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kevin--of-desert-bluffs · 10 months ago

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I did one in reverse lol a WTNV plot written like early TMA. Sorry if this one isn't as good I've only listened to like 22 episodes of TMA lol

Statement of Yu Story, regarding an incident they experienced in the Yorkshire Dales. Original statement given December 15th, 2012. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

I want to start this by telling you a little bit about myself. Before all of this I was as ordinary as anyone else. I never drank or took drugs and have no history of mental illness. Instead my problem seemed to be more fatigue...with life, with how things were going. My mother used to say I was never satisfied. Maybe she was right.

Sorry, I'm trying to keep this short and sweet but I'm too aware that any moment now They might appear and I don't think I'll be getting out of that encounter. I've been running from them too long already.

My name is Yu Story. I used to live in Leeds, had done all my life. For work, I wrote direct mail campaigns for companies, selling their products. It was long and tedious work. Sometimes I would write things like – Dear Resident, finally some good news in this dreary world. At last, a reason not to kill yourself! - then I would backspace and write something more appropriate.

I had a friend, then a girlfriend, then a fiancee – the same person. Sometimes I cooked, sometimes she cooked, we had that kind of cosy balanced relationship. If it's all the same with you I'd rather not state her name here.

I suppose I must have had a breakdown. That's surely what my family have called it. One day I was walking from the glass box of my office to my old Ford Probe and a vision came to me. Yes, I know how that sounds but what else can I call it? It certainly wasn't real. I hope it wasn't real.

I saw above me a planet of awesome size, lit by no sun. An invisible titan, all thick black forests and jagged mountains and deep, turbulent oceans. It was so far away, so desolate, and so impossibly, terrifyingly dark, and that day I did not go home. I drove instead. I drove a long time, and eventually I ended up in somewhere deep in the Yorkshire Dales, in a town called Night Vale and I stopped driving. I must have been driving hours to get there, and yet I never stopped nor felt the need to stop, it was like I'd hardly been driving for long at all. I should have driven home, but I didn't. I stayed, something I regret doing now. Night Vale was an nice town, quaint, not too modern but not as rustic as some places out there. It even had an old opera house if you can believe that.

The native residents were somewhat standoffish at first but the more I stayed the less suspicious and hostile they were although I don't think they ever completely accepted me as one of their own. I found a caravan for rent near a use car lot – not exactly glamorous but not bad. I'd thrown out my phone somewhere along the way to Night Vale and for some reason never thought to get another. I felt terrible about it – knowing that my fiancee and my family would want to know I was alright – but it never felt like the right time to call and so I never did.

It haunted me how easy it was to leave my old life. How few the repercussions were. The complete freedom, the utter lack of consequences, it terrified me. I can't even remember how long I stayed in Night Vale. Time started to mean very little to me. I managed to find a job. Or, the job found me. They, the man who was not tall and the man who was not short, knocked on the door of the caravan one day and just offered it to me. It sounded too good to be true but I thought what the Hell and took it. All I had to do was drive out into the Dales every day except Sunday and there I would find two trucks. I moved wooden crates from one truck to the other whilst a man in a dark suit watched me silently. It was a different man each time. Sometimes the crates ticked. Mostly they did not. When I was done the man would hand me some amount of cash – also different each time – and I would go home. It was the best job I'd ever had.

Except...a few days ago, it went differently. I moved the crates. The man in the suit, a stranger, watched. But then, as had never happened before, the man in the suit received a phone call. He walked off at some distance to take it. “Yes sir," he said and "No sir."

It wasn't terribly interesting. I moved crates. But then an impulse, an awful impulse, came over me. I took one of the crates. I took it and put it in my trunk. By the time the man came back from his phone call, I was done with my job. He gave me the money, nearly £500 today, the second highest it had ever been. And I drove home with the crate in my trunk.

When I got home I took the crate into my caravan and left it in the kitchen. This wasn't the kind of crate which ticks. It was a completely ordinary crate. I cooked dinner. I ate it outside, sitting by the open door, looking out across the town. I could see the blinking red light of a distant radio tower. I wondered how long it would take them to figure out that the crate was gone. I didn't wonder who 'they' were and don't now. Some mysteries aren't questions to be answered but just kind of exist as opaque fact, a thing which exists to not be known.

Sorry, where was I? Oh right. I went back in to look at the crate. I reached out and touched it. It felt warm, warmer than the air around it. It had this smell – sharp and earthy. Almost like freshly ground cinnamon. I put my ear to it and I swear I could music coming from within. A soft indistinct melody humming from within. It didn't look difficult to open. All I needed to do was pull out a few nails. I didn't open it.

Instead I went for a drive to the local diner. A distraction. Just like driving to Night Vale had been a distraction. I got a slice of pie even though I had just eaten and wasn't hungry. I ate quickly without tasting it and returned back to the crate. I touched the crate again. It was warmer now, as if whatever was inside was heating up. I started to worry that it might be dangerous. Some kind of weapon? I'd always thought it was probably drugs I was helping move but now...

I opened the crate. Bit by bit I opened it. The moment I did something exploded out of it and pushed me back against the wall. It was an enormous bloom, maybe six feet long and as it opened I began to scream. It was a human figure which unfurled from that flower. Right there in the centre of the blossom, as if they were being birthed from it. But it wasn't just this which made me scream. I knew the person in the flower or I had known the person it was mimicking. Not personally – no – I'd simply seen his face in the local newspaper. He was by all accounts a celebrated man of the community, often doing charity work and the like. He'd died of natural causes and there was a tiny article about him which I'd skimmed without thought. Now that same face looked at me. A face of a dead man growing out of a large flower.

I scrambled to my feet and exited the caravan. That's when I saw it for the second time. A planet of awesome size, lit by no sun. An invisible titan, all thick black forests and jagged mountains and deep, turbulent oceans. It was so far away, so desolate, and so impossibly, terrifyingly dark.

I could hear the sound of an engine getting closer and knew They had discovered what I had done and were coming for me. I got into my car and drove as fast as I could. I spent days driving in what I hoped was an untraceable erratic manner. It was by chance I managed to be here in London at all, let alone by your establishment. I admit I felt compelled to come in and tell you what I saw. Where else was I to go? The police sure wouldn't believe me...I don't even know if you will. It doesn't matter, it's here now and I have to get going. I've been lucky but I feel like I won't be lucky for much longer. They're going to find me and they're going to kill me. Maybe I'll end up in one of those crates myself. Thank you for hearing my story.

Statement ends.

Mr Story's account is not dissimilar to any number of men in black conspiracy theories which exist and therefore is almost entirely sure to be a concoction of a clearly stressed and teetering mind. Despite his claims of being mentally sound, we can't ignore that Mr Story left his entire life behind spontaneously, a clear indicator of a mental breakdown possibly caused by the outset of greater mental problems. After all he seemed to be suffering from classic symptoms of paranoia, believing himself to be watched and followed as well as hallucinating the uh, 'dark planet' as he described it. Of course no such thing could possibly exist so close to Earth without dire consequences so it's not even worth checking on.

I asked Martin to look up this 'Night Vale' to try and at least corroborate Mr Story's claims of having lived there a while. He couldn't find a single trace of such a town anywhere in the world, merely sound alike towns or places which did not fit Mr Story's descriptions. I asked Sasha to cross-reference these findings in case Martin had missed something, which was likely. She too found nothing, so I am able to firmly conclude that Night Vale does not exist and was another aspect of Mr Story's declining mental state. As for claims of flowers that contain the bodies of dead people...well, I don't think we need to get the opinion of a botanist to rule that out – do we?

A missing persons report was indeed filed for Mr Story but his story does not have a pleasant conclusion in which he returned home and sought psychiatric help. Instead it seems that someone did indeed catch up with him and slit his throat, leaving him for dead in a field. What is more Tim recalled seeing a crate he remarked as being unusually warm to the touch amongst other items here at the Institute. Across the top someone had stamped the word 'Stonecrops'. We opened the crate and were surprised to see a small house inside. Not a dolls house exactly, more a model someone had made with extreme attention to detail in every room that could be seen from the windows although it could not be opened without breaking it. So – no flowers then, and perhaps not related at all. I think it's best we don't waste more time on this.

Recording ends.

You have no idea how tempted I am to write a kind of... parody fic where I take TMA episodes and switch them to the WTNV format i.e. take the plot and act like it's just something casually happening in NV.

#wtnv #tma #welcome to night vale #the magnus archives #wtnv x tma #wtnv x tma crossover

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bridgyrose · 4 years ago

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“Are you okay kid?”

Ruby hesitated for a moment as she looked up from the ground, watching as a woman in a blue beret stood over her, fighting a few grimm. The last thing she remembered was the train crashing through a wall and then hearing the grimm sirens. She looked around a bit, her vision still a bit fuzzy from everything she had been through, watching as grimm ran around the city.

“Hey, I asked you if you’re okay!” The girl in blue turned to face Ruby, frowning at her. “Are you going to answer?”

“I… y-yeah, I’m fine.”

“Then grab your weapon and start helping clean up your mess.”

Ruby watched as the girl rushed off to fight another grimm, a claw and wrist blade forming from the gloves she wore. She shook her head and picked up her scythe, rushing into the swarm of grimm with her semblance, feeling a bit guilty that she was the cause of this. Letting out a growl, Ruby slammed her scythe into the nearest ursa, ready to end this fight.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m telling you, someone like that did actually help me!” exclaimed Ruby as she sat down in the dorm. “Blue beret, yellow markings on her forehead, very rude… maybe she’s from Atlas…”

Weiss rolled her eyes. “Oh, so now anyone who’s rude is from Atlas?”

“Well, Ice Queen, you’re from Atlas and you were rude to all of us when you first came here,” teased Yang. “Seems to fit so far.”

Weiss pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a sigh. “Why do I put up with all of you?”

Blake sat down on her bed, pulling out a small book to read. “Well, I believe you Ruby. But I’m not sure she’s a student here or even at any of the other schools.”

Ruby slumped in her seat, letting out a small sigh. She knew she had not imagined it. Whoever she was was real and it hurt to hear that the grimm swarming Vale was her fault. It wasnt wrong, but it was still an accident and one that she never wanted to repeat. Even then, there was something about that girl that made her heart flutter when she thought of her. Although, hearing the tone of that girl’s voice in her head once more turned the slight smile on her face into a frown, only snapping out of her thoughts as she felt a hand patting her back.

“Well, I for one am glad that Ruby’s found that guardian angel of hers.” Yang gently pat Ruby’s back, giving her a grin. “And soon, you’ll find your soulmate just like mom and dad-”

“That’s… just an urban legend.” Ruby shook her head a bit. “No one has ever found their soulmate because someone saved them.”

Weiss looked at the two of them curiously. “I’m… not sure I follow.”

Blake answered, not looking away from her book. “Legend has it that if you’re saved from near death by someone, they’ll become your soulmate. Its more prevalent to hear about it in Vale and Vacuo, but Ruby’s right, its just an urban legend.”

“Thank you,” replied Ruby. “Besides, I dont want to find her to date her, I want to thank her.”

Yang let out a sigh. “You know, one day you’re going to have to accept that you have a soulmate out there.”

“Or, I can just date whoever I can get the courage to finally ask on a date.” Ruby glanced towards Blake for a moment before quickly packing up her textbooks to head to the library. “Although, I should study for Port’s test tomorrow, since I’m not exactly passing his class right now.”

Weiss let out a groan and grabbed Ruby’s arm, pulling her out of the dorm and to the library. “You’re failing Port’s class but you’re more concerned about finding a girl?!”

“W-Weiss! You’re pinching me!”

“And you deserve it! I keep telling you not to sleep through his class!”

“Not my fault he’s boring…”

Blake shook her head as she watched the two. “What are we going to do with them?”

Yang shrugged, feeling a bit defeated as she sat down. “I think we should just let them be.”

“Yang? What’s wrong?” asked Blake.

“I’m not entirely fond of Ruby dismissing the idea of soulmates. We have proof between our dad and… her mother.”

“Maybe she has a reason to believe that way.”

Yang shrugged a bit. “I’m not sure, but I want her to believe one day. Even if I have to prove they exist.”

“And… how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Yang pulled out her scroll and laid back a bit on, starting to run through the roster of visiting students. “I’m going to look for that girl who saved her.”

Blake rolled her eyes a bit and sat down next to Yang. “You really want her to believe in soulmates that much?”

“I do. It feels… dismissive otherwise.”

