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yngai · 4 years

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one of the main reasons ada has survived this long working on her own ( outside her predisposition to manipulate people into doing her job for her, a paradoxical method of both minimising & maximising risk ) is that she essentially became her own handler / IT support . while she necessitated such aid early on in her career, especially during her time at umbrella, a naturally precarious mission which required years of preparation on part of umbrella’s rival corporations as well as several fellow spies implanted within the company that made way for ada’s hiring an assistant researcher in the arklay laboratory . the death of her handler by his own hand, discovered upon her arrival at their agreed meeting point at the apple inn, despite her securing a sample of the g-virus ( or scraping a tissue fragment off william birkin’s corpse depending on route or adaption ), the sudden, brief release from her dependency on his guidance + the organization during her espionage only reinforced a core aspect of her personal philosophy, that of all people in this world, the only person she can ever rely on is herself .

of course, albert wesker came to her rescue, but his gloved hand was an underhanded offer & even back then, before they would become rival agents of the organization, she knew all he saw in her was just another card in his deck, easily shuffled out when she is no longer of any use . it was an offer she couldn’t refuse & did little to dissuade her belief in self-reliance . it only bolstered it, truly, for when she will find herself in a situation like this again, if she even allows herself that uncertainty overcasting her life, her exit will be assured far in advance . if albert wesker was to treat her as a stepping stone for his own ambitions, she would only do so in return & their animosity grew from that initial meeting, an impersonal video call amidst a dying city .

ada wong’s shift in persona, from a scared woman trying to survive the hell of raccoon city, grasping at straws & desperate manipulations all in the vein hope of survival, to the fully realised spy whose status within the criminal underworld was akin to legend, was a multi-step process which the organization facilitated as her success retrieving secretive data & virus samples from within umbrella’s own, most well-guarded facilities was a display of realised promise, scouted for her talents & interests by the organization just as she had earned her degree . a strong foundation, natural talent, myriad potential careers ahead of her, an interest in the filed & a pretty face, beneath a burning determination to make something of herself . she was the perfect candidate & eager to commit to the life of an actress without audience, a lifelong dream without the one setback that halted it early on . she became a guarantee of completed missions of even greater importance to their goal of overthrowing their competitor’s hold on the pharmaceutical industry & the development of biological weapons of war, an entrée into a lucrative black market that would follow when umbrella’s trade secrets make their way into criminal hands .

she was an asset & fully aware of it, but left scarred & bleeding after setting two feet in hell . weak, bruised & fearful beyond imagination, there was a purpose here which she clung tightly onto, not the organization or their goals, she held no belief in them beyond wanting to see umbrella burn, but a chance to become something greater, something better . like the woman painted in the legends told about her, infinitely capable, deeply calculating, twirling the world on her finger . it would come at a cost, as all such matters often do, personal & moral in equal measure . too much of a danger for her to return home, a risk that the few people she cared for most would become a liability in her life as a spy & she would much rather they think her dead . allying herself with the organization’s heart will paint her in colours likened to umbrella, but the rest of the world does not often consider the reputation of a dead woman & in the long run it would not matter anyway, she was not planning on sticking around .

ada agreed to pay that price in full & thus, was given further training to account for how umbrella’s evil would mutate in the coming years, taken new, far worse forms as it exchanged shadowy hands . though the organization could only provide so much, training ada as an H.C.F. field operative with only few additions to account for her personal conduct, lacking certain skills which instrumental to her survival which she sought to teach to herself. while there are many facets to account for in the transition between ada’s initial equipment & skill-set in resident evil 2, compared to her much different, twice kidnapped notwithstanding, effortless professionalism displayed in 4 ( i went over her physical development in a brief ramble in the tags here ), i should probably return to origin & discuss her ability as a hacker . a talent she picked up quickly, almost second nature, coding her own malicious software, exploiting vulnerabilities within well guarded digital systems . already quick on her feet & adaptable, fast thinking translating from perilous situations to the computer screen, ada found hacking to be akin to the act of manipulation, finding & using a vulnerability against your target . people & their personalities were systematised within her mind, like code, their wants & desires, their history, all absorbed & accounted for to predict every future movement . not a perfect process, her own prejudices get in the way of fully perceiving others, her cynicism resulting from a sense of helplessness & of everyone else, she will never have access to her own code . she understands, she infers, she consumes information at a rapid pace & sometimes that is enough but she is not above making mistakes, pitfalls of her own mind & they each cost her .

during raccoon city, her closest equivalent was the EMF visualizer, introduced in the remake but a piece of tech i rather enjoy as a callback(?) to her future abilities in regards to computers while being deceptively simple & fitting for the 1998 setting . a fairly self-explanatory, rudimentary piece of technology that detects & interacts with the electromagnetic field generated by moving currents, though it is more apt at doing so with the force created by an electric field as opposed to a magnetic one, as the former is much stronger that the latter . it allows its user to scan & interact with circuitry by directing charges within an electric system, or short-circuiting any point along it . while referred to as hacking in-game, it bares very little resemblance to the real deal & quite limited . it was a portable, small-scale EMP generator that disrupts low-level electronics & can cause more complicated tech to, essentially, glitch ( thus bypassing NEST’s identification system ) . ada used it to destroy intake fans in raccoon city’s sewers, primarily & any access to umbrella’s internal database was acquired through her position as an assistant researcher before her credentials were erased &, would there be anything above her clearance level, the ID & passwords swiped off of dr. john clemens & dr. annette birkin, respectively . john, of course, was far more willing to part with his than annette, both because of his infatuation with ada & his plan to leak arklay’s darkest secrets to the world .

with the evolution of technology, the dawn of the information age &, i suppose, the slight discrepancy in its advancement between the ressie universe & reality ( though a lot of what we consider groundbreaking today was developed years prior for military use before going public, meaning both umbrella & the organization would have rather easy access to such advancements quite early ), ada’s only necessity in regards to cyber-security was a computer connected to whatever secure, private network she wanted to break into . for example, a pair of smart-glasses outfitted with such that are convenient, portable & fashionable, able to discharge a non-lethal explosive, the equivalent of a stun grenade, if activated . used to scan an encroaching environment, any digital system she wishes to interact with &, in certain instances, as the eyes & ears of anyone overseeing her mission from afar . hardly a replacement for a proper computer, but a useful tool nonetheless & easy to discard for fear of her tampering being tracked . as technology develops even further, ada does upgrade from bulky laptops to tablets, to phones & whatever permutations they might take in future, a weird cube . her abilities as a hacker, tied to a fictionalised rendition of the practice for the fun of it, grow with the tech & tie directly into how she becomes her own handler . information is a currency, after all, & before every mission ada does extensive reconnaissance on the people & places she will be tasked with visiting, sometimes relying on a web of contacts around the world formed after years of spy-work . anything too secretive & too hidden is relegated to field discovery, as she would rather her targets not be on alert after a potential cyber-attack . she prefers it this way, while she always steps into a new mission with an exit strategy already meticulously planned, there is fun & risk to be had in being physically present for a grand revelation & she never passes up the chance for that thrill . after the organization succumbs to internal conflict & she sets the stage to work freelance, ada begins carrying herself through her objectives & any outside help, predominantly in regards to transport & accommodation, different missions requiring different resources, is given to her by her various employers . a sort of guarantee, an advanced payment, if you will, though she is not above taking those in cash just as well . using any resource at her disposal, what is provided willingly, what is not, the people she encounters throughout her life, all to ensure her success, her survival .

a fun little headcanon to end on : between missions, ada has taken up a little side-project that blurs the line between work & leisure . leaking sensitive information between rival companies & criminal organizations only to sit back & watch them destroy each other, or to a hungry press looking for the next big story, satiating a starving public seeking explanation for the continuous state of disarray . gray hat hacking to pass the time, if you will . she isn’t looking to make waves, she takes no credit for her tampering, would be poor form for a woman wrapped in mystery, & rarely strikes businesses with an international reach, where the real damage is done . its merely a way to pull strings & watch the world spin, a performance she enjoys viewing from afar .

#* file // : OOC — ( 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐄 . )#* file // : 004 — ( 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 . )#* file // : 005 — ( 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀 . )#this was originally just gonna be about ada's ability to hack things but once again i go on a nightmare tangent #i feel fucking insane what even is this supposed to be #just nonsense word vomit #sorry guys i can't be helped #sad brag #etc.#😭😭😭#ada wong is an epic girlboss

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yuusa · 4 years

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𝐌𝐞𝐬��𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝟕

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟑𝟑𝟑𝟏

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝟕:

You walked around the shopping district with a list of items you needed. It was the start of the weekend and you planned on spending the entire day running errands and completing housework. A part of your stomach still felt sick from yesterday’s events. You have silenced your phone throughout the day and muted text messages with Tohru and Yuki. You didn’t know why you wanted to avoid Tohru, if anyone was in the wrong, it would be you rather than her.

You went into a gift shop and explored the various stationaries stacked against each other. You grazed each of the items, admiring their craftsmanship and detail. On your list you wanted to buy new pens and supplies as the ink on your original pen has started to run out. As you scanned the different designs, you paused when you saw a wooden fountain pen with a painted Zodiac Rat design surrounding its body.

You silently gawked at the pen for a while, catching the attention of the store owner who walked over to your side. She was a gentle old lady who owned this store for several years, her grey hair was tied back in a bun, and in her hand was a wooden cane, her name seemed to be engraved onto the side.

“Are you looking at this one dear? It’s a good choice.” She picked up the pen with her wrinkled hands and held it up to you, “not many people choose this design, but it’s one of the prettiest ones in my opinion.”

“O-Oh, thank you.” You bowed down in front of her to express your appreciation.

“Do you like the year of the rat?” She asked, examining your expressions.

“Yes, I do.” You replied, holding up the pen as you admired it, your heart twisted at the memory beginning to resurface, but you quickly extinguished it.

“Is something the matter?” She asked, seeing your eyes dim down from underneath the store lights.

“N-Not really.” You mumbled, picking through a stack of erasers and ink cartilages.

“Hmm. . . Your eyes say that you’re lying,” She said, “why don’t you talk about it for a bit?”

“A-Ah. . .” You pressed your lips together into a firm line, the sinking feeling coming back to you as your memories began to slowly drip into your consciousness like a faucet. “Well. . . A friend and I. . . Got into a fight.”

Could you really consider it to be a fight? You were the only one acting irrationally in the situation and got angry at him when he wasn’t responsible for anything. He owed nothing to you and you blew him off. It seemed too childish when you looked back, and you didn’t know what you wanted to do with your feelings.

“What was it about dear? This can just be between us.” She gave you a kind smile, one that seemed to brighten under the lights.

“I-It’s just. . .” You held up a jelly eraser in your hand, admiring the pink flower shape and specks of sparkles embedded, “I got mad that he didn’t tell me something important during the school festival. . . I just felt like he was holding back a secret but when. . .”

The old woman listened to each of your words as you continued speaking, the urge to bite your lip being restrained, “. . . Whenever he talks to me, I always thought he was being honest with me.”

You placed the eraser down, your eyes cast downwards as you tried not to think about the situation too much. The woman hummed in acknowledgment but picked up the eraser you discarded.

“Perhaps he wanted to protect you from something he thought would hurt you.” She said, holding up the eraser and picking up a second one, one that was shaped to be a childish bear for children.

“There are a lot of things we do for someone, and one of those things is keeping things that you are afraid of.” She toyed with the eraser, bring it up over the flower eraser and shaking it, making it play the role of a scary bear. “We often want to protect what we find is beautiful and valuable.”

She picked up a third eraser, one that was much more plain looking, using it as a barrier between the bear and flower. “Although they don’t look like much on the outside, they’re much more than that on the inside.”

She pulled back the paper covering to reveal the plain white color fading into a vast array of colors of different colors underneath, the small specks of gold similarly embedded like the flower. She grasped onto both of the erasers and placed it into your hands before guiding your fingers to wrap around them.

“Be sure to talk to the young man dear, he might even be waiting for you.” She patted your hand before slowly walking back to the counter.

“A-Ah! The price!” You quickly tried to walk over to her but she stopped you with her hand.

“Think of it as a gift for listening to an old woman’s conversation.” Before you could even place the money on the counter, she had already left through the curtains.

You stared down at the gifts you received from the woman, still thinking about the lesson you learned from her. You clutched the erasers tightly to your chest before placing it into your bag and leaving the store. When you made your way to the other side of the street to go home, your phone constantly began buzzing.

You held up your phone and finally picked up the call, “who is this?”

“(Y/n)-kun!~” A familiar voice called out.

“Sh. . . Shigure-san?” You could hear him hum a victorious tune from the other side of the phone.

“You got that right! Are you busy right now?” He asked.

“Um. . . Not really, why? Also, how did you even get my phone number?”

“Oh! Tohru-kun just wanted to invite you over to stay for the night.” Shigure twirled the phone coil around his finger. You frowned when he ignored your second question.

“What for?” You walked towards a nearby bench and sat down, resting your bag by your side, “I never heard of this.”

“Well~ She has been meaning to tell you but she got caught up in some business, but she really wanted me to tell you that she wants you to sleep over for the night!”

This was a complete lie actually. Shigure was purposefully trying to lure you into the house. Ever since he saw Yuki come home with a blank expression he assumed he got into a fight with someone at school, he highly doubts it was with Kyo or Tohru since he still talked to them normally. When asking Yuki if he had a fight with you, he quickly slammed the door to his room shut.

“So can you come right now?~ If you come early I might even give you one of my books.” He cooed.

You paused for a moment, thinking about the possibility of reading another one of his books, “what about my clothes?”

“Don’t worry about that! We got clothes at home! Just come over.”

“Why the sudden rush?” You heard nothing from the other line and checked your phone, seeing that he had hung up on you unexpectedly.

You turned off your phone and sat on the bench for a moment, staring up at the birds flying to the different trees in the area. You looked down at the erasers which sat at the bottom of your bag, the flower resting against the plain white one.

A knock on the door interrupted the conversation at the table. Yuki turned his head towards Shigure who was simply giving him an extremely cocky smile. As Tohru was about to get up to the door, Shigure only told her to stay with Uotani and Hanajima. He quietly slipped away from the table and slid open your door, revealing your form with your shopping bags still. When you said to Yuki you would be coming over the weekend, you meant the actual weekend and not earlier like today.

“Yo (Y/n)-kun~,” He whispered.

You whispered back, “why are you whispering? Why are we whispering?” You walked inside and took off your shoes, raising your eyebrow at the light coming from the main room.

“We’re playing a game of hide and seek~” He placed his pointer finger over his lips to signal the ‘sh’ sound.

You nodded and walked over to the main room, realizing that not only was Kyo and Yuki sitting there, Hanajima and Uotani were invited as well. There was this brief moment of awkward silence between the group and you. You made eye contact with Yuki and quickly spun around to leave the house, only for Shigure to slam the door in your face as you were running.

“A-Ah! (Y/n)-kun are you okay?!” Tohru ran over towards the door, seeing a small bloodstain on the entrance.

“Sorry (Y/n)-kun, this was all just a trap!” Shigure ‘apologized’.

You held onto your bleeding nose as you glared at him from the floor, “you lied to me. . . Shigure-san. . . ”

“Eek!” Shigure fled towards his room while you slowly picked yourself up from the floor, still holding onto the bridge of your nose as blood continued to drip down.

Now you were just pissed off at this point. Not only were you not promised that it was simply a sleepover with you and Tohru, but you also had to stay the night over without any of your clothes since Shigure made you rush over, and you had a bleeding nose. You shoved past Tohru and banged on Shigure’s door, trying to force him out of the room. He had to be holding the sliding door closed with his body as you yelled at him.

“Get the hell out right now! I’m going to beat your goddamn ass!” You vigorously knocked on the door with enough force to almost blow it off of its hinges.

“Calm down woman!” Kyo shouted, standing up from his position to try and stop you from destroying Shigure’s room.

“Huh? What did you say?” You ominously turned towards him, your piercing (e/c) eyes withering his self-confidence down significantly. “Did you say something?”

“N-Nothing!” He shrunk back to the corner. Uotani and Hanajima sweatdropped at the sight, they had never taken you for someone extremely violent. From this day forward, Kyo learned not to piss you off any further.

Tohru held onto your shoulder, guiding you towards the bathroom upstairs, “(Y/n)-kun you’re still bleeding onto your shirt! Let me help you!”

You sighed as you let her drag you into the bathroom, you closed your eyes on the journey there to calm down. You didn’t want to look at the color of blood at all.

“A-Ah. . . (Y/n)-kun, did Shigure-san invite you over?” She dried the blood with tissues as you sat down on the covered seat.

“He said you wanted me to come over, but since you didn’t I will be taking my leave after this.” Tohru placed a bandage on your nose and forehead, the red skin being covered up by the white medical supply.

“(Y/n)-kun, it’s okay to stay we don’t mind.”

You cracked your eyes open to see Tohru giving you a warm, inviting smile. You released another sigh and realized your clothes have been sullied with the disgusting, foul color. You both heard the knock on the door and Tohru opened it to reveal Shigure with a plain button up shirt. You quickly sat up from the seat to make your way towards him but he quickly threw the shirt onto your face and shut the door.

“Wear this for now (Y/n)-kun!~” You groaned at his childishness.

Tohru covered her eyes and faced the door, “O-Oh you can change here (Y/n)-kun! I promise I’m not looking!”

“Yes yes, okay.” You slipped off your shirt and draped the clothing over your body, buttoning it slowly. You realized that this shirt smelled clean, it certainly didn’t smell like something that came right from the store. Thank goodness, you didn’t know how many pranks you wanted to endure from Shigure.

“Tohru-kun, I’m finished.” She nodded before opening the door and letting you out of the bathroom.

As you made your way down to the main area, you noticed that your bags were gone. You glared at Shigure who was sitting at the table, sipping on a warm cup of tea, acting completely oblivious to the murderous aura you exuded.

“Oh? Nice shirt you’re wearing (Y/n)-kun!” The group deadpanned at his casualness, despite being moments away from getting his head ripped off.

“Where are my bags?” You asked, searching the room for your belongings.

“We put them in Yuki-kun’s room since there's no more room for you to sleep in Tohru-kun’s! The shirt you’re wearing is also Yuki-kun’s! Nice and clean right?”

Stop talking! Everyone else but you and Shigure internally panicked when you quickly went over to him and began gripping his neck tightly with an innocent smile. Although it was great to see you smiling, she really didn’t want you to do it while holding up Shigure in the air by the neck, Tohru sweatdropped.

“So it was you who planned this!” You let out a comedically dark laugh before tightening your grip onto him, “do you have a death wish?”

“I got no idea what you’re talking about!” He replied.

When you heard Tohru’s panicked cries telling you to relax, you emotionlessly dropped Shigure to the ground and groaned. The man coughed before smiling with a flowery aura around him.

“Anyway! Yuki-kun show her to your room please!”

Before you could get another word into Shigure’s ear, Yuki pulled you by the arm and dragged you upstairs, much to your displeasure. On the first couple of steps, you almost tripped but his strength continued to pull you up through every single obstacle.

“Oi! Get your hands off of me!” You forcefully tried to pull yourself away from him, but your socks were sliding against the wooden floor, making it much easier for him to take you to his room. “Let go of me!”

He silently pushed you towards the bed as you fell down onto the floor next to it. He shut the door behind him as he approached you, his eyes still looking as guilty as you last saw them. You watched as he places his hand on either side of your body, firmly trapping you between the bed and him, leaving little room to escape.

“What’s up with you?” You muttered, pulling your knees towards your chest, the rift forming between the two of you.

“Do you hate me?” He asked, tilting his head downwards to avoid your gaze.

You remained silent underneath him, unsure of what to say. You wanted to believe in the woman’s voice but it was becoming increasingly difficult when you were faced with your problems. Your lips were tightly pressed together as you watched his body tremble slightly.

“You hate me don’t you?” He whispered, his voice getting weaker every time he spoke, “of course you would. . .”

“I. . .” You felt your voice slipping away as you clutched the shirt you were wearing. “I don’t hate you. . . I never hated you.”

“You should.” His voice was at a mere whisper at this point.

“I still don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because. . . You did nothing wrong.” You mumbled.

“Don’t you think I betrayed you?”

