#I also know in my brain that its possible the next vigilante would actually be

[robocops-a-christ-allegory]

Being a Vigilante stan is so hard because I do love Adrian but I still really hope if another vigilante run happens its another new one. Adrian can get a flashback miniseries or something. Come on guys we gotta be able to do another good Vigilante run come on

[puppypeter]

✨ All fics are complete! ✨

He Loves Me Cause I’m Cute, He Thinks I’m Pretty Funny | 2588 words 📱

He watches it back one more time after it posts, checking for typos in his subtitles and captions, and has to laugh again.

Steve fucking Rogers? His brain thought he could pull Captain America, literal superhero and America’s favorite sweetheart?

“Hello I’m a 35 year old amputee living in New York and I think that I could get Steve Rogers.”

OR

the one where bucky posts a tiktok and steve is utterly smitten.

Summer Slipped Us Underneath Her Tongue | 10712 words 🧳

Bucky is a tour guide who enjoys sharing the rich history and culture of each city they pass through with a bunch of early-20's college students who just want to know the cheapest place to get drunk.

Except for Steve, who asks Bucky for a personal tour around his hometown.

The rest is, as they say, history.

You Make My Heart Skip A Beet | 3853 words 🧑🏼‍🍳

“I made soda bread.” Steve lets out the 6’2” supersoldier equivalent of a squeak. “Oh, I love soda bread,” he says eagerly, rolling forward on the balls of his feet like he does when he gets excited. “My mom used to make it all the time when I was growing up.” The tips of Barnes’s ears turn red, and he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I know.”

Ollie Meets Bagel | 5517 words 🥯

He was a skater boy, Steve said let's get bagels, boy.

Steve wants to start doing this twenty-first century thing properly. He gets help in the form of skateboarding, skateboarders, bagels, and Sam Wilson.

Taxi | 5113 words 🚕

Bucky Barnes was, he hoped, a good taxi driver.

He's so good, he actually tries to return lost property that ends up left in his car and... well. It has some unexpected consequences involving a National Icon.

Enough said.

Leg Day | 12157 words 🏋️‍♂️

“So talk to him,” Sam says.

“I can’t,” Bucky groans. “I can’t, Sam, I. He just.” He fluffs his hair up and stares at Sam, distraught. “I want him to bench press me.”

“Okay, so it’s serious,” Sam interprets. “Got it."

(Or: The one where Sam is Bucky's long-suffering roommate, Bucky is a hot mess of a millennial, and Hot Steve spends far too much time on the Lat Pull-Down machine.)

Love In Aisle Four | 2127 words 🛍️

When Bucky needs to swing by the supermarket after a long, hard day of work, the last thing he expects is to meet a cute grocery clerk named Steve…

Coming Up Easy | 45515 words ✍🏻

“Listen, I was just thinking,” Steve says, his face open, eyebrows raised in a tentatively hopeful expression. “Why don’t you come stay at my place for a while? I’ve got an office that I barely use, and a change of scenery might do you good, right? Help you beat that writer’s block?” With a crooked smile, he adds, “I promise I’m not a serial killer.”

While Bucky would normally crack a joke about how that’s exactly what a serial killer would say, right now, all he can do is blink at Steve in surprise, heart tripping over itself in his chest. Steve wants him to come and stay at his place. In Massachusetts. Just the two of them.

"Oh," Bucky croaks. "I- Wow."

“I mean, no pressure,” Steve says hastily. “Totally fine if you don’t wanna. I just thought I’d offer, in case it might help, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Bucky ignores the little voice in his head that sounds an awful lot Nat and Becca, telling him he’s setting himself up for heartbreak. “I mean, if you’re sure, that would be amazing.”

Anywhere The Wind Blows | 8845 words 👨‍🚒🎖️

After a catastrophic fire that shakes him to his core, Steve Rogers quits his job as a Brooklyn firefighter and relocates to a cabin in the remote Canadian wilderness, wanting quiet and solitude and to maybe never have to speak to another human being ever again. He gets his wish, more or less, until a recently injured Bucky Barnes is discharged from the Army and rents the cabin next door.

