#also fuck that vibranium sword it's so fucking stupid.

[ayrennaranaaldmeri]

this man is the nastiest skank bitch i’ve ever met. DO NOT TRUST HIM. he is a fugly slut

#this bitch has more plot armour #than a 14 y/o shounen protag that inexplicably and yet continuously wins fights against characters that are more experienced #and more powerful. #yes we're at the MISSION and we are not having a good time #fae plays the me:le #me:le spoilers #fuck kai leng all my homies hate kai leng #also fuck that vibranium sword it's so fucking stupid.

[timcbombs]

✕ — wasn’t that tabitha smith wandering the streets of new york, 1973? civilians know them as boom-boom and see them as a hero. as far as i know, the twenty-four year old stands with x-force, x-factor, & new mutants, and are rumoured to be pretty self-assured & recalcitrant. ( liz gillies / transfemale / she/her ) 

{ trigger warnings : emotional, physical, and sexual assault, alcohol, homophobia, transphobia  }

hey guys, sophia’s at it again lmao!!  here’s more about my second baby aka my trash!baby under the cut  

PT. 1: INTRODUCTORY INFORMATION // 

tabby doesnt really have any appearances outside of the mceu except for a handful of cartoon appearances 

so this rendition of her is gonna be entirely comic based

PT. 2: FROM TIME-BOMB TO BOOMER TO MELTDOWN TO BOOM-BOOM // 

okay so. tabby was an only child, raised in a trailer park in roanoke. her mom was never really in the picture and her dad was an abusive alcoholic nut job. tabby never got an actual education. she was emotionally neglected & abused, as well as physically abused for her entire childhood. 

the abuse only got worse when tabby’s mutation (and gender & sexuality, see below) came into question. her father beat tabby so hard that she ran away at around 13-14. 

she started a long ass journey trying to figure out how the fuck to live in a world where she couldn’t really read & understand, but somehow make it to xaviers school for the gifted (someone in the trailer park had mentioned it to her and she decided it’d become her salvation) 

a train she was taking en route to washington dc was attacked by the beyonder. the beyonder ended up considering tabby its only friend and felt bad for this young, frightened, abused girl and brought her to xavier’s. however because the beyonder is a powerful cosmic entity the x-men attacked it on spot and tabby, frightened and bewildered, left with the beyonder back to its home planet. she stayed there with him for a little while before realizing it was an evil entity hellbent on the destruction of worlds, and demanded she be returned to the xmen. she led the beyonder into an ambush and the beyonder, heartbroken about the loss of its only friend, willingly surrendered 

that was tabby’s introduction to the x-men. because of how it all went down, she left the x-men for a little while and moved to LA. she joined a gang called the fallen angels where she learnt how to steal (amongst other things). she began to be sexually harassed and was sexually taken advantage of during her time with this gang, particularly by the gang’s male mutant leader, who’d enlisted her, and so she told the x-factor about the gangs presence 

tabitha then witnessed the children of the x-factor being kidnapped by soldiers of The Right and stowed away on the ship to save them — where she befriended Rictor

the ship crashed when apocalypse was defeated and she lived on apocalypse’s ship for a while 

when the x-men found her, tabby was forced to attend phillips academy in new hamsphire, where she was bullied by the other kids for being a mutant. she allied with the other mutants at the school and formed a group called the x-terminators, where she got hella involved with a bunch of demon & limbo & illyana bullshit when some of the mutants were kidanpped and being used as a portal into limbo 

even though tabby had helped save the world, her school expelled her for being involved in the entire ordeal, and she then joined the new mutants, accidentally summoned a giant sea monster (like an idiot) and went to live wth some dwarves on asgard 

she then joined x-force and changed her alias to boomer 

she joined an underground paramilitary group and was bombed by a vibranium bomb, but survived. my trash queen 

she was then invited by Cable, as meltdown, to join his group Underground to investigate the new weapon x program 

she then joined next wave, as boom-boom, where she learned she’s immune to mind control 

she was then kidnapped by anti-mutant extremists and personally held hostage by the leper queen. the leper queen decided to take her wrath out towards the x-men on tabby and shot her in the head (consequently she was then saved by otherwise certain death by one laura kinney)

she then teams up w/ domino to infiltrate sword because fuck the government, i guess

she went to live on utopia and stayed after it was destroyed, before finally settling at the xavier school and becoming a full-fledged x-man.  

PT. 3: TABBY’S PERSONALITY & RELATED HEADCANONS //

she’s literally a disaster gay. that’s about it. she’s a chaotic babe who loves to throw herself into stupid situations. she loves to party, get smashed, has a ton of super famous hollywood friends who invite her out to parties all the time. she gets shitfaced with them and gets in a lot of trouble with them

i also write tabby as transfemale. and i imagine that was also a big contributing factor to the strain between herself and her parents, as well as a motivating factor to joining the gang she did. she needed money for the transition and for hormones. 

shes super dumb bookwise but very streetsmart. it’d be dumb to underestimate her because she perceives things in such a unique way and it always ends up int he benefit of the team

that said she can be a lazy shit sometimes, motivation is not her forte

shes got a ton of trauma she’s never willing to address ever (and more she never talks about from her party days)

shes the kind of girl though who’ll blast music at 4am — despite everyone else being asleep. she’s got absolutely no manners, and has a long history of playing pranks on the x-men (via literally bombing them with her powers) if they don’t listen to her/undermine her/ neglect her. basically. don’t get on her bad side.

she just wants to be that fun friend everyone can go to for a good time, she doesn’t like to drag people down with her own issues. anyways shes a chaotic bisexual with the mouth of a trucker who deserves the world & u can’t change my mind

— so thats about it for my trash baby!! shes been involved with a hella lot of teams and is always open for all the connections! pls luv her! <3 

#73:intro #「 about. 」 #﹠⋅ 。💣 ꜰᴀᴄᴇꜱᴘᴀᴄᴇ ᴘʀᴏꜰɪʟᴇ. ⋮「 ── well ‚ that didn’t work: an autobiography. 」

[paintedface]

hopeless romantics

summary: prompt #7 for @denialanderror ‘s writing challenge: “are you trying to turn me on right now? Or are you really just that oblivious?”

pairing: bucky x reader

word count: 1568 words

warnings: fluff, bucky being way too hot

notes: a lot of my fics are so damn similar urgh, but oh well, here’s another fluffy one, for my boo bee’s writing challenge. also i’m torn apart from infinity war, so here’s some fluff instead (infinity war made my friend start loving sebastian). i’m not sure about how bilingualism works, so i’m sorry if I get some things wrong!

Permanent Tags are OPEN | masterlist 

“Hey Buck.” You smile at your friend as you come into the common room kitchen. You sit yourself on the barstool, putting one leg over the other.

“Morning, doll. How’d you sleep?” He gives you a grin, setting a cup of hot coffee in front of you. Done just the way you like it.

You hum, cupping the mug in your hands as you take a sip. “Not bad. Still tired though.” You say, before letting out a yawn to further prove your point.

He chuckles as he pulls his long, tangled hair into a messy high bun, tying it with the hairband around his wrist. “You don’t look like it.”

You fix him with a playful glare, unfolding your legs. “Have you seen these eyebags? They’re bigger than your goddamn biceps.”

“Ooh, you like my biceps?” Bucky’s grin widens and you roll your eyes, cheeks warming.

“I did not say that, don’t twist my words, you asshole.” You point an accusing finger at him and he picks up his own cup, masking his smirk with a gulp of his coffee.

“If you say so, printsessa (princess).” He winks and you quickly flee the room before he can tease you more. Because damn, that interaction alone made your heart race and you’re sure that if you stayed there, you’d be fumbling for words.

“Well, well, looks like we’re the only ones that haven’t gone out tonight.” A voice says behind you, and you jump violently, turning around on the couch.

“Bucky, you scared me!” You wail, crossing your arms and turning to lie back on the couch.

He grins rakishly, sitting down and pulling your legs into his lap. “Sorry, sweetheart.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all and you give him a withering look.

“But did everyone else actually just go out to that club?”

“Yep, they sure did.” He takes the remote and goes straight onto Netflix.

You roll your eyes, leaning back onto your cushion. “Steve can’t even get drunk.”

“You should see him on the dance floor, kukla (doll).” Bucky smirks and you feel yourself shiver slightly at the name he gives you. You’ve learnt a little bit of Russian because you’ve always loved the language, but hearing Bucky speak it with a natural tone is so much more beautiful.

You bite your lip when he turns to select a movie, humming as he runs his thumbs over your calves, almost absent-mindedly. Like he has no idea what he’s doing to you. It raises goosebumps on your bare legs, and you resist the urge to squirm in his lap.

Fucking hell.

You end up watching Mulan, mostly because it’s a movie that Bucky hasn’t seen, plus it’s Disney. You can never go wrong with Disney.