“. . . At first, but. . . You had your reasons didn’t you?” He stared up at you in shock, his grey eyes finally making contact with yours. “I don’t think you betrayed me Sohma-san. I don’t hate you for what happened. I assume you’re going through a lot so. . .”

He leaned forward, bringing his forehead onto your shoulder as the space occupied by your legs kept him at a distance away. You could hear him breathe a sigh of relief as his shoulders relaxed. You didn’t know what to do in this position, you were at this awkward moment where most people would hug but you knew that you and Yuki weren’t ready for this moment. You sat still underneath his body as he calmed down.

“Thank god. . .” He whispered.

You now realized from looking over his shoulder, his room was a lot messier than yours. There were clothes thrown around onto the floor with sheets of paper underneath his table and chairs. The only object he had near his desk was a tissue box and his desk light. You wondered why he kept his room messier than yours, but you presumed it was because he was as lazy as you were when it came to cleaning.

“Sohma-san, how long are you going to stay like this?”

“O-Oh!” He quickly stepped back, giving you more space, “s-sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You turned over to look at the clock, seeing that it was around night time already. Did you sit in his room doing nothing for that long?

“Has your room always been messier than mine?” You asked.

“Ah. . . I just haven’t had time to clean up.” He said, which was an actual lie, he was simply lazy and didn’t want to bother when it would only get messy again. He didn’t expect Shigure to invite you over so he hadn’t cleaned up at all.

“I can’t believe Shigure-san tricked me. . .” You leaned your head back, feeling the soft material of his bedsheets underneath you. “I really want to kill him now.” You groaned.

Yuki chuckled, “you can sleep on my bed tonight, I wouldn’t want you sleeping on the floor.”

“Oh? What makes you think I’m letting you sleep on the floor?” You responded.

“You’re the guest here, I insist.” He argued.

“No, you live here, I can sleep in the corner.”

“Sorry, what corner? I see it being occupied by my clothes so how about you sleep in the bed.”

“Maybe you should clean up your room then, Sohma-san?”

Both of you playfully glared at each other before turning away at the same time. You giggled before standing up.

“Why don’t you sleep on one side of the bed, and I’ll sleep on the other side.” Your cheeks started to heat up at your idea, but it was the only compromise that worked in both of your favors.

“Eh? Are you sure about that?” Yuki felt his cheeks heat up as he raised his arm to cover his blushing face, “a boy and girl shouldn’t sleep in the same bed. . .” He muttered.

“It’s whatever, just stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine.” You stumbled towards the door, picking up your journal that was inside your shopping bag and taking out the newly bought pen. He avoided your gaze as he tried to cool down the heat that rushed to his cheeks.

You sat on Yuki’s bed, beginning to write in your journal to document the day as he sat next to you, casually resting his head on your shoulder. The two of you relaxed in each other's presence before it was time to sleep. Somehow, just by simply communicating the smallest misunderstandings was enough to make tensions disappear.

“Is that pen new?” He pointed at the fountain pen you used to write, “it looks nice.”

“You think so?” You hummed, “the woman at the store told me it was the prettiest one she saw.” You silently reminisced about the previous memory as you continued to write about your experiences.

“I see. Are you still mad at Shigure-san for tricking you?”

“Yes. I hope to strangle him the next time I see him.”

“Hm. . . Weirdo.”

“You’re one to talk.”

From beyond the closed door, Shigure, Uotani, and Hanajima were leaning their ears against the wooden barrier, trying to snoop on your conversations but unable to hear anything.

#fruits basket #fruits basket x reader #x reader #yuki sohma #yuki sohma x reader #yuki soma #yuki soma x reader

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lesbian-deadpool · 5 years

Text

A Fresh Start

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 2,074

Warnings: Endgame (dw tho)... crying, sarcasm, swearing... the usual really lol.

Request: For @mythsandfiction for donating to the Australia bushfires. You asked for fluffy moving in... I made this. I really hope you like it :)

Summary: You deserve this.

A/N: Set after Endgame (no one died, bc I said so). I know you wanted fluff, and there is fluff, but there’s also some “soft-angst”. Not proofread. I don’t consider this to be my best work, just an FYI.

(Not my GIF)

***

The war was over.

You won.

You really won.

It was kinda hard to believe. Considering how many times you had run through the battle at Wakanda, during the past five years. Tony, his Spider-Kid, and the wizard guy in space, with the Guardians, that you were yet to meet. The ones you never thought you would. Hell, you were yet to meet the kid or the wizard. Still. That didn’t stop you from feeling the loss for them.

The loss for half of your team, if not more.

Sam.

Bucky.

Wanda.

T’Challa.

Shuri.

They all vanished. Turned to dust- Ash. Right in front of your eyes.

And it was all because of that purple fucking giant, Thanos.

You were there that day.

That day, you were finally there. And that's what you got for it. Watching, from your place, beside Natasha, literally rooted to the ground, as he snapped his fat fingers, and the world around you disappeared.

You hadn’t been there for when Ultron had risen.

Nor for the so-called Civil War.

But for this. This, you were able to see. Only helping to solidify your assumptions that the world liked to fuck with you.

The next five years passed as slow as they had when you were a child.

Steve left. As did Bruce, Tony, Thor, and Clint was nowhere to be found.

I mean, you couldn’t really blame them for leaving. There were times that you wish you could just up and leave, to start anew. But you never did. You stayed at the compound with Natasha. There wasn’t a chance in hell, or high water, that you would leave her. You couldn’t even bare the thought of Natasha being left all alone in the large compound, with the only thing left to keep her company being her thoughts.

So you stayed.

You stayed by her side for five painfully long years.

However, along the way, you and Natasha got closer.

You weren’t really all that close before, I mean you we’re friendly sure, but you never sought each other out, the way you did with the other Avengers.

Natasha preferring to spend her time with Clint, Steve, Wanda, and now and again Tony.

And you, choosing to hang out with Tony, and Thor, more so than anyone else.

Most of the time, you wanted to kick yourself for not seeking Natasha out more than you did before- Or at all. You liked spending time with her. She was fun, even in her depressed and overworked state, so it was only left to your imagination to what she was like before Thanos.

It had been a whole year since the battle at Wakanda when everything changed.

You had walked in on Natasha in her office, which was really just the dining room, that she had commandeered for her workspace, with a bottle of strong liquor in hand. She had been crying before you entered, you could tell that much by her red and puffy eyes.

Giving her a tight-lipped smile, you started to drink the remainder of the day away. You might have had a bit too much to drink... okay, you had a lot too much to drink. Because the next morning you woke up to a blinding headache and a naked Natasha beside you in bed. It didn't take a detective to figure out what had happened the night before.

Your relationship progressed over the next four years. From a friends-with-benefits type of situation. To spending every night with each other, not even having sex. Natasha had told you she had fallen in love with you, a little over two years after the snap, as the media liked to call it. You, of course, were surprised but had returned her confession. Who wouldn’t have fallen for the red-head? By the time of the ‘Time Heist’, you were in a long-term committed relationship.

There had been some trial and errors throughout the heist.

Losing the Tesseract. Steve kicking his own ass. Having to re-work a part of the plan, and travelling to the 1970s. Thor having a crisis. Nebula having her memories stolen. Natasha...

When you found about Natasha, you had no reaction. Everyone around you was crying, sobbing. They at least had a tear in their eye. But you? There was nothing. Pulling yourself from Clint's grip, and walking away.

No one knew where you had gone, as they were left to reverse the snap on their own. Only coming back to fight against Thanos for the final time.

You definitely didn’t leave to go drink and cry over the ring you had bought.

Yeah, that's exactly what you did.

The battle was the first thing that had moved fast for the past five years. It was over in no time. This time Thanos had vanished before your eyes, along with his army.

You were in Tony’s lab with him, after his “funeral”, talking about the prosthetic arm he was making for himself when it happened.

Peter -the Spider-Kid- had burst through the doors, gasping for air and pointing behind himself.

“Jesus kid, you almost gave us a heart attack,” Tony said, holding a hand against his chest, “What’s up? What’s got you so bent outta shape?”

“Mr Rogers... he... stones... back... old...” he said panting, “Miss... Romanoff-”

“Natasha? What about her?” You jumped up, as you felt the anxiety flowing through you like tidal waves at this point. Patiently waiting for Peter to finish what he was saying, with bated breath. But, he never got the chance. As the moment he opened his mouth, to continue speaking, he was interrupted, once again.

“Y/N?!” A voice you would recognise anywhere, called down from the top of the stairs.

“Natasha?!”

You rushed over to where you could see her, with tears trailing down her face, yours falling to match.

One second you were peering up at Natasha from the base of the stairs, and then suddenly you were enveloping her in a tight hug. One that she returned ten-fold, crying into your shoulder, as your own tears dropped into her soft hair.

“Marry me,” you said in a tearful voice.

“What?”

“Marry me? Please?” You reached for the chain hanging around your neck, tugging it harshly, causing the clasp to snap. Letting the chain fall to the ground, you offered Natasha the diamond ring.

More tears ran down her cheeks as she nodded. “Yes.”

Her lips tasted of salt. Yours were probably the same. But it was no less as sweet as the kiss you shared when you first confessed your love for one another.

Soft whimpers are what pulled you apart.

Looking to the side, you saw Tony and Peter crying beside each other. Peter, the whimpering one, dabbing at his eyes with the sleeves of his t-shirt.

“You had that hanging around your neck?” Tony asked, with tears in his eyes, as the kid bubbled beside him, now using Tony’s shirt to wipe his eyes.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “I’ve had it on me for months now. And I put in on the chain when...” you trailed off, not wanting to finish your sentence. But everyone understanding you anyway.

It’s true, you had charged into the final battle, with the ring hanging around your neck. Keeping it as close to your heart as it could possibly get. With it being one of the last things you had of Natasha, even if she never got so see it, hold it, wear it, say yes, thanks to the compound being destroyed. You wanted- Needed something that reminded you of her.

You had agreed later that night, that you were both going to retire, and finally, live the life you two always wanted together. You had saved the world, too many times to count. Brought everyone back. And saved the universe while you were at it. You both considered that to be enough for you to live peacefully, for the rest of your lives.

After all! If Tony Stark could do it. Why couldn’t you two?

***

“Hey, guys!” Peter called, walking onto the house, carrying two boxes stacked on top of each other, blocking his view as they towered over him. “Where do you want these?”

“Well, what do they say on them?” You asked.

“Umm... ‘bedroom’!”

“Then it goes in the kitchen, where the fuck- Ow!” Your sarcastic quip was cut off thanks to Natasha punching you in your arm.

You rubbed your throbbing arm as you watched Natasha walk up to Peter and taking a box from him so that he was able to see where he was going.

“Come on, I’ll show you where it is,” she said, leading him out of the room, “Then you can pick out your room.”

“I get a room?”

“Of course you get a room.”

“Thank for helping up, Petie!” you yelled to him.

“Welcome!”

“Oh yeah, he gets a thank you, but what do I get?” Tony muttered entering your house, a box in his own arms.

“Well, I was about to thank you, too. But now that you’ve said that. I won't.”

Tony whined at you as you walked away, to start fixing up some lunch for everyone. Making you smile at his childish antics.

***

“I still can’t believe the way you proposed to me,” Natasha spoke from the other side of the room, that you were both busy painting.

“Well, give me the ring back, and I’ll do it again differently.” You beamed over to her, noticing the yellow paint smudged against her face and arms. Yellow wasn’t yours or Natasha’s style, but it was for the guest bedroom, and you both wanted that to be a bright place. So, yellow it was.

“No,” Natasha said hastily, pulling her left hand up to her chest, and covering it with her other hand.

You let out a small laugh. “See. I knew you loved the way I asked you to marry me.”

“I’d love any way you’d propose to me because it’s you doing it.”

“Soft.”

“Shut up.” She smiled, picking up her discarded paintbrush again, and throwing it at you.

A large splodge of thick yellow paint spread across the upper part of your t-shirt. Spots flecking across your neck, jaw and shoulder.

A gobsmacked look overtook your face. Slowly, you turned to peer at your red-headed fiance.

“Oh, you wanna play that game, do you?”

“Yes.” Natasha nodded. “Because I know I’d win.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see about that.”

***

“See, told you I was right,” Natasha smirked over at you in the shower.

“That’s ‘cause you fight dirty.”

And she did.

Once the paint had run out, and the room was covered in the stuff, and not just the walls like you needed. The majority of the paint had coated the floors, luckily, you still had to put down the white carpet. Natasha ran out of the room, in search for more ammunition. Flour, shaving foam, whipped cream, water, and even milk, covered you. Before you and Natasha hopped into the shower together.

“It’s not dirty if you win,” Natasha replied, as she scrubbed her hair.

“No. It is dirty. But you still won.”

“That is the perfect description of me,” Natasha joked, causing you to burst out laughing, at the accuracy of it.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “You’re right there.”

***

The first night in your new house sure was something. Nothing “spectacular” happened. It was nothing but calm.

After your shared shower, you cooked dinner together. Well, mainly you, because Natasha couldn't cook for shit. As the red-head kept you company and occasionally stirred the pot of pasta.

It was later that night, when you were laying in bed, Natasha curled up by your side, with her head upon your chest, as the tv played in the background when Natasha spoke.

“We needed this.”

“What?” you asked rubbing your hand along her arm, “An early night?”

“Early?” Natasha asked in return, leaning up to look at you like you had grown another head. She was right, it was currently one A.M.. Fixing up the house really was long and hard work.

“-er, than we have in the past week,” you corrected yourself, before shaking your head, then getting back on track, “But what did you mean?”

“I meant this. Retirement. A house. A fresh start.”

You smiled as Natasha got comfortable on your chest once again.

“Yeah... we did need this.”

#original work #original fanfiction #fics for australia #please donate #australia bushfires #help australia #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #marvel #MCU #(if you think that this is actually angsty... just know that this is my soft angst... i dont think youd want the true angst lol)

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dakotacrisis · 5 years

Text

Transferred (13)

Happy Halloween to you all! I would like to say I was saving this update for Halloween but I really was just that lazy about writing it even though I knew exactly what I wanted to write.

Anyhoo! Considering where we left off last chapter I think we can all assume what happens here. Lila aids an actual terrorist because she is the literal worst.

---

It’s over. It’s finally over.

Marinette breathed in the moment. Lila had finally been exposed. She couldn’t fool anyone anymore. Her old classmates knew the truth and Marinette’s name had been cleared.

It felt so good.

“Marinette?” Nanette scooted closer, “You’ve been really quiet for the past several minutes. Are you okay? Was it the video?”

“They know the truth. Everyone knows she’s a liar. I’m free.” Marinette’s laughter quickly spiraled into overwhelming sobs. Tears of joy. “I’m finally free.”

Nanette, Kagami and Quinn all reached over to envelope her in a hug. Marinette didn’t think that this would hit her so hard. She felt a tad ridiculous crying like this in the middle of the cafe. But goodness help her if she would have been able to stop.

Her phone buzzed on the table drawing her attention away. She took a deep breath and wiped her tears away. “You guys can let go now.” She told her friends, “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” Kagami asked.

“Yeah. All that stress about Lila finally left my body and it shook me up more than I thought it would.” she glanced at her phone. She missed whoever was calling her.

Kagami’s phone started buzzing this time.

“It’s Adrien,” Kagami answered, “Hello--huh? Adrien, slow down, I can’t understand you.”

The others stopped talking and looked to Kagami. “Yeah, she’s here.” Kagami looked at Marinette, “We’re at the Winking Violet Cafe. What’s going on? What’s happened?”

“Adrien?” Marinette got closer to the phone, “What’s wrong?”

“Marinette! Lila got akumatized and she’s hunting down everyone that exposed her.” Adrien’s voice sounded panicked, “You need to go and hide.”

“Are you safe?” Hello again stress, missed you the whole ten seconds you were gone.

“I’m okay. Just find a good hiding spot and stay safe. Ladybug and Chat Noir will take care of Lila.”

“Yes they will.” Marinette clenched her fists, “You stay safe too.”

She looked at her friends. “Lila is akumatized so we need to get to a safe place.”

“Too late!” A voice outside the cafe snarled. The windows crashed and everyone ducked for cover from the flying glass shards.

An enormous fox with nine long tails stood in the middle of the cafe. It’s eyes trained solely on Marinette now sprawled on the ground.

“Marinette,” the fox growled, “You wanted to paint me as a monster so now that’s what I am and you are going to pay!”

“Lila, stop this!” Marinette yelled at her.

“I am not Lila! I am Kitsune! And you are dead meat!” Kitsune pounced at Marinette.

“Back off!” Kagami threw herself between Marinette and Kitsune. She was wielding a table chair like she was some kind of old lion tamer. “Marinette! Run!”

“Kagami--!”

“You think you can take me?” Kitsune laughed. “One pathetic little wannabe hero against a monster?”

“How about two?” Quinn jumped in as well.

“DIE YOU POKEMON WANNABE!” Nanette threw Marinette’s muffin at Kitsune. There is a literal glass vase that would do for a better distraction but instead she sacrificed the soft food item. Wasteful!

“But--” Marinette couldn’t just leave her friends but she also needed to get away to transform.

“GO!” The three of them yelled at her.

With a heavy heart she pushed off the floor and made a break for the exit. Kitsune tried to follow but Kagami, Nanette, and Quinn blocked her way. She needed to find a secluded spot and fast!

“Come back here!” Kitsune pounded down the street after Marinette.

“I gotcha!” Marinette was scooped up and vaulted into the air.

“Chat Noir?” Marinette looked at her partner, “How did you find me?”

“Uh...your friend Adrien told me.” Chat answered.

“Adrien? Is he okay?” Marinette asked, now even more worried.

“He’s safe. I promise.” He set Marinette down on top of a roof, “Stay here. Ladybug and I will take care of Kitsune.”

“Thanks, Chat Noir.” Marinette waited until he was out of sight before opening her purse, “He’s gonna need help. Tikki, transform me!”

As soon as she was powered up Marinette took off to take down Kitsune. She should have saw this coming. Of course Lila would get akumatized after she was exposed. Nothing to do now but take her down and purify the akuma before she hurt anyone else.

She found Kitsune prowling the streets and snapping at anyone not quick enough to get out of her way. “This isn’t ideal.” Marinette muttered. She couldn’t even see an akuma object on her anywhere.

“You can say that again.” Chat Noir sighed. Marinette hadn’t even heard him approach. “I barely managed to get to Marinette before our nine tailed friend down there tried to eat her.”

“I was having such a good day before this.” Marinette sighed, “Did you happen to see anything that could be holding the akuma earlier?”

“Nope.”

“Perfect.”

“Do we have a plan?”

“Go down there, protect civilians, keep Kitsune detained until we find the akuma, kick some butt.”

“Are you still sick? You’re usually a little more serious in these matters.”

“I got a lot of energy and I wanna do some butt kicking. Let’s do this!” Marinette jumped into the fray with Chat Noir behind her.

She lashed out her yo-yo wrapping around Kitsune’s throat and pulled her back from a group of civilians like a dog on a leash. “Get out of here!”

The civilians sped off just as Kitsune threw the yo-yo off. She turned to Marinette and Chat Noir baring her teeth and growling. “I was hoping to sink my teeth into a baker’s daughter but I’ll settle for hero instead.”

Kitsune lunged at them but they dodged out of the way. Chat Noir tripped her up and beat her down with his staff as best he could while Marinette leashed her and searched for the akuma. There really isn’t anything on her. She’d have to get closer. Maybe there was a necklace or something hidden in her fur.

“Chat Noir!” Marinette yelled, “Cover me!”

“On it!” Chat Noir jumped on Kitsune’s back, extending his staff so it stuck between her jaws like a crude bit.

She slid under Kitsune’s belly and groped around her neck. There has to be something!

Kitsune started to buck and thrash wildly. Marinette delved her hand deeper into her fur. It was like putting a hand in a wolf’s fur, it just kept going.

“AAAHHH!” Chat Noir was sent flying as Kitsune managed to knock him off her back.

“Darn it!” Marinette tried to roll out of the way but Kitsune was faster and swiped a massive paw at her head.

She pulled herself onto the nearest roof with her yo-yo and held the side of her head. It didn’t feel like she was hurt but one of her ribbons was gone. She pulled out the other ribbon and tied her hair back in a single ponytail for the time being.

