ってばね ♡

[Kushina]

comments are welcome if they're kind
otherwise please don't post in here ​

 

[Kushina]

ヽ(●ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ●)ﾉﾟ
I'm feeling kind of exhausted lately.
My gay muses are tough cookies to kick,
but everyone wants me to write m/f and I'm
really, really not feeling up to it. It's either
I write the girl or I write the guy in m/f despite
saying I really prefer to write m//. Like it's fine,
maybe have one or two going, I don't mind being
the f in m/f if it's for naruto, but heck man...
I'll mention my pref. and it get's ignored.
I'm flattered, honestly, but when does
a girl draw the line...?
& I just started too.

I'm not ranting about anyone in particular,
just sort of... ranting as a whole, I guess!

Blah. If you want me at my straight, you
gotta be able to take me at my gay! : (
However, that ain't how it is. C'est la vie.

​

 

[Kushina]

Jason Todd/Red Hood - May 2015


The inner city noises were hushed within the confines of the safe house, rendered silent by the thick walls of the compact space. The air conditioner droned on within, creating the perfect white noise while the lowered voices of news anchors discussed this instance or that; the Stock Market took another hit today, the Gotham bank was robbed yet again, the Arkham Asylum prisoner, Doctor Jonathan Crane, was still at large… All background noise inside the room smelling of cordite and the lingering scent of cigarette smoke.

It was an old habit, and one that Jason Todd had had before he was even Robin. He wasn’t a chain smoker, or a particularly frequent one for that matter, but on a few occasions did he have the urge to press a lit Camel to his lips. Bruce had forced him to quit before he donned his pair of pixie boots, and the man must have assumed that he’d followed it through, but he was entitled to his own secrets.

But he didn’t have a death wish; Jason knew damn well not to smoke while fucking around with contained explosives. The five bombs sat completed on his work desk; all sleek black squares, nitroglycerin-based, and controlled by a single detonator. It was mundane work by this point, but it kept his afternoons busy and his hands busy while he waited, counting down the minutes as he connected wires or measured the proper amounts of sulfuric and nitric acids to add to the glycerol.

Still, the urge to light a cigarette had hit him as he leaned between the heavy curtains of the safe house, his bare shoulder pressed against the cool glass, his blue-green eyes watching the distant activity of the Bowery down below. Jason had safe houses hidden all over Gotham, and with the constant need to rotate his living space, sometimes he just forgot what sights were around him. Last week it was the Tricorner yards, and two days before that, Chinatown. The luxury of remaining stationary was no longer his after all he’d done, after all the people he’d killed or pissed off, and maybe it was just paranoia that kept him on his toes, kept him mobile, but slowing down didn’t seem like a viable option. Not anymore.

Jason struck the wheel of the lighter with his thumb, cupping the flame with his hand as he pressed it to the butt of the cigarette between his lips. He inhaled and withdrew the cigarette, letting the wisps of smoke escape from his mouth before repeating the action. Quitting his vigil at the window, he abandoned the bleak sights of the impoverished part of the city below, abandoned the familiarity of that world that felt like ages away, an entire life away, and dug his cigarette into the near empty ash tray as he passed the nightstand. He bypassed his bed and went straight for the wardrobe he kept in the single roomed safe house. Night at last.

It was amazing the sheer amount of pain that could result from a shattered kneecap. What’s even more amazing is how easy it was to cause such an injury with a single bullet. Red Hood whistled, the sound reverberating mechanically behind his seamless mask. As the man hyperventilated, cursed, cried, and clawed at his injured leg, he crouched down beside him, resting his arms on his knees. “Not a pretty sight, huh?” he questioned rhetorically. “Let’s hope Gotham General’s finest will be able to reconstruct that. You may never walk again, but at least you’ll be breathing. You know—“ Red Hood dug the muzzle of the gun against the man’s sweaty hairline. “—If I let you. So about those disappearing school kids I’ve been hearing so much about…”

The man opened his mouth and shut it uselessly, looking downright terrified as his eyes darted uncertainly from Red Hood to the sky to his leg and to the alley they were in. “I don’t—“
“Oh, I bet you do. I’m sure you’ve got more information on it than I’ve got patience. Or you’ve got blood.” Red Hood gestured down to the man’s knee with a tilt of his head. The man followed his action and seemingly paled, though that could have been from the blood loss. “O-Okay. Okay! I’ll talk…”

Easy enough to get what he wanted to hear. And would you look at that, it only cost him two bullets; a warning shot and a not so warning shot. Having returned to the somewhat safety the rooftops provided, Red Hood returned the gun to its twin, tucking it back into the holster attached to the back of his belt. Had he not happened to look up at that exact moment, he would have missed it; the movement on the building adjacent from him, the prominent feature being the lack of a cape to trail after the body as it moved.

Well, wasn’t that interesting. The golden son was an awfully long way from Bludhaven. Granted, Nightwing was a big boy and he could go where he wanted, but seriously, didn’t he still have his blue and black flag planted in Gotham’s neighboring soil? Unless his inevitable return to the fine city was just him out running errands for good old dad. Regardless of the reason, it piqued Red Hood’s curiosity. With a smirk that was well concealed behind his mask, he followed after Nightwing, keeping a good distance to avoid alerting the acrobat of his presence.