By the time the introduction has started, Bucky’s pulled you into his side, your legs still dangling off his lap but you’re snuggled into him. He brushes his lips over your hair occasionally, humming all the wrong notes to the songs that play, sending you into fits of giggles.

“Ne smeytes’ nad moim peniyem, vozlyublennaya (don’t laugh at my singing, sweetheart).” He growls and you have to remember to breathe, because Russian in itself is just a language but why the hell does Bucky have to make it sound so damn hot. It’s doing a lot of things to you right now.

“I’m not making fun of you! I’m appreciating your efforts.” You tilt your head up to grin at him and he smiles back, shaking his head fondly.

“You’re a bad liar, printsessa (princess).” He reaches back to let his hair out of his bun, letting his hair loose around his shoulders.

These nicknames are really getting out of hand, and you’re getting more hot and bothered by the damn second. He’s being goddamn inconsiderate. Tentatively, you rest your head on his shoulder, his hair tickling your cheek lightly as he leans down to kiss your cheek.

You continue watching the movie, Bucky continuing to exclaim and babble in Russian. It happens all the time during movie night but tonight since it’s just you two, he’s a lot louder. And evidently, you forgot how much just him speaking, affects you. God, you wish you didn’t have a giant, crippling crush on your best friend.

“Ona prosto porezala svoi volosy mechom (she just cut her hair with a sword)! Y/N! How did she do that!” He gasped and you inhale sharply, disguised through the music. If he doesn’t stop, you’ll probably die, and that wouldn’t be ideal.

“I dunno Buck, she’s pretty badass.” You manage to say, shrugging as you shift yourself on the couch.

“Not as much as you are, krasivaya (beautiful).”

That’s the last straw.

“Are you trying to turn me on right now? Or are you really just that oblivious?!” You exclaim, pushing his chest, without force, but he falls back against the armrest as you realise what you just said.

Hurriedly, you try to backpedal because there is no way in hell that you’ll let your crush on Bucky ruin your friendship despite how wound up he’s gotten you tonight.

“I-I didn’t mean to say that! I was just pent up and-“

A smirk begins to grow on his face as he looks at you through his lashes. Is he intentionally…?

“Pent up about what, Y/N?” He props his arm up on the armrest, holding the back of his head in his hand.

“Nothing! N-nothing at all!” You stutter and he laughs softly.

“Kak ya uzhe skazal, ty plokhoy lzhets (like I said, you’re a bad liar).” Bucky shifts off the armrest, to take your hand, pulling you closer towards him.

“I heard you say it, Y/N. And you can’t go back now that I know.” He hisses, before digging his fingers into your side, making you squeak as he begins to tickle you.

“Stop, Bucky, stop!” You shriek, gasping for breath between your giggles as he grins rakishly, hands skittering down to your thighs to tickle you there too.

You try to wriggle out of his grasp, but he locks you into a hug, lips ghosting over your ear.

“C’mon, kotenok (kitten)…” He murmurs and you bury your head into his shoulder as you muffle your laughs, his fingers still tickling you relentlessly. He never lets up for one second, and you can’t fucking handle it-

“Fine! I have the biggest goddamn crush on you!” You yell, managing to pull away from him and almost falling off the couch.

Suddenly, the movie fades into background noise, and it’s silent. Your heart is the only thing you can hear, pounding in your ears as you watch Bucky’s mouth part slightly. His eyes are wide as you make to stand up shakily. You need to get the fuck away because you can’t stand to hear him let you down gently.

“I-I need to go.” You whisper, but before you can turn away, Bucky stands up. He loops his metal arm around your waist and pulls you flush against his chest. Opening your mouth to ask what on earth he’s doing, he leans down to capture your lips in a deep, but gentle kiss, rendering you unable to speak.

He grins against your mouth at your wide eyes, before pressing forward, his right hand moving to rest against your cheek, his thumb sweeping across your cheekbone. Oh god, this is actually happening. You’ve often thought it’s stupid how much people can describe a kiss but shit, you could go on forever.

Tentatively, hands shaking slightly, you curl your fingers into his t-shirt to pull him closer. Bucky lets out a breathless chuckle, before shifting his right hand to card through your hair. His touch sends tingles across your skin, and you tighten your grip on him even as you part for air.

“I have the biggest goddamn crush on you too, Y/N.” He murmurs, the corner of his mouth still quirked up.

“You do?”

“You think I would’ve kissed you if I didn’t?” Bucky asks, eyes searching yours intently.

“I…just never thought you’d like me like that.” You mumble and he sighs, sitting down and pulling you down to sit on his lap. His hands are wandering a little, running from your hair to down your back, as he dwells on what to say next.

“I’ve liked you for quite a long time, kukla (kitten), but I’ve never found the nerve to say it. So I just flirted with you, like, a lot.” Your cheeks heat up and he smiles at your expression.  

“And I guess it worked, which is strange because fuck, you’re so amazing, and I didn’t think you’d like me.” He breathes, hands moving down your sides to rest at your hips.

You’re acutely aware of the movie still playing in the background, but you don’t pay it any attention, instead, looping your arms around Bucky’s neck as he rests his head on your chest.

“By the way, I don’t just like you cause you sound hot.” You reiterate and he laughs, pulling away a little to gaze at you adoringly.

“Mm, ya tak ne dumal (I didn’t think so).” He grins and you glare at him, shoving his shoulders lightly as he chuckles again.

“Stop being such an ass.” You sigh in resignation, but you can’t help the smile that stretches across your face when he drags you back down for another tender kiss.

permanent tags (possibly closing): @vibranium-arm / @gallifreyansass / @omalleysgirl22 / @girlwith100names / @buckysinthesinbin / @mlmbuckys / @buckyofthemyscira / @iamwarrenspeace / @alohabucky / @cuddlysteven / @buckybarnesappreciationsociety / @debbielovesbucky / @metal-armed-dino / @helloitscrowley / @sebastian-stans-thighs / @fantastic-fantasy-fanfics / @lorna-danee / @feelmyroarrrr / @mjuikoli / @megan-atthedisco / @yoyolovesbucky / @sebbies / @carriefish-er / @jurassicbarnes / @ssweet-empowerment / @shieldagentofthemonth / @palaiasaurus64 / @i-love-superhero / @infiniteholland / @ailynalonso15 / @bywonater / @vanillaicecrusher / @titty-teetee / @breezy1415 / @the-geeky-engineer / @mercedesbarnes / @bioticgoddess / @thewonderfulworldofafangirl / @realgreglestrade / @memory-of-a-goldfish / @amynotsantiago / @bandbooktvaddict / @edgyroses / @buckysmaingirl / @thefridgeismybestie / @cumonbucky / @untimelyideasforstories / @ridingmoxley / @jadalecki-jackles / @peters-vlogs / @em–z / @hdthdthdt / @thefridgeismybestie / @jamie-leah / @heyrogers / @ivy-16-18 / @marvlemarvlemarvlemarvle / @nephilimseb / @saveyourbucky / @wonderless-screwup / @rashinyx2002 / @httpmcrvel / @thunderous-flower / @buckys-newarm / @cordysblog / @swanky-batman / @bythebloodofafangirl / @disneymarina / @whyisbuckyso / @katiekitty261 / @plaid-skirt / @stan-by-me / @samwinchxtr / @mypage-myfandoms / @its-daydreamer23 / @goldenkillmonger / @savonid / @ohhhotstan / @softlysgtbarnes / @perksofeatingbacon / @sweet-barnes / @clever-theorist-painter / @thesergeantandstevie / @hewassortapunkroque / @rosescentedblood

(strike through means I couldn’t tag you, sorry!)

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfiction #sebastian stan x reader #seb stan x reader #sebastian stan #seb stan #the winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier

[spidergwenstefani]

Holy Dimensional Gateway, Batman! | 2/?

chapter 2 of this.

tw: a bad guy gets stabbed a little bit, and shot. Also some angsty-ish discussion of superhero sidekicks at the end but idk if that’s really a trigger

rated: T

The klaxon is still blaring, red lights flashing and a swarm of SHIELD scientists scrambling to assess the damage done to their base. Tony, for his part, is doing an astounding job of staring blankly at the newly rearranged portal and moving out of exactly nobody’s way.

“So,” he says, glancing sideways at Steve. “Was it just me, or did the portal kind of fold in on itself when Barnes dove through it?”

“It did,” Steve says, his jaw set in the patriotic way that it does when he dissociates from reality. Behind him, one of the scientists gently unpins a shriveled vine from the wall, letting the arrow clatter to the floor.

“So,” Tony says, slowly. It’s not that he’s still processing what’s happened, it’s just that he’d prefer to delay saying it out loud for as long as possible. “Barnes, um. He might not be in the same place as Barton. Right?”

“Right.” The unflinching void of space has nothing on the empty expression Steve’s wearing right now.

“Maybe he’s, um. Not even in the same time. And. And, the portal rearranged itself again after he went through, so…” Steve hasn’t blinked for a while, and Tony’s starting to get a little nervous about the state of his remaining teammate as well.