“I’m back!” Chat Noir huffed as he made it back to the action. “You’d think I’d be used to getting thrown around like that but it never gets any easier.”

“Hope you’ve recovered because we still need to figure out where the akuma is hiding.” Marinette stared down at Kitsune who paced the street growling at them and carrying on about heroes ruining everything.

“Wait, I got it!” Chat Noir exclaimed, “I know where the akuma must be!”

“Where?”

“You see the tails?” Chat Noir pointed to the nine long tails Kitsune had. Each was tied off with what looked like a ribbon of sorts. “Those ties on them are the only other thing on her. The akuma must be hiding in one of those.”

“You’re right!” How had she not seen that before. “How’d you figure that out?”

“Well I was gonna make a comment about how cute the single ponytail looked on you when I had the realization. Doesn’t Lila usually wear her hair with little hair ties near the ends? Much like the ties on the end of Kitsune’s tails?”

“Chat, you’re brilliant!” Marinette praised her partner, “Since we know where the akuma is I think it’s time for this. Lucky Charm!”

She thrust her yo-yo into the air and out of the bright light dropped a plastic container. She opened it up and took a whiff. “Hoo!” she pinched her nose, “That is some seriously strong red pepper flakes.”

“What are we gonna do with that?” Chat asked.

Marinette looked around for something to help her. That hose, Chat Noir, his staff, her yo-yo, and the very potent red pepper flakes.

“I got it!” she explained her plan to Chat Noir. “Do you understand? She handed him the container.”

“You can count on me, my lady!” he jumped back onto the street drawing Kitsune’s attention.

While he was keeping her distracted Marinette grabbed the discarded hose laying on the street. “Now!” she shouted.

Chat Noir started spinning his staff until it created a powerful tunnel of wind and uncorked the container of pepper flakes so they flew directly into Kitsune’s face.

“Achoo!” Kitsune sneezed, “What do you think--achoo! A little pepper can’t--achoo! Achoo!”

Kitsune kept sneezing giving Marinette the opening she needed. She lashed out her yo-yo entangling her feet and knocking her to the ground. Next she bound the tails together with the house and pulled the ribbons off of all of them. She ripped each ribbon in half until a dark butterfly flew out of one.

“No more evil doing for you, little akuma.” she captured it in her yo-yo before releasing it purified back into the world, “Bye bye little butterfly!”

Chat Noir tossed her the pepper container. “Miraculous Ladybug!” the ladybugs went about correcting all the damage Kitsune had done. Including replacing Marinette’s single ponytail with her pigtails again.

“Pound it.” The duo bumped fists in victory.

“Huh?” Lila was back to normal and gazed around at the street. “But, I was--” she saw Ladybug and Chat Noir a few feet from her and frowned. “If it isn’t Crap Noir and Ladybarf.”

“Hey! I know you don’t like me but there is no reason to pick on my partner.” Marinette snapped at her. “We just saved you from destroying the city, again.”

“Whatever. This is the worst day ever!” Lila stomped her foot, “First with that pampered brat’s presentation and now this! I’m going home!”

Chat Noir didn’t let anything show as Lila stormed off. Usually he’d at least try to be the assuring one in these instances but he seemed to be basking in her bad mood as much as Marinette was.

“Do you think she’s okay to leave alone?” Marinette asked Chat Noir. “She seems really mad. What if she gets akumatized again?”

“I don’t think it’s that bad. She’ll sulk and fester in her anger for a while but I don’t think it’ll be so powerful as to get her akumatized twice in the same day.” Chat Noir shrugged.

“I hope you’re right.” Her earrings beeped. “I’m almost out of time. See you later, Chat Noir.”

“Have a wonderful rest of your day, my lady.” Chat Noir bowed before taking off in the other direction.

Marinette found an alley a couple streets down from the cafe to transform back in. Tikki nestled herself snugly in Marinette’s purse to munch on her cookie as they walked back to the cafe.

When she walked in everyone was in a buzz about the latest akuma attack. Kagami, Quinn, and Nanette were crowded in the corner looking at their phones frantically. Quinn noticed Marinette enter first and ran up to her.

“You’re okay!” Nanette and Kagami followed suit to crush Marinette in their arms.

“Of course I am.” Marinette assured them, “Is everyone here okay?”

“No!” Quinn smacked her arm, “You scared us half to death! The last we saw you a giant fox was chasing you down the street. We’ve been worried sick! You didn’t answer any of our calls, we thought something bad may have happened to you.”

“Sorry,” Marinette checker her phone. Sure enough there were a bunch of missed calls listed on her phone. Quinn, Nanette, Kagami, Alya, Aurore, and even one from Wayhem.

“She’s here now and she’s in one peice.” Kagami said, “That’s all that matters.”

“Well,” Nanette set her hands on her hips, “To celebrate not being mauled by a giant fox creature and the downfall of a horrible lying she-demon I say we take this party back up to my room for an impromptu dance party. Who’s with me?”

“Sounds ridiculous,” Kagami shook her head, “I’m in.”

“Yes!” Nanette grabbed her arm, “I knew I’d wear you down to the dumb fun level as the rest of us!”

The four of them adjourned to the apartment above the shop and filed into Nanette’s room. While the other three partied it up Marinette took a minute to call back her other friends to assure them she was okay. They wanted to talk more about Lila’s well deserved downfall but Marinette didn’t have the energy for it right now. They’d all meet up tomorrow to talk about it.

After her calls were finished she joined her friends back in the small bedroom where Quinn was trying to get Kagami to floss. Oh what sweet, weird, friends she had. Wasn’t flossing outdated yet? Who in the past couple months was flossing?

“I nabbed this from the cafe,” Nanette handed Marinette a muffin. “Since I sorta lobbed yours at an akuma earlier.”

“Thanks,” Marinette took her muffin and nibbled it as her friends laughed and danced around the room. Today was a great day.

---

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (14)

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(tagged)

@northernbluetongue @heredemaquam @zazzlejazzle @lady-flora-of-slytherin @ladylb @immatureidiot101 @kristycocopops @schrodingers25 @sublimemagazinestarlight @shamefullove

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #adrien agreste #kagami tsurugi #ocs #lila rossi #salt fic #transfer au #writing

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apple-grass-and-smiles · 4 years

Text

A Death By a Thousand Cuts Would Be Easier

Summary: A brief history of some of the moments concerning Bruce Wayne that Selina Kyle will remember until the day she dies.

Author’s Note: So, a bit of an explanation of how this whole thing works. The italicized headers are each things or phrases from the bridge of the stunning “Death By a Thousand Cuts” by Taylor Swift. Under each header is a drabble (none are exactly 100 words, so please forgive me) that is in some way connected with whatever the header is. They are not in chronological order, but hopefully it shouldn’t be too confusing. There are also some shoutouts to some of the wonderful Batcat Fam sprinkled throughout the story as a sort of thank you for being such amazing friends. Also, thank you to Itzel for clarifying what dances Bruce may have actually learned in Mexico.

A Death By a Thousand Cuts Would Be Easier

Looking back on it, Selina gave a lot of things to Bruce Wayne. And when he left, each of those things cut her as they left with him. Her heart, her trust, her love all cut her as he flew away on a plane that didn’t have a seat on it for her. The wound he gave her when he left wasn’t what had nearly killed her. It had been the thousands of cuts those pieces of her had left.

My Heart

Selina’s heart felt like it was about to beat out of her chest. Obviously she knew that wasn’t possible, but it felt like it. She hadn’t even been a tenth as afraid as she was now when they had been fighting that stupid fence to try and get the necklace a hour ago. But making her next request was probably going to be the most terrifying thing Selina had ever done.

“Will you return it?” Selina asks, putting the pearl necklace on the table.

She couldn’t bear to do it herself. The very idea of walking into the house where Ivy had killed that scientist and acting like returning a stolen necklace was the same thing as bringing back the woman’s husband made Selina want to run and hide for the rest of her life. When she weighed the cost of returning the necklace herself against the terror that would accompany asking Bruce for such a personal and vulnerable favor, her fear of facing the woman whose life and necklace she had stolen was just ever so slightly more terrifying. She could trust Bruce to take her heart and not destroy it, but there was no way she would trust herself to return a necklace to a woman whose heart had been eviscerated while Selina took her pearls.

My Hips

Bruce claims he learned how to salsa when he was in Mexico. Selina thinks he’s lying but has no proof to back it up other than that a trip to Mexico does not fit into the timeline she’s working on forming of the past ten years of Bruce’s life since he skipped town. But, his salsa dancing was really good. Like, really, really good. It seemed insane that Bruce had left Gotham a decade ago unable to do much more than a basic waltz and returned a master of just about every style of dance they’ve encountered at galas thus far. Filing away a mental note to interrogate Bruce later about his new found dancing ability, Selina returned to focusing on the mission, searching the room for Penguin.

That is until Bruce moved his hands from her back and down to her hips and any hope she had of looking at anything other than Bruce’s eyes flew out the window.

My Body

Lying paralyzed in a hospital bed as she heard the sounds of Gotham falling to pieces around her was a nightmare so horrible Selina couldn’t even have imagined it. She still wakes up every couple of hours with a jolt and, sometimes, a scream from dreams that seem so real she expects Jeremiah to be the one grabbing her and not Bruce or Alfred or one of the nurses. It had been a week since everything had collapsed in on itself and her world had been torn apart by a bullet and the bombs that blew the bridges and she was only just now beginning to reach a point where she was willing to talk to Bruce. It was stupid to blame her new, useless body on him because he wasn’t the one who pulled the gun’s trigger. He hadn’t made her go to the manor that night. He hadn’t forced them to be friends. He hadn’t made her lie about seeing who killed his parents. But if she didn’t blame him for the bullet that might as well have ended her life, then the only person left in this hospital to blame would be herself. And, at the end of the day, it was better to believe she’d given up her body, her freedom, and her life for the boy who had spent the last 96 hours in a hospital chair next to her than to think about how all the choices that had led her to this moment were her own.

My Love

For a young woman whose entire appeal is that she slinks in and out of people’s lives like a cat with absolutely zero emotional connection to those she interacts with, Selina loves a surprisingly large number of people, places, and things. She loves to play with the cats who frequent her apartment. She loves the little Mexican bakery around the corner from Cornelia Street. She loves her collection of black leather jackets that has only continued to grow. She loves Gotham and punk music and greasy, cheap pizza and the way the sky turns pink as the sun sets and rises each day. But, and this is a fact she buries so deep down inside that it only has a chance to surface when she stays still for more than a handful of seconds, she loves Bruce Wayne at least as much as all of those things combined. She never really told him when he was in Gotham and she swears she’ll never tell him even if he comes back one day, but it’s a small fact she keeps tucked away and it makes her heart just a little bit more full than it was before.

Like a Bad Drug

Selina hadn’t done drugs before. It was a bit ridiculous considering she was 18 and had been living on the streets her whole life. Most kids with stories like hers got their first taste of drugs before they were 10, but Selina’s ability to pick pockets and get in and out of places undetected required her to be sober, so drugs had been firmly off the table. Other kids could be high and still get by, but if she was even the littlest bit not completely in her own head, any attempts she made to steal things would be a catastrophe.

Selina hadn’t done drugs before, but she also hadn’t been abandoned by Bruce Wayne without a good-bye beyond a small note before. Well, there’s a first time for everything, Selina thought as she snorted the white powder.

In a Haunted Club

Rumor has it that Bruce Wayne is in England. No one has any proof, but there are pictures of an heiress named Kayliegh wandering London with a guy dressed in all black who if you look at the picture from exactly the right angle and have no idea what Bruce looks like, could be the missing Wayne. But Selina actually knows what Bruce looks like, has memorized every line of his face and can still hear his laugh sometimes as she falls asleep. But the tabloids with the pictures were everywhere today and she’s tired of hearing his name whispered by Gothamites everywhere she goes.

So she heads to the Sirens and hopes the sound of the club will drown out the idea that maybe he had moved on and maybe he was in London and maybe she wasn’t part of his story anymore. The alcohol doesn’t help her shake the feeling that a ghostly Bruce Wayn is watching her from just outside of peripheral vision, but that’s not enough to dissuade her from taking another shot.

Our Songs

Once upon a time, Selina had tried to learn to play the ukulele. Someone had thrown the instrument in the trash when she was about seven and Selina had picked it out of the dumpster. It had been painted blue with a picture of a flower on it and she had plucked at the strings and dragged it along with her for a couple of weeks. In the end, it had been abandoned one day when she had to run from the police who were very intent on bringing her back to St. Maria’s. It had just been another one of her dreams that got discarded on a Gotham street, just like she had been.

A decade later she’s stuck in a hospital bed and the doctors are talking about how she needs to adjust to this new normal and that there are plenty of new skills she can learn that don’t require her to actually move much. Selina only half listens to them because the other half of her mind is occupied with trying to think of a reason to keep on going. Bruce brings her a ukulele the next day because he figures it’ll keep her mind off of the impending surgeries and that if she can at least learn one song maybe the doctors will stop hovering as much. They learn how to stumble through “Mary Had a Little Lamb” together and even though Selina doesn’t put any of her heart into the song, Bruce is enthusiastic enough for both of them.

Our Films

“You’re telling me you’ve never seen Star Wars?” Bruce is 15 and completely incredulous. Selina is curled into a ball on the couch, completely and utterly unperturbed by Bruce’s impending, Star Wars-induced breakdown.

“When was I supposed to have the time to sit down and watch a bunch of movies? It’s not like I have tons of downtime to spend watching Spock hit people with laser swords.” Selina gestures impatiently for the bowl of imported European chocolates by Bruce’s left hand while Bruce blinks in shock at his friend.

“Well, you have time now. I hope you’re comfortable because you’re not leaving here until you understand how wrong you are when you say that Star Wars is about Spock hitting people with laser swords.”

“Whatever. But if I’m going to be stuck here for eternity you better hand me that chocolate before I smother you with a pillow.”

Bruce hands her the candy and joins her on the couch as the opening crawl appears on the screen. What he doesn’t know is that Selina has a secret: She’s seen every second of Star Wars multiple times before, but she figured that a Star Wars marathon would be the ideal way for her to try every sweet in the Wayne manor. No one could say that Selina couldn’t play dumb when it suited her.

United We Stand

The Year the Bridges Blew always feels a bit like a dream when Selina looks back on it. She can’t quite pinpoint many details from the year and so much of it seems to fade when she thinks about it too hard. Granted, if it were up to most of the citizens of Gotham, that year would be erased from everyone’s mind so that they could all move forward without the looming fear that one day they will be trapped in their city again.

But there are some memories from that time that Selina wouldn’t erase. She likes to revisit the summer evening she spent one day with Bruce, lounging on a rooftop, watching some teens below trying to set off fireworks. Despite the kids' shouts, the claps of the fireworks, and the general noise that always seemed present in Gotham and hand only gotten louder since the bridges blew, the moment felt quiet. She had slipped her hand into his as a red firework had started and sputtered out and for a single, glorious evening she really felt that she had a teammate. Someone who would still be there the next morning and the morning after that and so on until they had no more mornings to wake up to. In that moment, she felt united with Bruce in a way she never had before. You’d have to offer her a fortune larger than the Waynes’ to get her to give up that memory.

Our Country, a Lawless Land

Gotham was Selina’s city. This fact was the only one she knew so well that it felt like it was ingrained in every muscle and sinew and bone and ligament in her body. She had been born here, had grown up here, had been abandoned here, had been killed by Jeremiah here and then brought back to life here. To try and separate Gotham from Selina would be like trying to separate a single thread from an intricate tapestry. It might be possible, but why would you even bother?

That’s why, no matter how hard she tries, Selina can’t understand why Bruce left, why he always kept leaving Gotham. They built their relationship on the sound of their feet running on Gotham’s street. They had laughed together on Gotham bridges. Had shouted and whispered declarations of love with Gotham’s skyline as their backdrop. Every single part of what made them them was entrenched in the city. And, somewhere in the back of her mind, Selina realized that if Bruce could leave Gotham, the city that had made him, then that meant he could leave her too.

Our Paper-Thin Plans

“I think I’d want a house with a window seat.”

“A window seat? Out of all the things a house could have, your request is for a window seat?”

“Yeah. I like them.”

“Do you spend a lot of time in the window seats back home?”

“Yeah, if you and Alfred aren’t bothering me that’s usually where I am.”

“How have I never noticed this? Alfred, did you know that Selina loves window seats? … Okay, how did everyone know this but me?”

“Maybe your powers of observation just aren’t as good as you think they are.”

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll make a note that when we rebuild the manor to add in more window seats.”

“You better or else I might have to find some other billionaire to hang out with because window seats are a deal breaker in this whole thing.”

My Time

Selina’s time is a valuable commodity. Every second she’s spending doing something is a second she could be casing a jewelry store or picking pockets downtown. But, sometimes even a young thief needs a night off. Selina’s plan is simple, she’ll feed her current cats- Isis and Coco- and then take a shower before eating some Chinese from the place across the street that always has just a bit too much food left over come closing time.

At least that was the plan before Bruce Wayne knocked on the door (He knocked. Like she paid rent for the place.) and asked if she was up to anything. Of course, when she planned on a quiet night, Bruce wanted her to keep him from dying on some fool’s quest. She only rolled her eyes once before grabbing her leather jacket and heading out the door. She’d always have time for him.

My Wine

Selina doesn’t usually drink wine. She’s had a variety of them, ranging in cost from a couple of bucks to more than a year’s worth of rent, and she honestly hasn’t liked any of them. But a couple of times a year since she’s turned 21, she gets a small invitation in the mail inviting her to a quiet dinner at the new Wayne manor. Alfred always pulls out a bottle of what he promises her is good wine and they usually finish it by the time dinner is pushed to the end of the table and desert is being savored. Sometimes the invitation is for a special date, like Christmas or Alfred’s birthday, but other times there is no rhyme or reason that Selina can discern for the dinner. This time the invitation comes and is signed by both Alfred and Bruce and a not small part of Selina is bitter that Bruce is trying to infringe on the bond that she and Alfred forged in, and because of, his absence. She doesn’t show up on the appointed date and instead hacks the Wayne bank account and makes a very generous donation to a local animal shelter in Bruce’s name. Alfred sends her a bottle of wine a few days after they were supposed to meet that he claims is spectacular. She can’t taste the difference between it and the box wine she bought one time.

My Spirit

Selina’s birthday is either December 1st or December 3rd. Maria says it’s the 1st, but all her official documents cite it as the 3rd. Selina knows it’s weird to not really know her birthday, but it’s not like she grew up with birthday parties so it never really was an issue. But then she accidentally reveals that she has two birthdays to Bruce when they’re 13 and suddenly these previously mostly meaningless days in December are arriving with more pomp and circumstance than she had ever anticipated.

They throw a party on the 1st with games and food and gifts at the manor. Alfred prepares all the fanciest foods and Selina is asked to wear a dress to the party. (She does, but she complains about it the whole time.) It’s a fun, if strange event, and Selina enjoys herself. But then the 3rd rolls around and she returns to her apartment exhausted from running all over town in the snow to find Bruce with an enormous pile of take out from at least half a dozen of her favorite restaurants. He’s brought a projector and some movies and pillows and blankets. They make a pillow fort before settling down with the food. Snuggled beneath a pile of blankets, with some old movie about a guy in a wheelchair spying on his neighbors from his window, Selina has a shining moment where she truly understands peace. For once her mind, her spirit, her body, her heart, every part of her, feels completely at peace. It’s the best birthday gift anyone could have given her.

My Trust

She doesn’t wear the ring on her finger for a multitude of reasons. It could get lost or she could scratch herself or it could get caught on something or it could be noticed by someone and then the whole world might know about the secret Selina had been carrying around for about two weeks. It isn’t that she is ashamed or embarrassed about the engagement, but she likes the idea that this particular moment is being shared only with the people she trusts to treat it with love and kindness. She knows that the world, that Gotham, will pry and pick at the happiness her engagement is giving her, but if she keeps the ring on a chain around her neck, close to her heart, then maybe she can keep this beautiful moment going just a bit longer.