“Then I’ll help.”

Yang sat up a bit. “Really?”

Blake nodded and pulled out her own scroll, starting through the list as well. “Worst case, we at least find the girl who saved her and she can thank her.”

#rwby #ruby rose #rwby ruby rose #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #drabbles #have yet another soulmate au #gaurdian souls #guardian souls au #i wonder how I can ruin this

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kindkindling · 4 years ago

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crying for help

fandom: the wayhaven chronicles

pairing: mason/nb detective (Billie Vale)

rating: T, swearing and vague mentions of sex

warnings: BOOK 3 DEMO SPOILERS.

words: ~2.6k

summary: The detective needs to work some things out, and Ava is there to help.

ao3

You up?

I am. Is something wrong, Detective?

If I come to the Warehouse, will you spar with me?

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The detective came at Ava once more, but they had been at this for hours now and their fatigue was showing; she easily dodged the incoming blow and deftly swept her leg under theirs, tumbling them to the mat with a thump.

Ava watched solemnly as Billie lay still, their chest heaving, not having even broken a sweat herself.

Something was obviously wrong. Billie hadn't spoken a word since they began sparring — each attempt Ava made to figure out what the issue was had been rebuffed with a shake of their head and a silent prompt to make another move, exhaustion and determination equally evident in their narrowed eyes. After the third time, she gave up and resorted to critiquing their technique instead, correcting their form and motions.

Something was wrong, but there was only so much she could do about it if the detective was unwilling to share the details.

As Billie slowly pushed themself up on hands and knees, arms shaking and still chasing the breath they couldn't catch, Ava decided enough was enough.

"We'll stop here."

The detective, predictably, shook their head without looking up, even as their sweat dripped to the floor; but Ava's patience had worn thin. They were in no state to continue, and she suspected they knew it.

"Yes, we will," she growled. She marched to the bench and grabbed Billie's water; when she returned, they had at least moved to sit cross-legged, leaning back on their hands as they tried to breathe deep. She handed them the bottle and sat next to them, silently watching as they downed half of it in one go.

It was known amongst Unit Bravo that the detective would sometimes head to the station in the middle of the night to work, though what could possibly require that level of attention in this quiet little town was beyond Ava. Truthfully, she had initially been pleased enough to accept Billie's proposition — it was a simple task to adjust the patrol routes so that whoever was out could check to see where Billie was each night, but she would definitely prefer that they stay put, and there was nowhere safer for the detective than the Warehouse — but looking over them now, she would be hard pressed to say that sparring was the better option for them right now.

They looked worn, and not just from the training. Their short brown hair had grown shaggy and somewhat dull since the team started working with them, and the bags under their eyes were only becoming more prominent as time passed. Their body sagged like every burden that had been placed on them as of late was slowly sinking them into the earth with each step, yet they refused to set even one of them down.

Their dedication to their duty was admirable, but it was clearly taking its toll, and something needed to change.

Billie recapped the bottle when they finished and stared at the floor, steadfastly avoiding Ava's gaze. Finally, after a few moments of struggle, they managed to find their voice and gave a strained, raspy, "Thank you."

"Of course." Ava hesitated, then said, "Will you tell me now what is wrong?"

They let out a long sigh before shoving their glasses up into their hair and covering their face with their hands. "It's nothing, really. I just... My thoughts were a bit much to handle tonight. Usually I would go get some work done, but..."

"...It would be a poor idea given the current situation with the bounty?" Ava ventured. At Billie's nod, she continued. "I agree. There is no reason to put yourself in more danger than is necessary. Although," she leaned forward, "you must realize that wearing yourself ragged like this will not make you of much use come the morning."

"Heh," Billie huffed and fell backward, spreading their arms wide across the floor. "It'll be alright. This isn't far off from how I'd've felt if I'd stayed at the apartment, except I personally feel a bit more accomplished."

Ava frowned. "Can you not designate some of your duties to the other officers? You seem to have quite a lot on your plate, even without your responsibilities for the Agency."

"Not really," they hummed. "It's pretty much just me and Tina, and she's already got her fair share to deal with; there's nothing urgent enough to warrant pulling her from her own tasks. And it..." they seemed to stall out for a moment, chewing on the words, their narrow gaze turned to the ceiling. "If I didn't have the work to do, I would be stuck at the apartment, just spinning my wheels in the dark, worrying about this and that. So it's better this way, to be occupied."

Without giving her a chance to respond, Billie stood with a grunt and dusted off their clothes. "Anyway, thanks for your help tonight. I'll try not to bother you for it again," they said with a wry grin.

"Detective!" She barked. They flinched as they turned to leave, and Ava mentally cursed her tone as she rose to her feet. "My apologies, but you do realize you are not alone in any of this, don't you? You are a part of this team, and any one of us would aid you, should you ask."

Billie stared back at her incredulously, meeting her eyes for the first time this entire conversation, and Ava realized just how anxious they must have been to have asked to meet.

"What has you worried?" She asked softly.

They pressed their lips and folded their arms, shrinking into themself a bit, fingers tapping an aimless rhythm on their forearm as they seemed to consider answering. For a long moment, Ava thought they would lapse back into the silence that had taken them during their training, but they eventually sighed and spoke.

"There's a couple things," they chuckled humorlessly. "I know it was determined that... that Murphy isn't likely to come back any time soon. But that doesn't stop me from wondering about it when I hear my neighbors thumping around late at night, you know?"

Ava stepped forward to rest her hand firmly on Billie's shoulder. "The Agency is much better prepared now for any assaults from Murphy or supernaturals like him than they were before. And you have us watching over you as well; suffice to say, even should Murphy return, he will not succeed no matter what he may try."

"I know." They smiled, but it was stretched thin and tight, like they were close to cracking. "But unfortunately, knowing something isn't likely doesn't stop my feelings from going haywire."

"You are always welcome to stay here, if that would help," Ava offered. "You do have a room, after all. This space is as much yours as it is ours."

She felt Billie's shoulder tense under her hand at her words and heard their heartbeat stutter. Before she could make an inquiry, however, the words started pouring out of the detective like a waterfall.

"Ah, no, I think — I think I'll be alright, that won't be necessary, in fact I think it's getting to be pretty early, isn't it, gosh it really is, so I should probably head out actually, but, um, thanks again for all your help, I do appreciate it, genuinely —"

"Detective," Ava said, gently, and Billie's non-stop tirade puttered out like a hose shutting off, their gaze dropping to the floor.

"It's just, I — I don't think that's something I can do. For a while, not forever, just... just for now," they finished weakly.

Ava crossed her arms and considered this. "It would inarguably be safer for you to be here at night than at your apartment or the station. Are you sure?"

Billie drew back and their eyes met Ava's once more — any determination they had held before was gone now, and only the exhaustion remained. "It's for the best, I think."

Ava sighed. "I will not force it force it on you; our patrols should be sufficient regardless. But I cannot help but ask... have we done something to warrant your distrust?"

"Oh, no, no no no!" Billie exclaimed, their hands waving in the air almost comically. "Not at all! You're all terrific, no complaints here! It's — it's just, it's... me."

"It's you?" She cocked an eyebrow. "Even if you were not one of us, it is our job to protect you, Detective. Your blood puts us in no more danger —"

"Ugh, no, that's not what I mean," they groaned. Ava didn't think they could make themself any smaller, yet Billie somehow managed it. "It's... Can you promise not to tell the rest of the team about this? It's kind of personal."

"You have my word."

"I... I can't be around Mason right now," they mumbled.

"Mason?" Ava's eyes widened and narrowed in quick succession. "What did he do?"

"It's not what he did, it's more what I did... or what I made him think, I suppose, and now everything's changed, and I don't think I should be around him if I'm just going to keep on doing this..." Billie trailed off, hugging themself tightly.

"Start from the beginning, please."

They gave a deep sigh. "You remember when we left the Warehouse together the other day, right? When he escorted me to the station?" She nodded. "Well, we went to breakfast, and it was... nice. We had a — a moment, I guess you could say."

They turned their face away as if to hide their embarrassment, but it only made the flush on their ears more apparent; Ava might have found it humorous were the circumstances different, and she herself were not growing more uncomfortable with the direction of the story.

"But then Haley — you've met her, the baker at the square — she came over and said she didn't know I was... seeing anyone. Mason said that I — that I'm 'only seeing him naked. There's nothing else going on here.' And that was — it hurt, and I kind of... ran out on him."

Ava did her best to contain the longest suffering sigh that had ever threatened to escape her, and she thought she did a damn good job of it. Dealing with Mason's 'problems' had always been near the top of the list of Things She Has Been Forced to Deal With and Would Rather Delegate to Nat, but this was the first time that she could recall where the problem was not his callous nature, but his own brand of naivety.

She held up a hand as if to pause her own thoughts. "You made it sound as if this were your fault. How did you come to that conclusion?"

"It's because I'm a damn fool," they said, immediately and so full of conviction that Ava almost reeled. "I knew when we first started this that it didn't mean anything. That it was just fun, something to help keep my mind off how the world had turned upside down. And that was fine, I didn't want anything more, I didn't expect it, because I... I didn't let myself.

"I convinced myself at every turn that it was what I wanted, because it was what he wanted, and if I wanted something else, something... more, then we would have to stop, because that wouldn't be fair, not to either of us." Billie's eyes were gleaming as if they were fighting back tears, and Ava felt a pang in her heart at the sight. "And it looks like I did a good enough job, yeah? Because even if I didn't manage to stop myself from being an idiot, I've convinced Mason that I don't give a damn about him aside from his body. And that was the goal, wasn't it, to keep it as this casual thing?"

The tears won their fight and spilled over, but Billie kept on. "To hell with how he kept me from losing my mind when the Maa-alused attacked me in my apartment, right? And how he can keep me from spiraling further into a mess just by being in the same fucking room, that's a normal thing for a friend with benefits, isn't it? How I can look at him and just feel this, this resolve settle in my chest and straighten my spine, make me feel like I can do anything, just because this one person believes that I can?" They were yelling by the end, their hand over their heart, knees trembling, and Ava had to catch them as they collapsed from the exertion.

"I can't, Ava," they cried into her shirt, "I can't see him right now, I can't."

She held Billie close and let them wail, making small, calming noises as she tried to soothe them. It had been a long, long time since Ava had last done this for anyone, but it still seemed to do the trick; it took a while, but eventually their heaving breaths slowed and their cries turned to sniffles.

"Think you got it all out?" She asked.

Billie huffed as they withdrew from her grasp and straightened out their shirt. Their eyes were puffy and their cheeks ruddy, but their heartbeat was settling down. "Think so."

"Good. Are you willing to listen now?"

They nodded, wiping their eyes and moving their glasses back into place.

"You are right about one thing: you're a fool."

"Well, thanks for that, at least," they mumbled, their voice still raspy.

"Not for having these emotions, but for going through such convoluted leaps to convince yourself otherwise," Ava said. "Truly, it is dizzying trying to follow you."

That got a chuckle out of them, which she considered a success.

"And do you truly believe that Mason feels nothing for you in return?"

"I mean — I've thought, at times, that maybe..."

"I cannot speak for him, but I can say that, in all my years of knowing him and how he acts and how he treats those he engages with, I have never seen him treat any of them with the level of respect that he treats you."

Ava stood and held out a hand to help Billie up; as they stood next to her, she added, "And I have never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

"Oh, Ava, please don't — please don't try to give me hope here, I don't think I can take it."

"That is not my intention," she said, using a hand to start pushing them toward the door. "I am merely giving you facts that you may not have been able to consider in all your astounding leaps of logic."

They gave Ava a small, genuine smile at the training room's entryway, their mood having finally lifted somewhat. "Thank you, Ava. Really."

"It is no issue," Ava said. "Now, go get your car ready."

"Huh?"

"You are in no state to drive yourself, so I will take you home. I would suggest calling in sick today, but of course that is up to your discretion."

"Oh no, Ava, you've done more than enough for me tonight, I can — "

"Go, Billie. I will be there momentarily."

Her tone left no room for discussion, so with a final resigned sigh, Billie conceded and walked off down the hallway. Ava watched until they turned the corner and took out their phone, dialing a number she knew by heart and speaking as soon as Nat picked up.

"Did you hear all of that?"

"I did, yes."

"You need to speak with Mason."

"I'm already on it."

