elvis Presley song.
Toto is fastened on his seat, mouth agape. Ron is looking at him, his intentions are clear. His heart beats faster, aware of his surroundings and the four sets of eyes that are focused on them.
“Take my hand / Take my whole life, too / For I can't help falling in love with you…”
Ron sits next to Toto and seizes his hand. He begins to speak.
“I am glad that our friends are here to give me support and witness the promise I will say here today. Too bad that Spitz isn’t around but he already knows my plans.”
Toto’s face is red now not because of the alcohol but specifically because of Ron, who is in front of him, who is now removing an object from his pocket.
“Toto, I know that it is all so sudden. But, after all the things that happened between us, I believe that there is an understanding that we can’t live without each other and instead prepare to die together if we are faced with a choice, are you willing to be my partner for life? Will you marry me?”
Toto’s mouth quiver, why hasn’t he never thought that this day will come? Ah, that’s why he can never be as good as Ron when it comes to sleuthing.
He then grabs Ron’s face and in front of everyone kisses Ron, his fiancé. Without remorse nor embarrassment while their friends say their congratulations.
“So? You gonna come or not?” Iruka blurts to his friend when they meet up at lunch time.
Kakashi isn't quite sure what to make of this question. He doesn't recall talking with Iruka about going somewhere in their recent conversations—and he's pretty sure he didn't accidentally tune him out during any recent rambles, either. He looks at Iruka closely, trying to make heads or tails of it. Iruka is slowly turning red. His posture is getting stiff. And that scowl isn't the one he wears when he's angry, it's the one he wears when he's nervous. Kakashi bites the bullet.
“Where would we be going?” He asks.
Kakashi’s not sure how it's possible, but Iruka turns even redder. And face palms.
“Ummm, sorry. There's a fair in Senju Park this week. Mom said I can go tonight. And stay late, since I did so well on my last report card. So…” and Iruka takes a big breath in, “…do you want to come with me?”
This is unusual. Not the going out part, they do that all the time. This nervous, blushing, asking-in-person part, rather than a quick text.
“Would this be a date…?” Kakashi asks. And he's not sure how he feels about that.
Iruka goes from bright red to dead pale in an instant.
“N-n-n-no,” he stutters out. “Not— not—”
Yes, it was absolutely meant to be a date.
“Yes.”
💙🍦💜
They meet up at the park a few hours later. Kakashi spent more time than he wants to admit to trying to figure out what to wear. His dad laughed at him. Especially when, in the end, he wore the same basic clothes he usually wears—comfortable jeans, sneakers, tshirt, and comfortable hoodie, but the green one that Iruka likes, rather than the red one he was wearing at school today.
Iruka has changed, too. He's wearing Kakashi's favourite top—the one that shows off his forearms. And suddenly Kakashi realises that he's been looking at Iruka for a while. They've been friends for… well, almost ever. When did this happen? How did Kakashi not realise it before? Kakashi knows exactly how he feels about this now, and he is so, so happy now that Iruka was courageous enough to ask him out tonight.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
They stare at each other kind of awkwardly, which is bullshit because they've known each other forever.
“Shall we…?”
“Yeah.”
Iruka passes him a bright yellow wristband and leads him into the park.
Together they pick some rides to try. Iruka’s a bit of a daredevil, so he wants to go on the Drop of Doom and roller coaster immediately. Kakashi is somewhat less so, so he convinces Iruka that they should warm up with the Octopus and Monster rides, instead. Iruka agrees, and they laugh so hard and have so much fun that it breaks up any awkwardness remaining from their knowledge that this is a date. Kakashi feels really, really okay with that now.
💙🍦💜
An hour of rides later, Kakashi is more than ready for a break. Iruka reluctantly agrees, and they make their way to the food stands and carts that have been set up for the day. They find a truck they both like the look of and stand in line. A long line had to mean good food, right? Kakashi sure hopes so—he’s all about comfort in food and never ventures too far from his favourites.