A Thousand Cuts

The bells ring louder than she had expected but the crowd of people are even louder. Selina’s still not used to the public side of being connected with this new Bruce Wayne, but she loves the private part of him too much to be dissuaded by camera flashes and people shouting his name. As they race from the the entrance of the church (Martha and Thomas got married there, so Bruce felt getting married there was the closest he’d get to having his parents at his wedding) to the open car, she focuses on the rhythmic ringing of the bells, blocking out the shouts and questions and rice that is being thrown at her. And each ring seems to to call out to her:

Bong! Don’t give up on him.

Bong! He’s got you.

Bong! He may have cut you a thousand times…

Bong! But he’ll heal you a thousand and one.

#Me proofreading this: Consistent tenses? I don’t know her.#I’ll also have you know #I actually had to do research on what onomatopeia to use for church bells.#This ended up being a lot less angsty than I had originally anticipated #Thank you for reading!#I still know I have a writing tag somewhere and I still know I don't have a clue what it is #gotham #bruce wayne #selina kyle #batcat #silence emily

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ladynuwanda · 5 years

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Whatever Souls Are Made Of (Michael LangdonXMallory AU) - Chapter 3

A/N: I know it’s been 84 years, guys... y’know, life happens. I hope someone is still interested in this story... I’m still as excited to tell it as I was all those months ago!! =)

Warnings: Angsty. And, I don’t know, maybe revisiting the previous chapters would be a good idea...

Word Count: 3,4K

Lady Fiona had returned to the Heights in time to celebrate Beltane that year, and it was very unusual for the Supreme to grace the Coven with her presence for one of the Sabbats. Most Covens would count their Supreme as a sort of mother figure to all the other witches, a nurturing and guiding presence. But that was not the case with Lady Fiona. She brought an overwhelming sense of uneasiness with herself. The entire Coven seemed nervous, and even a little jumpy, whenever the Supreme was in the Manor.

But Lady Fiona’s presence wasn’t the only source of uneasiness in that Summer, far from it. Zoe and Madison had always had a complicated relationship, equal parts “sisterly love” and “sibling rivalry”. But one thing was undeniable: the girls were very close. Even though there were times when what seemed to keep them together was mutual hatred, Zoe felt Madison’s absence more than anyone else, when the latter disappeared by late Spring. Most of the other witches were convinced Madison had run away on a whim, probably eloped with her most recent lover, whoever that might be. But Zoe could smell a rat from the start, and she wasn’t going to rest until she found Madison’s whereabouts.

By the time Summer was fully upon the land, the only two people in the Manor who were not sharing the sense of uneasiness, caused both by Lady Fiona’s presence and Madison’s disappearance, were Mallory and Michael. But that’s not the only thing they were oblivious of. The Beltane rites were not just an initiation ritual for the witches, it also gave the Goddess’s Consort full ruling power over the land, as the Sacred King. Which meant Michael’s powers only grew since the Sabbat. Not that any of the two young lovers would care, or even notice. They were simply too distracted by their own feelings, and their newly found physical intimacy, to care about anything but each other. But one person did realise the shift in the power balance that was happening in the Coven, and that person was Lady Meade.

She could tell Michael was becoming more powerful with each passing day, on every training session. Not only his abilities were growing, but the boy seemed more capable of controlling them. He was getting more comfortable in his own skin, owning everything he could be and everything he could do. He was starting to not feel so unworthy of Mallory anymore. He could finally begin to consider himself her equal. And the more intense Lady Mead’s lessons became, more eager he was to learn.

It became clear that something about that Summer was simply not right, when Lady Fiona died unexpectedly and apparently of natural causes. The Supreme had been gravely ill for some time when it happened, but for some reason she had kept it a secret from the entire Coven, including her own daughter. Cordelia was forced to put her own grief aside to take care of the Coven she was now responsible for, since Lady Fiona had died without announcing her successor. Nobody knew who the next Supreme was supposed to be.

Nobody but Michael. He was just surprised that no one else seemed to have noticed something that, to him, felt so obvious. Or the even more obvious connection between the sudden death of the Supreme, and the fact that for the first time in centuries the Coven had been left without proper leadership. But while Cordelia, Myrtle and Misty were busy trying to get the Coven prepared for the trials of the Seven Wonders, that would point them in the direction of the Next Supreme, Zoe Benson seemed lost in her own world, trying to find whatever she could about Madison’s disappearance. It became clear for Michael that what Zoe had been investigating was simply another thread closely entwined on the web of mystery that covered the Manor that Summer.

With Mallory as the intermediary agent, Michael used his own powers to help Zoe find Madison. For everyone’s horror the young witch’s body had been in Spalding’s room all this time, hidden among a most unsettling collection of porcelain dolls. Madison Montgomery’s corpse was grotesquely dressed in a doll’s frock. Her hollowed cheeks, already in stage of decay, were painted in rouge, in a horrendous imitation of life-like blush. Both Michael and Kyle were merciless in carrying their former mentor downstairs to be interrogated by the Coven’s impromptu leading counsil.

It took more than Miss Cordelia’s gentle persuasion to make Spalding confess for all his sins. They had to use the combined magic of Zoe and Mallory, as well as of Michael himself, to loosen the man’s tongue. But in the end, the quivering ruin of a man admitted that he had known about Lady Fiona’s illness, and her dread to be overrun by a younger witch. It has been said, since the dawn of times, that when a new Supreme starts to flower, the old Supreme begins to fade. Fiona saw too much of herself in Madison, she was convinced the girl was to be the Next Supreme. Lady Fiona’s plan was to restore her own strength by getting rid of the threat of replacement, and she had Spalding’s aid to get it done. He had accepted as much for his undying love for the Supreme, as for the promise that Madison’s discarded body would be his to do as he willed.

The Coven stood in petrified horror as Spalding shared his dark tale, but no one was more horrified than Michael. Spalding and Fiona had destroyed Madison’s life for assuming she would be the next Supreme, what would they have done to his sweet Mallory if they knew what he knew? He didn’t assume anything, he knew she was the Next Supreme. Michael felt the cold embrace of the purest fear at the thought of seeing Mallory in Madison’s place, that sent shivers down his spine and all the way to his fingertips. Before he had time to process what he was feeling, his entire body was shaking, but with blind rage. And his enemy was standing right there in that room, held down by Kyle Spencer’s iron-grip, and showing absolutely no remorse.

With one wave of Michael’s hand, Spalding was free from Kyle’s grasp, and thrown across the room, colliding violently against the wall. The strain of using his powers was obvious to anyone who would look at Michael in that moment. But to Mallory the most surprising thing about it was that it seemed a lot less like an effort than it had the last time she had seen it, during the incident with Lady Mead’s dogs. Michael held Spalding against the wall from distance, slowly raising his hand and lifting the man’s feet from the ground.

In her terror, Mallory couldn’t stop asking herself what the contents of Lady Mead’s so-called lessons had been. While with a delicate movement of his index finger, Michael sent Spalding’s body up the wall, hitting the man’s head agains the ceiling with a sickening smashing sound, Mallory was still trying to understand when it was that her sweet lover had become so cold and cruel... and so frighteningly efficient at it.

Michael’s mind, however, was focused on something else. Because, even though Spalding hadn’t said a word after he finished his dark tale concerning the fate of Madison Montgomery, he was speaking loud and clear in thoughts that Michael could hear. Spalding read Michael’s explosion of anger correctly, he knew the boy would stop at nothing to keep his precious Mallory safe. Spalding’s eyes fell on Mallory’s terrified face for a second and Michael felt a shiver down his own spine at the knowing expression in the older man’s features. “So this is the Next Supreme...”, Spalding was thinking turning his attention back to Michael, “... your bonnie lass, of all people!”, the man laughed showing teeth smeared with the blood that had been dripping from his nose, and Michael couldn’t take it anymore. With a flick of his fingers Spalding’s neck snapped broken and his limp, lifeless body fell to the floor.

The Silence the followed was deafening.

“What the Hell are you all staring at?”, it was Lady Mead’s voice what broke it, “somebody has to clean this mess before the ghost of this wretched man appears... you know what to do, son”, she added with a nod to Michael. Still shaking with the aftermath of murder, feeling red hot tears stinging his eyes, Michael took a deep breath to steady himself and snapped his fingers. Spalding’s body was immediately consumed by a strange heatless fire and disappeared. “It’s done.”, Michael said in a low, firm, voice to everyone and no one in particular.

It was Cordelia who had the presence of mind to speak among the chaos. And it was Lady Mead she spoke to, asking the older woman what she was doing in the Manor, and why at that precise moment. Lady Mead calmly replied that Cordelia knew very well why she was there. She had come for the boy. Cordelia spoke to the lady in sharp tones that were most unusual for someone so mild mannered as she was. Cordelia said she would sooner take her own life and put an end to the entire Coven by her own hands, if she was not able to protect Michael from the evil influence of the She-Devil in front of her. “You will vacate the Grange immediately. You will leave the grounds tonight, and in the morning I don’t want to find any trace that you were ever there.”

Michael wanted to confront Cordelia for the way she was treating his mentor, the only person who has ever seen true potential in him, and worked hard to teach him everything she could. But one look into Mallory’s eyes and his protests died in his throat. His Bonnie Lass, as Spalding had referred to her, was livid with terror looking at Michael with her eyes wide in fear and pleading, her tears begged him to tell her that things were not as they seemed, that he was not this devilish creature she had in front of her. Capable of killing with such cold-hearted power and ease, showing no remorse.

For Mallory, more than anything else, to take the look of fear from those beloved eyes, he would not stand up for Lady Mead while she was being cast away from the Grounds. He wanted to put Mallory’s heart at ease when he agreed to wait alone in one of the students’ dormitories, while the impromptu counsil would get together to decide what was to be done next. With the Coven. With the next Supreme. With Kyle as “the new Spalding”. With the crimes that had been committed by those who were no longer alive to answer for them. And with Michael. How does one solve a problem like Michael?

Cordelia made it clear that for reasons that should remain secret, Michael needed to be eliminated. The people involved in the hideous murder of Madison Montgomery were already dead, and Zoe wanted to discuss the possibility of bringing her friend back with the help of Misty Day. But Michael was too powerful and too unpredictable to stay in the Coven. And whatever his grandmother had told Fiona, and Fiona told Cordelia, simply meant it was not safe to let the boy go out in the world, either. Specially not under the care of someone like Lady Mead.

It broke Misty’s heart to think about Mallory and how she would feel when she learned about the Coven’s decision. Misty was the closest witness to the blossoming of their love, and she felt particularly miserable thinking about the star-crossed lovers. Because Misty knew that the true nature of her relationship with Miss Cordelia would be frowned upon in the Coven, since the very notion of the existence of such feelings had been all but prohibited by Lady Fiona. She knew what it was like to love someone everyone around you thinks you shouldn’t. But she couldn’t imagine how Mallory would feel when facing the imminent destruction of her beloved one, and by the hands of her so-called sisters.

Misty excused herself from Zoe, promising the younger witch that they would discuss the plans to bring Madison back on the next day, after the Michael Problem had been solved. She went straight to where she knew Mallory could be found: the old room they shared when Mallory first arrived at the manor, the one where they received Michael’s nightly visits, more often than not. All things combined, made her realise that the most appropriated person to communicate the Council’s decision to Mallory was Misty herself.

Mallory was on the window-sit, looking at the Manor’s grounds and seemed lost in thought. When she looked at Misty there was no hope in those beautiful, wide eyes. But no desperation either. Mallory knew what the sentence was before Misty’d said anything. But she knew there was something more to Cordelia’s decision, something no one would tell Mallory, of course. Misty dealt with the situation the only way she knew how, opening her own arms wide, and offering Mallory some kind of consolation. Mallory’s composed face broke, and she threw herself into Misty’s arms, crying copiously.

“I failed him, Misty... I should have told him what I really thought of Lady Mead and her relationship with him... now he’s lost. He’s lost and it’s all my fault!!”

“You can’t possibly mean that... what he did was atrocious, and he must answer for that.”

“But he did answer! Whatever atrocity he might have done was in answer to their atrocious acts...”

“Those matters should be taken to the Coven, my dear, not dealt with in one’s own hands...”

“So whatever the Coven says, it’s the final word...”

“Don’t you trust you Coven, Mal? Your family? Your sisters?”

“I love the Coven! I love the grounds around the manor, and the air over this building and everything it touches, every life it changes, and every word that is said here...”

“So there you have it! What about your feelings towards Michael?”

“My love for the Coven is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Michael resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Misty, I am Michael! He’s always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. So don’t talk of our separation again: it is impracticable. He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

But Misty knew separation was precisely what fate had in store for Mallory and Michael. Maybe not the abrupt separation of death, but he would have to leave if he wanted to survive. But what could possibly make him leave the Manor, when even the threat of imminent death wasn’t enough to persuade Michael to leave his beloved girl behind. The answer, Misty though, seemed to be the crying girl in front of her. Mallory would have to tell him to leave, but that wouldn’t be enough, he’d want to stay with her for as long as he could. Unless he was convinced she didn’t love him. Mallory would have to lie to Michael. To save him.

Misty shared her plan with Mallory, the young witch understood immediately that it was her only chance to keep Michael alive. She listened with wide-eyed interest, but Misty thought she could almost hear the hollow sound of the girl’s heart breaking. And soon it would be Michael’s. Those two hearts that now were beating as one would be shattered to pieces on the same night. Getting inside the room where Michael was spending the night was the easy part. It wouldn’t take much more than a simple Concilium spell to convince Kyle Spencer to let her in. The part that made Mallory’s blood freeze in her veins came after she had crossed the treshold.

The man she found inside the room was simply her Michael as she’d always known him, not the murderous monster she had expected. He ran to her with a sigh of relief and held her in a loving embrace. That only made everything even more difficult. Mallory wished she could stop time, so that they could hold each other and stay safe together forever. She buried her nose on the curve of his neck and inhaled deeply, the sweet and earthy scent of the man she loved, and it almost ruined her resolve completely. She couldn’t imagine her life without him, but if she didn’t do what she had to, she’d be forced to live in a world where he was not even alive. That thought gave her perspective of the importance of what she was doing there, and the strength to go on.

“Im sorry, I’m so sorry I lost control!”, he whispered urgently in her ear, “I was just so terrified when I thought their next victim could be you”, he added between quick kisses, “I just wanted to protect you, I meant no harm to the Coven, I’m not dangerous... You ought to make them see that!!”, he looked deep into her eyes at that point, holding both her hands in his. Mallory believed him, his words spoke directly to her heart, but she knew it wouldn’t suffice for Miss Cordelia and the Coven. It took every inch of Mallory’s will to keep her own voice steady when she added in an ice-cold tone “It’s too late, Michael”.

She couldn’t stop now, she had to say everything she had agreed to with Misty. She kept telling herself it was the only way to save him, “You don’t belong here, you never have...”, she wanted to fall on her knees and beg him to forget those words, but she kept going, “... all the time you’ve spent training with Lady Mead was proof of that. You should leave with her, tonight. This was never your home”. Michael still tried to reason with her, through the veil of sadness that had fallen between them “The Coven might not have been my home, but you were. You are the only home I know, the only home I’ll ever need! Mallory, I...”.

But she cut him off “you cannot be taking promises made by children seriously...”

“Mallory, we are not children anymore...”, this conversation was making less sense to Michael by the minute.

“I needed your powers”, she had to turn away so he couldn’t see the pain on her face, “I needed you for the sacred rites...”

“We have been together outside the rites!!”, his heartbreak was growing into desperation now, “we have loved each other as man and woman, not just as the Goddess and her Consort...”

“Loved? That is a strong word!”, his own pain kept Michael from seeing how much it cost Mallory to say those words, “I said what I had to say to get you where I needed you... and you believed whatever you wanted to believe.”, part of her wished Michael could see through her lies and make her stop talking, but she knew there was no other way. “But now it’s dangerous for me to be associated with you...”, she gave a short and bitter chuckle, “it was already degrading before, but you had to go and make it worse...”, Mallory could hear Michael’s sobs and all she wanted to do was hold him in her arms and beg for his forgiveness, kiss him and tell him everything was going to be alright again, but she couldn’t, “... which is why you must leave tonight, with Lady Mead.”, she left the room before she’d lose her resolve, and throw herself at his feet and begged him to stay. And Michael would never be able to see, blinded by his own misery, how much her heartbreak and despair mirrored his.

Misty found Mallory later that night, she went back to the bedroom they had shared. Mallory was by the window, silente tears streaming down her face from those beautiful eyes, while she saw the love of her life disappearing into the night. She accepted the comfort of the arms Misty offered her, collapsing against the older witch’s body crying the pain out. “How can I live without my life, Misty? How can I love without my soul?”

Taglist: @blakewaterxx @ccodyfern @consultingsnowqueen @coollangdon @crossdressingpirate @hecohansen31 @kalam22 @kirchnvrs @lathraios @laying-with-the-devil @michael-langdon-appreciation @mvllorylvngdon @mytrash-mylife @no-need-for-rules @queen-of-quotes @rosegoldrichie @sophiegracejreylo @suspirateux @tayfinities @touch-in-the-night @wvntersldr @xavierplympton

#American Horror Story #AHS Apocalypse #Michael Langdon #Mallory #Cody Fern #Billie Lourd #AHS Brontë AU #Wuthering Heights #MCA #Millory #Fanfiction #Whatever Souls Are Made Of

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kimmimaru · 4 years

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A piece of fic I’m working on, I’m particularly proud of this. It’s a Reno/Tseng fic, in the previous chapter Reno is tortured, in this one he and Tseng need to have a chat about how it’s changed their relationship. Under a read more due to length but I’m excited about this. :D