#it's 2:30am take it away i'm done #i had a lot of Feelings so billie had to talk it out with someone who wasn't mason #fun fact: billie asked ava to spar bc they thought she wouldn't ask any questions and they could just bury it deep as always #JOKES ON YOU BUD #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc fic #twc a #ava du mortain #sea's OCs #twc spoilers #twc book 3 spoilers #book 3 demo spoilers #formatting is fixed now. whew that's better lol

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captainclickycat · 4 years ago

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Fic tag game

Cheers @lisea18 :)

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

15 total (I have two accounts, I just don’t use my old one much anymore)

2. What is your total ao3 word count?

Loads. I don’t know and I’m too tired to work it out.

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

In terms of published works, just two: Good Omens and Sherlock back in the day. I’ve got tentative plans for some Wooden Overcoats fic and one Doctor Who reader insert which I sometimes get drunk and work on. If I ever publish that one it’ll almost certainly be anonymously.

4. What are your Top 5 fics by kudos?

Just going by my PollyPocalypse account for these. Top to bottom:

I Hardly Know Which Way is Up

The Art of Longstanding Deception and Sixpence and a Sugar Mouse (those two are tied)

An Ending Fitting for the Start

Here for Protection

5. Do you always respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to as a general policy. I love comments. But I’m also very flakey and occasionally forget to, or if the comment is rude or critical in some way I’m likely to ignore it, but luckily I don’t get many of those.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

My first thought was “I don’t do those lol” but then it hit me that it’s obviously An Ending Fitting for the Start. Even that one isn’t too grim, but it still leaves things on a pretty poignant note… but then what do you expect from a 60’s car scene fic.

7. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Yes, but I haven’t managed to publish any yet. I’m trying to do a GO one now that crosses over with the ninth series of John Finnemore’s Souvenir Programme in one chapter, but I don’t think that’s too outlandish. Also there’s this idea rattling around my head right now where a side character from Sherlock moves to Piffling Vale and befriends/dates some of the characters, but who knows if that’ll ever go anywhere

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope. A very small amount of unsolicited criticism on one or two, but overall reception’s been very friendly

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not yet, I don’t think. Usually sex scenes are described in pretty sparse detail or in a “fade to black” sort of way, like the section ends with the characters trundling off into the bedroom together and then after the break they’re lying in bed all sated and shit. I do toy with the idea of writing something more explicit one of these days… like I’ve thought about doing a version of Which way is up where the sex scene is described in more extensive detail, which would make sense since it’s so integral to the story. Admittedly I do have some hangups about it because I feel like whilst all writing has the potential to be bad, sex scenes have the potential to be hilariously bad and that’s a pitfall I’ve always been a little afraid of. That said, it would be a good hurdle to overcome, so we’ll see.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Thankfully not, at least as far as I know.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not to date. I like the idea though; it would be a good motivation.

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Unofficially probably the weird Final Fantasy/Jack and Daxter OC crossover I wrote with a friend in secondary school (so I suppose technically I have collaborated…) Sherlock was the first one I published anything for though.

12. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I am way way way to flighty for all-time favourites lol. I suppose Azcrow is still my main oneat present, although I’m having a bit of a fandom hiatus rn for Reasons (I’ll be back)

14. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

How dare you ask me to choose between my children :P

That said, I suppose the first one that comes to mind is An Ending Fitting for the Start, just because it was so easy to write and felt so tidy and self-contained. The idea just came to me and I knocked it out in a couple of hours, which is rare for me. In terms of comedy value, though, I think Delightfully Devilish might be the best (and that is something I tend to value in GO fics, seeing as how the source material is a comedy) but then again Longstanding Deception gets a look-in for being my first multi-chapter, and Which Way is Up was the first fic I wrote on my new account and I still really love the “it’s not kind of me to love you” paragraph, and aargh. Forget it.

Tell you what my favourite personal author signature is though: I name a different brand of whiskey in all my GO fics. Go back and read them, there’s one in all of them (except Here for Protection, but that’s part of a series that still names a brand overall). I mentioned Talisker in my first one and then for some reason just decided to keep going. It’s got to a point where I now have to stop writing and go and research for a new brand name I haven’t used yet when I’m working on a new fic. To my knowledge nobody has ever picked up on this. It’s quite possibly the most pointless thing I’ve ever done.

Err who do I know. @sew-birb @jenna221b @monster-girlfriend-appreciation maybe? And anyone who wants to. No, seriously. If you see this and want to do it, I’d better not see you not doing it. Tell them Clicky sent you.

#tag game #my fics

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cecilspeaks · 5 years ago

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170 - To the Family and Friends

Love the winner, hate the win. Welcome to Night Vale.

I start today with sad news. I must inform you of the passing of Intern Victor. To the friends and family of Intern Victor, we extend our condolences. Oh, that reminds me. Our intern program has a new open spot available. Hours are flexible, as is time itself. You must be fluent in at least three languages, although one of those can be your own dream language, and another can be a future language that doesn’t yet exist. This is an entry level position. All applicants must have 30 years experience in the field of community radio, and have been the managing director of at least 2 radio stations, or equivalent unregistered stations broadcasting coded messages to our brave spies in the field. This is a non-paying position, but we do give you 4 credits to the institutions of your choice. Please apply in person by groveling before the Station Management door and crying: “Choose me! Choose me!” as their tendrils draw you slowly toward them. I look forward to meeting whoever is hired. Always so fun when we get a new intern.

And now for a look at the day’s news. The Night Vale Medical Association has ordered a review of the management of Night Vale Asylum, after a number of irregularities have cropped up involving a transdimensional missing plane and a pilot who could control people’s thoughts. “Honestly, we had a lot of cases like that back in the 60’s,” said Lonnie Chapman, chairman of the Medical Association. “Mental institutions used to be cruel places, where the fragile rift between dimensions was regularly breached and telekinetic powers were exploited. And people were treated as less than people, for the simple crime of having an illness that could not be found in the blood or the bile.” Lonnie settled back into the sagging comfort of his old arm chair, sighed and rubbed his forehead. “We endeavour to help, not to other,” he whispered. “It should be common sense, this kindness. Why is kindness not common sense?” He said this last so quietly that no one heard him. Dust motes circled tirelessly in the afternoon sun through the window. The Night Vale Medical Association is looking to shut down the outdated asylum and replace it with a brand new state of the art treatment center, located near Grove Park. More on this story as the story has more to it.

I guess I should get into a little more detail about how Intern Victor died, since some of you might be curious. You know, I think the story starts back in my very first days as host of this radio station. After the previous host, Leonard Burton, after – umm… ehhhh.. Once I took over as host of this radio station, Victor was one of my first interns. Eager and earnest and always helpful. He was first in the station in the morning and last one out at night. His research was impeccable.

“That’s not true,” he would say every time I said something that wasn’t true. “That’s not true either,” he would say. He would say stuff like that a lot. He was very diligent. It kind of felt like we were starting this great adventure in radio broadcasting together. I thought that some day after I… after… ehhhhh.. ummm… once I was no longer host of this radio station, perhaps Victor would be the one to take over. “Some day, Victor,” I would murmur in the quietest hours of the night shift, “Some day maybe you will be where I am now.” “Maybe, Cecil,” he would say back into the intercom from the producer’s booth, “But for now, please stop murmuring that into the mic. We’re live right now. Then one day he told me he was leaving. That he appreciated all the time he had spent as an intern, that he had learned a lot, but that he felt his place in the world was not with radio after all. [sputters] “Not with radio?!” I sputtered. I simply did not understand the concept. “If there is not community radio, then what is there? What is there besides that? Will someone tell me what else there is?” “Thank you for our time together,” he said gently, and then he left. It would be the last time I saw him for many years.

And now a word from our sponsors. Today’s sponsor is White Claw’s new line of non-alcoholic alcoholic Seltzer beverages. Listen, everyone loves a good carbonated beverage. On a hot day, out at the beach, or not at the beach, the two places it is possible to be. It’s great to just pop one of those bad boys open and really let that water with bubbles rip on your gullet. But not everyone likes to drink alcohol, for a variety of reasons that are never ever your business. Just don’t ask or bring it up. It’s so easy to not do that. That’s why White Claw is proud to announce the newest version of our alcoholic Seltzer beverage, now without alcohol! It’s everything you loved about Seltzer water, but for the first time, you don’t have to get intoxicated. Flavors include blackberry, wild nettle, wet stone, and one we’re just calling “Tumbleweed Crush”. Even we aren’t completely clear on what that one tastes like, but hey, it’s water and it’ll make you burp without making you drunk. White Claw’s new line of non-alcoholic alcoholic Seltzer beverages. Available wherever you buy your alcoholic Seltzer beverages. This has been a word from our sponsors.

I didn’t finish with the story of how Intern Victor died, I guess. Ummm, let me quickly wrap that up. So, a few years after he left, he came back again. He was older than me now with salt and pepper hair and a stiffness to his walk. When he had left, he had been several years younger than me, but time changes us all, I suppose. “Cecil! I didn’t know if you’d still be here,” he said. I bristled at this, hearing a perceived implication that I should have gone on to something larger, that by staying put I had allowed him to be pull ahead of me in some intangible way. So I responded with manic friendliness to compensate. “Still here!” I shouted. “Great to see ya, buddy wo-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-how! What have you been up to?” He told me that he had left Night Vale, gotten an apartment just outside of somewhere called Fresno, that it was difficult at first, and that he felt lonely much of the time. But that he had slowly made friends, so many friends, and had found a job that became a career that became part of his life. He worked with teenagers who were going through a tough time, seeing them through to better times. He was very well liked for what he did, and he was very good at it. “But I’ve decided to retire,” he said. “I’m getting up in the years, you know? But wow, you don’t look like you’ve aged a day.” “I haven’t,” I said. He was so much older than me then. I wondered where the years had gone and what I might have accomplished, if I had aged as well. He had retired to Night Vale to be with his family and friends and the people who knew and loved him best, and relax into the soft years of his latter life. So that… wait. Well, that’s not how he died, but I have to get to this next report. I’ll finish it in a second.

And now traffic. There was a song once sung by sailors of an island in the west, where the sun would shine forever and not a minute less. They say that on that island a sailor could find their rest, finally let slip shut their eyelids on that island in the west. But I’ve been searching, and been searching all my life, as though some cruel test, and have never found my way to that island in the west. There was a song once sung by sailors and I believed it, I confess. A foul lie I still believe in, my sweet island in the west. This has been traffic.

Intern Victor lived in Night Vale for many years more. He was active in charities and volunteer groups, continuing to offer counseling to students at the local high school. He lived in the Hefty Sycamore Trailer Park, watering a garden of flowers that he kept in pots around his trailer. It seemed that Victor was even more busy in retirement than he had been in his long career. Returning to his community seemed to invigorate him. He helped Carlos with experiments at the labs, donning goggles and lab coats and writing down numbers with hearts around them, all of that science stuff. Carlos said he was surprisingly good at it for someone without training. He worked with Dana at City Hall, creating the No More Pit initiative, which strove to keep one teen a year from entering that pit on Clement Street and disappearing forever. Now, the initiative was unsuccessful and the pit continues to devour but they, it was the attempt that matters. He acted as a volunteer lifeguard at the Waterfront Recreation Area, at which he saved a record five people in one day from drowning! A truly astounding record when you consider that there is no water at the Waterfront Recreation Area, Night Vale having an entirely arid climate.

Yes, Intern Victor was accomplished and well liked. He would have made a fine host at this radio station some day, but he never showed much interest, which is a pity. Because after I… After, well… Who will take up that mantle? Not Victor, not anymore. Well, I guess I still haven’t told the story of how he died.

Uh, let me do that just After the weather.

[A List for Spring” by Joseph Fink https://josephfink.bandcamp.com/]

Victor was in bed. The curatin over the window shifted slightly in the breeze, so the sun flickered in the room, shadow and bright, like a message from the world outside that he would never live to understand. His breath felt like a finite quantity, slowly drawn out of his chest. He knew that the last of it was coming soon. He wanted to use the drags of his breath for words that would sum up his life, but he couldn’t think of any. He could only think of “I am tired”. He could only think of “Thank you for being here.” He could only think of “I wish I had more time”, although eh didn’t know what he would have done with that time if he had any.

Around his bed were the people who had known him throughout his life. There was his sister Carly, and his brother Herman, and his aunt Ronnie, ancient and brittle but apparently destined to outlive him. There was his friend from college, Norm, whose hands shook as he looked into Victor’s eyes. There was former mayor Dana and her brother, leaning into each other in sorrow, keeping each other upright as a family creature of grief. There was Carlos in an understated lab coat, frowning. There was nothing more scientific than death, and yet Carlos hated the fact of it. And he wrestled with the contradiction within himself. Some natural processes feel unnatural, no matter how many times they occur to us, they are a surprise that our whole life spends telegraphing.