The Safer Course | 7918 words | Part 1 of Won’t You Be My Neighbor 🏡

When Steve moves to the suburbs in 2033, he intends to retire from superhero life.

He does not intend to fall in love with his pain-in-the-ass neighbor.

Every Year I Have You | 7064 words | Part 2 of Won’t You Be My Neighbor 🏡

Steve set the bar pretty high, as birthday presents go.

Bucky is determined to outdo him when July 4th comes around.

Beneath The Mistletoe | 21203 words 🎄

Bucky had a bet with his sister that if he didn’t have a boyfriend to bring home for Christmas by the time he was 25, he had to give her $200 and go blonde for a year. But now he's 25, it’s nearing December, and not only is Bucky as single as ever, but he’s also running low on cash. He doesn’t exactly want to bleach his hair, either.

At least Steve is willing to upgrade their relationship from best friends to fake boyfriends.

The Settler | 52203 words 🍞

“What do you want to do?”

Steve pauses and looks at them.

What he wants is to stay with them. He doesn't have any family left, they all died before he even joined the war and became... this. Captain America turned whatever he is now. But Natasha and Sam have become his family over the years. Not just because they're on the run together, fugitives and vigilantes, but way before that too.

He doesn't want to leave that.

But he knows that, realistically, he can't stay with them and they can't stay with him.

So he looks at them with a smile and lies. “I don't know.”

OR; In which Steve retires and finally finds a place to call home.

You Can’t Put Your Arms Around A Memory | 1148 words 🐈

"Alright, Bucky," Steve slows his steps, watches his neighbour stop at the bottom of the next flight of stairs. There's a canvas bag in his hand that Steve didn't notice earlier, cream coloured with the figure of a sleeping, black cat painted on it. "Have a good day."

He thinks Bucky's cheeks pink up a bit right then and there, but Steve can't tell. He's too distracted by his pounding, foolish heart, by the way Bucky smiles bashfully, and ducks his head. The way he seems like he wants to stay.

To Believe In Tomorrow | 3959 words 👨🏻‍🌾

Bucky's mornings at the community garden get a little more interesting when the new guy shows up.

Maybe This Christmas | 24873 words | Part 1 of Maybe ❄️

Bucky’s not going home for Christmas. But it’s fine. He’s spending Christmas alone in his apartment, but it’s cool. He’s not feeling up to seeing his family after his accident anyway, plus he has to work. He’s totally fine with it. But then he runs into Steve, literally, and suddenly his Christmas isn’t looking so empty after all.

-----

Hurrying was a bad idea. Bucky’s foot hits a patch of ice and slides out from under him in what would have been a comical cartoon banana-peel-like trip, if it wasn’t happening to him, and he braces himself to hit the ground. This is going to hurt.

“Fuck,” Bucky screeches, but as he lands on his back, it’s not the cold hard concrete he expected, but a solid mass beneath him. Oh god, Bucky thinks as he realises he smacked into the person behind him and took them down with him.

Maybe This Year (Will Be Better Than Last) | 133868 words | Part 2 of Maybe ❄️

Last year, Bucky Barnes met Steve Rogers. Well actually, he slipped and fell on him. What followed was the best Christmas either of them had ever had. But what happens when Christmas is over and life returns to normal? What happens after the Christmas miracle?

-----

Bucky should have known. He did know. When things seem too good to be true, they usually are. And Steve is the best thing that has happened to him in a long time, possibly ever, so of course it couldn’t last.

Maybe This Time (I Hope I Get The Chance To Say Goodbye) | 34561 words | Part 3 of Maybe ❄️

Steve and Bucky Barnes are happily married. They've made it through some hard times and come out stronger and happier, together. Then Steve gets called on to come out of retirement for the most important mission of his life and everything changes. Everything.

-----

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas…” Steve starts singing along softly, and Bucky chuckles, before leaning his head onto Steve’s shoulder, always happy when he’s in Steve’s arms.

“From now on, our troubles will be miles away…” Bucky joins in.

Dancing round their living room, just as in love as ever, their troubles seem light-years away, if not non-existent.

Sadly, they’re closer than they think.