Rude finds Reno standing by the massive picture window in the staff rooms, he leans against the glass with one hip and his arms folded over his chest. The other staff give him a wide berth, their eyes constantly darting to his silhouette as they mutter in low voices to one another. Rude pushes through a small crowd of minor scientists and reaches his partners side. “You ok?” Reno doesn't look back, instead watching Rude's reflection in the glass, “Fine.” He says stiffly, rubbing at his arm absently as he frowns down over Midgar. “How's working with Cissnei?” Rude shrugs, pushing his glasses further onto the bridge of his nose, “She's not you. Don't know her as well, hard to work with someone like that.” “Yeah,” Reno sighs, pressing his forehead to the cool glass. He's dressed in his usual suit, shirt gaping open to reveal his bruised chest. Most of his wounds are healed, only minor bruising and a few bandaged cuts remain. He shifts, fabric rustling. “You seen Tseng lately?” Rude nods, “Yeah. He's been busy though, paper work on the Crescent and the Cheif's hunting that mole.” “Good.” Reno pauses, “They won't let me near the investigation.” “You just got out of hospital, give yourself some time.” Rude counsels, putting a hand on Reno's skinny shoulder. Reno shrugs him off, sending him a sharp look over his shoulder. Rude lets his hand fall back to his side, “Get back too soon and you'll hurt yourself. What good would you be then?” “I know.” Reno snaps irritably, grinding his teeth, “But I wanna be out there...doing something. Anything. Take my damn mind off of-” He cuts himself off, sucking his teeth before sighing and slumping his shoulders. “Tseng's been avoiding me. Haven't seen him since I got out.” “He's...busy.” Rude hedges, seeing Reno's brows draw down into a sharp frown. “Bullshit.” Reno spits, “I went to his place an' he never answered his fucking door, yo.” Rude's had his suspicions about Reno's relationship with Tseng but he's never voiced them aloud. Tseng's always been closed off, he rarely socialises with the rest of them. When they do manage to convince him to get a drink with them he has only one and then leaves, usually with Reno trailing after him. He hasn't heard all the details of their time in captivity but Rude can guess much of what happened. Tseng's lack of wounds and Reno's terrible state spoke for themselves. The only person who can say they know Tseng is probably Veld and he's not talking. “Maybe he's in the office?” Reno hums, pushing himself away from the glass, “Let's get a coffee, yo. Catch me up on the gossip.” He slinks away towards a nearby vending machine, Rude watches him go a moment before shaking his head and following. Generally the Turks keep to themselves, avoiding the other departments and being avoided in turn. People don't go out of their way to involve themselves with the Investigation department, fear holds them back. It gives Reno and Rude plenty of space as they take some seats and those few nearby beat a hasty retreat, leaving unfinished coffee behind. Reno stretches long legs out with a sigh, sipping his drink while Rude picks up a discarded magazine. A photo of Scarlet on the front, posing with a small smirk on her painted lips. Reno scoffs, shaking his head at the picture as Rude drops it back to the table. Reno puts his boots on it and crosses his ankles. “Press like her a little too much, yo.” “They don't know her.” Rude says quietly, leaning back in his seat and feeling eyes on them from all over the room. He picks lint from the cuff of his trousers. “She destroyed another lab again. Sent several security grunts to the hospital.” “You mean Hojo's table?” Reno corrects under his breath. Rude shrugs, “Who knows?” “You remember old Charlie?” Reno asks suddenly, eyeing his partner from beneath his fringe as it dangles over a brand new pair of goggles. “Guy from Urban Dev?” “Yeah, him. Nurses were sayin' he's been canned, yo.” Rude considers for a moment, “Why? He was just an old man.” Reno shrugs, one hand rising and fingers splayed, “Dunno. Maybe too old? The nurses were saying he was caught with some illegal material on his computer.” “Sounds like fake news,” Rude says slowly, running a gloved hand over his bald head, “We would've known about something like that. He was nearing retirement, right? They probably made up some bullshit so they don't have to pay him a pension.” “Yeah,” Reno sighs, tipping his head back so he stares up at the ceiling. His fingers tap lightly against the can of coffee resting on his leg. “Did you get the flowers?” Rude asks suddenly, taking Reno a little off-guard as he loses himself in his own thoughts. Reno blinks, turning his head to eye his partner. “From Aerith?” Rude nods, “She sent them with her regards.” “What does she know?” “Only that you weren't gonna be on duty for a while...but you know her, she knew more than she was tellin' even if we never gave her anything.” Reno relaxes back into the seat, leather creaking beneath him. He runs the tip of his finger around the sharp edge of the can in his hand, “She alright?” “Last I saw her she was with those orphans. Seemed happy enough.” “Good. Maybe I'll go see her.” Rude hums in agreement, watching a group of secretaries sit nearby and laugh. “Tseng's been down there a few times now.” Reno sips, “He'll go see her but-” He cuts himself off again, lifting a hand to his eyes and rubbing at them with a heavy groan. “Shit man.” “How much coffee you had today?” “Not enough.” Reno replies, staring into his nearly empty drink. “You sleeping?” “I'm fine, yo. Quit it.” Rude falls silent, frowning. Reno's hands shake almost imperceptibly as he finishes his drink and tosses the can in the vague direction of the trash. It catches on the rim and falls to the floor with a muted thud. He leans back again, both hands behind his head. For all intents and purposes he looks relaxed, like he's simply taking a break from the daily grind of the office...but Rude knows him too well. He can see the lines of tension in his shoulders and jaw, he can see that his eyes open a crack. He's hyper vigilant. Too aware of everything going on around him. Rude leans forward, arms resting on his knees and hands clasped between them. “Maybe...” he pauses, knowing what he's about to suggest will go down about as well as a tonne of bricks, “Maybe you should go see Doctor Thomas like the Chief suggested.” Reno hisses air through his teeth, “Fuck off. I'm not seein' a god damned shrink. I'm fine.” He sits up, leg bouncing as he grips the edge of the sofa in a white knuckled grip. “You were tortured for days, Reno. God knows what else they did-” “Shut your goddamned mouth.” Reno spits, leaping to his feet and glaring at Rude. “I'll deal with this on my own. You're not my nanny...I outrank you.” Rude takes his venom calmly, hands still clasped between his knees. Finally he shrugs, “It was just a suggestion.” Reno shakes his head, dragging both hands through his spiky red hair before he walks away. XXX Tseng returns to his apartment to find Reno sitting by his door. A dark stain on the hall way carpet as he drinks from a bottle in his hand. “Reno,” Tseng says, surprised. “Yo,” Reno gives Tseng a small salute and holds out the bottle, shaking it enticingly, “Wan' some?” Tseng shakes his head, “You're drunk.” “Chief's taken me off rotation, what else am I 'sposed to do?” “Recover.” Tseng puts his keycard into the slot and his door slides open. Reno scrabbles to his feet and hovers beside him. “What are you doing here?” Tseng asks finally, turning around and using his body to block entrance to his rooms. “Came to see you. Been waiting a while.” Reno mutters, the scent of cheap whisky clinging to his breath. He leans against the wall. “Go home, Reno.” Tseng insists firmly, waving a hand down the hall where Reno's own apartment is. “Nope.” Reno pops the 'p' sound and smirks, “You ain't getting rid of me that easy, boss.” Tseng's nose wrinkles as Reno leans closer, he's not sure if it's a deliberate move or if he's slowly losing his balance. Finally Tseng reaches out, pushing him in the chest so he stumbles back. “Leave. I have a lot to do.” “What the hell did I do, yo?” Reno asks suddenly, the words leave him in an explosive breath. Tseng straightens, turning his back, “Nothing. You just need to sit tight and heal, soon you'll be back in the field.” Reno licks his lips, shaking his head, “So...you're really gonna do this? Why am I being punished for tryin' to save your ass?” “Reno-” “No. No this is...this is bullshit, yo! I don't know what I did to piss you off but all this cold shouldering isn't gonna help. If I did somethin' wrong then you gotta tell me.” “You didn't do anything.” Tseng sighs, shaking his head slowly. He pauses, hand on the door and stares at it, “It's me. I'm the problem.” He admits reluctantly, turning to look back at Reno's stunned face. “I let you get hurt.” Reno stands unnaturally still for a moment. His eyes are the only thing animated as the silence stretches on. Finally he stirs, dragging his heel across the carpet, “Huh.” He says, pushing unruly hair from his eyes, “You're blaming yourself?” Tseng doesn't answer. His silence is enough. “Why? You didn't ask me to do that. In fact, you did the opposite. I was the idiot who thought I could help.” He slumps against the wall, messy suit riding up on one side to reveal a slither of skin. He takes another swig from whatever piss is in his bottle before rubbing at his eyes, “I just made everything worse.” Tseng hesitates before stepping back away from his door, it hisses closed. “Come.” He says, nodding his head down the long corridor towards the elevator at the end. “Where?” “Training room. You need to blow off some steam and so do I.” Tseng pockets his key card again and starts off, Reno trotting at his heels.

#reno/tseng #final fantasy7 #fanfiction #my stuff #swearing #Reno Of The Turks #Rude of the Turks #Tseng of the turks

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stormbornbastard · 6 years

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Daenerys Targaryen Rant

Look, I'm new to the GOT fandom and being on Tumblr overloads with you a lot of information at once. This fandom, is like the definition of toxic and for what? Ships? I have to laugh.

I'm only gonna address one thing but believe me, I've got a list so let's do this shit.

One thing I've noticed is the overwhelming hate against Daenerys Targaryen, for her cruelty and impulsiveness in some of her actions. In no way do I agree with all of them but I refuse to reduce her complex character and story buildup to that of a villain or a mad queen.

Daenerys has simultaneously figured out to be loved and feared all at once by her people which is fucking amazing. She was not born with the same training to rule as other highborns. She was not given some handbook on how to be the perfect fucking queen for the people and herself. She makes mistakes and acts impulsively but not at all times and the times she has, she's paid for them greatly and if she hasn't learned from them now, she will. Its trial and error with her, it's the only path of ruling and conqueror she has.

By no means do her mistakes outweigh her good deeds. Daenerys has done questionable things for her claim to the throne but honestly at this point, who hasn't? (Jon isn't aware of his claim so just don't)

She's not just some benevolent and perfect ruler who shows mercy to all and does nothing wrong. You wanna know why? Because that ruler doesn't exist. No real person is capable enough to do that because real people are flawed and since GOT tries to reflect real people in their characters, Daenerys is flawed too.

Those flaws do not make her incompetent enough to rule nor do they take away all that she fought to overcome and gain (screw anyone who thinks that shit was just handed to her, her name didn't mean shit. The Targaryens had been discarded before her and the name and entitlement can only get one so far, look at Viserys for example if you need to)

A lot of people want her to be more compassionate and empathetic with her enemies and people who pose a threat but why should she? Her enemies have never been compassionate and empathetic with her. Daenerys was raised with cruelty, she was only shown cruelty by all those who were supposed to love her which is why I believe she has no problem being cruel to those who pose a threat. It's all she's knew, the cruelty others for a very long time. As much as you wanna discard her backstory, its integral to shaping the person she is.

We have seen her ability to grow as a character and show more than the death and destruction that Targaryens have left behind. She cannot learn all the capabilities of a kind and good queen when she has rarely known kindness and goodness herself. But she is growing, her sacrificing a dragon who she considered a child of her own in an effort to help defend the north against the white walkers (without Jon bending the knee first) shows her ability to put people before her own political even fucking personal interest. (Another impulsive action that she paid/ will pay for and fucking learned/will learn from. Also can we acknowledge the fact that instead of holding animosity towards Jon for the death of her dragon like she could've, she empathizes with him and instead wants to help him destroy the night king BEFORE he bends the knee all while grieving her fucking child! Dany had no indication that he would bend the knee if she helped him, none. Yet she still wanted to help him destroy the night king and protect the north and it's people regardless!)

A lot of people have ridiculously high expectations of her even though when she started the show, she had no political experience, no good social experience, no military experience, no experiences one needs to rule. Yet she gained them (she wasn't given some wise person along her entire path to help her do it either) and she gained a council of people to advise her and that she trusts with her life to become a better fucking queen and to give her knowledge when she lacks it because she knows she doesn't know everything about ruling. She's aware of almost all of her flaws and she's worked to improve on them. She's not the second coming of Robb Stark (we all wish he was still here) but she is Daenerys motherfucking Targaryen and that means something and not because of her ancestry.

Do I want her to receive the iron throne? Fuck no. I hope its destroyed along with the wheel.

Do I think she doesn't deserve to be a queen? Fuck no, she's earned it.

So stop discrediting her and fixating on her bad qualities when there is so much more of her to see.

And for fucks sakes, stop pitting her and Sansa Stark against one another. They both are remarkable fucking women who have coped with terrible shit to become who they are and they're situations as rulers are rarely the same. Most of y'all are hating on one of them because she gets in the way of a ship and its pathetic.

Sansa helps protect and maintain the north as ruler and was born a Stark which means something there and gives her some kind of respect. Dany is a fucking ruler and conqueror and the Targaryen name held nothing but negative connotations of destruction, failure and death in GOT society before her, she is consistently judged by the sins of her family. She's not familiar with every land she plans to control but she wants to be, wants to be a voice for the people and those who are oppressed just as she was. Conquering and ruling a new kingdom and ruling a well established one that you grew up in (therefore she's familiar with customs, the people and ways of life in the north) is nowhere near the same thing.

I'm not discrediting Sansa, I love her and she's an amazing ruler but she had some aspects afforded to her that Daenerys doesn't.

I know she's got an ego but shit, if I had done the things she did and overcome the things she has, my head would either be too fucking big to fit through my front door or I would've offed myself before Dany gained her first dragons (I honestly don't know if I would've had the strength to get past that point).There is no question about her strength and resilience because she's got a fuck ton of it.

One more thing, after Jon bends the knee and she says "I hope I deserve it!" THAT SHIT! THAT NEEDS TO BE FUCKING TALKED ABOUT! Dany isn't as collected as she paints herself to be, she doubts her actions just as everyone does theirs but she does it in secret. She's just not in a position to be open about her insecurities and doubts which is why she doesn't show them to anyone. She's never really been. Dany has never had family who genuinely and unconditionally loved her like the Starks have their entire lives. She has never had the comfort of confiding in someone like they have or trusting someone the way they do. Even now, the people who love her mostly love her for what she can offer them and what she represents, not who she is. She's always relied on herself for that which is probably why she's not as open and vulnerable as people would like her to be. It could even be said without all she represents or her dragons or her power, no one would love her.

She's grown up without it. Abuse taking its place, she would have no one without her claim. The starks would have each others which is why I think she holds onto it and enforces so much. Her claim has given her people who love her, the things she can offer have given her the people that love her. That sucks but it what it is.

Her questioning her ability to rule, her insecurity shows that she will not let her pride and ego get in the way of being a good queen if she gains the seven kingdom. Just because she exerts confidence does not mean she is overconfident or stuck in the belief of her entitlement to the throne. She worries she will not be the queen the seven kingdoms need which is exactly why she could be. Because those thoughts will keep her vigilant and attentive to all the shit she's needs to get done once she's no longer prioritized with conquering.

And to address her motives, or what I believe are her motives, Dany likes power. Why is that a bad thing? For a long period in life, she was considered weak and powerless, a pawn for those with power. She knows what it means to suffer (the death of her family, her husband [Stockholm syndrome but let me not start because she did love him], her only child Rhaego, and her dragon who she loves like a child, being raped, etc.) She knows it and she will never allow herself to be powerless again, she will never allow herself to be weak (I'm pretty sure she associates vulnerability with weakness at this point) in the face of threats, potential allies and the suffering of her, her people or both.

Why is that a bad thing? For her to be powerful, because that's what she equates it with strength. Power keeps her from weakness and I think it's why she strives for as much as possible so that she will never know that feeling of powerlessness again and so that her people who depend on her will never know suffering at the hands of the powerful again. It's not because of her "selfish belief that she deserves it." She wants it and forced herself to belief she's entitled and deserves it because while on the throne, she can secure protection from those who would do the horrific things she's endured and seen with that power to those without it.

She may result to cruelty when needed but that does not make her an evil person/ruler (yes I know about the Tarlys who refused to bend the knee for her. She made a power move, seeing as there were witnesses and the men who witnessed could see her not delivering on her threat of death as a weakness and eventually try and move against her, and she killed them. Now they all know she means fucking business. Also the Tarlys betrayed House Targaryen and Tyrell and were responsible for the death of thousands of Tyrell men. This is all Daenerys know of them, why do ya'll just ignore that. You act like Dany killed an innocent or someone she had a strong emotional attachment to but that's not the case. Her action was a strategic, political move and they chose to defy her when she gave them a choice) It wasn't right but it instilled fear, she cannot rule with just love. You can love someone and still plot against them, if people fear the consequences of what could happen if they fail, it'll hold them back. She needs both fear and love to rule. Loved enough to fight for her, feared enough to not move against her.

It's one a.m. but I had to get this off my chest, so yeah, I'm done.

#daenerys targaryen #jonerys #game of thrones #got #got7 #got8 #got8 spoilers #daenerys targaryen rant #dany defense squad #jon snow #khaleesi #dragons #pro daenerys #sansa stark

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4colorrebellion · 5 years

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4cr Plays - SteamWorld Quest: Hand of Gilgamech

Swedish developers Image & Form have taken on a variety of genres with the versatile SteamWorld setting. SteamWorld Dig and Dig 2 were gorgeous, polished takes on the sidescrolling action-adventure. SteamWorld Heist presented an addictive take on the turn-based strategy game. SteamWorld Tower Defense was, well, a creative take on its namesake.

Now, Image & Form are back with their most ambitious release yet. SteamWorld Quest: Hand of Gilgamech is the studio’s riff on the RPG genre, with an addictive card-based battle system.

Read on for my impressions.

SteamWorld Quest places you in the armor-plated shoes of Armilly - the grocer’s daughter, who dreams of living up to the legend of her hero, Gilgamech - Copernica - a college dropout who wants to bring alchemy to the people - and Galleo - a craftsman looking for a way out of his mother’s basement. Their little village is attacked by an army of mechanical monsters, and the professional adventurers prove to be completely useless. Suddenly, Armilly, Copernica, and Galleo find themselves in the spotlight, as the only ones who can repel the invaders and save the world.

The plot of SteamWorld Quest is essentially the hero’s journey at the heart of many fantasy novels. It’s a fun ride, and the charming dialogue really carries the experience. I fell in love with the characters from almost the start - you can’t help but love Copernica’s sarcasm and Armilly’s sheer, puppy-like earnestness. The general tone of the game is perfect. It’s a little tongue-in-cheek, and throws a few fun winks at the player without getting obnoxious. I expected finely-tuned gameplay from Image & Form, but was genuinely surprised how much I enjoyed the writing too.

SteamWorld Quest is presented as a series of chapters, each essentially a sidescrolling “level” to explore. Whether forest paths, a dungeon, or a damp cave, you move between a series of rooms full of enemies, characters to talk to, merchants, and obstacles. You can destroy items to collect gold, and search for chests full of items. Your map shows the rooms that you’ve explored, and indicates missed paths. Of course, there are also hidden rooms not indicated on the map, so there is incentive to explore each area as much as you can.

If you get close to an enemy, combat begins. Battles are turn-based, alternating between groups - that is, your party takes a turn, then the enemy party takes a turn (rather than alternating between individual characters). Combat is card-based. Each of your three party members has a deck of eight cards, which are shuffled together to form your deck. You draw a hand of six cards at the start of the battle, and draw back up to six each turn. On a turn, you may perform up to three actions. You could play three cards, or use up to three items - like health-restoring potions - instead.

The actions you can choose are determined by your SP - “steam points”. Each character has cards that represent basic actions, either simple attacks, stat modifiers, and such. Basic actions are weak, but they cost nothing to use and grant you one SP. More powerful cards - attacks, healing, powerful spells - cost one or more SP to play. SP is held in a shared pool for the party. When choosing skills, you need to decide whether to focus on one character’s cards, or whether to spread actions between party members. If all three cards belong to the same character, you get to execute a special fourth action for that character. However, some skills are more powerful if paired with another character’s abilities. Other times, it might make sense to pair one character’s mighty attack with another’s healing touch.

Using a card takes it from your hand to the discard pile, putting it out of play until the existing deck is used up. Fortunately, with a combined deck size of 24, it is never long until discarded cards come back into play. You can also freely discard two cards each turn and draw replacements immediately. This is a great touch, helping you get out of situations where you feel “stuck” and allowing you to gamble on a definite - but weak - turn versus a potentially great turn. Since you get cards back eventually, you have a lot of freedom to try to manipulate your hand.

Each character has their own specializations, strengths, and weaknesses. Armilly is your standard “knight”, excelling at physical attacks and defense. Copernica is the “wizard”, with elemental magic attacks. Galleo is your support character - your “priest” - with healing skills, the ability to inflict status ailments like poison on enemies, and stat manipulation abilities. This impacts the kind of skills they each bring to the table, and what you can expect out of them in combat.

Each character has stats (the typical RPG ones, like strength, magic, constitution, etc.). Armilly is good at physical strikes, Copernica is not. However, Copernica makes up for a lack of strength with powerful element-based magic attacks. You also equip weapons and accessories to improve your stats, and attacks do damage based on these stats. For example, an ice attack that does 120% magic damage does 12 damage if your magic stat is 10.

You can have three party members at one time, and eventually do meet more characters that join the adventure. Like Armilly, Copernica, and Galleo, each additional character brings their own unique twists to the combat formula, and it is worth experimenting with part composition to find the one that works for how you play the game. Unfortunately, only the active party members gain experience, so unused characters quickly fall behind.

Each character has their own deck of cards. You find new cards throughout the world, and defeated monsters yield materials that can be used to craft new cards at the merchant. Very quickly, you end up with many more cards than can be used in your eight card deck, and choosing the right cards becomes an interesting optimization problem. You have to consider not just that character in isolation, but also the decks of the rest of the party. Galleo might not be the strongest attacker, but you still might want to include some of their attack cards to not end up in a situation where you only have healing cards. However, reasonably frequent save points and the ability to resurrect enemies give you a lot of freedom to explore different deck configurations.

The battle system is incredible. I have had a blast experimenting with different party and deck configurations, and the element of random draws adds a lot of interesting little surprises and chances to plan out a series of actions. There is a huge amount of depth to each aspect of combat. Yet, at the same time, the system is easy to immediately understand. You never feel lost in a series of dense mechanics. It’s a wonderful case of “easy to understand, hard to master”.

SteamWorld Quest is also a gorgeous game, especially on the Switch’s tablet screen. The art has a hand-drawn, painted quality to it. The blend of steampunk and fantasy is really appealing - mixing traditional concepts like wizards and knights with gears and bolts - and I love the interesting little details in all of the character designs, like how the cards look like old-school punchcards. There is a nice variety of environments to explore, and the developers have made great use of color to present a richly detailed world. I have played almost entirely in portable mode, but the game looks wonderful both on the TV and on the go.