In the corner was Rosario, one of the teenagers Victor had worked with back in Fresno, who had eventually moved to Night Vale after getting lost in the shelves of a strange antique shop and waking up in the vacant lot out back of the Ralphs. She was middle-aged now, her face glistened with tears. “Everything I am is because of you,” she said. Victor snorted. “Don’t blame me,” he said with one of those last precious breaths. And she grinned despite herself. “You were the first person that cared about who I was,” she said. “I’ll never forget you.” “Already I’m in past tense,” he said, but he grabbed her hand and clasped it in a fervent silent thank you. Because she was testament that he had been useful, and there was nothing more important in a human life than to be useful to other people.

I was there too, and I stepped forward. “You were the best intern I ever had,” I said. “I know,” he said, and he winked.

It can be… strange when we first meet someone when they are young and just started out, and are in the entry positions in the career they want, to realize they have the potential for an entire life. Victor ended up a great man. A man with deep roots in the community. A man who went from 10 years younger than me to several decades older than me. And I… well, I still think of him as an intern, and I suppose I always will, but his potential was realized upon the lives of everyone in that room, and many other lives still.

A strong breeze came through the window and the flickering of light increased, as though that incoherent messenger was getting more frantic to be understood. Victor knew that his finite breaths had reached their last few. And he did not use them to say anything at all. He smiled, and met each of our eyes, and then… And then after…

To the family and friends of Intern Victor. To the family. To our families, blood or chosen. They are the net on which we can fall again and again. To the friends, to our friends. The people who make life worth living. Who help us when we need help. Who we help when we need to help.

Intern Victor was a good intern. He was a good person. He is gone. We are here. Let’s make ourselves useful. To all families. To all friends.

Stay tuned next for a tall glass of water greedily, drunk by a person who did not realize they were thirsty until the liquid hit their lips.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Earth is technically a sandwich, where the upper bread is stars and the lower bread is stars and the filling is rock and lava and a few incidental humans.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv transcrfpts #episode 170 #to the family and friends

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bobauthorman · 5 years ago

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A Semblance of Reasoning (Part) 2

And now we go to the B-Team, or the “2nd A-Team” as called by the CRWBY, I think. (Could be wrong). Now, I should mention that because their development is not central to the progression of the show (Although it is important), we’re not going to see much discussion on how their Semblances have evolved. Because they haven’t changed. At all, really. And because we only get bits and pieces of their backstory compared to Team RWBY, it’ll be harder to determine the events that led to them developing the powers they had, so this will require a great deal of guesswork and should not necessarily be treated as canon.

Jaune Arc. It only took 5 Volumes, but he gains the power of Aura Amp. It’s basically him using his own aura to bolster the aura of others, such as speeding up their healing, and boosting the power of their Semblances. It’s pretty obvious that this is partially another Joan of Arc allusion, as she reportedly never took part in battles but only directed the troops, so Jaune now has the power to embolden his teammates and others. Up until V5, the only hint we got about this power was in V1, when Jaune unleashed a flash of light to heal himself from Cardin’s beat-down. However, since it took so long, we can easily guess how his Semblance became what it was.

Following V3, a major chip on Jaune’s shoulder has been the death of Pyrrha, his partner, mentor, and confident. He’s clearly haunted by how he couldn’t help her in her final battle, or even stop her from taking part. These feelings are so strong that when he’s confronted with Cinder, he throws himself into combat with her, despite being outmatched. And his own guilt towards his own failures is such that he doesn’t think his own life is worth anything. So much that even the prospect of death doesn’t cause him to develop a New Power To Save The Day. But when Weiss is mortally wounded, his Semblance appears; I believe that it was his desperation to save her life, coupled with his own willingness to sacrifice his own, that caused his Semblance to become what it is. He’s essentially giving his own life-force to fuel her regeneration. It hasn’t evolved much since then, but as he’s moving away from his self-destructive crusading tendencies, there no telling how or if it will change.

Nora Valkyrie: Hers is called High Voltage, and it’s basically absorbing electricity to become stronger. Nora herself tells us that she learned what her Semblance was when a bolt of lightning struck her once. “Crazy Thursday”. I personally subscribe to the theory that rather than ‘discovering’ she developed the Semblance split-second to survive what should have been a fatal accident. Of Team JNPR, she’s the most energetic, and the CRWBY once jokingly stated that she ‘eats’ Ren’s energy. I think this may be more truthful, as its possible that she is subconsciously stealing the electricity out from his body, slowing him down slightly.

The Semblance hasn’t changed at all since it first appeared, but how it’s used best illustrates the tone of the story; When Nora’s Semblance was first revealed, it was as a joke and a way to easily stomp Team BRNZ in Volume 3. When it’s used again Volumes 4 and 5 against Tyrian and Hazel, the stakes are higher and so she’s far more serious when she uses her Semblance.

Pyrrha Nikos: The “Invincible Girl” has the power of Polarity, or magnetic manipulation, and how she uses it best describes her character. Rather than using it to bash people with chunks of metal like Magneto (X-Men) or Eustace Kidd (One Piece), Pyrrha predominately uses her Semblance to subtly manipulate how people she’s fighting move, essentially controlling the flow of the fight. As Cinder notes, while Pyrrha seems destined for victory, what she’s really doing is taking her destiny into her own hands.

It’s possible that Pyrrha developed this style to help down-play her victories in battle, appearing to win purely by skill that anyone could develop and not by a one-of-a-kind Semblance. Pyrrha has clearly been uncomfortable with the pedestal she’s been placed on, and perhaps this is her way of trying to regain some control over her life. It should be noted that the few times that Pyrrha foregoes the subtle approach and full-on blitzes people, she ends up losing. Sadly, we don’t get any possible explanation as to how she could have developed her Semblance as of yet.

Lie Ren: Ren’s Semblance is called Tranquility, which is basically creating a field where Grimm cannot find whoever’s inside it. Nora describes it as “Can mask emotions”. Given the Grimm are drawn to negative feelings, this is a useful Semblance to have. We also see firsthand how Ren created this Semblance; As shown in the flashback of “Kuroyuri” shows that he gained it during the Grimm attack that destroyed his village, which was also where he met Nora. And like Nora, in order to avoid certain death, he gained the power he needed at that moment. When Little Lie uses his Semblance for the first time, you can see him calming down, a preferable state compared to the high-octane fear he was no doubt, and necessary so he and Nora can escape the danger they were in.

Like Nora, Ren’s Semblance hasn’t changed at all. But I think we can gauge Ren’s character development through the series by it. When we first meet Ren, he is the calmest character on the show, the ultimate straight man to Nora’s comic, manic energy. However, as the series takes a turn towards the serious, Ren has shown that even he has his limits. That he’s prone to acting out, and not in a funny way. Bursts of anxiety and emotion. Now I did suggest that Nora was subconsciously eating his electricity with her own Semblance, I now wonder if Ren was using his Semblance to stay calm and better deal with her…Nora-ness. But this was all within the confines of the well-protected Vale. But in the post-Volume 3 status quo, Ren has to use his Semblance more frequently to better protect Team RNJR during their hike to Haven Academy. Even with Qrow’s secret protection, this means that Ren’s Aura levels are constantly being used, and as such his ability to stay calm is now frayed. Ren’s one of those characters who’s character, rather than shaping his Semblance, was shaped by how he used his Semblance. However, through Volumes 6 and 7, Ren begins using his Semblance in tandem with Jaune’s, symbolizing how more effective they are when they work together instead of going at it alone.

As of “War”, Ren’s Semblance has evolved, adding in him the ability to see the emotions of others. This may seem like a bit inexplicable, but looking back, we could see bits and traces of this ability being shown beforehand. In “Tipping Point”, he was able to seemingly sense Tyrian’s approach. And in “The Greatest Kingdom” and “A Night Off”, he seemed to react to the approach of the Atlas Elites, the Ace-Ops and Ironwood. All of the aforementioned characters have shown to be highly emotional, even if the Atlasians tend to high their feelings with epic poker faces. Throughout Volumes 7 and 8, Ren has been struggling with trying to communicate with how he feels about various things. Given how closed-off he was acting, his tendency to shut people out meant he would in turn have difficulty gauging the feelings of others. Recently before his Semblance evolved, Ren had let both his positive and negative feelings out- In “Fault”, he vented the rage he felt towards the apparent futility of their situation, and in “War”, expressed the importance of the people in our lives. By finally demonstrating how he felt, for ill and for good, Ren was able to both understand others and his Semblance shows that.

#RWBY Analysis #A Semblance of reasoning #RWBY #Semblance #JAuneArc #Jaune Arc #Lie Ren #Nora Valkyrie #Pyrrha Nikos #Analysis #High Voltage #Aura Amp #Tranquility #Polarity

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durgas · 5 years ago

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sigils, soulmates & the strangeness of fate

Summary: AU. Sansa Stark had grown up with the romantic tales of soulmarks. However, they did not guarantee happiness despite their power to match soulmates together yet Sansa still craved for one to appear on her skin and free her from her struggles. One did not appear, however, until she was riding to Castle Black to reunite with Jon. Eventual Jon/Sansa.

A soulmark was a rare thing in Westeros.

They might appear once or twice per generation and sometimes they did not appear at all. They might be from birth or might just appear, there was no logic behind their appearance simply magic as per Old Nan’s stories. They might not be reciprocated, appearing on one person alone meaning that person might know their soulmate and yet might not be destined to be together.

A mark would appear over time starting with the sigil and ending with the name if you were fortunate enough to get one, at least in Sansa’s opinion. They were a sign of true love, she had longed for one to appear since Old Nan first told them of the possibility. The last known one had been on Rhaegar Targaryen after his marriage to Elia Martell when a direwolf began developing.

The rest was history because then Rhaegar chose her aunt Lyanna, choosing to set aside poor Elia Martell. He crowned her aunt as his queen, something that Sansa thought deeply romantic at the time. Soulmates were destined to be with each other.

She had been too young to understand that soulmarks could be dangerous things which could tear a world apart.

Elia Martell and her children had been cruelly slaughtered because Rhaegar pursued his soulmate. Factions had risen and Westeros had been torn between sweet Queen Elia and fierce Lyanna Stark. A king had been killed whilst the Starks themselves had suffered terrible losses.

But, Sansa had been a girl of six or seven when she had first heard the stories. She was not yet wise enough to see the deadly consequences that followed Rhaegar’s actions, to see the war that erupted in Westeros which had cost the lives of her grandfather, uncle and aunt.

Her father, not willing to burden her with the terrible truth, had kept his silence of the true story of Rhaegar and Lyanna.

“When you’re older, sweet Sansa, I shall tell you the story in full” Her father said as often as she asked which was most weeks if not every.

However, as she grew older she began to learn bits and pieces of the whole truth. Her aunt Lyanna had been carried off by Rhaegar against her will which had been a sobering thought for Sansa. Soulmarks were meant to be beautiful things to unite two people who were destined to be together. She reasoned it away that it was not the fault of the mark but the method in which Rhaegar had chosen to make himself known to his soulmate.

And, so she still believed that soulmarks were a wondrous fortune but they must be dealt with carefully. If she ever had that luck, she would need to tread cautiously to unite with her soulmate.

When King Robert came with the Prince Joffrey, she had hoped with all her heart that she would see a stag develop upon her body.

No soulmark had developed yet her marriage to Joffrey was proposed and she was happy to marry the tender, loving prince she saw. Perhaps, it was for the best that she did not have a mark after all. She would still have the opportunity to marry a prince who would one day be king. Soulmarks were no guarantee of happiness anyway, she had thought to herself.

“My sweet lady, I am eager for you to become my wife” Joffrey had told her after the whole butcher’s boy debacle.

Yet, when her prince bade his men to dishonour her in front of the whole Court her mind again returned to soulmarks.

She pleaded with all the Gods she could think of for a mark to appear, for a reason to break her alliance with Joffrey even if it was with a lesser lord. She prayed for her soulmate to appear one day brandishing a sword dressed as a fine knight to save her. Maybe, the rose of the Tyrells would grow if she was lucky enough and she could be with Sir Loras. He was so handsome and a true prince, she had never seen him dishonour a woman.