“So.”

“So, well. So, fuck.”

“Fuck,” Steve echoes.

>>==========>

>>==========>

>>==========>

“I want you to know,” Bucky shouts over the roaring wind, “If any pictures of this get back to my universe, I will actually shoot you.”

Superman just laughs, continuing his scientifically impossible flight towards their undisclosed location. He has his arms hooked under Bucky’s armpits, and while Superman seems to be tiring not a bit, Bucky’s having a hell of a time not sliding out of his grip. He’s self-aware enough to know what an idiot he looks like. He feels like a toddler trying to splash his way through a kiddy pool with nothing but those dumb arm floaties on. If Clint were here, he’d probably make another stupid comparison to that one Angry Cat or whatever. Bucky considers, for all of two seconds, telling him about it once they find him.

“Not to throw a wrench in your plans or anything, but I’m kind of indestructible.”

“Nothing’s indestructible, buddy,” Bucky says, trying to pull himself up just a little, but really only managing to kick around like a petulant child. “And for a guy that claims to be, you’re kind of slow.”

“Well,” Superman says, his voice still pleasant and cheery, “if I was flying at full speed, your brain might actually liquify.” His grip suddenly becomes a hell of a lot tighter, and Bucky feels very much like a puppy that’s been grabbed by the scruff of the neck. “Also, I don’t entirely trust you. I certainly don’t trust you enough to just drop you off at a friend’s door without spending a little time getting to know you first.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, because Superman has a grip of steel and it actually kind of hurts. “Lunch date?”

There’s a sudden flash from the ground below, and Superman stops short as an ear-splitting boom makes its way to them.

“There’s a great diner in Star City.”

“You’re buying,” Bucky says. Or, tries to say, because suddenly Superman is barreling down through the clouds and it’s all Bucky can do not to pass out.

He’s never seen Star City on a normal day, but he assumes there’s usually less general carnage and debris. Shards of shrapnel litter the section of highway Superman touches down on, and a lot of the piles of junk are still smoking from the recent explosion.

“How nice of you to join us,” someone says with a sinister sneer, and Bucky turns to find himself directly in the middle of a stand-off.

On one side of the highway, there’s a guy in a blue and orange body suit, the eyes of his mask and the sword strapped to his back pinging something familiar in Bucky’s head. He’s got some kind of tricked out semi-automatic in his hands and seems ready to shoot right through Bucky to get to the other guy.

The other guy, who’s got a bow and arrow, drawn and ready.

It’s not Clint. Bucky knows in an instant it’s not Clint. This guy is wearing green, a hood and domino mask helping to obscure his face. Even past the costume, his stance is different. When Clint draws his bow, he’s a study in serenity. Bucky knows for a fact his bow of preference has got a draw weight of two hundred and fifty pounds, but the strain doesn’t show. When Clint’s got a target in his sights, he might as well be made of stone. Nothing can touch him when he’s got an arrow at the ready, and the set of his shoulders says he knows it.

This guy? This guy looks almost feral, like a tiger ready to pounce. He’s on the attack and defense all at once, and maybe his form matches Clint’s in any technical measurement, but where Hawkeye is all tranquility, all patient tension, this guy is carefully channeled rage.

Superman is gone.

Bucky was so caught up in taking in the scene that he almost didn’t realize the big blue guy dropped down in the middle of the standoff and disappeared before anyone could blink. He catches sight of a blue blur on the edges of the battlefield, pulling back any civilians that haven’t already made a run for it, dousing fires that are spreading dangerously close to abandoned vehicles. Bucky wishes Superman could’ve at least pointed out the bad guy before fucking right off, because now he’s stuck between bizarro-world versions of Hawkeye and Deadpool with no background information whatsoever.

“Look, Robocop. Either make a move or get out of the way,” Robin Hood says, and Bucky hopes he hasn’t ended up in a universe where Tony Stark is blond and has even worse facial hair.

“Even a fancy arm like that won’t do much to stop a bullet,” Not-Deadpool says, which makes Bucky’s mouth quirk up just a bit.

“I’m trying,” he says, raising his arms slowly in a hopefully multiversal gesture, “to figure out exactly whose side I should be on here.” Nobody relaxes, but Robin Hood at least makes a short sort of snort.

“Well, I am Green Arrow, Hero and Protector of Star City. If you can’t pick between that and ‘Deathstroke the Terminator,’ I’m not sure I want you on my side anyway.”

Bucky turns to Deathstroke then, doing his best not to expose any weak points to either of them. “Deathstroke” is no “Deadpool,” but he figures it’s close enough to stake a guess on.

“You got a counterpoint, Wilson?”

Deathstroke doesn’t falter, doesn’t fumble with his gun or relax his stance, but the last name catches him by surprise, and Bucky only needs a split second of hesitation to draw his weapon. The bullet goes clean through Deathstroke’s shoulder, hitting at the same time as an arrow latches onto his gun, blowing the thing to pieces with the force of a small grenade.

Whatever knockoff brand Deadpool this guy is, not knowing when to quit seems to be Wade Wilson’s universal constant. He draws his sword, charging at Bucky with a speed that’s definitely enhanced. Bucky blocks the blow with his left arm, and the clashing metals send a supernatural clang through the air like a shock wave.

“What-” Deathstroke starts to say, and Bucky goes straight for the Ka-Bar on his belt. He aims a stab at Deathstroke’s side, but whatever’s in the guy’s body armor makes the blade glance off harmlessly. Deathstroke tries again with the sword, aiming a slash at Bucky’s thigh that he just barely dodges.

“Well,” Bucky hears Green Arrow shout from the sidelines, “I’m not gonna lie. I’m a little turned on right now.”

“There’s room for a third,” Bucky says through gritted teeth, ducking as Deathstroke gets a solid swing. His blade sings as it cuts through the air, and Bucky doesn’t want to know what kind of vibranium clusterfuck of an alloy the thing is made of. He drops lower, trying to knock Deathstroke off his feet by sweeping his legs, but he just sidesteps like telegraphing his movements is ever a thing Bucky’s been accused of.

Three arrows go whistling past Bucky’s head in rapid succession, but only one manages to nick Deathstroke’s shoulder, more of a papercut than anything else. It’s not for lack of trying. Green Arrow’s aim is true, but Deathstroke seems to dodge the arrows before they’re even loosed.

“Nice try, Emerald Archer,” Deathstroke sneers, and his next swing actually scrapes against Bucky’s arm before glancing off, the reverb sounding like some hellish version of nails on a chalkboard. “I know where those arrows will be before you do.”

Huh. That changes things. Bucky was thinking telepathy, but if this guy is just using some limited form of precognition, that’s something Bucky can work with.

“What about this knife?” Bucky says, just to draw Deathstroke’s attention back to him. He leads with the Ka-Bar in his right hand, swinging for the face. Deathstroke dodges easily, and if Bucky had to pick a counter move, he’d go for a sucker punch. He ducks before Deathstroke can even finish drawing back his fist, activating the retractable knife in his left arm and slicing at Deathstroke’s thigh. The body armor is lighter in his legs, and the knife cuts deep. Deathstroke lets out a shout, stumbling back. His rhythm is thrown enough for Green Arrow to let loose another explosive arrow, and the impact sends Bucky skidding back on the asphalt.

Deathstroke is gone when the smoke clears, which is a shame because Bucky was just getting into having a worthy opponent. He hears Green Arrow swear behind him, like that’s the end of that, and Bucky hasn’t taken half a step toward the vacant side of the highway before Superman is suddenly blocking his path. He’s radiating ‘disappointed mom’ in waves and the fact that his feet aren’t touching the ground does nothing to tone down the intimidation as he towers over Bucky.

“Well,” he says, squinting down at Bucky and pressing his lips into a flat line. “I’d be interested in knowing how someone from another universe knows the identity of one of our world’s deadliest mercenaries.”

He should probably be shitting his pants right now. Bucky’s getting the sense that Superman isn’t quite human, and beyond faster-than-light speed and a seemingly unlimited amount of strength, he’s still not sure what Superman meant when he called himself “indestructible”. Unfortunately, his intimidation technique seems more based on scolding than actual threats, and Bucky Barnes had to face down Captain America’s “disappointed in you” talk back when he was a teenager.

“There’s a Wade Wilson in my universe too,” he says, not even trying to act nervous. “The codename and the costume aren’t exactly the same, but I only needed him to let his guard down for a second.”

“Well, good work,” Green Arrow chimes in, and Bucky turns to see him counting the arrows left in his quiver. Apparently being escorted by Superman is enough of a character reference in this universe, because Green Arrow’s bow is strapped to his back instead of held at the ready. “Slade Wilson doesn’t let his guard down for almost anything.”

“Huh. That makes a couple more differences between him and the guy I know.”

“I’d like to hear more about the differences in your universe,” Superman says, a note of suspicion still in his voice. “I believe we had plans for lunch?”

“Cheeseburgers are on me,” Green Arrow says.

