Random YJ Drabbles
Most of these are prompts I got on tumblr. I'm thinking of creating like a little drabble dump spot on FF.net, but not sure what I should title it. All well. Something will spark my imagination.
OBLIVION
If he wasn’t so self-conscious of his actions, he probably would have brought it to his nose and breathed it in. And he’s not so sure why it really matters to begin with because he’s alone, and it’s just him and the slightly lack luster garment in his hand. His garment, or costume, or ID, or the thing that he most easily identified with. His costume that was specifically designed for him with the bright yellow hues and loud red that kind of made him feel like a bursting supernova, starkly contrasting any type of dullness high above the atmosphere. He liked being that unpredictable, the trump card of speed and whirling winds that his teammates relied on.
He’s laughing. Laughing a little louder than he should.
God, I really need to get off my high horse.
Where did he get the idea that he mattered in any great expanse of things? His own town, his own city can’t even get his name right, and here he is boasting like he’s the greatest thing since The Breakfast Club.
Speedy, but never Kid Flash. A joke with bright yellow boots, and not a care in the world when it was years ago and not today. Today was different, and it’s stinging. Stinging in his hands like a child foolishly touching the stove top for the first time because they really don’t know better, and people tell you ‘no’, but you want to so badly anyway. It’s an experience. And do you really regret it afterwards?
All he knows is that he did want this so badly. Like sometimes his stomach would twist into knots about it as he slept, and dreamt dreams that were of him sprinting into nothingness. He would buzz, and the noise of it would rattle his bones in that familiar way that made his lips twitch in ecstasy.
He’s rolling the fabric gently over blistered fingers, trying to imprint the memory and feel of it. The love of it, and how he never really wanted to lose this. He just wanted to run. Just run and run and run until it hurt better than it does now.
The lock on the chest he throws it in sounds so loud and foreboding.
Don’t you open it again.
--------
VANISH
All she has to say is yes, and she can be wherever, whenever. She just needs to say yes, but her hands are curling into his arm, grounding him, but leaving her feeling so connected. She needs that connection more than anything now, but she doesn’t want to admit it. There’s nothing worse than feeling this helpless, so needy. She doesn’t need him. At least she thinks she doesn’t.
Her grip tightens.
She can see it then as familiar fingers urge her chin upward to look into eyes that promise the luxury of spring. New beginnings. She likes those eyes. They always made her a lot of promises.
“Artemis, just say it. Just say anything.”
She’s inhaling suddenly, and he’s just staring, waiting for any sign of a word or signal to move. He’s always ready to move, to change. And suddenly it’s too much. And she feels the weight of it all bearing down on her to the point that she loses her grip on him. The connection is lost, and she feels really cold without him. Lonely.
She’s quick about it. Quick with arms that reconnect, and loop securely around his neck. She honestly forgets how tall he’s gotten because now she has to stand on the balls of her feet to feel the comfortable warmth of his shoulder on her cheek.
“Far.”
It’s all she has to say. He’s scooping her up, and he’s gone. They’re gone. Gone in the sensation of colors and whirls of wind that caress her face so intimately, so lovingly. And if they got lost in it, really got lost in it, then that would be the best. Indescribable feelings are defined like this. Just everything and nothing in an instant.
He’s slowing, and a part of her just wants to scream keep going. That’s selfish though. She can hear his lungs screaming and his muscles tightening and the jarring of bones as they seek remnants of energy that will keep them coasting along wide pavements. He never lets her go. It feels good to be cradled so tightly against his heaving chest.
He really pushed himself this time.
“Are we lost?” she asks as her vision stops blurring, and things make sense again.
His knees buckle, and she has to brace herself with her hands to prevent face planting into patches of mud and grass. He’s not sorry about it. He’s too busy wiping away at sweat with dirty hands. The thought is settling in him. She can see it, see it winding its way down in his mental processes, until it makes sense and he’s howling. Howling so loudly on the side of the road, a few miles from civilization. He’s excited, and she’s just blaming the adrenaline.
Her hands find his mouth, fingers clumsily asking for him to be quiet. And now that she knows they are alone, and that she is free to really let herself need him, she’s coiling into him tightly and unabashed.
Nothing really happens between them. But the sense of nothing is good right now. She doesn’t want complications, or explanations, or anything really. She just wants this moment. With him.
--------
LESSONS
He’s not matching her. He’s way too relaxed, and she can feel her frustration knitting in her eyebrows. He must sense her uneasiness because he’s turning his attention to her, the moonlight caught in the blond tendrils of his beard.
“Something wrong?”
She wonders how he can look so sure of himself with just two words.
She huffs a little before turning her gaze to her dangling feet on the roof top. There are things she wants to say, and feelings she wants to blurt out, but they are stuck in the expanse of her lungs. They won’t dare push it all out. She’s private. You keep that stuff in.