A soulmate did not come but instead she was told she must marry Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf who did not even act like a proper lord. His appearance was frightening. He stank of wine. He was not a true prince.

“I will not hurt you, Sansa, Rest assured.” Tyrion, then her lord husband, said drunkenly.

Still, she had dreamed of a mark appearing despite being a married woman. If only to save her from being trapped in a marriage that not even her husband had wanted. How unlucky she had been!

Ser Dontos had come to save her and she had consoled herself thinking even he would be an acceptable soulmate and yet still she was unmarked. Frustration grew, she had dreamt of a mark all her life and now when she needed a soulmate there was nothing. She knew they were rare but it was the only hope she had when she had arrived at the Vale with Lord Baelish.

“Pretend to be my daughter, it will allow me to look after you” Lord Baelish had told her in his whispery voice.

She was grateful to him for taking her away from King’s Landing but her mind held suspicion that could not be easily quelled. Suspicion that turned out to be justified when they married her off to Ramsay Bolton under the guise that it would be beneficial to her so that she may get justice for her family.

If only that had been the case. Instead, again she was mistreated although this time was far worse than Joffrey had ever dared. Ramsay had no limits. She saw what a poor state he made of Theon, once so arrogant and proud, now reduced to a pitiful shell of his former self.

No longer would she waste her thoughts on soulmarks or soulmates.

“You are my wife now and Winterfell is mine” Ramsay had said as he abused her.

She was alone. No one was coming to save her, all her fine dreams of a handsome soulmate were destroyed. She had already suffered her share of men, she would not dream of a soulmate who might save her only to abuse her. She was no-one of importance now. No-one would come to save Sansa Stark of Winterfell.

So, she saved herself. She convinced Theon to help her though she sees the reluctance and fear in his once proud eyes. They run fast and far without a plan. She knows not what to do or who to go to, yet she knew that anywhere was better than staying with Ramsay until he finally tired of her.

On her way to Castle Black with Brienne, she felt an itching on her left shoulder blade. It was mild yet repetitive and she wondered what could be the cause. Perhaps her fur had irritated her skin. Brienne looked at her curiously when the normally ladylike Sansa itched it repeatedly without a care about who might see her. Matters came to a head when Sansa asked Brienne to check her shoulder blade.

“My lady, there appears to be a soulmark forming.” Brienne’s voice had been one of shock.

A soulmark showed Sansa that the Gods clearly had a twisted sense of humour.

She had prayed for years to be blessed with a soulmark and now when she had freed herself one chose to appear. She asked Brienne to look at it day by day so she could be updated with the progress of its appearance. It was three days after Brienne had first looked that she became certain of the shape, however she had some reluctance in telling Sansa because she could think of no suitable candidates.

A white direwolf on a black field had appeared on her left shoulder.

She wondered what that could mean for her. The direwolf was a symbol of the Starks and there were no Starks left as far as she knew save Arya who Brienne had seen. Bran and Rickon were possibilities but surely her soulmate could not be one of her baby brothers? They were Starks not Targaryens.

The thought had hit her faster than her mind thought to process.

Her bastard half brother, Jon, was a Stark by blood even if not by name. Regardless, they still shared the same father so he could not be her soulmate, it could not be possible. Before speaking, she would wait to see the name that formed.

“Sansa” Jon said in a voice that was familiar yet laced with an unknown tenderness.

She had tried not to think how Jon had grown into his features, far more handsome than when he had left to go to the Wall. She tried not to think of the battle hardened body she had felt when they hugged. And most importantly, she tried hard not to notice how he smelt of fresh clean snow mixed with a muskiness she could not place.

The soulmark grew and her fear had been confirmed. The name Jon Stark had appeared on her shoulder blade and she was struck with a mixture of pleasure and worry. After all these years, she had received a soulmark.

She wondered if Jon had one with her name somewhere on his body. Unconsciously, she licked her lips and thought what it would be like to see Jon without his shirt.

If Jon did have her name, he said not a single word although he noted he was far more protective of her than she had remembered. Perhaps, that might be because they were now far closer than they had ever been as they shared each other’s company throughout the day and night reminiscing about Winterfell in its prime. But, it would not do for her to dwell upon someone who was so closely related to her.

The battle for their home was won but the cost was sweet Rickon, a mere child when she left and now a boy she did not recognise. Jon had held her that night in his tender arms as she screamed and cursed and cried for all the family they had lost over the years but most for little Rickon whose future had been cut away from him. Sansa had been too lost in her grief to notice the tears leaking from Jon’s eyes and the expression set upon his face.

“Sansa” Jon said in that husky voice of his as the morning sun rose. “Is that a soulmark?”

Her dress had slipped slightly, the edge of her mark peeping as they moved away from each other. Unconsciously, her hand crept to touch it as she thought of what she could say when she noticed what appeared to be a tiny ‘S’ showing on his wrist.

“Is that an S?” Her voice seemed louder in her head.

He did not answer and the room fell quiet. She approached him, heart pumping faster and faster. His dark eyes looked at her but did not protest. She felt a strange heat burning in her face as they stood toe to toe, the closest they had ever been. Her nerves mounting, she watched as he rolled up his sleeve.

Sansa Stark.

Her name was written as if she might write it herself accompanied by a miniature of Lady neatly drawn on a snow white field. She felt as if her heart might stop at any moment. It was true then, her half brother was her soulmate. Her legs felt unsteady and her mind was racing.

Jon held her upright, his eyes not leaving hers. She steadied herself but did not move, did not push his hands away. Instead, she tilted her head and pulled down her gown so that her mark was fully visible.

Jon Snow.

She heard his heavy breath before she felt his calloused fingers brush her soulmark with a tenderness she had never expected. They stood unmoving for what felt like it could be eternity, neither of them willing to disrupt the moment. His hand moved upwards towards her face when she felt her feet step back.

“We are siblings, we cannot.” She had said with a warm flush in her cheeks as she turned around and left with haste.

He did not chase after her although she swore she heard him let out a noise of frustration. She had always wanted a soulmate and here one stood. His mere presence caused a heat in her body, a desire she did not know she had and yet she had to reject him for they were Starks not Targaryens. They were both children of their father, a fact that echoed around her mind again and again throughout the day.

She tried to rationalise it in her mind. She was deeply upset and he had comforted her, he felt protective because she was his sister but she knew the truth. He had reciprocated, he desired her just as she did him which was strangely pleasing.

They busied themselves, avoided each other wherever possible and did not speak unless it was necessary. He was proclaimed King in the North, and she supported him every inch of the way as a dutiful sister should do for her brother but it was not the same. Beneath their painted smiles, there lay feelings that had not been voiced and issues not yet resolved for they did not mention that moment.

“I have been called to Dragonstone and I must leave.” His eyes did not meet hers as he spoke. “You will be my Regent.”

She did not move. His words washed over her and it was not until he left that she allowed herself to feel. Why did she have to be cursed so? To have a soulmate that she desired and not to be able to be with him. It would have been better if the mark never formed. It was a constant reminder of all she could not have, of Jon’s love that would never be hers. She bit her lip until it bled, unwilling to allow herself to cry when she had rejected him.

He was gone.

In his absence, she acted every inch the Lady of Winterfell. She did not let anyone learn of the heartache that plagued her, did not weaken in public and she most certainly did not fail him.

It did not matter that most nights she would be seized by furious tears despite her attempts to pretend she was unaffected.

Things improved when Bran and Arya returned home. They took her mind off missing Jon although sometimes the sight of Arya fighting in the courtyard stung her in ways she could not explain. Perhaps, it was their similar features. The only two Starks to have inherited the dark hair and grey eyes of their father meant that sometimes if Sansa squinted Arya could be the female Jon although definitely shorter.

Her soulmark itched from time to time in his absence.

She wondered whether it meant he was in danger or whether it was something else. It was random enough that she put it down to chance at least until he returned home with the Dragon Queen. She saw the looks that passed between them and felt her mark grow hot as if it was outraged at Jon’s actions.

“Daenerys is our Queen” Jon had said to the whole of the North.

Sansa knew she could never agree but she abided by his decision. What choice did she have? They needed Daenerys to win the war even if it meant losing North according to Jon. Her temper had reared its head then, she would not lose her home to an outsider who had already taken her soulmate.

She was not cruel to Daenerys but she did not seek her friendship either for Sansa knew that neither of them cared enough for the other.

The alliance holds long enough to defeat the Night King. She questioned Jon’s decision again to bend the knee especially as it was Arya who killed the greatest threat to Westeros not Daenerys or her dragons. She had never been prouder of Arya than that moment when she and Tyrion left the crypt to see Arya being hailed as the ‘Hero of Winterfell’. The Starks did not need foreigners to protect them.

“I’m a Targaryen.” Jon had said in his gruff voice to her and Arya.

They had been stunned into silence for several moments.

Sansa could not decide whether this revelation was more shocking or that he was her soulmate. Her mind raced ahead, they were only cousins. They could be together. He was Daenerys’s nephew and surely that was not acceptable. Would he still accept her though after being rejected?

She strolled away, hiding her emotions. It did not matter anyway, he had made his choice choosing the dainty looking blonde Queen with her dragons over the North. Over her. She would just have to resign herself to the fact that they were not meant to be happy together.

Soulmarks did not equal happiness, a lesson she should have learnt many times over by now.

She watched as Jon left her again.

Her heart could not stop rattling with fear that he might die even knowing that he would never be hers. The battle was going to be fierce, she had no doubt of that and she knew Daenerys would let Jon die to become Queen. She had sacrificed a husband and a child already along with millions of innocents to become Queen of Westeros, she would not hesitate to use Jon.

Then, she receives a raven telling her that Daenerys is dead and that it was Jon who killed her.

She makes the journey to King’s Landing despite every part of her body protesting because she had hoped never to return. But, the thought of Jon was enough to keep her moving. The hope of happiness spurred her on even if she was unsure of Jon’s feelings. He might be in mourning for Daenerys, he did love her. She had seen it for herself. But, she could be patient.

She does not see him until the vote to elect Bran the King of Westeros when he is dragged from prison to stand trial for his crime.

His hair was longer, messier and his eyes spoke volumes of his sorrow.

She was determined to ensure he would be pardoned. He would not suffer for protecting Westeros, she would use every bit of her influence to see him freed. A fleeting thought shot through her mind that perhaps Jaime had been right to kill the king. He had reason enough and yet still he had shouldered the burden of being the ‘Kingslayer’ for all these years. She never thought she might find some sympathy for him.

“He’ll be going back to the Night’s Watch. They won’t release him.” Arya said as she kicked over a chair in anger.

That night, the two of them sat discussing every possibility to free Jon. Sansa was not sure if Arya knew the truth about her feelings but they were united in their cause. Father had been right, they were sisters and now they were close at last. They awoke in the morning, bodies slumped next to each other on the floor and Sansa surmised they must have fallen out of their chairs since she had a new bruise spanning the left side of her body.

They cornered Bran alone. It was useless as he would not do anything to aid their cause and Sansa sometimes wondered if he was their Bran. The Bran she remembered loved Jon and idolised him, this one did not seem too bothered about his plight. Arya raged and she reasoned but Bran did not even move on his stance.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered in her ear as they hugged for the final time.

His curly hair brushed her face and she saw the resigned expression set upon his face. She offered all the comfort she could muster before forcing herself to stand back and bid him goodbye. She felt a stinging in her eyes and quickly schooled her face back to that of a noble lady.

Sansa had lost Jon for good. No one was able to escape the Night’s Watch, it was a life sentence and she would not wish desertion upon him. That would only mean he would be executed just as her father did to deserters when they were children.

Her fate was sealed. She would never be able to experience the heady happiness of love that she had once dreamed about. The desire that flooded through her body at his mere touch would never develop into anything more, she would be cursed to live her life alone and unloved.

They would never be able to be happy.

Seven years later

She awoke with a strange burning where her soulmark resided on her left shoulder.

It was merely uncomfortable to begin with, however throughout the day she noticed the intensity increased and it began to itch painfully. She touched it gently, wondering if perhaps she had a rash or allergy that had caused her soulmark to sting so badly but she could feel no marks or spots. It did, however, feel hot to the touch so she summoned a maid with cool water and fresh cloths to bathe it which helped to ease the pain.

Her soulmark had been nothing but a burden for all these years.

Yet, now it was troubling her physically. She decided upon a soft silk dress, more reminiscent of her time in the South than the warmer woolen dresses she tended to choose, to allow her soulmark to breathe in the cool air.