SteamWorld Quest is one of the most enjoyable RPGs I’ve played recently, and it’s easy to get sucked into. Once again, Image & Form have put out a wonderfully polished, creative take on a well-known game genre, and I think they’ve outdone all of their past efforts. If you like card games or RPGs, you should definitely give this a go.

This review is based on a copy of the game provided by the developers.

Official Website

Nintendo eShop

#video game #review #steamworld #steamworld quest #nintendo #nintendo switch #switch #rpg #card #greg4cr

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channiespeach · 6 years

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Volume 6: Chan

i love this gif of him it’s so bf material & yet he’s doing the most simplistic thing as putting honey on a cracker. he’s so beautiful, bye

genre: STRAY KIDS HOW TO TRANSITION A FUCKBOI SERIES (college! fuckboy! stray kids au) ~gif: @jisung-i

word count: 1,677

prompt: You’ve been assigned a partner project, which is the biggest grade of the year, that’ll either benefit you or destroy you. To your dismay, you’ve been assigned with no other than the biggest fuckboy on campus, himself, who’ll contribute in absolutely nothing. You have one of two options; throw your life down the drain and fail, or have the project become more bearable by making him fall in love with you, somehow. Follow these steps and you’ll be guaranteed in having the fuckboy swooning over you.

Make them blush

It’s been three days since I’ve last seen Chan. Three days he’s been inconsistently not coming to class. I know three days isn’t a lifetime, but I guess I grew so used to the little annoying things he’d do on a daily, that I’ve become dependent on them. I haven’t bothered going as far to showing I care by checking in on him or anything, so I’ve been sulking in silence, instead. My thoughts had been interrupted by bodies scampering out of the room, indicating classes dismissal. Stepping foot out of class, I saw Chan across from me on the other side of the hallway, glancing down at his phone.

“Care to explain where the fuck you’ve been for the past three days?” I approached him, vitally. He tore away from his phone and glanced at me with a look of horror. He kept redirecting his eye contact at the passerby’s behind me. Inspecting his face, I noticed his lips were beaten in and he had a cut on his cheek, dried up with blood. I gasped, going full-on mom mode and grabbing at his face lightly to see if the wound was infected.

“You need to get out of here! Go away!” Chan ushered me, shaking off my touch, coldly. I felt my heart’s seams being tugged at. Was he embarrassed to be seen with me on campus? Whatever the reasoning, I felt like I’d been punched in the face. So many feelings of hurt and heartbreak dispersed my insides, but anger began cascading those emotions. I guess he wasn’t different.

“You’re such a dick!” I chuckled at him bitterly, but maintained a broken expression, that was as readable as an open book.

“You can’t go that way! Fuck, you have to come with me now” Chan said, while halting my movements.

“Fuck you, no!” I tore off his grasp, in a similar manner as he did to me, earlier. Chan derived at my stubbornness, grabbing a hold of my hand and ran off with me.

“What’s your deal?” I asked him in a demeaning tone, once we slowed to a walking pace. I debated internally to disconnect our intertwined hands, but I enjoyed the feeling of his skin too much to discard it, despite how upset I was with him. He held off my question for a bit, scurrying me to get inside his car before speeding off. “Wait, please take us to my house to get you cleaned up, first” I felt myself soften up, glancing at him. He gave me a puzzled look at my slight change of mood, but complied.

“Alright, so if you were paying any slightest bit of attention earlier; Yoongi was behind you” Chan began, following my instructions for him to sit upon the counter as I gathered supplies from the medical kit.

“He goes to our university?” I questioned confusedly as I applied product to a cotton wad. Chan hissed as I dabbed alcohol on his open sore.

“He doesn’t, he somehow found out you go there. I wounded up getting into a fight with him earlier because he was going to hurt you. He’d gotten away from me, so I’d stood guard out in the halls to make sure you were safe” Chan explained himself. I stilled for a split second, my heart beginning to swoon over his protectiveness. A feeling of remorse washed over me towards my actions earlier.

“What does it matter to you if anything were to happen to me?” I spoke meekly, disbelief evident in my small voice.

“Because I promised myself to never let anything bad happen to you” Chan replied seriously, keeping a hard gaze amongst us.

“You really shouldn’t fight, Chan” I sighed, pretending to be unfazed by his eye contact. “Especially over something so improbable” I finished, fixating a bandage on his cheek.

“Does that mean you care about me?” Chan beamed at me, giving me a cheeky grin with his angelic dimples penetrating their way to my heart.

“Caring and suggesting that you stay out of trouble are two different things” I smirked at him, doing my best to conceal my laughter.

“They’re the same thing” He chuckled brightly at my stubbornness.

I’m internally cussing all the possible, known to man swear words at myself. I’d been apart of a Fundamentals of Theater course and tonight we were hosting for a high school play. Our tasks dealt with helping with its backstage set-up, in which we had to dress up for. I signed up for this to earn an extra credit for this year. Plus, it sounded pretty appealing at the time. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy it but it requires a lot of dedication. Not exactly the picture I’d painted in my head for it to be exactly like the show, Glee. Most of the time, the class itself runs behind schedule and we end up leaving later than we’re supposed to. With the after parties and all. This time being no different, I’m over an hour late meeting Chan to study.

“Wait Chan, please!--” I called for him, spotting Chan’s figure exiting the, Barnes & Nobles.

“Y/N, you’ve truly outdone yourself!” Chan turned towards me, confusion evident in his expression as he looked me up and down.

“I can explain!-- Holy fuck is running in heels a workout!” I scurried over towards him, crouching down, in order to catch my breath.

“It’s also evident you don’t exercise much, either” Chan snickered at his own remark. Shortly, Chan helped me upwards and placed my hands upon his shoulders to help me keep my balance.

“I’m so sorry! I just got back from Theater Club. We were helping host the high school play tonight with some backstage stuff. But, we ended up leaving later than expected and I was in such a hurry that I didn’t have any time to change. I didn’t want you to think I blew you off” I explained, in a huff.

“You’re in Theater?” Chan emphasized, in astonishment. I shook my head at him in affirmative, inquisitive as to why he’d be doubtful of that. “I swear, the more and more I’m getting to know you, you never fail to surprise me” He chuckled, melodically. His smile was so wide and sincere, I felt shivers running down my spine from it.

“Is it too late to study, still?” I bit down on my lip, guiltily.

“Little bit. You look like you’re freezing, so if you’ll let me, I can treat us to some hot cocoa from that stand over there?” Chan offered, rubbing up and down on my sleeves to provide me warmth.

“I don’t find any reason not to” I abide, strolling by his side towards the food truck.

“Wait, is that my jacket from the other night?” Chan examined me over, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Fuck, I didn’t take the time frame into consideration, better yet think of bringing back-up clothing. I chose to slip on his jacket with my attire because it provided me with so much warmth and standing backstage for over two hours is far from being a sauna.

“I’m wearing it because I was planning on giving it back to you” I spoke instantaneously, my response coming off as more of a question than intended.

“I take it I’m rubbing off on you, then?” I could hear the smirk in his voice as he tilted his head off to the right, towards my flustered state.

“Well, it’d be impolite not to show courtesy towards someone who’s paying for my hot cocoa, wouldn’t it be?” I lightly shoved away his waggish form with the pad of my shoulder, wiping the smirk off his face. Chan let a suppressed laugh slip, while handing me one of the warm styrofoam cups. I silently thanked him and led us over towards a small table displayed alongside the food truck.

“You know, when you loosen up a bit you’re surprisingly, pretty tolerable to be around” He commented while seating himself across from me.

“Have you said that to all your catches?” I scoffed at his backhanded compliment, teasingly.

“Only to the ones I’m interested in” Chan sent a wink my way and clinked his cup with mine in a ‘cheers’ motion.

“Well, I’m not like most girls” I clarified.

“You say that as if it’s something I didn’t already know” He raised his eyebrows cockily at my response.

“You’re lucky I have a sense of humor, Bang. A comment like that wouldn’t slip with most females” I lightly poked his chest.

“Luckily for me, I don’t care enough to impress anyone else” Chan smiled innocently. It was inexplicable and different from all the times he’s smiled. His eyes glimmered warmly with hope and a long smile outstretched across his cherry blossom tinted lips. In that moment, I noticed that he not only had one dimple, but two. Unable to define the meaning behind his statement, I furrowed my eyebrows and tilted my head off to the side in a complex manner.

“Look, I actually enjoy spending time with you and talking to you like this. So, I was wondering if you’d--you know wanna hangout sometime outside of this stupid project?” Chan cleared his throat, nervously. “I mean, that is if you want to. You don’t have to if you don’t want--”

“Are you asking me out on a date, informally?” I spread my hand out to spare him from embarrassing himself further. I could feel myself cringing at his nonstop rambling. I couldn’t subside a small giggle at his unintentional cuteness.

“If that’s what you wanna call it, then yeah” An evident shade of pink blushed over his cheeks, in which he attempted to rid himself of by taking a sip from his hot drink.

“I’ll have to show you mercy Chan, considering how painful that was to hear. Also, I can never turn down a free meal and quality entertainment” I accepted his offer, teasingly.

“Please call me Chris, Chan’s too formal”

masterlist 🍑

an: hey guys, i’m so sorry how belated of an update this is! i’m not gonna spare any excuses bc it’s the same shit you expect to hear lol but it’s just been really time consuming for me. anyways, i hope you guys enjoy & i’m v happy to leave this on a high note with my fav boiii! i was an emotional rollercoaster writing this bc can you imagine bad boy chan? LIKE WHAT A BLESSING . i’m having so fun writing these so expect a bunch of new shit coming your way, soon! <3

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danvssomethingorother · 7 years

Text

Yondu Claus

Summary: While cleaning out the Quadrant, Peter finds an old box of his old letters to Santa.

A03

For the 12 Days of Stamora. I wanted to do something different and didn’t focus directly on the holiday but its there and Stamora is there too but its subtle.

—

Hoarding was a nasty habit and it usually carried from ravager to ravager, it was their own little tradition. Ravagers only became what they were after a hard life of nothing, so it was no surprise hoarding became a nasty habit and it was hard, so hard to break.

Kraglin and Peter had been banned from cleaning together on this mission to make the Quadrant more livable for the seven of them. The last time they had worked together they had deemed every item they found in the cargo that had already been caving in with the garbage from ravagers that were dead and unable to use them, necessary and vital for the ship. They had even managed to get more shit in the already over packed cargo by transferring all the junk deemed garbage by the other guardians down there. They had reasoned if it was all in one place, it was out of the way but the others were less willing to accept that. They had jobs to do, they would need the cargo area one day, the shit with no use needed to go.

Both of them had been assigned chaperones while they cleaned and neither were happy to be treated like children.

Peter considered he got lucky though, sitting on the floor with Gamora over seeing him as he dug through a crate that had once belonged to Yondu opposed to his older brother who likely had a gun inches from his head while he argued with Rocket about why he should be able to keep this box.

“I know I’m not making this easy,” he finally said facing Gamora taking his attention off the box for a moment, “But its just…hard.”

Gamora sighed and squatted down on the floor next to him and nodded placing her hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. She didn’t say anything and she didn’t need to, this was hard and they all knew it. Junking shit that belonged to dead people just didn’t feel right even if they had never personally known any of the ravagers that stashed their garbage in the third quadrant to keep anyone else from stealing their hoard.

Looking at this garbage brought to mind his old home back on Earth and all his mother’s Earthly belongings. Her records, her tapes, that guitar she had tried to learn to play, that big basket of knitting supplies she inherited from her own mother, all long gone by now. All of it probably destroyed years ago, leaving nothing left of her on Earth. The only proof Peter would have to prove she was once here and had loved him had been destroyed by his own father, leaving nothing to remember her by. He took a large breath and Gamora helped steady him squeezing his shoulder tighter as he slid a crate close to him that had belonged to his adopted father.

He pulled a large, hole ridden sock that smelled like it was fresh off Yondu after he wore it for a month and groaned tossing it into the garbage pile. It was a little easier doing this without Kraglin at his side sliding rose colored glasses over his eyes painting a different picture of the past and convincing him they couldn’t get rid of that! It may look like garbage, but it has history.

Peter could tell you whatever history that nasty sock had and the equally as nasty underwear he pulled out after, he didn’t want to know and could just go without the smell.

Gamora smiled patting his arm and settling next to him to get a better view of the rest of the box with him.

“I know Yondu probably didn’t use half this shit after just tossing it in here neither did Tulk or Horuz or any of the other half a dozen men who hid their shit in here, but it still feels weird to have to get rid of their things. The things that proved they were here, that they were alive and lived on this ship longer then I have even been alive. Tossing the garbage should be easy but its not and I hope Rocket isn’t being too hard on Kraglin, he’s taking it way harder then I am.”

“I think Rocket understands,” Gamora said simply touching the box silently asking permission to dig into it as well.

Peter nodded before speaking a little more of what was on his mind.

“I know. Rocket understands. Maybe even better then me….I wasn’t there for most of their deaths and caused Yondu’s.”

Gamora straightened and simply wrapped her arms around Peter’s waist and tilting her head firmly towards the box. Work through your pain, you will feel better soon and I love you that look told him firmly. Peter smiled, she understood what he needed.

“Ego killed Yondu and I will keep saying it till you believe it,” she said after a moment turning his head towards hers for a moment, “He killed your mother. You are no more at fault then I am. Being born is no more your fault then my own. We are what we are and we clean up the messes the monsters in our lives make.”

“First we clean out the garbage then we kill Thanos?” he asked smiling as her fingers gently swiped his tears back.

“Naturally, if you want to get more fame for killing another tyrant, you better get working on sorting that box.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mock saluted tossing another crusted and aged sock into the garbage pile.

In truth, Peter didn’t really know who Yondu was in life, neither had ever attempted to get a deep meaningful understanding of the other. Going through this garbage he had hoped to get to know the people who helped define him through what they left behind but so far he found most of it was meaningless garbage they were just trying to hide from the other crew members. Nothing they needed, nothing they really wanted, but god damn did they not want to part with it.

Quill wasn’t ready to tell Gamora but when he was younger he spent a lot of time here in this quadrant surrounded by this junk feeling he meant as much. Not useful, not loved, not wanted but kept around just in case. The part of his brain that was trained to feel and think that also kept it open that his friends felt that way about him too and being down here surrounded by all this junk that they were slowly but surely tossing into the trash made those unwanted thoughts break into his conscious mind.

There is only so much use you can get out of a novelty Terran who’s vocabulary mainly consisted of out dated pop culture references before you got bored and discarded it after all.

“Who is ‘Santa’?”

Peter jerked his head towards Gamora who had begun digging in the box again while he took a small reprieve into his own self-pity. He didn’t answer her right away, furrowing his brows and taking the old note book page that was folded into a make shift envelope, yellowing around the edges from age but his scratchy hand-written word was readable still even after all this time. He choked on his own laugh taken by such surprise seeing it. He always assumed these notes would be lost to time but no, Yondu had found each and every one he realized digging further into the box and finding more pages like the one in his hand.

“Fuck,” he whispered shaking his head, “I thought these damn things were destroyed. I guess it makes sense Yondu found all my notes and hid them away before the rest of the crew could make fun of me. Damn hoarder, only he would keep this shit.”

“Who were they for? A relative of yours?” Gamora asked taking one of the notes from the crate that had been hidden under a large pile of dirty laundry.

“No,” he said beginning to turn red as he turned his head away, “Its going to sound really stupid. Probably even insane considering you barely know what Christmas is…”

“A religion?” she inquired and Peter chuckled shaking his head, turning the letter over in his hands not really wanting to open it yet.

“Kinda. I mean there is the Christ stuff but mom, she didn’t believe in god…” he sighed flicking the tiny folded letter back into box and staring off. She had a right to, but sadly she did give her devotion to a god and he destroyed her.

“It’s a Terran holiday. A gift giving holiday about peace and love and family and friends and all that good stuff. Santa was this dude who loved everyone and if you were good enough, he would give you gifts…”

Gamora sneered at that and shook her head.

“He must not have loved everyone equally if you have to be deemed worthy for him to give you gifts.”

“He wasn’t real,” Peter laughed, “I think he only existed to sell Coke products and for parents to instill fear into their kids about being nice or Santa won’t get you the toy you wanted.”

Peter fell into silence after that, just staring sadly at the dozens of letters because for him, so long ago, Santa was real. He was a kid with a dying mother, he was an orphan abducted by aliens and he needed desperately to believe in something. People around him in the hospital told him to pray, his mother sneered to his grandfather god didn’t exist and she didn’t want to see his bible again but she always softly assured him Santa was there and he was always watching and knew he was good. So Santa became a cathartic concept to vent his problems to in letters for years. Sticking those letters begging for help into mail boxes on Earth and sticking them into cargo crates on the Eclector. Maybe he always knew no one was going to help him and when he ran out of paper in his note book he stopped writing but they helped him have just enough hope to make it through that first year so he never complained. In hindsight it was obvious Yondu would find them.

“Then why did you write to him so much?” Gamora asked picking up one of the letters and flipping it between her fingers.

“He was a magical being who people told me knew everything,” he said turning his smuggest smile Gamora’s way but she didn’t by it for a second, she saw the sadness and pulled him close to her as he talked. Head resting on his broad shoulder and hand rested in his hair.

“I was eight, stupid, scared and didn’t know what I wanted, I just knew I didn’t want to be here.”

“May I read one?” she asked kissing Peter on the cheek before pulling away from him to get a better look at the folded notes on the bottom of the crate, mixing them around to grab one at random.

Peter nodded but inside his insides were twisting up, he eyed the letter she began to unfold and wanted nothing more then to knock it from her hands.

“Dear Santa,

It’s me, Peter again, I know I keep writing to you and I’m not sure I have been good enough for you to grant me this big of a favor but can you please take me home or at least let me live in the North Pole with you? I could be an elf. I could be whatever ya wanted me to be. Please just help. Please. Last night one of the big aliens hit me and I have been in the vents for hours waiting for them all to go to bed. It hurts and I’m scared. I’m not even sure what I did wrong this time. I am trying so hard but he hates me so much. It’s like he just has fun pushing me around and I know no one cares enough about me to help. Please…I promise I will make it up however ya want. Just take me away from here.

Love, Peter Jason Quill.”

Peter remembered this letter and groaned to himself. One of the larger recruits like smacking him around when no one was looking and he was scared but didn’t want to go to Yondu fearing he would harm him for coming to him with useless problems. Again. He always shoved Peter away when he came to him afraid, so Peter hadn’t really trusted him to solve this problem and knew he couldn’t. So instead he made up a fantasy that someone could, if he was good enough and asked nice enough. He groaned and rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. He really was a brain dead child.

Peter was surprised when Gamora kept going.

“I may not be Santa but I took care of it. No need to be an elf, yer good enough where you are.”

Peter grabbed the letter from Gamora and looked at the sloppy hand writing underneath his own and stared in awe. Yondu had gotten rid of that guy, taking him out on a private mission he never came back from he remembered.

“Do you want to read the rest of them?” Gamora asked.

“No,” Peter whispered pocketing the letter, “This one is good.”

Gamora smiled at him and pulled him into a hug before declaring it was time for a break. Once Peter was half way across the room, she picked the box off the ground. Peter could read them whenever he was ready to see how much his adopted father did love him.