>>==========>

>>==========>

>>==========>

Batman, it turns out, is a lot more friendly when you’re on the same side.

Well, friendly is relative, but Clint thinks the provided Advil and glass of water have to count for something. He perches on the ledge next to Batman’s ominously gigantic supercomputer and wonders what it says about his life that the Venn diagram of people who have tied him up for interrogation and people who he considers his closest allies has a lot of overlap.

“Start talking,” Batman orders, his eerily pointed gloves clacking against the keyboard. “I want to know exactly how much our universes match up.” He pauses, turning towards him, and Clint gets the sense that he’s being scanned through the opaque eyeholes of the mask. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Oliver Queen, would it?”

“Nope,” Clint says, rubbing absentmindedly at his still sore wrist. “Try Barton, Clinton Francis.”

One quick search later and the computer yields no matches, which puts Clint more at ease than Batman. It’s nice to know there’s not another one of himself running around in this dreary universe, but Batman doesn’t seem quite satisfied.

“You don’t know who I am, but you aren’t phased by the cape and the mask,” he rumbles. Batman’s toned down the demon voice to a low growl, but he’s still got a hoarseness that could rival Wolverine. “You’ve seen plenty of our kind before. Who are the heroes of your universe?”

“Well,” Clint says, weighing his options for all of two seconds. Batman still gives him some major heebie-jeebies, and rattling off intel on his teammates might not be the best tactical move, but he needs to earn some trust here, not to mention his Earth has dealt with way worse threats than some guy in a bat suit that spends his nights beating up old-timey gangsters. “That’s kind of a loaded question.”

Batman leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Clint gets the sense that there’s one raised eyebrow behind his cowl.

“You mean you don’t have good guys? Sworn protectors of the common people?”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Clint huffs, because it kinda seems like the guy that lives in a Doctor Doom lair and dresses like a vampire on super serum is accusing his world of too much moral ambiguity. “There’s all the Avengers, obviously. Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Black Widow. Our roster isn’t really set in stone, you know? And there’s the Young Avengers, the Defenders, the Guardians, the X-Men, the Fantastic Four, A-Force, the Howling Commandos, New Warriors, the Thunderbolts, uh, sometimes. Alpha Flight, if we’re counting Canada. Then there’s-”

“That’s enough,” Batman says, which is probably good because Clint hasn’t even gotten to the spin-offs yet. “No Justice League, then?” Clint snorts.

“That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“The Avengers?” Batman says flatly. “The Defenders?”

“Well it’s not the Vengeance Guild, is it? It’s not the Group of People Who Defend Things.” There’s a muscle twitching in Batman’s jaw, and Clint remembers a little belatedly that he’s not exactly a welcome guest. “So, um. No overlap, I’m guessing?”

“Not with the names you gave,” Batman says. He pauses, and his next words come out more cautious. “You’ve never met Superman, then? Or Wonder Woman?”

Clint tries really, really hard not to smile, because what is with this universe and names? Something must show on his face, though, because Batman sighs wearily.

“‘Captain America’ and ‘Iron Man’ aren’t better.”

“Yeah, I bet Superman’s name is a holdover from the World War II propaganda machine, and Wonder Woman is just a big fan of Black Sabbath.”

“You haven’t given me your name,” Batman says, more gravel edging into his voice. “What is it, Purple Arrow?”

“That’s just lazy,” Clint says, hopping down from his perch so he can puff out his chest properly. “No, you’re in the presence of Clint Barton, AKA Hawkeye. The world’s greatest marksman. The people’s avenger. The greatest sharpshooter known to man. The-”

“The public knows your identity?”

Clint deflates a little, because he was really just getting warmed up. Batman’s not the most expressive of people, but Clint’s spent enough time around super spies to notice the genuine surprise under his growl.

“Sure.” He gives Batman a one-shouldered shrug. “The public knows the identities of a lot of heroes. Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Bruce Banner… I guess Spider-Man keeps his a secret. I’ve got absolutely no clue who that kid is.”

“You aren’t worried about what villains might do?”

“Not really,” Clint shrugs again. “Secret identities are hard to maintain, and it’s not like I can’t handle myself if a villain shows up in my apartment.”

“What about your family? What if they go after them?” Batman sounds almost accusatory, like he’s been looking for something evil about Clint through the whole conversation and just found it. Clint kind of flails for a moment, and it takes a second for him to realize why the question is so odd to him.

“I don’t- The Avengers are my family. Or, the closest thing I’ve got. If someone tries going after any one of them, well. It wouldn’t work out too well. I’m pretty much as weak as the links get on that team.”

Batman steeples his fingers together like he’s a villain in a Bond movie. The wash of cold blue light from his giant computer screen doesn’t help soften the image. Clint tries not to fidget under his stare, feeling a little like a bug pinned up on a wall.

A moment passes, maybe two, and suddenly something in Batman’s posture shifts. He doesn’t relax exactly, but Clint gets the sense that a judgment has been passed. Something’s been decided.

“It’s almost dawn,” Batman says, and suddenly his voice sounds a hell of a lot more like a normal human being. “You should eat, and rest. We’ll get you back home as soon as we can.”

>>==========>

As it turns out, Batman’s enormous hell cavern is just the basement to a sprawling, gilded mansion.

Batman doesn’t say anything on the way up, and they both pretend not to notice when Clint almost passes out as the elevator shoots upwards. The mansion is still dark, still ominous as fuck, but the shadows thrown around Batman aren’t as terrifying when he’s surrounded by polished hardwood and plush carpets.

Batman leaves Clint in an expansive kitchen without a word, so Clint prays that at least the coffee in this universe is the same, and sets to figuring out the entirely too complex machine on the marble countertop. It’s a mess of buttons and light up touch displays, and Clint’s headache is coming back full force.

“Jarvis?” He calls, just in case. “Friday? Any fancy computer butlers around that can tell me how to work this thing?”

“Tragically, no.” Clint nearly jumps out of his skin at the very human voice, whirling around to see a man standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Uh, Batman?” He’s not the right build, but that’s something that a well-built suit can always remedy. The voice, though. That accent is all wrong.

“Wrong again, I’m afraid.” The man reaches out, and Clint gets about halfway through figuring out how to weaponize a Keurig cup before he realizes the guy is just turning on the light switch. Light floods the kitchen, rudely reminding Clint of his recent head trauma, and he nearly laughs because it hadn’t even occurred to him that Batman’s house would have light switches.

The man crosses the room to the coffee machine as Clint continues to blink the black spots out of his eyes. The machine gurgles to life, and Clint has to keep himself from hugging what he’s now realized is a much older man.

“Hi,” he says when he notices the room has lapsed into silence. “I’m Clint.”

“Alfred Pennyworth,” the man says, starting to pull cups and plates down from the cabinets. “Master Bruce will return shortly, and then I’m afraid you’ll have to meet the rest of the Waynes as well.” He offers Clint a smile over his shoulder. “I hope waffles are acceptable.”

Clint opens his mouth to say that yes, waffles are acceptable, in any universe, probably, but he’s cut off by another person entering the kitchen.

“Spare him the grand tour, Alfred. Our friend here needs food and then rest. Possibly with medical attention in between.”

The man is dressed in a robe and house shoes, like some kind of millionaire heir from the fifties. With the dark, slicked-back hair and classically handsome face, all he’s missing is the cigarette and three future centerfolds hanging off his arms.

“Um,” Clint says. “Batman?” If he asks every guy roaming the mansion halls, eventually he’ll get it right. Right?

“You can call me Bruce. Bruce Wayne.” He’s almost effortlessly charming, all dazzling smiles and sweeping gestures, but Clint didn’t spend the better half of his life among criminals and spies not to notice the way Bruce pauses for a split second to scan his face, checking for a reaction at the name.

“Nice place you’ve got, Bruce,” Clint says. The coffee machine beeps and Alfred hands him a freshly steaming mug. “Excellent butler. Basement could use some work, though.” He blows on his mug, watching the steam swirl outwards. Just the smell of coffee is already easing his headache. “Is it just the two of you?”

Alfred gives an amused sort of hum as he sets about making breakfast. Bruce’s mouth quirks into a smile. “Well-”

“I missed this,” another voice announces, because apparently dramatic entrances are a necessity for living in a mansion. Clint makes a mental note to go easier on Tony next time he requires fanfare for walking into a room. “Good coffee, Alfred’s breakfast.” The newcomer is dazzling in an entirely different way than Bruce, and Clint takes an uncomfortably hot gulp of coffee to hide his blush when bright blue eyes meet his. “Bruce picking up strays.”

“This is Clint,” Bruce explains, settling down at the kitchen island and opening a newspaper. Clint’s not sure if the paper was on the countertop, or if it just came with the outfit. It doesn’t matter, because startlingly attractive mini-Bruce is now offering Clint a hand to shake.

“Dick,” he says, and it’s not the bluntest offer Clint’s ever gotten, but it’s up there.