Between them, the teens consumed one loaded chili dog, the greasiest hamburger Kakashi was sure he'd ever seen, a bucket of poutine, and a giant bear claw. Since the rides hadn't done him in, he is sure the food will. Then Iruka bounces up from the bench they've been resting on.
“There's one more place I want to check out!”
Kakashi isn't sure he can move yet, but he’ll try for Iruka.
“Let's go.”
Iruka helps haul him up from the bench, and Kakashi is surprised he can stand. And then surprised he can walk. He has no idea how Iruka is bouncing around the way he is—Kakashi is sure Iruka ate more than he did!
They meander through the crowd for a while, waving at the occasional classmate they see, but making no move to join any of them, when Kakashi sees the stand a little ways away and balks. It is an ice cream stand. The concept of ice cream now is okay, but this isn't just any ice cream. No, the Golden Scoop is the ice cream shop on the other side of Konoha that Iruka has wanted to try since they opened. Kakashi on the other hand…
The thing is, they make all these weird flavours, and they don't sell vanilla or chocolate at all.
Iruka turns around when he sees Kakashi isn't beside him any more.
“Are you okay, Kakashi?”
Kakashi doesn't want to ruin this for Iruka, but he's honestly not sure if he can make himself go over there. Curry Thai Chili ice cream just isn't something he can make himself eat…
“I don't think I can eat that,” Kakashi explains. “Why don't you go ahead? I'll wait here.”
“Are you too full?”
Iruka is offering him the perfect out, but Kakashi knows him, and if he takes it, then Iruka won't go.
Kakashi wants him to go—Iruka's been wanting to try the Scoop's ice cream for ages. He hesitates to answer. Long enough that Iruka notices. Kakashi watches his face light up with understanding.
“Oh. Oh!”
Iruka holds out his hand to Kakashi.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
Kakashi knows a trap when he hears one. Or, well, it would be a trap from anyone but Iruka.
“Yes.”
Iruka holds out his hand.
“Take my hand. I know they'll have something you'll like, too.”
Iruka is so sincere when he says it that Kakashi believes him. So he puts his hand in Iruka's and lets Iruka pull him toward the stand.
💙🍦💜
Iruka walks away with a double scoop cone with lobster and strawberry chive flavours. Kakashi ends up with extra virgin olive oil ice cream. Iruka was right, they did have something he likes.
They continue on wandering the fair, looking at the craft vendors, eating their ice cream, but now with fingers slotted together.
let's do the time warp thing 2 (whoops accidentally a followup)
@flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt for this week is "Take My Hand" -- which gave me more than a few ideas, but this is the one I decided to go with. Because reasons.
This ficprompt follows directly on from my fill for FFF prompt #217 (Portal Fiction), in which Link finds a mysterious stone in a secret chamber at the forgotten temple... and hits it with a sword, like you do.
If I get to the point of a part three, I'll have to find a title for this and port it to ao3. whoops.
--
"–Who are you," the kid demands again, trying to sound authoritative and failing, "and what were you doing down there?"
Link can do nothing but stare. The head of his drillshaft drops to the temple floor. The Rito child looks and sounds so much like the ghost of Champion Revali, but that can't be right. It has to be impossible. Or perhaps there's a simpler explanation. He doesn't know whether Champion Revali had any descendants, but –
"Are you listening to me?"
"Listening," Link murmurs, distracted. In the secret chamber below, the stone still hums – but he doesn't know how long it will stay active. The Slate isn't showing him the right time, even though he's back on the surface again. That rules out interference from the Sheikah tech as the reason why it failed. So why has it failed? What's up with this place? It's the same temple as the one he'd been exploring. But it doesn't look right. Apart from the missing Guardians – and that, at least, isn't something he's sorry about at all – there's altogether too much rubble around, and...