“Of course there is something wrong. We’ve been on this rooftop for four hours, and not a single thing is happening. Not exactly a successful first night of mentoring,” she says truthfully while keeping the other mounds of insecurities bound up neatly.
He’s smiling. She knows it. She can feel it in the thickness of the air around her, pressing into her and telling her to relax a little. But she can’t. She wants to go back to Gotham where it was always an adventure and there was always a need for her help.
“The measure of a hero isn’t in the number of crimes you can squash in a single night. If you want to help others, that’s usually enough.” The weight of his hand on her shoulder is warm and reassuring. It’s even better considering that this conversation isn’t forced or spiteful. She’s too used to that.
“Thanks, Confucius.”
It’s the first lesson she learns from him. It fills her. So when they are finally jumping from the top of fire escapes and pulling strings taught against the friction of calloused fingers, she feels her heart swell.
This feels right.
--------
SAVIOR
He’s the last one standing. Though, it’s rather ironic considering he never wanted to be a part of this to begin with. He was sensible, or at least he was trying to explain that notion to the tattered uniform pathetically covering the nicks and bruises that could have been much greater injuries if the opportunity presented itself. He won’t let the opportunity come though because he’s fast, and he loves it and they loved it.
There are times when lasers are zapping, explosions are ringing out that he hears the laughter. He can hear their inexperience as team mates ringing so sickeningly clear in his ear. They never signed up for this. It should have been different. It should have been fun. There shouldn’t be drifting ash or darkened skies.
The loneliness settles in. How was he the last? Maybe he wanted it all a little more than they did. And maybe that idea scared him to the point of giving it up at one time, but only for a little while. It’s not like it could have been permanent. But he’s here now. He’s here.
His vision is a bit clouded as he takes the back of his hand and wipes his lip clean of the blood that’s starting to collect there. And with a little more effort than he was willing to admit, he’s standing. He’s standing with loud hair and brilliant splashes of yellow fabric clinging to his arms and face, the last beacon of color contrasting the hollow colors of grey. The grey mocks him. For a long time that used to be one of his favorites.
“Alright guys, this one’s for you,” he says as he feels the warmth returning to his tired legs. The fight’s still there.
He’ll keep going. He’ll keep defending. There were people who needed him, and he had no intention of stopping his aggressive movements, the endless tread of feet pounding broken cement.
--------
BLIND SPOT
He’s whirling, and every bit of color is rounding her vision in that instant. It’s humiliating. He might as well just tell her she is incompetent, a failure for having him protect her like this. She’d much rather choke on the blood that’s slowly trickling down the side of her mouth than confront him.
The pale multitude of colors is fading, and the quick motions of his palms against their opponents surging tenketsu is enough to end this mishap. He’s sweeping the perimeter, turning towards her only when he feels satisfied of his work and kneels before her. His eyes are catching the light of the moon, and for a brief second she can pinpoint the familiar lavender hues that contrast white as he’s bowing his head forward in the most intimate way.
“Are you alright?”
The blade in her hand appears much faster than Neji can fathom to react, and it’s sailing past the neatly tied hair that swings over his shoulder. She listens for the thud and the silent plea of the ninja that thought it was a good idea to interrupt.
Her body never relaxes, but she’s learned at this point that such foolish practices would only lead to your untimely death, so she flashes him a subtle bloody grin, satisfied with the fact that she could return the favor to him.
“Just peachy.”
--------
GUARDIAN
“Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!”
He’s hyped up in the best possible way; no caffeine needed because the high of energy is natural and filled with adrenaline to the point of bursting. He feels like a rocket.
He needs to settle. Settle. Settle. But god he can’t stop buzzing. He can’t stop the way his toes are curling in delight over the news. It might as well be Christmas. Santa came early. SCORE!
The familiar curl of fingers ruffling his rowdy red hair does little to calm him. He’s just shaking in place, hands stretched out above his head because his uncle is way too tall.
He can hear the approval in the chuckle he gives him as he hoists him upwards on to his shoulders. This was his favorite part. Being able to see more and sometimes his uncle would jog a little faster than he could comprehend, but he liked it. He knew he liked the woosh and the wind in his face. And maybe if he’s lucky and he grows up a little taller he can match him, and they can run together, and they can do all the important things in life together.
He looks down as his uncle looks up, and there’s this sense of camaraderie that only they understand.
“Alright, kid. Today, you have to be on your best behavior. They don’t mind us showing kids around the offices, and if you’re really good I will give you a quick tour of my lab. But promise,” he says, eyes matching his own excitement, “no touching! Understood?”
Wally has no choice, but to listen. He will. He’ll be on his best behavior. Scouts honor.
Mary is by the doorway, and the look is more anxious than Wally can understand. “Just…” the pause grounds him, “Be really careful with him Barry. You know how he gets.”