The cold stung against her shoulder as she heard her name muttered at the doors of Winterfell in a voice she had not heard in years.

“Sansa.” Jon said as he swayed on his feet. He was paler than she had ever seen and propped up by Tormund who for once looked so serious. Her eyes followed Jon’s arm and saw the blood that was spilling out of his chest.

She shouted for Maester Martyn whilst she ran towards Jon commanding all those around her to make haste and prepare Jon’s room. The room that she had left untouched for all of these years out of hope that one day Jon would return to her although she had never wanted this to be the reason.

“I am here, Jon.” She steadied her emotions and took his hand as Tormund lay him upon the bed. “I am here.”

Jon groaned as the Maester arrived and began prodding at his room. “Aye, I can die a happy man now.” His voice was slurred and his eyes were emptying of all the emotions she was accustomed to seeing. He felt a tiredness sink upon him.

“You will not die, Jon Snow. You will not.” Sansa punctuated every word as her heartbeat pounded against her chest.

His eyes closed and Sansa heard Maester Martyn assuring her he would do his best but there were no guarantees with a wound this deep. Her vision blurred for a moment. She was dimly aware of Tormund pushing her into the chair next to Jon as the maester continued his work.

She had not waited all these years for Jon to die.

They were soulmates, he could not die now. And, she would fight tooth and nail for him if he survived. She should never have allowed him to go back to the Wall. He was hers and she was his. Slowly, she felt his hand grow cold and it began to fall away so she held it tighter as if that would stop him dying.

“I have dressed the wound to the best of my knowledge, Your Grace.” Maester Martyn said. He was a small man and shaking now under the pressure, nervously looking at Sansa. “If he survives the night, his chances are good. I will remain with him as you may want to take rest.”

“I am staying here.” Sansa said in a tone most unlike her laced with anger and frustration and sadness mingled together. “I will not leave.” Her soulmark was still burning with a fury but it was not important.

The maester did not protest any further nor did Tormund leave either so they sat as three around Jon’s bed. She felt Ghost nestle in next to her with a mournful whine. Jon’s chest rose and fell with fitful coughs throughout the night, however his hand grew warmer and warmer. She did not let go all night.

He did not regain consciousness for a few days. After the first day, Sansa had to be persuaded to eat and leave Jon’s side so she could conduct her queenly duties. She did them but was sharp tempered with all, rushing through her tasks so she could return to Jon’s side. She had lost enough. She would not lose Jon as well.

Sat in the middle of a council meeting, she felt the burn of her soulmark stop abruptly. Fearing the worst, she hurried to Jon’s room making the necessary apologies to all the Lords of the North who had gathered for this meeting. She prayed he was still alive as her every step pounded the cold, hard floors of the castle whilst her heart threatened to jump out of her skin with every beat. Turning the corner, she entered his room.

“Jon.” Sansa said with relief. He was sat up in his bed, pale but alive with those dark eyes lifted to meet her own. She threw herself at him, hugging his body with all her strength almost as if to will him to survive.

Jon held her tightly, ignoring the searing pain in his chest. “I’m alive, Sansa.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead patiently waiting for her to release him.

“I’m sor-” Sansa began but Jon cut her off with a kiss. His lips were softer than she had ever imagined and it sent a frisson of delight down her body. She responded instinctively with kisses of her own as she felt Jon cradle her face. They pulled apart for a moment and she stared with wonder at how beautiful he was with his lovely curly hair that she itched to touch so she did. She wound her fingers through his hair marvelling at his softness as she leant forward to kiss him again.

Hearing a cough, they quickly parted. Sansa could feel the flush in her cheeks and tried to put on the noble lady mask that she employed often. Smoothing down her hair, she tried to compose herself as she stepped away from Jon. Now, her soulmark felt so delightfully cool as if she had finally managed to please it.

“Why is it that someone with such a small pecker gets such a beautiful woman?” Tormund’s eyes glinted with mirth as he looked at the scene in front of him. Sansa was usually cold like ice yet she was blushing and Jon Snow was smiling, a welcome change from the serious boy he remembered. “Good you’re alive, Snow”

Jon laughed wryly. “Good to see you, Tormund.” Though he and Sansa were apart, he still felt her small, warm hand in his own.

“You make a bad habit of dying, boy” Tormund said brashly with a smirk. “Lucky your lady was here to save you.” His words did not betray the fear he had felt when he had brought Jon back to Winterfell, in all essence nothing but a corpse.

Sansa laughed, a lovely sound after so long. “It seems fate had a strange way of reuniting us after I believed all hope was lost.” After I rejected you, she added on silently. She would not lose the chance to be with her soulmate again.

“If only I could remain here.” Jon had never felt such happiness, was loath to give it up and yet knew he would have to return to the Night’s Watch. The vow was one for life after all. “As soon as I’m recovered, I’ll have to return”

Tormund could have shook him. “You died twice over for them, your time is done.”

“You were as good as dead when Tormund brought you, Jon.” Her tone was stubborn. She would not let him return.

Jon knew Sansa would protest but he could not break his vow. “But, I was not dead. I’m still alive, my love.” The word escaped him and he saw Sansa’s eyes widen. He looked at her, so beautiful with that vibrant red hair and determined Tully eyes, and drank her in. This would be all they could ever be.

“Jon Snow died for the Night’s Watch. You’re not him anymore.” Sansa had been ruthlessly efficient whilst he was unconscious despite wanting to spend every moment with him. “I had Bran legitimise you as a Stark.”

Tormund quietly slipped away, a feat that was quite impressive for a man of his stature. He did not want to be present for this conversation. Although, it would be rather interesting to watch Jon Snow squirm for he had no doubt that Sansa would get her way in the end. She was a fearsome woman.

Jon could not believe what Sansa said. All his life, he had wanted to be Stark and now Sansa had done so without his permission. He had sworn to the Night’s Watch. Anger bubbled up, she had taken away his choice. “I had made my peace with being the Lord Commander”

“I rejected you once and I should never have done so. This is our chance, Jon. Our chance given to us by fate.” Sansa knew she had been selfish but she would have done it a thousand times over to have Jon. “I could not watch you give yourself back to them just to die again.” Her voice was raised.

Despite being angry, he felt strangely attracted to this Sansa. To see her lose her composure and stand there with crossed arms and unflinching eyes, it only increased his desire. “That would have been my choice, Sansa.” He stepped towards her.

“Be angry with me, I don’t care.” Sansa felt electric shoot through her veins at the sight of him standing so close to her. “At least, you’re safe and you’ll be safe here.” With me, she wanted to add on. But, she could not make him love her.

Jon felt the frustration build. She was so gorgeously persistent and he wanted nothing more to kiss her, their argument be damned. She was biting the edge of her lip, something that sparked his next action. He gave in to his feelings and kissed her which definitely took her by surprise judging from the way her eyes grew bigger. He moved closer again, their bodies pressed against each other as his hands snaked around her waist. He felt a pain shoot through his chest but he was too busy to care.

She could feel his muscles push against her skin and his fingers delicately stroke the skin of her side whilst his kisses moved downwards towards her chest. She arched her neck to the side as he planted kiss after kiss whilst her hands explored his chest. She brushed her fingertips against his nipple, careful to avoid his wound, and was gratified by his groan. She had never been with a man like this who was tender and fierce in the same instant. His lips were now kissing the tops of her breasts and she could not help the noises that escaped her mouth as the pleasure intensified.

They moved against the wall in sync, his hands working deftly to untie her dress whilst she unlaced his shirt. Their hands freely roaming across each other’s bodies was all Sansa had ever wanted in a man. She felt him tug away her smalls and his fingers crept up her thigh, teasing it inch by inch. She let out a little moan.

“Sansa.” Jon’s voice was gruffer than normal as he said her name like a question. All he wanted was to take her against the wall but he knew of her abuse and would not take her for granted.

Sansa took him in her hands and drew spirals around his tip in response. “Jon.” Her voice was playful and she inclined her head. “I need this”

That was the only response he needed as his fingers carefully crept inside her. She was slick with wetness. He found her inner spot and massaged it slowly at first then harder and harder as her moans grew breathier and louder. She was panting, her body shaking and then he knelt to finish her with his tongue. He lapped up her juice, swirling his tongue around until he could delight in the taste of her sweet cum. Her body was like that of a goddess, perfectly formed and yet so imperfect too with freckles and moles like those across her stomach. She shuddered and he heard the loudest moan yet.

He stood up and hoisted her back to the wall as their mouths met again and again to kiss, each more desperate than the previous one. He looked at her face, flushed with a slight sheen of sweat, as she pulled him closer resting her weight in his very capable hands. He pulled her down onto him, entering her for the first time at a leisurely pace. They had waited so long for this moment, he wanted it to last as long as possible.

She heard his grunt as his seed released into her and she looked into his eyes normally so sombre and now lit up with passion. His hair was stuck to his face, she could feel the sweat run off him and yet she had never been happier. She reached up to brush away a stray curl as he set her on the floor and sat down himself. They leant against each other in silence for several moments, content to let the cool of the floor seep into their bodies.

“Sansa.” She liked the way he said her name. “Thank you.” His face was earnest as he met her ocean blue eyes. “For making me a Stark.” He quickly tagged on as he watched a smile appear on her face.

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Bran did that, not me. I just saved your life.” A smile played across her lips as she spoke in that teasing tone.

They stayed in that position for the rest of the night, talking of everything and anything until sleepiness took them both. It was not the most comfortable especially with the rough bricks pressing into their backs and the cramped position of their legs but it felt like home to Sansa. She had finally been lucky enough to claim her soulmate.

Epilogue

Bliss had settled itself upon Winterfell. It was evident to all those who visited, to all those who lived that Queen Sansa and King Jon were a well suited couple if prone to fiery arguments in front of the court.

Sometimes, Sansa felt as if she was dreaming. That she was still trapped in King’s Landing waiting for a soulmate to save her or stuck with Ramsey and his terrible abuse until she died. Then, she remembered that she had saved herself. And, it was only then that she had been so lucky to receive a soulmark although at the time it had caused problem after problem. She was living her youthful romantic dreams with Jon even if they were both hardened from all the years that they were just surviving.

They had married in the godswood in front of the whole of the North, had sworn their vows and then kissed for everyone to see. They were Jon and Sansa Stark of Winterfell, King and Queen of the North. Arya had returned from her travels specifically to see their marriage, Bran had sent his blessing and gifts with Brienne and they took their blessings in the crypt from their father and his mother.

Two children followed in quick succession, a blessing that Sansa and Jon were so grateful to receive from the gods. Little Lyarra and sweet Eddara were born less than a year apart and yet they were so very different. Eddara was a lady much like Sansa had been although far more vocal in her displeasure whilst Lyarra was very much like Arya if slightly more solemn in her manner. A third was on its way and Jon was certain it would be another girl although Sansa hoped for a boy this time. It would be nice to honour Robb this time, he had paved the way for the North to be its own kingdom.

Truly, soulmarks could be so dangerous yet for Sansa it had led to her every dream being fulfilled.

Thanks for reading! Can be found here and here as well :)

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #got fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction #sansa stark #jon snow #asoiaf #got #game of thrones #usertejal #myfic

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bigfan-fanfic · 6 years ago

Text

Smile for the Camera (Batdad!Reader Headcanon)

Requested by @yesthetrashbin for Batdad!Reader kidnapped by the Joker for an extended period of time and the fam’s reactions

Beware - the Joker lies ahead. Gosh, that fellow makes me nervous...

AAAH! So sorry, just startled by the sight of my first GIF ever! Thanks for that suggestion, anon!

It wasn’t your fault. You did everything right.

There were guards out the wazoo at that gala. Everyone was on lookout for the Joker

But no one expected a simple-looking, un-makeup-ed man with credentials naming him Joseph Kerr to sneak into the gala and set off a smoke bomb with green-tinged smoke

By the time Batman and the others evacuate, you are missing.

Bruce goes to Gordon immediately, suspecting the Joker.

The Batfamily looks for you, getting the League to help, but even Clark can’t see or hear your voice.

And then a day turns into a week, then a week and a half. And after 264 hours, Tim screams.

He’s been watching his news feed. In a breaking story where Vicki Vale warns the viewers that the video is graphic and disturbing, you are on screen, tied to a chair, semi-conscious

You look horrible. Joker seems to have been torturing you the entire time. Your face is almost unrecognizably cut up and bloody, and your non-dominant hand seems to have been crushed by Harley’s hammer.