#12 days of starmora #stamora #Peter Quill #Gamora #Guardians of the Galaxy #MCU #Dan's fics #I tried #I think this fits day one best as a prompt but I was late

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felinehypocritical · 7 years

Text

different

stan first sees that bill is his soulmate when he's around fourteen. he's sitting in his homeroom next to bill, spacing out, when bill grabs his wrist and pulls him up so that he gets out of his seat, since the period is over.

the first touch always stays forever, so there's a lot of value put on what it is- there are even superstitions and predictions based on where your first mark is.

stan never considered bill could ever be his soulmate, since they've been friends for so long and stans never believed he even had a soulmate, but he looks down absently at his arm, and he sees it- a bracelet of bronze, slightly shimmering pigment all around his left wrist- his dominant wrist. he has no question in his mind who left it there, he can still feel bill's wrist on his arm as they walk side by side down the hallways even though it's long gone, but stan still cant believe it- bill denbrough, his soulmate?

so he keeps it to himself and doesn't tell bill anyways. and stan, since he's so obsessed with order and meaning, does not touch bill for weeks so he can plan how he touches bill. first of all because he wants it to be special, but mostly because he's scared. he knew sometimes soulmates didn't match up- just look at bev and ben. beverly had a bronze shimmering mark too, on her hip, from bill, and ben had one on his shoulder, in forest green- beverly's color. his gaze on beverly had never changed, he still had a glimmer of hope, but he can't bear to look at bill without a feeling of humiliation now, since it only confirms his feeling of being cheated.

so stan doesn't touch bill for fear of that happening to him- there's already a chance of that happening, though it was thought and proven many people do have multiple soulmates, and only one is true, while the others are one sided. so yeah, there was a chance, a sizable one, that if stan touched bill it would leave no mark, the same way when ben touched bevvie there would never be a mark (or so they all thought, until ben ran a hand down beverly's arm in 1985 after they defeated it and a streak of soft yellowy orange was left behind, and the mark on her waist paled somewhat- though it never disappeared, no, it never did, ben's just stole some of the luminescence). and there was an even bigger chance that stan would touch bill and it would leave a mark, but it was an empty mark, one with no meaning. and there would never be any way of knowing whether that option was the case or not until stan was rejected by bill, which was somehow worse than no mark at all.

so stan waits and doesn't touch bill, until finally he works up the courage since he knows exactly where he wants it.

he musters his small self up and he just goes up to sit by bill on his log in the barrens, and grabs his right wrist with his long, thin fingers.

and stan holds it there for a little bit of time, just because he's scared to let go, until he cracks an eye open to see bill looking at him in amusement and lets go as if he's been burned. and when he does pull away, there's a band of pastel, matte (so matte it seems to destroy all light, there's absolutely no reflection) robin's-egg blue around bill's pale wrist. so bill looks where stan is looking, right at bill's wrist with a kind of creeping wonder, and his face becomes a sunrise- that is to say, there's a sort of dawning on it.

"did you do that?" bill asks, his voice bewildered and warm, and stan has to look away because bill's blue eyes are so warm.

"yeah, i did, i think," stan says, his voice muffled even though nothing is covering it.

bill rubs at his wrist, keeping his eyes on stan as he does so, and he exhales a little. "that one felt different," he says.

"different?" stan looks surprised. bill nods.

"yeah, i- i've got. others. but yours is different."

"others?" stan sounds a little hurt.

bill just nods and lifts his shirt up a little to show a little handprint on the bottom of his rib in neon red, and stan knows instinctively its richie's. and then bill shows up his other hand- the one bill says is always covered in paint and he always stuffs in his pocket, stan realizes- his left one, and the palm and some of the places between the fingers are covered in a soft, satin bluish purple. and that one can only be eddie, that's eddie's favorite color, stan thinks. bill lifts up his collar and shows an imprint of pretty forest green pair of lips that stan recognizes as beverly's color.

"that's so many," stan breathes. "i don't have any but yours." and he holds up his wrist and shows bill his bracelet of shimmery bronze, and bill nods.

"that's okay, though," he says again, "yours felt different." and stan doesn't question it, and they just hold their marked wrists close as they hold hands by their sides.

and for the next months, its beautiful. stan suddenly constantly has ever-fading and changing marks all over his body from bill's touch. his lips, his arms, his torso, his neck, they’re all covered in where bills touch and fingers and lips have burned through fabric and skin to make the fiery marks that signify to stan exactly who loves him the most.

his neck, stan thinks, is the prettiest, though it is often sore, for bill's kisses always get heavier and deeper there, and the little bruises of purple and pink and blue all mingle with the beautiful bronze hues bills lips leave with them, and whenever stan moves his neck in the light of his own room in private they glitter and wink back at him, even in the dark pools of raised, sucked-at skin.

bills blue marks from stan are much less in volume, but the things stan draws and does with his power over bill's body are all beautiful. bills own marks on stan or messy, they’re constantly rotating, they’re haphazard- they show bills inability to literally keep his hands off of stan for more than a day. stans marks are a monument to how careful he is in his touch and his patterns.

for example- bill's collarbones, his jaw, the line down his back, and the tips of his ears- they’re all kept perfect pristine with lines and contours of blue. stan has bill strip his shirt off once every week so stan can renew the fading lines. he has bill lie on his front and talk to stan as he takes his two longest fingers and runs up and down bills back, up and down, and then on his back, and he traces bills collarbones the same way and kisses up and down bills jaw, cleaning it up with his index finger so that there's a strap of blue around it. he plays with bill's hair (sometimes wishing he was rich enough to buy the treatment that makes your hair able to be color-altered by your soulmate, bill looks so good in stan's blue) and lets his fingers brush the tips of bills ear lightly for hours until it works and there are rosy patches of blue. but there are days where stan lets himself touch bill however he wants, and he messes up his designs hardcore. they are all smeared and streaked, and bills back is a mess of lines and finger marks. bills face is covered in blue patches from stans lips, and his hands and arms are completely blue. there are, of course, other areas, but i'm sure you can imagine just how much stanley would let himself go on what he likes to think of as cheat days, since they always line up with the days he eats a full three meals and a snack, and sometimes has dessert, too, but he usually discards his dessert to go over to bills and hang out.

he sees how the others look at him, he hears the jokes richie makes about him and his colors, and while he does feel guilty, he can't help but feel proud. everything about bill is good, is strong, is desirable, and stan gets to have everything about bill. he gets the good, he gets the strong. and he gets the desirable, especially the desirable. he's a little scared for this all to end, sure, that he'll wake up and bill will tell him he's ugly and he's fat and he's worthless and that he wasted his time. but that day never comes. bill keeps loving him, touching him. stan keeps loving bill and devoting himself to bill, not touching bill as much, but yes, touching bill.

it never ends, and suddenly they're twenty seven. they're both out of school, in their own condo that bill rents for them. not married, not yet. just eternally engaged, until they get the motivation to get married in a way they deem better than the way they were married 13 years ago, when skinny, sick little stanley uris grabbed stuttering bill dead-brother denbrough's wrist and there was a mark there.

one day stan will always remember is a day in november. they turned the heat low, since they are nearly always attached to the other one with a blanket over the both of them and they don't need much heat, and they're sprawled out over their california king sized bed while cold light streams in their windows. stan is doing his ritual of replacing his marks on bill's back. thats the only one of two that hasn't gone- bill's collarbone is still there, but his jaw and ears are long gone- soulmate marks are no longer trendy when you hit your twenties- visible ones, at least. they’re like tattoos, they're unprofessional and seen as bragging. but collarbones and the back are not visible in formal shirts, so stan keeps them together.

bill is humming along to the radio as stan works over his back, wincing occasionally as stan pops the occasional blackhead on it. stans always liked popping blackheads and pimples, especially on bill, since they left the blue splatters he loved so much.

and so stan says quietly, "hey, bill?"

and bill stops humming and says "yeah, peach?"

stan blushes at the old pet name and says in his quiet way, "when you... when we first marked each other, you know... you said mine felt different."

"yes."

stan keeps his work going, and asks, "what was different?"

and bill cranes his neck to look around and says "what, you mean about the touch?"

"yes."

"well, it was on my wrist, stanley." bill feels a swat on his butt and smiles deviously.

"for real, you jerkwad."

"im not sure i want to be real if thats what happens when i'm not." another swat, this time on his shoulder blades. "you know those leave marks, right? both of those do?" bill asks, and stan huffs.

"yes, but i'm assuming no one is gonna be looking at your ass, so i'm not too worried." bill bites back laughter- his fiance is too cute for his own good when he's huffy- and shrugs.

"i dunno, i was assuming you might want to, though."

"answer the question, please." stans voice sounds pained. so bill turns over, ignoring stans chirp of protest, and takes stan against his chest as they spoon. he simply hums the first few lines of ‘that's my desire’ by buddy holly in stans ear, before saying, "you know how you always feel when you're about to go on a drop on a roller coaster, and you're preparing yourself for it, but it isn't enough and you still have one of those mini heart attacks?"

stan frowns. "no, i don't ride roller coasters." the redhead laughs.

"no, of course not, stanley, but you understand the sentiment, i suppose."

"yeah, i guess," stan grumbles, but he stops the whining tone when bill wraps an arm around stans waist and pulls him way too close for anyone but stan's comfort into his chest. his breath ruffles stans curls.

"and you know the feeling of seeing something so cute you want to go and steal it?"

"yeah."

"and the one where you do something right and you feel all the pride crash over you? and when you know you have all the answers to the test and you ace it no problem?"

"mhm."

"those are the feelings i got when someone put a mark on me," bill confirms. "all at once." stan frowns and moves his head a little.

"anyone?"

"anyone," bill confirms as he begins to press his little kisses all over the back of stans neck.

"not too heavy," stan says softly, but bill only moves a tad lower and kisses harder, where you can see above the collar. "and what do you mean anyone? i asked how mine was different!"

bill just smiles into stans neck and presses another kiss into the crook of it, and sighs a little, the most content and loving sigh that stan had ever heard.

and he says, "stanley uris, you big selfish idiot, your mark felt different because it was you who put it there."

#it #stan uris #bill denbrough #stanny.txt #HELL YEAH I WILL CAMRYN!!!!!

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lydiastormborn · 7 years

Text

title: keep the door open for me (2/2)

ship: jaykyle

summary: a chance meeting after years leads kyle to strike up a relationship he’d have never expected to have with jason todd. and, to his own surprise, he’s more than just a little willing to keep it.

a/n: set in a pre-flashpoint continuity with some stuff taken from new 52. maybe kyle and jason aren’t as hopeless at developing and managing a relationship as one could think. (maybe.)

[on ao3]

It’s early in the night and Kyle’s wandering through the streets of Gotham, trying to get through to Jason without success. Koriand’r told him -- sounding a little too smug and amused as for Kyle’s tastes -- that Jason is currently back home, but he’s not picking up and Kyle is trying not to read too much into it. Jason is most likely busy since it’s patrol time -- it was probably stupid of Kyle to jump on the first occasion he had and come, but it’s been over a month and he might have gotten a little impatient. Now it leaves him walking around aimlessly. He’s starting to think that maybe he should go to Jason’s apartment -- wouldn’t that be weird, though? -- when a phone in a telephone booth he passes starts ringing.

Kyle stops, stares at it for a moment -- he had no idea they still work, to be honest -- and picks it up because well, it’s pretty obvious this call is for him.

“It’s kind of hard to hack someone’s comm when they don’t carry comms,” a mechanical voice says, sounding amused. “You Lanterns are such problems sometimes.”

“You could’ve hacked my phone,” Kyle says dumbly, the first thing that comes to his mind. The voice on the other end laughs.

“Careful, I may just do that next time,” Oracle states. “So, why do I find you on the streets of Gotham out of costume? Looking for someone?” And before Kyle can answer, she continues, “Namely, someone tall, with a mean right hook and taste for classic literature?”

Kyle gapes for a moment. “How did you know? Has Ca--Black Bat said anything?”

“I can put two and two together, especially considering you’ve been trying to call Jason’s personal phone for over half an hour,” Oracle answers. “But should I be interested in what Black Bat could say?”

“I…” He sometimes really, really regrets opening his mouth.

Oracle chuckles. “Relax, Kyle, I’m just messing with you,” she says and he isn’t sure if the use of his name is meant to put him on ease or on the contrary. “Hood is with Red Robin on a case in Bowery right now, they should be wrapping it up in…” she pauses for a moment, Kyle hears tapping of the keys, “...twenty minutes tops, if nothing goes more wrong than it already has.”

“Thank you,” he replies because it does save him the trouble. But he has a feeling this conversation isn’t quite over yet.

Oracle wastes no time and gets right to the business. “Listen, as much as I may have eyes and ears everywhere, I actually reluctantly get into things that are not my business. Whatever you and Jason have going on, it’s between the two of you. I just hope you know what you’re doing. I’d hate to see him get hurt.”

This is probably not the best moment to say that Kyle is more than a little clueless about where he and Jason stand right now. A lot could have changed in the span of a few weeks. Maybe it will turn out that he needn’t has come back here… but he hopes it won’t be the case.

“That’s not what I want to happen, either, “ he says sincerely. Then, he adds, “You’re protective. In a kinda scary way, but still.”

“I’m the oldest one around here,” Oracle reminds him. “Not counting the big man himself and Agent A, of course. Looking out for everyone, even if they wouldn’t necessarily appreciate it, is kind of a part of what I do.”

“You’re good at this,” he reassures.

“Flattery will get you anywhere,” she teases. “And one more thing: please try to keep a lower profile this time around. Vicki Vale had a field day coming up with theories about why would a White Lantern stick around Gotham.”

Kyle hangs up, tips of his ears bright red.

…

He indeed finds Red Hood and Red Robin in Bowery, apparently in the middle of an argument.

“What part of ‘keep property damage to minimum’ you didn’t understand, Hood?”

“I keep telling you, Little Red, crashing that car was necessary to stop those low-lifes.”

“Yes, you keep repeating that, but now I’m talking about other five cars that ended up destroyed, too. Along with the storefront of that pawn shop.”

“But they used to sell drugs to kids there, so they had it coming, really.”

“If you wanted to shut them down, I’m sure you there were plenty of other ways in which you could have handled it.”

“Bodily harm included?”

“Interrupting something?” Kyle asks from where he has perched on a railing of a balcony of the nearest building.

Both of them whip their heads to look up at him; in moments like this one, Kyle really hates that stupid helmet because he wants to see the expression on Jason’s face.

“Kyle-- I mean, Lantern,” Tim corrects himself, as if they aren’t the only ones in the alley. Not counting tied up criminals in various states of unconsciousness, of course. “What are you doing here?” His face falls as he speaks. “Please don’t tell me there’s a cosmic threat approaching Gotham. I didn’t drink enough coffee for this kind of an alert.”

Kyle laughs at Tim’s grim, resigned tone. “No, nothing like that. Actually, I’m…”

“Actually, Kyle is here to save me from you and your complaining ass,” Jason tells Tim as he fires a grappling hook and stands on the outer edge of the same balcony as Kyle. To him, Jason whispers, “Good timing, I was afraid I’d actually have to stay and deal with clean-up.”

“Well, I don’t think --” Kyle starts and blinks. Suddenly, Jason isn’t standing, leaning on the railing, he’s hanging off it.

“What the hell, Tim!” he shouts.

Tim, pulling on the line around Jason’s ankle, says, “If you think you can just get out and leave me alone to deal with this mess, you have another thing coming.”

“No one actually died or got hurt!” Jason yells back. “Gravely, at least. The parties responsible are just waiting for the cops to take them in.”

“Property damage,” Tim repeats grimly, with emphasis.

“It’s goddamn Bowery, no one cares!” Jason calls. Under his breath, he mutters, “That little shit.”

“Do you want some help…?” Kyle asks, amused, peering down at Jason.

“No, I’ve got an ace up my sleeve,” Jason tells him. Louder, he says, “Okay, how about this: if you handle this without me, I’ll take take the brat out of your hair the next time Dickie decides you two need some uncalled for bonding time or whatever.”

This gets Tim to pause in his relentless pulling. “Okay,” he finally decides. “But you better not bail out, I’ll call this favor in even if you’re in space,” he warns, pulling the line away and freeing Jason’s ankle.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason agrees and immediately jumps back on the balcony to start climbing up the fire escape. “Thanks, Red, I knew there was a reason why I didn’t kill you back in time.”

“It certainly wasn’t for the lack of trying,” Red Robin says dryly. He tilts his head slightly and Kyle thinks he’s squinting at them. “But really, what are you two up to?”

“You don’t need to know everything,” Jason calls instead of goodbye as Kyle mouths “sorry” and flies up to the rooftop.

“Let’s get further away from here,” Jason tells him and goes running to jump on the next roof. Kyle gets him, but it doesn’t change the fact he feels a pang of irritation as he follows him. By the time Jason decides to stop and Kyle catches up with him, landing softly on the rooftop, the helmet is already discarded and he can finally stare at Jason’s face.

“Hey,” Kyle says and isn’t he eloquent.

Jason, however, smiles at him. “Hey yourself,” he says back and steps closer. “I thought I wouldn’t actually get to see you this soon.”

“Yeah, well, I got some free time and thought I’d drop by,” he states casually, like he didn’t have an internal freak out just an hour ago. “Is this a bad time?”

“Couldn’t be better,” Jason answers and leans in to kiss him. Feeling relieved, Kyle puts his hand at the back of Jason’s neck and presses in closer. It’s a good kiss, maybe their best one, if only for the fact it comes after a long time and tells Kyle that Jason is apparently still interested in this thing they had, and should probably talk about.

But there’s time and place for everything, and middle of the night on a roof is probably not that. Oracle would most likely agree. (Kyle has half-mind to feel self-conscious about cameras all over the city; better late than never.)

Pulling away, he grins. “Missed me, huh?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Like a goddamn crowbar.” Kyle sighs as Jason nudges him in the side. “Wanna call it a night and go to my place?”

“Very. I think I could use a shower.”

“Get in line, pretty boy.”

On their way, they buy Chinese take outs from Jason’s favorite place and spend two hours watching some silly movie on Jason’s second-hand couch and laughing -- it’s something Kyle wouldn’t have expected, but it’s nice. And if their makeout session after that ends up in the bedroom, he definitely isn’t going to complain.

...

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Kyle says in the morning, his arms wrapped around Jason as they idly lay in the bed, dimmed Gotham sunlight streaming into the room. “Would it be wrong to say we’re dating?”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he winces; Kyle knows his lack of filler is atrocious, but he’s been getting hang of it lately. The question is out there now, though, and he waits for Jason’s reaction. His body went tense and, from where his hand is resting on a scar across Jason’s chest, Kyle can tell his heartbeat picked up. (Earlier he was tracing his hands over Jason’s torso, drawing patterns without even realizing until Jason asked, in a choked voice, if he wanted to get out of the bed and paint or something. That’s the story of Kyle found Jason is ticklish.)

“Dating, huh?” Jason finally mutters, his voice a little tight, but then he exhales slowly and squeezes Kyle’s hand. “I guess I wouldn’t mind dating you all that much.”

Kyle hooks his chin over Jason’s shoulder and grins, wide and stupid and happy, unperturbed even as Jason tells him to close his mouth because he’s drooling all over his arm.

…

Leaving this time around is harder than before, but it also weighs less on Kyle’s mind, as the certainty settles in. (He has a boyfriend, would you believe it.) He feels… lighter, in a way, and it must show because even Carol comments on it.

“It seems like some time on Earth indeed is good for you,” she tells him when they arrive on a sixth planet in the last two days, looking for a fugitive on a special request from the Guardians. Kyle should have expected it wouldn’t be as easy as it sounds.

“Yeah?” he asks, distracted as his ring scans the crowd down below.

“You’re more relaxed, I’d say.”

“Well, that’s what time off from work is supposed to do,” he answers, a little unsure as to where Carol is going with this.

She smiles at him. “Sure. But really, Kyle, do you think you can hide the fact you’re seeing someone from a Star Sapphire?”

Kyle groans. “Carol, we have work to do.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. Are they a superhero? Do I know them?”

“No, I mean, we have work right now, I found our guy -- oh, he realized,” Kyle comments dryly and starts descending. Carol keeps up with him easily.

“Alright, we’ll talk about your mystery person the other time,” she says, readying her ring.

“That sounded creepy, can you not?” Kyle asks and only receives a laugh in response as she dives into the crowd. “Okay, thanks, great talk.”

...

“When Roy said you guys are in Brazil, I expected something less… mundane than this. Weren’t you here on a job?”

Jason, sitting on a bench next to Kory, rolls his eyes as a new song starts playing in the background. “Not my fault you’re late. We already wrapped it up.”

The inside of the bar seems as dingy as it looked outside, but at least the seats are nice, Kyle decides. He’s surprised, but nevertheless pleased at a hard kiss Jason greets him with. Roy whistles loudly from the other side of the table and only laughs when Jason flips him off.

“That was a little intense,” Kyle says when they part. “This time wasn’t even the longest we went without seeing each other.”

“Yes, but I’m still disappointed you had to leave unexpectedly,” Jason answers, idly running his thumb over Kyle’s knuckles. “You didn’t get try my casserole.”

“A loss I mourn, but the universe called,” Kyle replies. “I’m sure it was great.”