“I’ll make sure to keep up.”
OBLIVION
If he wasn’t so self-conscious of his actions, he probably would have brought it to his nose and breathed it in. And he’s not so sure why it really matters to begin with because he’s alone, and it’s just him and the slightly lack luster garment in his hand. His garment, or costume, or ID, or the thing that he most easily identified with. His costume that was specifically designed for him with the bright yellow hues and loud red that kind of made him feel like a bursting supernova, starkly contrasting any type of dullness high above the atmosphere. He liked being that unpredictable, the trump card of speed and whirling winds that his teammates relied on.
He’s laughing. Laughing a little louder than he should.
God, I really need to get off my high horse.
Where did he get the idea that he mattered in any great expanse of things? His own town, his own city can’t even get his name right, and here he is boasting like he’s the greatest thing since The Breakfast Club.
Speedy, but never Kid Flash. A joke with bright yellow boots, and not a care in the world when it was years ago and not today. Today was different, and it’s stinging. Stinging in his hands like a child foolishly touching the stove top for the first time because they really don’t know better, and people tell you ‘no’, but you want to so badly anyway. It’s an experience. And do you really regret it afterwards?
All he knows is that he did want this so badly. Like sometimes his stomach would twist into knots about it as he slept, and dreamt dreams that were of him sprinting into nothingness. He would buzz, and the noise of it would rattle his bones in that familiar way that made his lips twitch in ecstasy.
He’s rolling the fabric gently over blistered fingers, trying to imprint the memory and feel of it. The love of it, and how he never really wanted to lose this. He just wanted to run. Just run and run and run until it hurt better than it does now.
The lock on the chest he throws it in sounds so loud and foreboding.
Don’t you open it again.
--------
VANISH
All she has to say is yes, and she can be wherever, whenever. She just needs to say yes, but her hands are curling into his arm, grounding him, but leaving her feeling so connected. She needs that connection more than anything now, but she doesn’t want to admit it. There’s nothing worse than feeling this helpless, so needy. She doesn’t need him. At least she thinks she doesn’t.
Her grip tightens.
She can see it then as familiar fingers urge her chin upward to look into eyes that promise the luxury of spring. New beginnings. She likes those eyes. They always made her a lot of promises.
“Artemis, just say it. Just say anything.”
She’s inhaling suddenly, and he’s just staring, waiting for any sign of a word or signal to move. He’s always ready to move, to change. And suddenly it’s too much. And she feels the weight of it all bearing down on her to the point that she loses her grip on him. The connection is lost, and she feels really cold without him. Lonely.
She’s quick about it. Quick with arms that reconnect, and loop securely around his neck. She honestly forgets how tall he’s gotten because now she has to stand on the balls of her feet to feel the comfortable warmth of his shoulder on her cheek.
“Far.”
It’s all she has to say. He’s scooping her up, and he’s gone. They’re gone. Gone in the sensation of colors and whirls of wind that caress her face so intimately, so lovingly. And if they got lost in it, really got lost in it, then that would be the best. Indescribable feelings are defined like this. Just everything and nothing in an instant.
He’s slowing, and a part of her just wants to scream keep going. That’s selfish though. She can hear his lungs screaming and his muscles tightening and the jarring of bones as they seek remnants of energy that will keep them coasting along wide pavements. He never lets her go. It feels good to be cradled so tightly against his heaving chest.
He really pushed himself this time.
“Are we lost?” she asks as her vision stops blurring, and things make sense again.
His knees buckle, and she has to brace herself with her hands to prevent face planting into patches of mud and grass. He’s not sorry about it. He’s too busy wiping away at sweat with dirty hands. The thought is settling in him. She can see it, see it winding its way down in his mental processes, until it makes sense and he’s howling. Howling so loudly on the side of the road, a few miles from civilization. He’s excited, and she’s just blaming the adrenaline.
Her hands find his mouth, fingers clumsily asking for him to be quiet. And now that she knows they are alone, and that she is free to really let herself need him, she’s coiling into him tightly and unabashed.
Nothing really happens between them. But the sense of nothing is good right now. She doesn’t want complications, or explanations, or anything really. She just wants this moment. With him.
--------
LESSONS
He’s not matching her. He’s way too relaxed, and she can feel her frustration knitting in her eyebrows. He must sense her uneasiness because he’s turning his attention to her, the moonlight caught in the blond tendrils of his beard.
“Something wrong?”
She wonders how he can look so sure of himself with just two words.
She huffs a little before turning her gaze to her dangling feet on the roof top. There are things she wants to say, and feelings she wants to blurt out, but they are stuck in the expanse of her lungs. They won’t dare push it all out. She’s private. You keep that stuff in.