“Hell-ooooooo, Gotham! It’s your favorite person here with Y/N Wayne, Gotham’s greatest benefactor. I tip my hat to you, sir!”

Joker does an inane little bow and pats your shoulder. You don’t react. Tim seethes with rage

“But we’re not here to shoot the breeze! Batsy, I know you’re watching. Meet me at midnight precisely, or Gotham City might not be so chummy with you anymore for letting this guy die! Be there, or be square!”

And the feed cuts to black as the Joker digs his hand into one of your wounds and you scream bloody murder.

Bruce

Nothing else matters but you right now.

The public “Bruce Wayne” hasn’t been seen in days, enough time for the tabloids to speculate that he’s been seen meeting with the Bat to try and get you back

Clark writes a piece about a fake but touching interview where Bruce Wayne claims he’s trying to keep the family positive and pleads for the return of his husband

He hasn’t shaved, has barely eaten, and is completely focused on finding you.

He sees the video and figures immediately where the Joker is, but he forces himself into cold calculations - he can’t mess this up, or the Joker will kill you.

He gets everyone he possibly can to help. Diana, Clark, Ollie, Dinah, and Barry all volunteer, with the others taking care of their respective cities while they assist.

When it finally comes time, Barry super-speeds, undoing the traps and binds set on you and getting you to a hospital. The others proceed to make short work of the Joker.

Bruce stays in the hospital with you at all times, constantly holding your good hand, snarling at anyone who dares to ask him to consider moving or leaving

He cries unashamedly when you wake up - he was so afraid of losing you.

He won’t be overprotective afterwards, because he knows that even the greatest level of preparation can’t prevent everything bad, but he does ask you to stay in the Manor for a while, until he feels better about being apart from you.

I said he won’t be overprotective - but

You definitely have multiple trackers on you from now on.

Alfred

He’s been running on pure adrenaline this whole time

His first instinct in a crisis is to tell you how to serve as his second pair of hands, but he turns and remembers you aren’t there

He’s been trying to keep to your routine - making sure Damian and Tim sleep reasonably, keeping the peace between Jason and Bruce, helping Dick cope with life in general

Alfred’s got every hospital in Gotham standing by

He even considers calling in some old favors from his RAF days to have the Joker taken out

You and Bruce are like sons to him

And he no longer has any need for sleep when you are in danger

Afterwards he’s back to business

Although he does give you a warm “It’s good to have you back, sir”

He’s very formal

Because he wants to avoid triggering you with an emotional display

Because Alfred knows that you are the rock of the family, but he’s your rock

And he’ll be damned if you can’t depend on him for that.

If you are ever kidnapped again, he will call in those favors, hang Bruce’s “One Rule.”

Dick

Freaking out. To the point where he is unable to function

Bruce has been in mortal danger before, but the idea of losing you is unthinkable

He’s too distracted to assist in the search, so Bruce benches him.

Instead he’s tasked to look after Jason and Damian

He’s so worried, but he makes sure Damian sleeps

Even once lets the boy sleep in his bed

He makes sure Jason isn’t going to do anything rash

And he is merciless in his cheering-up tactics, taking a page out of your playbook

He constantly reassures them that you will be alright

That you need them to be good while you’re away

And that they will need to be on their best behavior when you get back

He’s so happy when you are saved.

He’s first to the hospital, and like Bruce, he refuses to leave your side.

Develops a bit of separation anxiety. He goes with you everywhere for the next several weeks.

One of the multiple trackers on you is his.

Jason

Filled with rage and fear.

Self-loathing, too. What if you get turned into something else like he did? What if they have to use a Lazarus Pit

He considers it, and he would do it

Anything other than letting you die

Dick keeps a tight watch on him

He knows he has to be a good person even when you aren’t there

He punches and fights hard, definitely maims, but doesn’t kill

Bruce benches him for your rescue

And he doesn’t want to disappoint you, so Jason allows it

He knows that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself killing the Joker.

When you’re back, he won’t know how to act.

He settles for hugging you often and being sarcastic a little less.

He’s just glad you’re safe, and back where you should be.

Tim

Probably handles it the best.

He’s been trawling through the Batcomputer’s data trying to find someplace where the Joker might be able to conceal you long-term

But the Joker doesn’t follow patterns, so this leads nowhere.

Tim basically shuts down his emotional side, focusing instead on cold hard facts, because if he didn’t, he might break

Tim might only show it when running on empty, but he loves and appreciates you as a parent every bit as much as the others.

There are some truly unhealthy mixes of energy drinks and coffee made during this period. Tim has developed several twitches by the time you are found.

He’s not at the hospital because he’s practically comatose for a week, recovering from what appears to be a caffeine overdose.

Assumes it’s a dream when you’re released from the hospital

Breaks down crying when he learns it’s not, and nearly re-breaks your just-healed ribs hugging you

Is traumatized by the event, and will not leave you alone at a gala for months after.

Damian

Handles it the absolute worst.

He is lost without you there. He throws a massive anger fit, the aftermath of which includes swords embedded in walls with no possibility of removal.

Like Jason, Damian is benched too. Dick is given the job of watching over him, and the two share a moment when Damian allows himself to cry.

He cannot be alone, so he goes with Dick everywhere

When you wished he would act his age, you didn’t think it would be like this

He hasn’t felt this angry at someone since Talia tried to kill you.

He spends the first few days staring at pictures of all the stuff you’ve done together since he came to the Manor

And the next few days he spends watching the news carefully for anything involving the search for you.

He tries to focus by helping Alfred do the necessary chores - laundry, getting food.

He spends a lot of time with his animals, who can sense his pain and try to comfort him.

Trust me, when you get better, you’re gonna need to find him a puppy or some kind of baby animal to make him feel better.

When you wake up in the hospital, he has gone to get water for Dick and Bruce. He may forever curse the ill timing, since he missed seeing you wake up

Damian will deny this, but he slept in yours and Bruce’s bed for the first few nights after you were cleared from the hospital, just to be sure that you’re still there.

Two of the trackers on you are Damian’s.

#male reader #batdad reader #batman x male reader #batfamily x male reader #batparent reader #batman headcanons #dc headcanons #headcanons

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lupinusalbus · 5 years ago

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Sansa Protected Jon

Back when everyone was eagerly awaiting season eight, a promo came out which showed the Starks (except for Bran) in the crypts of Winterfell. Sansa picks up a feather from Lyanna’s statue, and we hear Lyanna’s voice telling Ned that Jon must be protected. A major theme in season eight appears to be all about that, even though the writing was so unsatisfactory as a whole.

Lyanna’s original plea was to her brother Ned Stark, who carried out her wishes by lying about Jon’s origins and passing him off as his bastard son. Ned also kept Jon close to him and raised him beside his own true born children when he could have sent him off to be raised as a ward elsewhere. After Ned died, it’s Sansa who ultimately continues with Ned’s intentions. One of the worst omissions in season eight was not showing Sansa’s immediate reaction to learning about Jon. But because Sansa is so intelligent, we can extrapolate that she thought about Ned’s protection of Jon and decided it was her responsibility to carry on with that. We see it symbolically play out in the promo when Sansa picks up the feather.

Although there are varying interpretations about what was being represented in season eight, mine has been that Sansa anticipated that Dany’s personality traits were going to spell trouble or even disaster for Jon. She knew that Jon’s sense of honor would mean he’d feel obligated to continue serving Dany, even after he learned the truth about himself.

The show hinted that as much as Sansa loved Jon, she intuited he might make a mistake in the way she believed Robb and Ned did. She told Jon this before he left for Dragonstone. Maybe Sansa first sensed this when Jon went ahead with attacking Ramsay’s army even though he didn't have adequate forces, and she ended up turning the tide by bringing in the Knights of the Vale.

Nevertheless, I think Sansa learns from Jon too. Witnessing his forgiveness of House Umber and House Karstark seems to have helped Sansa learn to value that approach as well, as she becomes compassionate and caring about the Northern people as the story progresses. Above all, she looks after Jon, just as Ned would have done, by trying to keep him alive. In this way, Sansa symbolically carries forward Ned’s roll as the head of House Stark. Sansa does not only learn from the Machiavellian characters like Cersei and Littlefinger, but also from a compassionate protector - her “brother” Jon, whom she knows is similar to Ned in his values. This is what makes Sansa an effective leader; her intelligence enables her to read people, but like Jon, she isn’t corrupted.

In her mind, breaking her word to Jon was the only way she could try to protect him from Dany. At the end of season eight, Sansa travels down to King’s Landing with whatever forces are left at Winterfell (presumably joining Jon’s army which was already there), and makes it clear to Grayworm that she is prepared to defend his life. Later, in their last conversation on the show, she tells Jon that she felt all along he should have been King.

For these reasons, I don’t think the final episodes of Game of Thrones was attempting to portray Sansa as being Machiavellian in the sense of being power hungry. Instead she was depicted as acting in Jon’s best interests, as well as those of the North. It was a risk to reveal Jon’s identity, but Sansa saw the alternative - Dany being crowned - as a probable disaster for Jon, House Stark, and The North.

#Sansa Stark #Jon x Sansa #anti daenerys #house stark #game of thrones #got season 8 #Lyanna Stark #jon snow

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melians-library · 5 years ago

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This is my first ever fic that I’ve posted, so constructive criticism is very much appreciated! I went through a rough breakup recently, and writing this was my way of coping. This fic is written in the WtNV universe post episode 70b, and is based on the song The Things We Used to Share by Thomas Sanders. I hope you all enjoy!

────────･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────

The Things We Used to Share

Kevin was ecstatic. Carlos was going to stay in the Desert Otherworld! With him! For once in his indeterminately long life, he was somebody’s first choice. Kevin knew that he wasn’t the reason for Carlos deciding to stay, but even so it made him feel wanted. He was deliberating on how to greet Carlos when he returned from Night Vale for the last time, when he noticed the letter perched on the edge of his desk.

Kevin picked it up and began to read. And he understood. Although he was no longer broadcasting for Strex, Kevin considered himself a professional. And no matter how much he wanted to cry or scream, he was still on air. He needed to keep his composure, but he could rapidly feel it slipping away from him. It wouldn’t have been as bad if he hadn’t been given hope only for it to be ripped harshly away, but as that is what happened, Kevin was only seconds away from breaking. He finished the last of his broadcast as quickly as he could, and signed off, before switching off the microphone.

As the neon sign proclaiming him On Air blinked off, Kevin lost the last shreds of his composure. He was cracking along all of the seams he had so carefully sewn together during his time with Carlos. He was shattering, and now there was nobody left who cared about him enough to put him back together.

Kevin broke. And the screams were deafening.

Kevin was paralyzed in his booth, sobs and cries wracking his body for what seemed like years, but in reality was merely a few hours. By the time he managed to collect himself, the sun was setting over the mountain and the Desert Otherworld was beginning to rest for the night. As Kevin stood to go home and attempt to sleep, he paused. With a chill, he realized just how much Carlos had twined himself through his life. Although he was gone in body, there were pieces of him left scattered throughout Kevin’s world.

He shuddered with this realization and came to the conclusion that if he was to move on, he needed to have a fresh start. Away from the memory of Carlos, the oaky tones of his voice as he rambled on and on about obscure theorems, the glow of his beautiful hair in the setting sun, the shine of his smile when Kevin did something right. He needed to forget these things, because otherwise he feared he would never be truly happy again. Not with the memories of all he had lost.

Kevin stumbled home in the soft light of dusk, avoiding Doug’s questions as best he could without being perceived as rude. Finally, he arrived at his home and took a deep, fortifying breath before softly pushing the door open

Although Kevin already knew the sight that would greet him, it was no less painful to see the pure white lab coat thrown haphazardly over his small couch, as though the owner knew he would return soon and didn’t bother to take it with him. Remembering his last night with Carlos, as they both drank what little alcohol they had and laughed together about nothing, Kevin’s knees buckled. More and more memories resurfaced as he kneeled on the ground, surrounded with snapshots of what his life could have been, and Kevin almost broke again. However, he knew that if he gave up here he may never stand again, forever lost in things that wouldn’t ever be. Kevin took a breath and stood carefully on shaky legs.

He took in the room around him, careful not to focus on one thing for too long to avoid getting lost again. He steadied himself and moved into the kitchen to grab an old cardboard box. Even that, though, was linked to memories. The box originally had the Strex logo in large print over every surface, until he and Carlos had spent the afternoon with colored paints. Kevin used mainly yellow, because he said it reminded him of the old Desert Bluffs, and Carlos, of course, used purple. At first, they worked separately, but slowly they began swirling the colors together, creating a blend of the two cities. It was beautiful, but the beauty tasted sour in Kevin’s mouth. It was time to start building new memories, alone.