At the foot of one of the giant columns, Link spots the remains of a heaping midden. A monster camp had been here, if not terribly recently. Abandoned long enough that the stink has dissipated, but the ruins are hot and dry enough that the bones remain. Mushrooms have tried to sprout from the rot. They don't look safe to eat.
There wasn't any sign of a monster camp before. The haywire Guardians would have shot down a bokoblin party just as readily they fire on Link.
Same temple. Somehow different. How? How can this place be so different to the temple he was exploring not even a few hours ago, and yet look so similar?
He hefts the drillshaft and makes as if to step out into the cavernous temple; the kid snaps at him, "Hold it!"
Ah.
"Haven't your teachers told you not to aim where you don't intend to shoot?"
The kid bristles. "Who says I don't intend to shoot?"
Bluster, rather than a threat. The kid isn't quite old enough to appreciate quite what a statement like that needs to back it up. Revali would have shot him by now, questions be damned. Link's sure of that much.
And sure enough, the kid lets the bowstring go slack, replacing the arrow in its quiver, though not without aiming a thunderous glare at Link in its place.
"You're not a spy, are you?"
Why is that the first thing this kid thinks of...? Link shakes his head. The kid eyes him mistrustfully.
"Shake on it."
...Huh?
"That's what you Hylians do, right? If you won't shake, then you really are a spy."
What kind of twisted-up logic is that? More to the point, if the kid does suspect him of being some sort of enemy, why insist on a – handshake? Bringing a potentially dangerous person even closer to you is the furthest thing from sensible.
Except the kid's already got a wing outstretched. Left wing, naturally, because the right wing's grip on the bow hasn't slackened off at all. (Probably, Link thinks, in case he does turn out to be a spy.) Almost lethally overconfident, but...
Link lifts his left hand and takes the kid's wing with solemn ceremony. Even so, he can only really wrap his hand around the first pair of fingers, given the difference in their body shapes. It's enough to satisfy honour: the kid finally puts the bow away, and even makes a little half-hopping motion in place, like all previous suspicion has melted like a thaw.
...It's cute. And also a little worrying how quickly the kid went from clumsily threatening violence to making equally clumsy overtures of friendship. Link doesn't get it at all.
He doesn't have much opportunity to think about it. Now that he's deemed trustworthy enough to be allowed out of the tunnel entrance, Link can see far more of the temple. A piece of cloth catches his eye. It's a tarpaulin, Sheikah tan and red. Another thing different. He moves towards it. The kid follows him like a little shadow; the tallest tuft of feathers in that bright-blue crest barely reaches Link's shoulder.
Link has to put the drillshaft down to be able to navigate the ropes. He pulls the tarp away; what's underneath has him immediately reaching for a sword he isn't carrying. His heartbeat spikes. Swordless and not thinking clearly, he puts his arm in front of the kid like a futile shield --
"It's just a Guardian," the kid says, tugging Link's arm down. "Look, it's not even awake. They've been digging them up all over the place. Even here."
...Excavating Guardians. Yes, people used to do that, didn't they? But Link is used to the Guardians being dangerous. A horrible thought occurs to him and he blurts out, without thinking, "Have they dug up Vah Medoh?"
"...What's a medoh?" the kid asks, a note of confusion entering his voice, and Link has just enough time to think, 'oh', before –
– chime –
The first thing he registers is that Revali – the far too young Revali, who didn't know what Vah Medoh was – is gone.
So is the tarp, and the second thing he registers is the beeping, and the bright red target fixed on his chest.
Link grabs his shield and deflects the now-active Guardian's beam. The parried blast is enough to destroy it, though Link doesn't dare hang around to scavenge the pieces from the husk, because the noise has brought a half-dozen more eyes swivelling in search of him, bright blue cutting through the smoke and dust.
He grabs the drillshaft he'd dropped an eternity and scrambles for the Sheikah Slate, making a hasty retreat.