“Yeah,” Clint says. “What?”

“My name is Dick Grayson,” Dick Grayson says, his friendly expression turning a little concerned. “How hard did he hit you?”

“Who?”

“Bruce. You took a hit, right? Are you okay?” There’s a lot of concern there now. Concerned is a good look for Dick Grayson. He’s got the same blue eyes and jet black hair as Bruce, but Bruce doesn’t make them look nearly as pretty. Maybe if he grew his hair out more. Dick Grayson’s has the kind of hair made for shampoo commercials. It looks almost as soft as Bucky’s does.

Clint realizes with a start that he’s still clasping Dick’s hand, and drops it awkwardly.

“Sorry,” he says, and then clears his throat and tries again. “Sorry. I’m- maybe about to pass out.”

>>==========>

>>==========>

>>==========>

“It’s too early in the morning for cheeseburgers,” Bucky says, glaring down at the diner menu. He’s glad Clint doesn’t have to hear him say it, although if getting in an argument over In-N-Out as breakfast food is the trade-off for knowing Clint is safe, he’d take the heat in an instant.

“In your universe, maybe,” Green Arrow says. He’s still in costume, as is Superman, and their waitress seems to be having a hard time dealing with that. She has to use both hands to steady her coffee pot while Superman beams at her. “What, you have somewhere better to be?”

“Yes, actually,” Bucky growls. Superman seems to be stalling on his promise to take Bucky to his ‘friend.’ Stopping a firefight on the highway is one thing, but Bucky’s pretty sure “cheeseburger breakfast” isn’t a solid excuse in any universe.

“Bucky’s looking for a friend of his,” Superman explains. “A guy that got pulled through a wormhole by some sentient vines.”

“Ah,” Green Arrow says, sipping his coffee contemplatively. He gives their waitress an appreciative wink as she moves on to the next table. “Bats.”

“And associates,” Superman says, and Bucky wonders if glaring at them harder will make his vigilante acquaintances any more coherent. Instead, Green Arrow just knocks their shoulders together.

“Aw, look. He’s pouting.”

“I’m not pouting,” Bucky says, but his voice sounds pissy even to him. He grits his teeth as Green Arrow knocks their shoulders together again. “I’d just like to find my teammate as quickly as possible, and I don’t see how cheeseburgers will accomplish this.”

“If your teammate is half as good in a fight as you are, I’m sure he’s fine.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Bucky says. He’s seen Clint MacGyver a semi-functional bow and arrow out of paperclips and pocket lint when faced with the alternative of actually paying attention in a debrief. He’s pretty sure Clint would find a way to survive in the vacuum of space with just the clothes on his back if he had to. It still doesn’t change the nerves that have been buzzing in his stomach ever since he watched Clint tumble into the black void. “I’d still prefer it if I could see him for myself.”

“Two’s a couple,” Superman says. Bucky blinks, feeling the color rise in his cheeks.

“What?”

“Two’s a couple, not a team. How many more ‘teammates’ do you have?”

Oh.

“Two on the other side of the portal. More could get called in, I guess.”

“But just you went through after him?”

“It was a tactical decision,” Bucky snaps. He’s not sure why he feels so defensive. He’d probably be asking the same questions if the roles were reversed, and not nearly as politely.

“I think it was a good call,” Green Arrow interrupts, not even being subtle about defusing the situation. “You got me out of a pickle, anyways.”

“I’ve faced worse than Deathstroke in my sleep,” Bucky says, still more aggressive than he should be towards his gracious interdimensional hosts. Green Arrow opens his mouth to respond, but he’s cut off by a loud tap on the diner window.

There’s a girl standing outside, knocking impatiently on the glass. She has loose blonde hair and an outfit that looks like the skimpy Halloween store version of Superman’s onesie. Bucky would peg her for a fangirl, but Superman just raises an eyebrow at her through the glass.

“Kara?” he says, at a normal volume.

“You aren’t busy, are you?” The fact that there’s an external wall between her and Superman doesn’t seem to be bothering Kara at all. Bucky can just make out her voice through the glass, but the way Green Arrow is rolling his eyes tells Bucky he’s not in the enhanced hearing club. “There’s trouble on Stryker’s Island.”

“Luthor?” Superman asks. Kara shakes her head.

“Not exactly. I’ll explain on the way.”

“Wait,” Bucky says, because he’s not wasting any more time on his mission. Especially not alone with Green Arrow. “What about finding Clint?” Superman looks apologetic, and Bucky’s stomach drops.

“I can take him,” Green Arrow says, and if the stakes were any lower, Bucky would just resign himself to a couple more hours sitting right here in the diner. “I’ll call in the gang. I haven’t been to Gotham in a while.”

“Great!” Superman says, clapping his hands together like that settles it. Bucky buries his face in his hands.

“We can take the Arrowcar!” Green Arrow says, and Bucky spreads his fingers apart enough to glare at Superman.

“I want you to know that you’ve made an interdimensional enemy today.”

>>==========>

>>==========>

>>==========>

Clint wakes up in a bed.

It’s a very comfy bed, and he almost considers rolling over and going right back to sleep. Something’s nagging at the back of his brain, though, telling him there are things that need doing and the bed must be left to do them.

He cracks his eyes open, wincing at the sunlight streaming through the blinds. There’s a girl sitting on the end of his bed, crouched like a cat. Or a gargoyle.

“Hi,” Clint croaks. His voice sounds like sandpaper, and he wonders how long he’s been out. She tilts her head, short black hair falling in front of her eyes. She doesn’t seem to blink quite enough for a normal human being, and Clint squirms a little under her gaze. Is she a ghost? Batman seems like the kind of guy who would live in a haunted mansion.

“You haven’t missed waffles yet,” she says finally, and Clint’s stomach growls as if on command. There’s something a little odd about the way the girl speaks. It’s not an accent Clint’s ever heard. He’s actually not sure if it’s an accent at all. Clint realizes that whoever brought him to the bed didn’t take out his aids. His ears feel a little gummy from sleeping with them in, but he’ll be damned if he takes his aids out when there are undead spirits on the loose.

The girl gets up, apparently done with the conversation, and heads for the door. Clint allows himself a groan as he rolls out of bed. His head is pounding, but there’s an unfinished cup of coffee in the kitchen with his name on it, and a minor concussion has never come between him and his caffeine before.

The girl drifts through the halls, not bothering to check if Clint is following or not. She probably hears him plodding along behind her, anyway. The place is about as creaky as an old haunted mansion should be, and each squeaky floorboard Clint steps on makes her silent glide all the more impressive. Either that, or it just further supports his hypothesis that she’s actually a phantom.

The mansion is kind of enormous, even now that morning light is creeping through the blinds and banishing whatever lurks in the shadows. Clint never quite got the difference between old money and new. To him, a big fancy house was a big fancy house, nevermind what Tony or Kate said. Now, though, stepping across carpet that seems like it belongs in a museum and eyeing floor-to-ceiling portraits that might actually predate the fall of Rome, Clint thinks he’s starting to get it. Bruce’s mansion feels like a different world, made for the dinner parties of elite secret societies, and full of rooms where men in tuxedos puff cigars in wealthy silence. This is not the lodgings of an ex-carnie thief with a shaky grasp on the timeline of the Roman Empire.

“When do we get to the family crypt?” Clint asks, because if the basement of the manor is just a neverending cavern, he shudders to imagine where Batman’s ancestors have been laid to rest. The phantom doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even turn around. “Are you going to kill me? Where are we going?” Still no answer. They pass another gilded frame, and Clint almost reaches out to run his hands over the placard before thinking better of it. That’s how you turn your peaceful ghost guide into a poltergeist. Clint wishes the carpet was dustier so he could check if she’s leaving footprints.

Ghost or not, their final destination turns out to be the kitchen. Clint can smell waffles and bacon from the other end of the hallway, and he hears voices as they get closer.

Bruce and Dick are still seated, chatting amiably as Alfred works the waffle iron. Clint’s coffee is gone, but Alfred places a fresh mug in front of him as soon as he settles down at the kitchen island. He nods his thanks, taking a sip as Bruce turns to him.

“Feeling better?”

Clint hums an affirmative. It’s not the first time he’s blacked out mid-conversation, and it sure as fuck won’t be the last.

“How long was I out?”

“Only a couple hours,” Dick says. “Alfred decided to turn breakfast into brunch so you wouldn’t miss out.”

“Thanks,” Clint says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s been a long night.” Dick nods, offering Clint a look of sympathy.

“That’s sort of how we operate.”

As if on cue, a teenage boy looking approximately like death stumbles into the kitchen, shuffling immediately towards the coffee machine. Dick blinks at him, like this is a surprise, although both Alfred and Bruce pointedly continue on with their mornings.

“Why are you here?” Dick asks, and the kid spends about a minute stabbing his finger ineffectually at the coffee machine’s touch display before he mumbles out an answer.