After snapping out of his reverie, Kevin returned to the living room. Now armed with his box, he began collecting everything that reminded him of Carlos. Starting with the lab coat that had stunned him upon walking in, he continued to the test tubes scattered along the coffee table. He surveyed the room, and bit back a whimper at the sight of a pair of Carlos’s reading glasses. Those, he placed into the case which he kept in the side table for times like these, when Carlos forgot them after staying over. This time was different though: this time Carlos wasn’t coming back.

Kevin swallowed a sob, tossed the glasses case into the box, and continued through the room.

It took him all night. By the time he placed the filled box on the table and turned his tear-stained face to the window, it was midmorning. Looking around his small home, Kevin noticed all the empty spaces where Carlos used to fit. He saw the place on the kitchen counter where the toaster used to be, the toaster which Carlos had insisted he buy after tiring of the same eggs for breakfast every morning. He saw the coat rack by the door, looking unbalanced without the never-ending supply of lab coats, all in various states of disarray. He saw how complete Carlos made him, and how he felt like a piece of himself had been ripped away.

As he was looking around, he was hit with a realization: Carlos had planned this. He didn’t decide to leave that day, no, that letter was prepared in advance. Carlos had been letting Kevin believe that he was important, that he was wanted, when in reality he was just a placeholder for Cecil. Even though Kevin thought it impossible for this to hurt worse, the realization hit him like ice through his veins: he wasn’t important to Carlos. He never was.

After spending 10 years in the Otherworld with him, Kevin thought that they were close. As a matter of fact, he had never felt that close to anyone. After Lauren and Daniel, Kevin was unused to kindness. Every time Carlos asked his opinion or checked he was alright, Kevin’s heart beat faster. Perhaps he mistook Carlos’s natural good for affection, but it didn’t feel like it. For once, he had felt truly loved by another. He had felt loved by Carlos, even if it was only platonically, and Carlos had left without even a goodbye. Maybe that was all Kevin was worth.

Kevin breathed deeply before opening the door leading out into the desert. He carried the box to Carlos’s makeshift lab and placed it gently on the table. Though he knew that Carlos would never return to the Otherworld, he didn’t want to throw anything away. It felt better this way, like he was returning something that never truly belonged to him. Because that was the crux of the issue: Carlos never belonged to him. His affection was freely given, but his heart was kept by another. Even with that, Kevin had lost his own. He had given it to Carlos, and with his departure to Night Vale, to Cecil, so went his heart.

Tears streaming down his face and unsure when they began flowing, Kevin returned to his home. He surveyed the now much emptier space, and his eyes were drawn to a paper laid on the kitchen table. Before approaching he knew what it was: the letter. The letter that destroyed him, that showed how little he mattered even to the person he cared about most. Kevin approached it and picked it up with trembling hands. After mere seconds of deliberation, he decided to keep it. It would be a good reminder.

A reminder that he was unlovable.

A reminder that he wasn’t worth anything…

Not even a proper goodbye.

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gildedpin · 6 years ago

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dictionary definition

so this is another thing that mostly happened because I wanted art of Cecil and Carlos cuddling but I can’t draw well enough for that so I had to try to write something that captured the feeling

and god knows we need some fluff right now

ao3 link

cw: animal death (Glow Cloud-related)

Perfect was a word that had waxed and waned its way through their relationship.

Once, Cecil had described Carlos this way first and foremost, had understood him mainly through this: that Carlos was an epitome of a person, beautiful and intelligent and really any other positive adjective you might choose. Any adjective, and Carlos was the superlative of that. Cecil had reported on this extensively: playing with the words, unable to make them sound wrong in any way.

And Carlos had known that this was true about Cecil, too. Known and feared, because, well, from the perspective of mere facts and logic, there were so many more unknowns than that one, large, looming known. These had included, but were not limited to: his danger meter never dipping below blood orange, the incident at the Pinkberry, and simply how long his funding would last. Of all that he feared in Night Vale, perhaps the most frightening was this: Cecil's feelings were mutual. It was the least scientific thing he had to be scared of, but that was only a contributing factor.

So Carlos had hypothesized briefly: if he didn't even know how long he'd stay in Night Vale, it would have been deeply foolish to initiate a relationship, even when there was a man with a voice like that (always, always written and described and thought as such - there was no suitable scientific descriptor beyond italics), and who spoke with it so enthusiastically about, well, everything. Cecil loved the world the way a scientist did, Carlos thought, and that was perfect.

Why couldn't he say it as easily as Cecil did? Carlos felt like he understood the weight of it better. But maybe that wasn't a fair statement. He couldn't assume that it was anything better or worse. Different. It was just different. Even when they did start dating, when Carlos had learned something about fear and something else about innocence, and when Cecil still insisted on perfection.

Cecil learned otherwise soon enough. He understood that Carlos was not perfect any more than he was, and it was only after the risk had passed that Carlos could explain a key component of his own fear: that Cecil would see Carlos for who he was, imperfect, and that would be it. Over. Done.

Like: Carlos was private to the point of pain, but then, Cecil had a warped idea of privacy in the first place.

Or else like:

"You know, you're just ruining perfectly good coffee," Cecil chided over breakfast, as Carlos stirred in milk and sugar.

"It's science, babe. Milk binds to tannins in the coffee, making it less bitter. And less bitter things taste better. Ahh, science." Carlos nudged their mugs together. "Cheers!"

Cecil learned, and they persisted. That, on its own, was not enough enough for the risk to pass. What really did it was: Cecil wasn't perfect, either, and Carlos wanted to stay with him, anyway.

Like: Cecil had no boundaries between his personal and professional lives, while Carlos maintained his so carefully that he had accurate pie graph to show how he divided his day.

And sometimes:

"Oh, my god, how can you see? Give me that!" Carlos held out his hand for Cecil's reading glasses', his own microfiber cloth at the ready.

Cecil shrugged, and pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I can see just fine."

No, they were not perfect, and this would not tear them apart melodramatically or break them up quietly. None of the dates ended awkwardly, or, many of them did. But it was comfortable. It was mutual, one of many things they could share. And Carlos learned another thing about fear, and the shape of perfection in his own mouth.

Because there was also this: the living room couch, again. Not always, but usually. Cecil, running his fingers through Carlos' hair, catching strands gently, murmured, "Perfect. Oh, my perfect Carlos…"

And Carlos caught Cecil's free hand, kissed his palm and agreed into it, "Mhm. Perfect."

A quiet evening. Just them and the rhythmic thuds of dead animals hitting the roof, following a contentious school board meeting earlier that day. But they'd just had their roof repaired, so it was fine. Better than fine.

Perfect, Carlos thought, although that time, he mainly meant it for emphasis.

- - -

They waited on the plush vinyl bench for the host to notice them and run away screaming. They leaned in close to each other, speaking in hushed tones about Lance's poor arachnid identification skills - he had tried to offer a scorpion coffee, thinking it was a sales tarantula. They laughed in whispers, as private as anything in Night Vale could be.

Carlos shifted on the bench. He glanced down and smoothed his skirt and took in the shape of Cecil's legs, crossed over each other.

"Oh, you're just perfect," Carlos said, as if struck suddenly. He was. One hand cupped his fiance's cheek, and the other held Cecil's hair back, to perfectly reveal a deep flush. Cecil's mouth opened, with wonder and desire and all the heat that he could feel in his face, and it was a beautiful expression.

Carlos said, "You're beautiful. There's no scientific definition of beauty - the one scientific thing about beauty is that it's subjective. But if anyone thought otherwise, they would be wrong. You're beautiful. Perfect."

"Carlos…" Cecil breathed.

"Don't argue. It's definitely science. There's only one scientific thing about beauty, yes. But it is a scientific fact about you that you are beautiful. In conclusion: so there." He kissed Cecil on the forehead.

Cecil smiled slowly, giddily. "Uh-huh. Okay. Whatever you say, Doctor."

He looped his arms around Carlos' neck, and pressed a kiss to his lips. "This is perfect, isn't it? This… I never want it to end..."

The host shrieked, and sprinted into the restaurant. They knocked over their own stand in their hurry to flee, and it clattered with a violent ambiance that perfectly suited the Tourniquet dining experience.

Cecil stood up. "But also, I'm actually pretty hungry. Sounds like our table is ready. Shall we go, my dear?"

"Oh, absolutely. I'm starving."

Cecil offered an arm, and Carlos allowed his fiance to escort him to their table.

- - -

Cecil rolled over in bed. He had been perfectly comfortable before; his only reason for shifting was to lay an arm over Carlos' chest and press his face into his husband's neck. He nuzzled into Carlos' skin, which smelled faintly of formaldehyde under the lavender of his soap. Cecil nuzzled and kissed and cooed.

"Perfect Carlos…"

Carlos set his phone down on his nightstand, and lifted Cecil's chin to kiss him. Cecil sighed into it, squeezing a remarkable amount of adoration into a single breath.

"Scientifically speaking, that is my name…" Carlos tapped Cecil's nose and then, finally, just asked. "Hey. What does that mean to you, anyway?"

"What? You? You mean everything to me, Carlos."

Carlos shook his head, and then cut the gesture off to nod. "No. Oh, well, yes, you, too, but. I meant perfect. What does perfect mean to you? Because it seems like you've always thought that about me, and I, well, a lot of things are mutual. Mutualism is a scientific concept that isn't really relevant here. But that's mutual, too - what you said.

"And I've thought about what perfection means to me: it means, if reverence can be teasing, or if love can be stillness and not something with wild momentum. Except that's all hypotheticals - not a hypothesis, because I have no idea what the result of those conditions would be, and also you're not perfect, and I'm not either. So I guess I still don't get it?"

He flopped back onto his pillow and shrugged into it, and lifted his hands palm-up to carefully emphasize his confusion.

"Ah," said Cecil. His lips twitched, his eyes flicking back and forth thoughtfully, until he settled on a smile. "Well, maybe I have some science for you."

"Oh?"

Cecil arranged himself onto his elbow, leaning over Carlos. "Yes. I was talking to Nilanjana before I picked you up the other day. I was like, 'Hey, Nilanjana, how's the experiment going?' And she said it was going perfectly, which I thought was weird, like, nothing is perfect, right? Perfection isn't real. I told her that. I, uh, may have scoffed it."

He paused, straightening Carlos' lab coat over his nightgown, and then not letting go over the fabric. He teased the lapel in his fingertips, undoing his own adjustment as he went on, "Anyway, she explained to me that while one way to understand perfect is 'free of flaws,' that's not the only way. It can just be..."

Cecil released Carlos' lab coat, and shifted further, lying almost on top of Carlos. Carlos' breath caught, and Cecil asked, "Is this okay?"

Carlos shifted an arm, reaching up to lay a hand on his husband's shoulder. "Oh. Yes. Go on."

Cecil let his body settle over Carlos', careful about the amount of pressure he applied. But he knew what Carlos liked. He balanced himself on an elbow again, bringing himself close to his husband and kissing his cheek. With his other hand, he caressed that oh-so-perfect hair.

"Right… Perfect can just be something that is at its best, or most complete. And a lot of the time, people take that to mean that it's free of flaws. But it can just mean… You know, complete. You wouldn't add anything. Or take anything away." Another kiss, just because, just at Carlos' temple. "It can just mean that something is the way it's supposed to be, and why can't that include some flaws?"

This time, a string of kisses, tracing from Carlos' temple over the strands of gray in his hair.

"You are everything you are supposed to be. What that is may change - no, it will, and it will still be perfect, because it's you. You are always perfect, because you are always everything you're supposed to be, and I will always, always love you for it. I will never not love you. You will never not be perfect to me."

Carlos tilted his chin up, an invitation for Cecil to kiss his neck which was promptly taken. Carlos said, breathlessly, "Oh. Okay."

Cecil laughed, "Okay?"

"That makes a lot of sense. Scientifically, I mean. And I like it. Speaking personally, just, you know, for myself - I like that definition of perfection. And you. I love you!"

"Yeah, well, guess what? I love you, too!"

That was perfect, and it was human, and it was real.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #cecilos #carlos the scientist #cecil palmer #my fanfic #i thought i'd figured out formatting but i guess not!#anyway i've just desperately needed some fluff... just some nice and good cecilos...

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