“Yeah, well, ask Cass or Tim because they were the ones who came over and ate it by themselves.”

Kyle chuckles, feeling only a little bad for tuning out the conversation between the Outlaws as he leans into Jason’s side to have an arm wrapped around him from the back, content on staying this way for foreseeable future. He’s willing to admit he’s pretty tired after the recent space endeavors and there’s comforting familiarity to be found in Jason’s body heat and smell after all the times he’s accidentally fell asleep on him. Kyle would even go as far as to close his eyes and take a nap, if it wasn’t for the fact they’re in a bar and Jason doesn’t actually seem relaxed at all.

Tilting his head to look up at him, Kyle asks, just loud enough to be heard over the noise, “Are you okay?”

Jason’s face confronts in a weird way; at this angle and lightning, it’s quite easy to see the bags under his eyes. “I should be asking you that. Haven’t you just come back from saving the universe or something?”

“Same old, same old,” Kyle jokes and sighs. “I’m just tired, like, exhausted kind of tired,” he admits quietly. “Think we could wrap it up earlier?”

“Sure,” Jason agrees, already standing up. “We left the ship quite far from here, though. Hotel okay?”

“Honestly, I only care about there being a bed,” he answers. Normally, that kind of reply would get a laugh or at least a twitch of lips out of Jason, but his face remains closed off and now Kyle is starting to get worried. They say goodbye to Roy and Kory and go outside; Kyle stretches and inhales deeply, walking beside Jason into a busy street.

“What happened?” Kyle asks after Jason finishes his second cigarette in the span of ten minutes and seems to have more or less unintentionally scared off other people from walking too close to them.

“I told you, nothing--” Jason starts before snapping his mouth shut. And it’s only a testament to how far they came that, after a moment, he speaks up again, quietly, “I almost killed the guy responsible for the operation we took down today. He was one clever scumbag, mixed up in human trafficking even when he still lived in the States, but he didn’t cover his tracks as precisely as he thought.” Jason shakes his head. “On some level, I realized we had enough evidence to link to him and make sure he doesn’t get out, but what I did after I nailed the fucker was to pull the trigger. Only reason he’s still alive is because I ran out of ammo.” He chuckles darkly. “And I honestly think I regret not having that one bullet more than that my first instinct was to kill him.” Another pause as Jason kicks a stray stone on the ground, and then, “Old habits die hard, they say.”

“Jason,” Kyle says, stopping almost in the middle of the street. They talked about this once before, but tonight (Kyle berates himself for the comparison, even if it’s fitting) Jason is like a bomb seconds away from exploding. Kyle is starting to wonder if there’s something else that set him up off maybe he’s not the only one who had a couple of hard weeks. “Listen, Jason, you know that --” he starts, reaching out to touch Jason’s arm, but he shies away stiffly. Jason glances at him and shakes his head.

“No, I don’t -- the look on your face, you know? I’d much prefer it you were repulsed, or angry. Disappointed even, I deal with that plenty. Pitying or understanding are usually fake and piss me off. But you look at me like… you believe I could do better. And that fucks me up, Kyle.”

“It’s because I know you can, Jason. You have been, even before I came into the picture,” Kyle answers, letting his arm drop to the side. Someone’s bag knocks against his elbow, but he barely registers that. “I know you.”

Jason’s shoulder shake and he says, “Ah, hell, I just. Sorry, I can’t do that right now.”

He walks away, disappearing into the crowd further down the street. Kyle doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt so lost.

...

The next evening, Kyle goes to the very same place they visited the night before and orders a beer, debating whether he wants to get drunk in a nondescript bar in the middle of Brazil or not. Jason hasn’t returned any of Kyle’s calls or texts after disappearing on him yesterday. He only knows from Roy they dropped him off in Gotham, so he should be okay, probably. It doesn’t stop Kyle from regretting how things played out, though.

The universe knows they have their arguments and confrontations -- usually about something small and trivial, and even if it’s something more serious, Kyle can’t stay mad at Jason for too long. Yesterday, however, was more about Jason not letting Kyle to get through him and he really hates that. It also worries him.

He just got on Earth, but maybe he should cut his vacation short. (And Kyle hates himself for thinking that because avoidance has never worked out for him in relationships.)

Just as he finishes his first beer and starts to pick up the specifics of Brazilian Portuguese, his phone starts ringing. It’s embarrassing and a little sad how quickly he goes for it, but it’s not Jason; there’s only a green mask on the screen, no caller ID or whatsoever.

Kyle immediately feels sober as he picks up.

“Lantern,” Oracle’s distorted voice greets him. “How fast can you make it to Gotham?”

“Minutes,” he replies, already getting up. “What happened?”

“Hood assisted Batgirl in intercepting a shipment of illegal drugs and chemicals. I’m a little fuzzy on the details right now, but there was a fight and a fear toxin involved.” Kyle’s stomach sinks a little. “She asked me to call you. Will you come?”

“Five minutes tops. Tell me where exactly.”

That’s how Kyle finds himself flying over Gotham docks in the middle of the night, which is vastly different from how he was on his way to get drunk on the other continent just minutes ago. He regrets not asking Oracle for more information because his brain is so not helping with worst case scenarios right now.

He eventually spots Batgirl’s long, blonde hair in a narrow space between warehouses. Kyle lands next to them, immediately going to scan Jason’s unconscious form with his ring. He isn’t wearing the helmet, only domino, and other than superficial cuts and bruises, he doesn’t seem to be physically hurt.

“What happened here?” he asks, noticing Batgirl’s fingers clinging to the inside of Jason’s wrist, right over his pulse point.

“I... “ Batgirl bites her lip, not looking at him. “I asked Jay to tag along for tonight because he seemed to be in a shitty mood after coming back from the job with the Outlaws. Figured some action at the docks would cheer him up. Of course, since neither of us are really silent and sneaky types, we went in hard and flashy, a surprise fight. It was going well and it probably would’ve went well, but they brought fear gas into the picture. We weren’t sure they worked with Scarecrow, but, well, it figures, right?” She laughs, but it sounds strained. “Anyway, Jason didn’t have the helmet tonight and he didn’t get his filter mask on fast enough. Because he was too busy kicking me away from the source.” She scrubs a hand over her eyes. “As you can guess, it quickly went south after that. It took me some time,” is what she says, but Kyle hears, too much time, “to knock him out hard enough to administer an antidote. It… wasn’t pretty.”

Yeah, Kyle can only imagine; he’s been a witness to Jason waking up from his nightmares several times and it always broke his heart a little. The fact that Batgirl had to deal with Jason under the influence of fear toxin on her own… He swallows and checks the vitals the ring gives him, relieved to find out that Jason is stable, the effects of the antidote starting to kick in. He supposes Batgirl was lucky it worked; he’s heard enough of Scarecrow to know the man likes to play around with his formulas. They could have not been sitting here right now.

“Did you administer it for yourself?” Kyle asks, ever vigilant.

Batgirl blinks at him. “I only really get a whiff of the gas, but yeah, of course I did. But just after contacting Oracle, so that’s why I’m still… jittery.”

Kyle thinks it’s the only reason, but he chooses not to comment on that. Instead, he finally asks, “Why did you have Oracle call me?”

She opens her mouth to reply, but then she glances down at Jason’s still -- or, not-so-still form. He’s stirring into consciousness, slowly but surely. Kyle watches his eyelids twitch, mouth pulled down.

“Kyle?” he murmurs eventually, voice rough, most likely from screaming.

“I’m here,” Kyle says softly, suddenly grateful when Batgirl gives Jason’s hand one last squeeze and straightens up, speaking on the comm as she walks away to give them some semblance of privacy. “It’s okay, Jason, I’m here,” he repeats, pulling Jason’s head into his lap and gently running his fingers over his face.

Jason exhales shakily, the sound going straight to Kyle’s chest and pulling at his heartstrings. He gently removes the crumpled domino and Jason’s hazy teal eyes blink up blearily at him. Kyle smiles, albeit weakly.

“Hi,” he says.

Jason blinks at him a few more times, his eyes a little more focused as he states, “You… really are here.”

“Yeah, well. You gave me quite a scare, you know,” Kyle says. It’s an understatement. “Batgirl, too.”

“Ah.” Jason shifts a little and calls quietly, “Steph?”

Batgirl is next to them in a flash, sounding almost normal as she asks, “Yeah, Jay?”

“Did I… hurt you?”

Stephanie’s face confronts in a way that tells Kyle she wants to cry, but she composes herself quickly. “No. Sorry to break it to you, but you still haven’t kicked Team Batgirl.”

Jason snorts. “Good,” he says. “The shipment?”

“Nightwing will take care of what’s left as soon as he’s done with the hostage situation in Burnley,” she replies.

“Okay.” He cracks his eyes open for a moment longer to look at her. “‘s not your fault, Steph. Lay off.”

She bites her lip, but nods. Kyle looks her over.

“You should take the rest of the night off,” he tells her.

“That’s what Oracle said as well, so I guess I will do that.”

“Will you be alright getting home by yourself?” Kyle asks.

Batgirl waves him off. “Yeah, I’ll go as soon as N shows up.” She glances back to Jason, who Kyle thinks is asleep again. “We can bring him to the Cave, you know. Unless…”

“It’s fine, I’ll take him to his apartment,” Kyle says, not missing a beat.

She nods again. “It’s probably a better idea.” After a pause, she adds, “Thank you. For coming.”

Looking down at Jason, Kyle answers, “Yeah.”

…

When they get to his apartment -- and after Kyle successfully manages to disable the security -- Jason is more or less conscious. He groans when Kyle steers him into the bathroom, but starts taking off his gear to change into something casual. Kyle doesn’t make him shower because it seems Jason isn’t quite up to that and instead reminds him to wash his face. He discards his uniform as well and goes to get some water and meds.

By the time he’s done, Jason is already in the bedroom, laying on his stomach, face pressed into the pillow. He isn’t asleep, though, Kyle can tell.

“Here, drink this,” he says, putting a hand on Jason’s shoulder after sitting down next to him on the other side of the bed.

Reluctantly, Jason raises up a little and glances at the tray. “It’s just water,” he states flatly. “I swear there’s another clear liquid substance in my kitchen.”

“I’m not gonna indulge you tonight. Come on.”

Somehow, Jason summons enough effort to roll his eyes before taking the water. He chooses two of three pills Kyle brought and drinks the whole glass at once only to flop back on the mattress bonelessly.

“You should get some sleep,” Kyle says, filling the silence with the most obvious statement.

Jason mutters something vaguely affirmative into the pillow. After a moment, he turns his head to Kyle and asks, without opening his eyes, “Will you stay? I… sleep better when you’re around.”

Oh, Jason, Kyle thinks, sliding his palm from Jason’s shoulder to card fingers through his hair. “Of course,” he says and watches the tension he didn’t know Jason was still harboring bleed out of him.

They’re silent for a few minutes before Jason speaks again. “’m sorry about yesterday. Running away and leaving you .”

“Okay,” Kyle says simply; they still should talk about that, but obviously not now. So instead, Kyle says the first thing that comes to his mind, which is, “You know, I think Batgirl has us figured out after tonight.” At this point, it’s probably easier to name people who don’t.

Jason snorts sleepily. “‘s okay. Steph ain’t a snitch.” As if gathering his thoughts, he adds speaking slowly, “We were off to a rocky start… but she’s great. You can trust her.”

“You say that, but put yourself in my shoes,” Kyle comments, trying to lighten the mood with a joke. “I’m still not convinced Batman wouldn’t have my head if he knew we are dating.”

Jason raises his hand in an attempt to pat Kyle’s arm, somewhat succeeding. His next words are slurred, probably because both exhaustion and drugs are kicking in again.

“He wouldn’t. You make me happy.”

His hand in Jason’s hair pauses and Kyle is momentarily too stunned to reply, but Jason is already snoring lightly, deep in sleep.

Kyle, however, remains awake for a long time.

…

He must have fallen asleep at some point because the next morning, Kyle wakes up, curled up comfortably on Jason’s bed with a blanket thrown over him. Blinking awake the remains of sleep, he realizes the other side of the bed is empty -- he was tired enough to sleep through Jason getting up.

“Jason?” Kyle calls, coming out of the bedroom and peeking into the bathroom, but it’s also empty and uneasiness is starting to creep in. Stepping further into the apartment, Kyle calls again and this time, he hears a noise from the kitchen. Relieved, he walks in, but stops short at the entrance.

Instead of Jason, he finds Dick Grayson eating waffles by the table and staring back at him, looking almost as surprised as Kyle feels.

“Oh,” Dick says finally, brushing some whipped cream from his mouth. “Now I know why Jay was so stubborn about me not staying here.”

“Um.” Kyle clears his throat. “Say, can I walk out of here, so we can pretend this very awkward encounter never happened?”

Dick chuckles. “Would be a waste of waffles I brought,” he says, pushing out the chair across him with his foot. “Come on, Kyle, sit down and eat something.”

Lingering, Kyle does as asked, but he isn’t feeling particularly hungry. He looks at Dick’s face and asks, “Is Jason okay?”

The man blinks owlishly at him and rushes to answer, “Oh, yeah, don’t worry. Damian and I came to check up on him earlier to make sure the toxin is out of his system completely. But he still seemed to be on edge, so I suggested they take a walk. It kind of felt like it’d be either fight or flight otherwise and I really wanted to avoid that.”

Kyle thinks he can relate to that. “So it’s better to order him out and let off some steam?” he asks dubiously.

Dick shrugs. “I call it ‘giving a way out that doesn’t end in blood or tears’, but I’m a little surprised he didn’t actually protest that much. Guess he really needed to take his mind off things for a while.”

“You think so, huh,” Kyle mutters, can’t help himself from sounding bitter. If Jason was acting like that, they probably wouldn’t had an honest talk anyway, but still.

Perhaps sensing that, Dick slides the plate with waffles to him. “Comfort food really helps. And they’re from Stephanie’s favorite place, and she’s a waffle expert, so.”

Kyle caves in and takes a bite, and then another. Apparently content, Dick leans back in his chair and fixes him with a curious look. “So, you and Jason. I guess I finally understand what Babs and Cass were alluding to a few times.” Kyle has half-mind to bite his tongue and not ask about that particular statement. Dick continues, “How long has this been going on? Since that Blackgate breakout?”

“Pretty much,” Kyle admits after a moment. He likes Dick, but he’s starting to wonder if he should feel at least a little wary, since he’s talking to Jason’s older brother.

“Huh, that’s… over six months, right?” Dick wonders. It gives Kyle a pause as well because he hasn’t realized it’s already been that long since Jason re-entered his life in a completely different light. “You realize you are his longest relationship, right?”

“I’m aware,” he says rather dryly. “I hope you’re not going to comment on my relationship history now.”

“What? No.” Dick shakes his head. “I’m not that much of a hypocrite, despite what Jason claims sometimes.” Kyle finds his expression a little hard to decipher. “It’s just… I’m surprised, but a lot of things make sense now. I’m happy for you.”

He actually sounds sincere and Kyle sighs. “Well, you may want to hold that thought,” he tells Dick. “Jason and I need to talk about some of the recent… events.”

“Ah,“ Dick says, munching on his waffle. “You know, Jason isn’t the easiest person to understand. Character-wise, sure, but also because of what he’s been through. I think… he doesn’t believe that good things that happen to him are going to last, that’s why he tends to sabotage himself. Hurt or leave those close to you before they can do that. It used to give us a lot of grief when we first started reconciling.” Dick smiles bitterly. “Jason has come a long way since then, but it’s not a kind of mentality he’ll ever completely let go of, I think. Some things run deeper than his death, even before he came to live at the Manor.”

Kyle knows all that, on some level, even though Jason still rarely opens up about many parts of his past. “So what do you suggest?”

“I don’t think it’s my place to suggest anything,” Dick answers, raising an eyebrow at him. “What do you want to do, Kyle?”

It’s a good question. One Kyle doesn’t know how to answer, but he starts talking anyway.

“He makes me mad, when he’s being unnecessarily stubborn or mean. And he’s so extra sometimes.” Dick snorts quietly in agreement. Kyle nibbles at his waffle before continuing, “He makes me mad when he downplays how injured he really is or that he’s not okay, and when he jokes about his death and resurrection, even though I know that’s how he’s coping. He makes me feel worried and afraid sometimes because he’s already died once, and I know he has you guys, and Roy and Kory, but...” He swallows, thinks briefly about Alex. “And I don’t really know how it’s supposed to work in a long shot, with him here and me up in space… But I want to try out his cooking, listen to him talk about the books he’s reading, laugh at him for accidentally drinking my paint water again. I want him to know that he’s good enough and that I’m going to stay with him as long as he lets me.” Kyle exhales deeply. “Wow, that last sentence was corny,” he says, but doesn’t take it back.

He isn’t looking at Dick, but he can hear a gentle smile in his voice as he says, “Well, there you have your answer.”

“I suppose I do,” Kyle mutters. Just then he glances at the man across him. “You’re almost annoyingly good at this, making people open up and talk to you.”

This gets a laugh out of Dick. “So I heard multiple times, both from heroes and criminals alike. It’s a useful skill.”

A moment later, there’s a sound of the front door opening, followed by the the voices.

“As far as antiquarian bookshops stand, this one was unexpectedly decent.”

“Drop fancy words, brat, it’s just a second-hand bookshop. And don’t act so shocked that you can find something interesting in worse parts of Gotham, too.”

Dick stands up and squeezes Kyle’s shoulder in an encouraging way. Damian shows up in the doorway, not even phased by Kyle’s presence, and makes an annoyed tt sound when Dick ruffles his hair. Jason hangs back, only making a brief eye contact with Kyle before he turns his gaze to approaching Dick, looking at him with a mix of suspicion and uncertainty.

Kyle doesn’t know what they say to each other because Damian comes to stand in front of him, his back straight and chin held out. He looks very serious as for an early teen, although the fact he’s shoved his hands into the pockets of a hoodie is such a sulky teen thing to do.

“Yes?” Kyle prompts him after the staring becomes uncomfortable.

“Todd is a difficult and stubborn individual, but know that if you break his heart, I have the means to make you disappear, Lantern rings or not,” Damian tells him without preamble. After a pause for emphasis, he adds, “Also, I’d like to see some of your artworks, particularly sketches. We can compare tools.”

“Okay,” Kyle says because he doesn’t know how else he could reply to that.

Damian nods at him, apparently satisfied, and walks out of the kitchen. He and Dick say their goodbyes after that, leaving Kyle with Jason -- Jason, who looks both a little better and a little worse for wear than yesterday, but in different ways. For one, as he comes to sit down next to Kyle by the table, he seems nervous, but not tense.

Kyle opens his mouth to speak, but Jason holds up a hand.

“Wait, let me.” His voice still sounds rough, but less so than the night before. “I’m sorry for recent days. I haven’t been at my best, but you’re still here, so I guess it means something, I guess.” He licks his lips. “I’m not really good at these things, so I’ll just…” From his jacket, Jason pulls out a rather thin book that definitely has seen better days. He flips a few pages and clears his throat before he starts,

“Mi lucha es dura y vuelvo con los ojos cansados a veces de haber visto la tierra que no cambia, pero al entrar tu risa sube al cielo buscándome y abre para mí todas las puertas de la vida.” [source]

Jason lowers the book of poetry, looking at Kyle as he says, “I still don’t understand why would someone like you want to deal with me and a mountain of my issues, but… you make me forget all of that, that I’m not someone good, someone normal. It scares me sometimes and my instinct tells me that I should push you away, that this is not going to last either way. And yet, I also trust you. To have my back in a fight, sure, but also with... this.”

For all Jason may claim he’s not good at this, it’s Kyle who feels clumsy when it comes to pretty words. That leaves him to sincere words. “You make me happy, too,” he says, cupping Jason’s face into his hands. “And I think we both deserve that much.”

“I…” Jason hesitates and huffs a laugh. “You know, I think we should try that. It doesn’t sound too bad.”

No, it doesn’t, Kyle agrees when he sweeps his thumbs over faint freckles spread across Jason’s cheeks, making him crinkle his eyes in a funny way. It doesn’t sound bad at all.

#jason todd #kyle rayner #jaykyle #batfamily #my fics #dc #this is late and long and idk what i think about it just. take it.

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