“‘M’not,” he says, but only once Alfred has come to his aid and gotten the machine going again. “I’m at Travis Lee’s house. Working on a class project.”

“Oh really?” Dick’s voice is all amusement.

“As far as any commercial phone tracking software can tell,” the kid says, like that’s a normal sentence people can string together while looking like a sleep-deprived zombie. He finally cracks his eyes open long enough to acknowledge Clint’s presence. “Who are you?”

“Clint,” Clint says. He doubts the guy is in any state to handle the full story right now. “Are you guys all… cousins?” He can’t really work the age differences out in his head, but the kid has the same black hair and blue eyes as Bruce and Dick. Bruce and Dick, who both chuckle at the question like it’s a ridiculous idea.

“You should take that as a compliment, Tim,” Dick says, and Tim ignores him in favor of inhaling the scent of coffee wafting from his new cup. “No,” he turns to Clint then, still looking entertained by the concept. “We’re definitely not related.”

“Oh,” Clint says, because that doesn’t sound right. He wonders if everyone in this universe just looks vaguely similar. He tries to remember if any of the gangsters were blond. Is he just a freak of nature here? Should he dye his hair to fit the noir color scheme?

“When’s Steph coming down?” Tim asks. He’s downed half his mug of coffee and looks marginally more alive.

“Steph’s here?” Dick asks, and Clint has to wonder what life must be like living in a house so big you can miss your own family members. Or, whatever these guys are. Tim shrugs.

“Alfred’s making waffles, so I figured. He only does that when Steph’s here.”

“Alfred can make waffles for lots of reasons. He could be making them because I’m here.” There’s a note of hurt in Dick’s voice.

“Nah,” Tim says.

“These are waffles for Steph,” Ghost girl confirms. She’s perched on the counter next to Alfred, sneaking pieces of food every time his back is turned. Tim aims a nod of acknowledgment at her.

“Cass gets it. Steph is his new favorite child, right Alfred?”

“The identity of my favorite child is between me and Miss Stephanie,” Alfred says, and if this isn’t sibling banter, Clint’s really not sure what the fuck is happening.

“I knew it!” someone shouts from the doorway, and Clint turns to watch dramatic entrance number four make her way into the kitchen. Steph is considerably brighter-eyed and bushier-tailed than her non-siblings, and Clint notes with relief that she is very blonde.

“Batman,” Clint stage whispers as Alfred starts to serve breakfast. “Why are there so many children in your house?” Cass follows Alfred dutifully, her arms stacked high with plates that she has no qualms stealing from. Clint carefully relieves her of an untouched stack of waffles.

“Careful,” Bruce answers, winking conspiratorially. “These children could beat you in a fight on your best day.” Clint snorts.

“Doubtful.” Something about Bruce’s words catches in Clint’s head. “Wait,” He says as a thought clicks into place. “Do these children fight crime?” Bruce blinks at him.

“We’re not children,” Steph says defensively. Clint rolls his eyes.

“Uh huh. I’m sure you’re all of legal drinking age. You want more syrup for your waffles?” he pushes the syrup towards her plate. Steph glares at him but picks up the bottle anyways.

“I do want more syrup for my waffles, but that doesn’t mean you have a valid point.”

“They’re skilled fighters, and they understand the risks of the job,” Bruce says, staring at Clint. There’s a heavy finality to his words, like that should be the end of the conversation.

“They’re children.”

“They’re still in the room,” Tim adds, stealing a bite of Steph’s waffles. Cass is staring at Clint in her solemn, unblinking way, so he turns to her instead.

“Okay, you understand the risks, then. Sure. What are the risks?”

“Death,” Cass says simply, which, yeah.

“We all face risks, Clint,” Bruce says. “What do you do with the younger people that want to follow in your footsteps? Turn them away? Ground them? Kids are stubborn. You can’t talk them down from something unless they let you. They’ll always fight their own battles. You might as well give them the tools to win.”

“Nobody wins in a war that children have to fight,” Clint says, and he’s outnumbered here but something about the condescension in Bruce’s voice has set his blood boiling. “You risk a lot worse than just death.”

“The world’s falling apart,” Tim chimes in again. “Kids live in it too. Why should adults be the only ones allowed to save it?”

“Because kids are who we’re saving it for,” Clint says, and he knows it’s a losing battle. “Knowing the risks is nothing next to experiencing them.”

“There are no younger sidekicks in your universe?” Batman asks. “No protégés? No trainees?”

“Not ones that are children. Or, not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Not a single one?”

“There was one, sure,” Clint spits out. Bruce waves his hand, like his point is proven. End of discussion, but Clint’s not going to leave it at that. “I said was. Bucky Barnes, heroic teen sidekick to Captain America himself. They fought side by side through World War II. Led us to victory and everything.”

“And I’m sure the death of one soldier didn’t outweigh the people he saved.”

“Oh, I never said he died.” There’s an uncomfortable hush falling over the room, but Clint plows right through it. “He was blown up, kidnapped, tortured, mind-controlled. Forced to kill for the side he always fought against. They stripped him down to nothing, kept him on ice in between missions so he couldn’t rebuild his humanity in the downtime. He spent seventy years as a puppet. He was a trained dog they sicced on anyone they wanted. We only got him back when they made the mistake of sending him to kill Captain America himself. If there’s one hill Steve Rogers will die on, it’s that no single person should have to be sacrificed for the good of everyone else.” There’s actually a lot of hills Steve Rogers will die on. Clint could name a whole mountain range after Steve Rogers’ opinions, but Bruce doesn’t need to know that. “If kids fight so often in this universe, I’m sure they die often, too. You’re telling me there’s not a single one you would save if you could? You can’t think of one kid who you would’ve turned away if you knew what their fate would be?”

Clint can feel it when he strikes a nerve, the air in the kitchen turning like a flash freeze. Tim suddenly looks wide awake, and Bruce’s jaw is set. Dick looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Clint feels his words hanging heavy in the air, and suddenly the waffles don’t seem worth finishing.

“I’m, uh. I’m going to get some air.”

#winterhawk #buckyclint #my fics #Rated: T #this is just the chapter where i love all the robins #i wanted to put jason in here #i think hell show up later though

[wakandanblogger]

My Outsider

[Rated: M]

Summary: When a heist mission goes wrong, you find yourself at the mercy of Wakandas royal hands.

[A/N: So I literally thought about this while I was at work and I want to make this into a full story. Right now this is just a draft, not the official thing! Please,feedback is greatly appreciated! Thanks! PS its REALLY short so i apologize!]

[Warning: violence, erik beating a woman]

Prologue: The Chase

“We have to get back to the truck!” You gasp as the two of you stop to catch your breath. You knew you should keep going but it was so hard to when you had a stab wound in your arm. Light sobs forced their way out of you and you fell to your knees. “We’re going to die here Brina,” You cry silently. You watched the men in your group get slaughtered at the hands of the Wakandans, well one of them at least. Sabrina looks down at you, her brown hair a mess, she covered your mouth and told you to be quiet. Nothing made a sound, not even the crickets or night birds. It was like they too were hiding from something. 

Sabrina then pulls out her handgun and begins firing into the brush, letting out every round. “Run go! I’ll catch up!” She yells to you kicking you up. You hesitate to leave her but your will to live and the fear was stronger. You did what you were told and pushed yourself up. Sabrina pulls her other gun from her waist and fires it too until she was out. Silence. 

The screams of the group member echoed through the night. They were dead, they were all dead now. Mark, Terrance, Julies, and now Sabrina, they were all gone. The night was horrible and everything seemed to jump out at you at once. It was hard not to trip over branches in the pitch black of Wakanda’s night, only the dim lighting of the moon being your guide. The tears that burned your eyes was another obstacle that made navigating so difficult. It was your turn to die, and he was coming after you. You dodged some of the tree branches but ran into most of them. Every sound you heard seemed to drive you mad, forcing you to push desperately. You could hear the faint growls of the man chasing you, your lungs burn fire. What were the people of Wakanda?! They were truly savage! You cursed yourself for being a part of the group sent to steal vibranium. You cursed the traitor of the country for handing down the information, and you cursed yourself even more for being driven by the desire for money. Look where it got you. The mission went horribly wrong, leaving you as the only one left. You pushed through the brush but fell down a hill, rolling you try desperately try to grab onto something. When you reach flat ground your leg hurts like hell. You try not to scream from the pain, so you bite your bottom lip until you taste blood.

You asked yourself why you agreed to do something so stupid, no amount of money could prepare you for something like this. The many possibilities of death began to crowd your brain and tears flowed down your cheeks, was this really how you were going to die? In a country that no one knows exists, a country invisible to the world. You were going to die here without a trace.

A sound comes from the brush and you pull yourself up, the tear becoming heavier. The thing that was chasing after you appeared, its eyes golden. The silhouette grows into a tall figure, a evil grin plastered on his face. His golden fangs capture the moons light and your heart sinks, you saw how this man murdered your team and now it was your turn. Such a coward, you ran while the rest of them fought, fought for their lives and for what? To be erased from the world without a trace?