“Of course there is something wrong. We’ve been on this rooftop for four hours, and not a single thing is happening. Not exactly a successful first night of mentoring,” she says truthfully while keeping the other mounds of insecurities bound up neatly.
He’s smiling. She knows it. She can feel it in the thickness of the air around her, pressing into her and telling her to relax a little. But she can’t. She wants to go back to Gotham where it was always an adventure and there was always a need for her help.
“The measure of a hero isn’t in the number of crimes you can squash in a single night. If you want to help others, that’s usually enough.” The weight of his hand on her shoulder is warm and reassuring. It’s even better considering that this conversation isn’t forced or spiteful. She’s too used to that.
“Thanks, Confucius.”
It’s the first lesson she learns from him. It fills her. So when they are finally jumping from the top of fire escapes and pulling strings taught against the friction of calloused fingers, she feels her heart swell.
This feels right.
--------
SAVIOR
He’s the last one standing. Though, it’s rather ironic considering he never wanted to be a part of this to begin with. He was sensible, or at least he was trying to explain that notion to the tattered uniform pathetically covering the nicks and bruises that could have been much greater injuries if the opportunity presented itself. He won’t let the opportunity come though because he’s fast, and he loves it and they loved it.
There are times when lasers are zapping, explosions are ringing out that he hears the laughter. He can hear their inexperience as team mates ringing so sickeningly clear in his ear. They never signed up for this. It should have been different. It should have been fun. There shouldn’t be drifting ash or darkened skies.
The loneliness settles in. How was he the last? Maybe he wanted it all a little more than they did. And maybe that idea scared him to the point of giving it up at one time, but only for a little while. It’s not like it could have been permanent. But he’s here now. He’s here.
His vision is a bit clouded as he takes the back of his hand and wipes his lip clean of the blood that’s starting to collect there. And with a little more effort than he was willing to admit, he’s standing. He’s standing with loud hair and brilliant splashes of yellow fabric clinging to his arms and face, the last beacon of color contrasting the hollow colors of grey. The grey mocks him. For a long time that used to be one of his favorites.
“Alright guys, this one’s for you,” he says as he feels the warmth returning to his tired legs. The fight’s still there.
He’ll keep going. He’ll keep defending. There were people who needed him, and he had no intention of stopping his aggressive movements, the endless tread of feet pounding broken cement.
--------
BLIND SPOT
He’s whirling, and every bit of color is rounding her vision in that instant. It’s humiliating. He might as well just tell her she is incompetent, a failure for having him protect her like this. She’d much rather choke on the blood that’s slowly trickling down the side of her mouth than confront him.
The pale multitude of colors is fading, and the quick motions of his palms against their opponents surging tenketsu is enough to end this mishap. He’s sweeping the perimeter, turning towards her only when he feels satisfied of his work and kneels before her. His eyes are catching the light of the moon, and for a brief second she can pinpoint the familiar lavender hues that contrast white as he’s bowing his head forward in the most intimate way.
“Are you alright?”
The blade in her hand appears much faster than Neji can fathom to react, and it’s sailing past the neatly tied hair that swings over his shoulder. She listens for the thud and the silent plea of the ninja that thought it was a good idea to interrupt.
Her body never relaxes, but she’s learned at this point that such foolish practices would only lead to your untimely death, so she flashes him a subtle bloody grin, satisfied with the fact that she could return the favor to him.
“Just peachy.”
--------
GUARDIAN
“Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!”
He’s hyped up in the best possible way; no caffeine needed because the high of energy is natural and filled with adrenaline to the point of bursting. He feels like a rocket.
He needs to settle. Settle. Settle. But god he can’t stop buzzing. He can’t stop the way his toes are curling in delight over the news. It might as well be Christmas. Santa came early. SCORE!
The familiar curl of fingers ruffling his rowdy red hair does little to calm him. He’s just shaking in place, hands stretched out above his head because his uncle is way too tall.
He can hear the approval in the chuckle he gives him as he hoists him upwards on to his shoulders. This was his favorite part. Being able to see more and sometimes his uncle would jog a little faster than he could comprehend, but he liked it. He knew he liked the woosh and the wind in his face. And maybe if he’s lucky and he grows up a little taller he can match him, and they can run together, and they can do all the important things in life together.
He looks down as his uncle looks up, and there’s this sense of camaraderie that only they understand.
“Alright, kid. Today, you have to be on your best behavior. They don’t mind us showing kids around the offices, and if you’re really good I will give you a quick tour of my lab. But promise,” he says, eyes matching his own excitement, “no touching! Understood?”
Wally has no choice, but to listen. He will. He’ll be on his best behavior. Scouts honor.
Mary is by the doorway, and the look is more anxious than Wally can understand. “Just…” the pause grounds him, “Be really careful with him Barry. You know how he gets.”
“I’ll make sure to keep up.”