Later, as he makes camp half a continent away, he takes note of the drillshaft's condition: it's rusty, like it had lain abandoned in the temple for over a century.
wheeee first time in a while for some fic type stuff :))
@flashfictionfridayofficial
there’s a note, thrumming in the air, reverberating in miles’ throat, humming through his bones. he doesn’t know if it’s a “nice” note, to him, for him, struck amongst discord and a thousand arachnids crawling after him like a claustrophobic hallway in a horror movie—reaching, cacophonous, anxiety rushing with each pump of his heart, lactic acid clogging his muscles, fear and desperation as he scrambles, not running towards anything, just away from chains and the finality of being unable to stop—
miles can breathe.
his chest had been heaving for hours, slipping away by singing hairs and panicked breaths, but something tells him he can breathe, now, back pressed to a grimy brick wall in some forgotten part of who-knows-where, with a note dangling itself in front of hazy eyes. it’s a nice note, miles decides, as the sound of spiders recedes, the horror hallway falls away to the light at the end of it, and it drains his anxiety a little, soothes muscle and slows his heart by the barest of margins, but anything is better than constant adrenaline. miles blinks, hard, and rubs the backs of his hands against his head, willing the headache to stay away as he starts to calm, the nice note fading into the bustle of the city. not his, but all cities are the same, really. people shout, music blares, things drip, cats fight, something clatters, a late night snack dances in the air over the constant smell of trash, and cars rush by; something slimy is under his fingertips now, there’s a ruffling of feathers on the roof, pattering feet below, and—and someone starts playing the guitar.
miles doesn’t open his eyes at the new addition of sound—he’s in a residential area, someone’s window could be open—letting it soothe him, tune coming gentle but constant, bright notes lifting his spirit. then it starts getting closer, and miles’ eyelids fight him as exhaustion begs to pull him away, but he turns to look down each side of the stupidly (but thankfully) narrow alley, finding nothing and looking below then—
panic seizes him, tenses each molecule in his body and causes him to move away, ever so slightly towards the nearest end of the alley, eyes locked on the slow pace and almost lazy plucking of the other spider. it’s hobie, and while they helped him escape the HQ, miles can’t help but want to run now, ask questions never, flee at the nearest chance. then they pluck that nice note, and maybe it was to him, for him, a signal of alliance, hobie stopping just further than the reach of a swing of their guitar. miles has been running for so long, and maybe they were here to help.
hobie extends an arm, then splays the fingers of their hand, reaching out but not forcing, not ready to snatch and chain him, a small smirk on their face as miles narrows his eyes, hesitant. they stay like that, in the silence of a city, cigarette smoke blowing into the space between them as a gust pushes itself through the cracks in the walls, before hobie puts the hand down, a sigh and a small shake of their head following. miles can’t relax, but nothing is telling him to get out of dodge, so he opens his mouth, unsure what to say, really, unsure what to do, pressure in his chest like the stretching silence has let his tears start to build, before hobie speaks.
“gwendy’s waitin for you.” miles looks away, feeling hot tears spill at the reminder of gwen not telling him. “so’s pav, and some others— said they know you, said they’d help.” miles scoffs and starts to crawl away, almost positive he wouldn’t be followed. “oi—“
he hears the tell-tale thwip and he spins around, ready for an attack, but all that drops down is a cylinder, suspended with a web from hobie. miles looks up at them, and they look almost bored with what’s happening, but miles’ eyes are blurry and his head is pounding, so maybe that’s not right—inexplicably he grabs what’s offered, looking it over blindly before realising what it is. eyes wide, he looks up, now at hobie’s back, their arm up in a wave goodbye. “write your own story, man, but drop by 138 if you want help finishing it.”
they disappear over the edge to the roof, and miles launches upwards, bounding over to give chase now, desperation reclinging itself to the filling of his lungs so he doesn’t end up in some unrelated city in another dimension. once over the edge, hobie is standing there looking a little smug, a little relieved, grip tight as miles takes their hand, dialing their own makeshift-looking watch, then dragging the two of them through.