“Stay away from me! Get away! Get away you fucking bastard!” You scream scooting back away from the man.

You can hear him hum and sheath his sword. The grass cracks under his feel and you wondered if he would end you quickly, or watch you suffer. Your breathing was out of control, between the pain in your leg, shoulder and the fear in your heart, you couldn’t control it.

The man walks up to you and crouches, his face entering the light. His dreads covered one of his eyes which turned golden, “Shhh shhh shh, I don’t think you want anyone to see what I’m going to do to you,” He growls into your ears. Laughing the man then connects his foot with your stomach. You roll across the ground and hold your abdomen leaving you gasping for air. Why was he doing this? You did nothing, you didn’t even make it fully into the city, let alone steal anything! It was because you were an outsider with evil intent. Stealing on top of intruding. That wasn’t that bad.

A sharp pain travels up your leg and you cry out, the man was stepping on your wounded leg, you hear something snap as he applies more pressure and your crying gets louder. “Stop! Please!” You beg your hands trying desperately to push the boot off of your knee. It was no use, all it did was entertain this crazy person even more. He was silent now, only looking down at you with a blank expression. 

“This place is boring sometimes, so when something fun comes ‘round, You bes’ believe I’m gon’ hop on that shit ma,” He says kneeling down to you.

 You whimper and try to turn your face, almost like you were trying to hide, but he places both of his hands on either side of your head and without warning, jerks you up. You feet your neck crack and your feet leave the ground. So much pressure. It hurt so much! He was going to squeeze your head until it busted like a grape. Your screams echoed through the night forest. The echo traveled far enough to hit the ears of a party that was also hunting for you.

His laughs filled your ears as your screaming and begging continued. You begged for your life but it only seemed to fuel his sick game. You could hear him agreeing with you?

“Mmmhm!! And then what? What else baby doll? Come on bitch, give me more!” He laughs as he lowers you back onto the ground, your head still being pressed in with his big hands, “What else girl!? Come oooon, let me hear you beg for it!? Uuuuh huh!”

“Please!!! I’ll do anything! Please just don’t kill me!” You cry out only being answered with his laughter. This man was psycho and you were going to die by his hand, just like the rest of them.

“Erik! Stop this!”

You hear a voice. It was hard to hear due to his hands being over your ears and your screams but you can still hear. A sense of relief washes over you, no one deserves to die this way. It was in humane. His grip gets tighter and you can feel yourself getting light headed, “Erik! I. Said. Stop.”

The pressure stops and you are gasping from the horrible pain. You are alive? Why?

The man by the name of Erik sighs and looks down at you, “Why do you always have to ruin all of the fun cuz?” he whines and then chuckles. Erik gently moves his hands to the back of your head before and then roughly moving it forward. Your face collides with something hard and it knocks you out cold, the last thing you hear before you fade away into darkness is the arguing of the two voices.

#black panther #my outsider #t'challa x reader #fiction #black panther fiction #chadwick boseman #michael b jordan #fan fiction #t'challa udaku #erik killmonger

[zionangel]

I need to blither about Black Panther before I go to bed

This movie is literally the single best movie Marvel Studios has ever made.  It’s better than Iron Man, it’s better than Avengers, it’s better than Winter Soldier.

(Oh and I want to send out a trigger warning for anyone who has any sort of issues related to being buried alive.  There’s three scenes where a person gets completely buried in dirt.  It’s a ceremonial thing and it’s not much, just an inch or two deep, but they cover the whole body including the face.)

Ahem. Back to the fangirlish flailing.  Some splrs probably but nothing big plot-wise.

T’Challa around Nakia is an even bigger and more ridiculous dork than Tony around Pepper.

So many pretty outfits especially T’Challa.  Men’s clothes are usually so boring.

That opening fight scene is some straight up Iron Man level shit.

I am always in favor of women with swords (or other long pointy stabby weapons) and that factor alone was worth the price of admission.  The motherfuckin Dora Milaje, y’all.

T’Challa’s mom is uber stylish bamf queen.

Shuri is the most precious nerd baby.

Okoye is a walking entity of sass and also she ships T’Challa and Nakia like no other.

Nakia is too pretty for her own good and also a badass amazing wonderful spy and my kind of forward-thinking lady and I love her every bit as much as I thought I would.  I expect my head shall soon be filled with never-to-be-written fic ideas of her and Sharon Carter running around getting into fun spy shenanigans together.

Klaue is a world-class douchebag and I’m glad he got his stupid canon arm ripped off because he doesn’t deserve to be in the metal arm club with Bucky Phil and Misty.

Speaking of metal arms I imagine Shuri will be busting out a new vibranium-enhanced model for everyone’s favorite brunette Jesus in a tartan toga with a half-up man bun.

The war rhinos were a bit much but they were worth it solely for the chance to see a giant raging animal come to a dead stop and go “Oh hi mommy!” and lick Okoye’s fucking face.

M’Baku actually turned out to be a pretty chill bro and very reasonable I liked him.

This movie was not fucking around AT ALL when it comes to slavery and colonialism.  Like, Rufus on Timeless level of not fucking around.  And yet they so wonderfully addressed the downside of Wakanda’s isolationism and the suffering people that they could be helping, and how Killmonger becomes the horrible intruder and colonial figure he hates so much, without for one second excusing the slavery and colonialism and other atrocities committed by white people for so long, or glossing over the suffering the rest of the world has gone through because of them.

Like they basically say that all humans are capable of being horrible, while still very explicitly going “this particular group of humans has been very seriously horrible for a long time very recently, this group of humans are currently the reigning champions in horribleness.”  Like, neither of those two things are mutually exclusive, neither overshadows the other, but it’s insanely hard to portray that fairly without looking like you’re excusing the oppressors.  But this movie does it incredibly well.  I personally agree with that view very much, and it’s exactly the kind of thing I want to portray in my own stories, and you can bet your ass I’ll be studying this movie with a fine-toothed comb in hopes of doing it as well as they did.

Also they worship Bast.  Motherfuckin Bast.

Also the whole thing was so fun with all the outfits and the dancing and the architecture and all that of Wakanda.  I feel like I went on a super fun vacation to Wakanda.  I loved all the differences they had, the different looks and cultures of the different tribes, and how they’ve got all these traditional old timey things but also cool modern things and they just happily coexist.  And some folks are just chillin out there being shepherds even though they could totally live in a swanky high-tech apartment, cuz that’s just how they roll.  You do you bro.

Also there were lots of Black folks at the theater wearing pretty African style dresses or shirts or whatever and it was so nice to see.

And I believe there’s a quote in there basically “In hard times, wise men build bridges, fools build barriers” and I like to think that was explicitly added in there For Reasons.

Oh and the mOTHERFUCKIN CAPE FORCE FIELDS.  Forget the rest of the tech, that’s the coolest thing in there.

And finally, hopefully truly my last addendum before I go to bed: BEHOLD THE GLORY OF THE WEAPONIZED KITTEN MITTENS.

#black panther #t'challa #black panther marvel #black panther spoilers #chadwick boseman #marvel #shuri #nakia #okoye #race #racism #slavery #colonialism

[dontcallmecarrie]

You guys know the drill. Some spoilers for Chapter 20 in TWiFFON, [plus some themes that get touched on in the next arc,] because of obvious reasons. 

The what-if I’m playing with this round, under the cut because it grew on me and now wants to be its own spinoff oneshot of TWiFFON:

What if Ultron had managed to kidnap Tony?

I wasn’t very subtle about Ultron’s obsession with stealing Tony away, and it’s pretty obvious what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been stopped. Vision got to him before he got a chance to do so, but if he hadn’t been assimilated, Ultron would had most definitely stolen Tony away. 

As for exactly what happens...It depends a bit, actually. In Chapter 20, Vision was lucky; Ultron hadn’t expected him to be that strong, and managed to win the fight. 

But maybe, in another universe, Ultron won, because Vision powerful but young, whereas Ultron knows his limits, and has been sitting for years with little more to do than wait and plan. 

If Vision had lost the battle, Ultron would’ve possessed the Mind Stone, and been amused by Vision enough to transfer him to the now-mostly-defunct Legionnaire while keeping the shiny new vibranium body for himself. 

...or perhaps he does something else, but there’s only so many what-ifs I’m willing to keep track of during a shatterpoint, so just roll with him ditching Vision, all right? 

And, with it, Ultron would have been unstoppable. 

Tony, of course, would’ve known right away that something was wrong, but he’s busy fighting a huge horde of Chitauri on his own lonesome, cut off from everyone else, and would not have been able to take Ultron on as well. The Iron Legion’s good, but their numbers are being decimated because Ultron’s got his main objective [the Mind Stone back] and he wants to take Tony with him when he goes to report to Thanos, so subtlety isn’t a concern anymore. 

The Avengers realize they’ve been played, pretty damn fast. 

Because it’s pretty hard not to notice, when the Chitauri aren't working as a distraction anymore, just focused on overwhelming Iron Man, and Tony’s very clearly trying not to lose it over the comms and the portal’s acting up but they don’t have Loki’s Scepter, don’t know how to influence it. 

The battle’s almost entirely shifted to the air so the team can only watch while Tony Stark’s finally overwhelmed by the entirety of the Chitauri army, and swept away into the portal, and it closing almost immediately after. 

Now, since I’m fighting off plot bunnies already, I won’t go into what would’ve happened if Ultron had left the portal open, because that’s pretty self-explanatory and any alternatives would require their own post for me to go into specifics.

Tony’s very obviously freaking out, and this is literally his worst nightmare, cut off from JARVIS, and the rest and he’s seeing the alien army he’s been trying to get the Earth ready for and...welp. 

That he’s being dragged and ‘presented’ to Thanos, is only the goddamn cherry on top.

He doesn’t know what happened to Vision, but Ultron’s wearing his body and that’s not exactly helping either. The only silver lining to being around Ultron is his tendency to monologue, and that’s how Tony gets an idea of what’s going on. 

Thanos is looking at him like he’s an insect, and oh, that’s where Loki got some of his crazy from, makes sense. [He’s so, so screwed, isn't he?]

...oh, wait, they want to recruit Tony? And have him make them an army, because they’re curious as to what he’s capable of? This, he can work with.

...it’s been a few years since the debut of Iron Man, and Tony never really advertised what went down in Afghanistan. Plus, these aliens have different priorities, and really it’s not their fault they’re making the same mistake the Ten Rings did. 

Except for the way it really, really is. 

Add in Tony’s resistance to the Mind Stone [Loki tried it on him in the Avengers and failed, remember? Plus with humanity’s surprise tolerance for items of infinite cosmic power that I mentioned in another post] and you get Tony with highly advanced alien tech, being forced to supply an army for the enemy. 

Because that’s ended so well for his captors before, right?

Meanwhile, back on Earth...

...hmm. I can’t decide. Because the Avengers are reeling, are going ‘oh shit’ and ‘looks like Tony wasn’t as crazy as we thought, oops’, while JARVIS...

Umm. Well, obviously he’s not going to take it well. 

And I can’t honestly say how that’ll go down. Because JARVIS, at this point, is traumatized and has been hyperfixating on Tony’s safety to cope. His morality’s never been much to write home about and Tony was what was keeping him reigned in. He has a robot army at hand, doesn’t believe in overkill, and his morality chain’s gone, there’s no way this can go wrong, right?

He was already borderline Skynet in some ways, but seeing Tony get kidnapped [and hearing him, and feeling the connection become static]...well. I’ll leave that up to your imagination.

It depends, really.

If he goes the subtle route:

 JARVIS would regroup the Iron Legion, collect Vision and any alien artifacts, and book it home. He wouldn’t care about what happens to the Avengers, except to run a subroutine to monitor them [because he’d deemed them a potential threat before but now Tony got captured on their watch—] and mobilizing as many researchers to get on the case as he possibly can. Dr. Foster’s data gets copied to his private servers, SWORD and R&D are on it, and it still doesn’t feel like it’s enough.

Vision gives him the data, and got moved to an Iron Man suit [because the body he’s in was mostly running on willpower], while they’re working on making him a newer and better body. [And if the Iron Legion’s also growing exponentially...well, that’s no one’s business, now, is it?]

Rhodey immediately gets brought in, and is kept in the loop the entire time. 

This isn’t his normal field of study, and the only words he recognizes are the ones that also pertained to aviation engineering, but he does his best to not get lost.

He’s seething, and only part of it’s guilt [he’d been less than 500 meters away, again, just like last time—], and JARVIS clued him in as to how the team had treated Tony [he’d punched Thor while still in the suit, when they’d first met. Thor had let him, and didn’t lift a hand to fight back]. 

But things are going slower now, because Resident Genius 1′s the guy who got kidnapped, while Genius 2′s MIA [...or not? Maybe he sticks around? Hmm...] and Dr. Foster and Selvig’re doing quite a bit of heavy lifting. Not to say SWORD and SI aren’t, but their specialties are in ways to make things explode better other fields, so progress isn’t what it used to be.

The Avengers, meanwhile...well, they get shafted, simply put. Tony was the one doing all the work, and now that he’s gone and SI’s devoted its spare resources to finding him, they’re facing the scrutiny of the world and don't have any good answers to their tough questions.

 Turns out losing billionaire philanthropists was a bigger deal than they’d thought, and now that Tony’s gone it’s Steve that’s getting called by the World Security Council, except this time it’s about reconstruction efforts in Johannesburg and questioning his recruitment choices and what was being done to secure the planet and he doesn’t know what to say. 

...that might’ve been a bit harsh, actually.

 I’d like to think that Tony’s loss would’ve been the wake-up call the Avengers never had, the likes of Phil Coulson’s death in the first Avengers movie, because I’m a sucker for good team dynamics and even if it won't go this way in TWiFFON, if I can fix it even a little, I will. 

Just...umm. 

Please ignore Wanda’s absence, or pretend that the Chitauri took out both twins instead of just Pietro in this one, because of reasons.

Thor’s taking it the hardest, and Vision’s mention of Thanos [one of the things he’d managed to get from Ultron’s mind during the fight] makes his blood run cold as he remember’s Loki’s Scepter [and the gleam of madness in his eyes], the similarities between him and Tony, and goes back to Asgard as soon as possible because—no, please no. Hopefully Heimdall had something, please, don’t let this happen again—

Steve’s the team leader, and he’s taking it pretty damn hard, too. He’s looking back, and remembering what happened last time, and wants to punch himself in the face. How had he not seen this? Why hadn’t he— just— how could he have been so stupid? [And what could they do now?] 

His nightmares had featured Bucky falling for years now. Seeing Tony getting swept up and up and up is not much better. 

Natasha’s calling in as many favors as she can, and between her and Maria Hill, a good chunk of SHIELD’s scientists are also working on it. Relations between SWORD and SHIELD improve, because they’re collaborating more, and working towards the same goal. 

Clint’s retirement either gets moved up from ‘after this mission’ to ‘right fucking now, go to ground and lay low stat’, or he stays with team, since half the roster’s MIA and the other half isn’t doing so hot. He’s also calling in every favor he’s got, and the scientists who were working on the Tesseract and weren’t in Natasha’s debt tended to owe him one. [Or two.] 

Bruce’s situation I already covered. Either MIA or hard at work.

They’re doing what they can with what they have, and maybe it’s not enough right now, but they’ll get there. 

[Aka the cast of TWiFFON assembles to rescue Tony.]

Of course, that’s assuming JARVIS has a modicum of self-restraint and subtlety, when Tony’s been kidnapped on his watch. [He doesn't believe in overkill, after all.]

If JARVIS had decided to go forego subtlety, though...

He can make Skynet look like a toddler, his morals are now officially compromised, and Tony did his level best to keep him safe.

You do the math.

He may or may not have kidnapped every scientist who hadn’t replied favorably to his request within 72 hours, is what I’m saying. 

He may or may not have stolen all data from multiple nations without making any bones about it, and scared the crap out of the planet while at it. 

Ditto as to what the Iron Legion’s up to. Or Stark Industries. 

Tony would gladly raise hell for those he cares about, and some things run in the family. 

Either way, at some point another wormhole’s made, or opens up.

Everyone’s gearing for battle and panicking and the Iron Legion’s assembled, when a single figure in slim black-and-gold armor slowly exits and the portal starts to close behind him.

“This the right place? Terra—Earth, I mean, Earth! Damn I’ve really spent too much time abroad. Hey, JARVIS, miss me—oooh boy. You’ve been busy, haven't you?”

#shatterpoint #behind the scenes #The War is Far From Over Now #writer's commentary #Naught rambles

[rjalker]

also I REALLY should have written down what the aliens in my dream last night looked like. It also had something to do with Ice Age. fuck. I didn’t write it down because Ships distracted me. Something about Ice Age and Kingdom Hearts and aliens and maybe Dinotopia and idk. But aliens were attacking and someone was handing out these stupid ass dual-metal sword things made of “vibranium”, which could slice through any living tissue but not inorganic material, and “corpheris” which could slice through any non living material, but not living. supposedly, with both of them, we’d have no trouble taking down the aliens.

Except the stupid fucking things were like, half falling apart and the blade on mine that cut through livung stuff fell out of place and sliced open my thumb and HURT LIKE FUCK so I literally spent the rest of the dream internally screaming. I threw the sword away because fuck that shit and decided I would just fight off the aliens with my own natural weapons. Which included breathing black, sticky bubbles out of my mouth like a Froakie. (I literally thought to myself, hey, what about Daniel, my Greninja?)

I meant to google what vibranium was when I woke up because I knew it was from something, I just couldn’t remember what. At least black panther reminded me of where it’s from.

#Rjalker has weird dreams