The Unexpected Gift | 9504 words | Part 1 of When Winter Comes 🐕

Steve Rogers is fine.

After ending a long-term relationship with Sam Wilson, Steve moves back to New York. He's tired and lonely but depressed? No. At least, that's what he thinks.

From the window of his apartment, he watches a dark-haired man and his service dog sitting in the park, wondering what his story is.

The Winter Storm | 2218 words | Part 2 of When Winter Comes 🐕

"If I could give you one thing in life, I would give you the ability you see yourself through my eyes, only then would you realize how special you are to me."

After Bucky and Steve confessed their feelings for each other, life has its own twisted way to challenge the most profound love.

One January Night | 4213 words | Part 3 of When Winter Comes 🐕

Before going back to work, Steve Rogers still has things to learn: 1- Depression is a bitch and the battle against it isn't an easy one. 2- Dating a person with disabilities comes with its share of challenges.

Bucky Barnes Has His Shit Together (And Other Lies He Tells Himself) | 14159 words 🔒

You’d think a guy who owns one of the most successful bakeries in Brooklyn, has a million-dollar smile and that antiquated good ol’ boy charm, blond hair and blue eyes and biceps for days, would know what’s what.

But don’t let that fool you: Steve Rogers is a mess.

Obvious | 917 words ☕

"Oh, I have a prompt! So, it makes me laugh how painfully obvious Steve and Bucky's feelings are to everyone when they're in that pining, slowburn, does-he-doesn't-he phase. But imagine Steve and Bucky working in a coffee shop together and constantly bickering, nudging and playfully flirting with each other. And all the employees and patrons are so invested in their relationship and just want them to kiss already but no one realizes that Steve and Bucky have been married since they got out of HS."

[headcans-oneshots-and-stuff]

Reality check

Fandom: DC Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader Word count: 4.1k Summary: It was a normal day for you when the sidewalk literally opens up and swallows you whole only to spit you back out into a world that you thought only existed in comics before. There you meet a certain Vigilante and things get more complicated very, very quickly... Warning: I think this classifies as angst, not sure though, Definitly almost drowning tho, also multiple instances of unconciousness, lil bit of fluff if you squint, also me trying to be funny and failing Requested by the incredibly, amazing, breathtaking @dudeidkwhattoputformyusername: Hi! I love your work! is it possible for u to do a Damian Wayne x reader one shot, where reader comes from reality and bumps into Damian in Robin form. Then u can develop from there anyway u like! preferably fluff tho. thank u!!!!!!!!!!

Everything was blurry and your head was throbbing like someone was working on it with a jackhammer. The pain was the first thing that you felt during the process of waking up, no other sense quiet activated yet. Next was the realization that your body was shivering uncontrollably and wherever you were laying definitely wasn’t a bed for as far as you remembered, beds weren’t usually wet, cold and stone-hard. Following was your eyesight that finally returned to you, alongside with your smell and hearing, and as if they were high-school bullies who were teaming up against the local geek in a 90’s sitcom, they all came crashing up upon you like a train. Now theoretically seen, you were able to see, hear and smell again, but practically seen, asking you to do either of the three was like asking someone to find a needle in a needlestack, or a single straw of hay in a haystack. It was just too much, definite sensory overload. A few minutes you couldn’t do anything but lay there, shivering and cold and miserable, before slowly your brain started to work through all the input and sort through it until you were able to comprehend it. The first thing you noticed was the smell. It wasn’t a very pleasant one, it smelled like you fish, water and something rotten and if you had any more control over your body you probably would have thrown up. The sounds that you could hear now put the smells a little bit more into perspective. What sounded like screams and the end of the world before was now identifiable as the screeching of seagulls, the honking of boats and the soft crashing of waves. So you were near a harbor or port? The last puzzle piece was the view you got when you opened your eyes. The cold, wet, stone-hard ‘not-bed’ that you had been lying on was in fact a concrete jetty. Only a few feet away from you was the cold dark sea and above you was the night sky. How long have you been lying here? What happened? How did you get there? As you were staring up into the sky something about it made you uneasy, the way the stars were shining, the darkness of the universe, the fullness of the moon- Wait, wasn’t it a new moon just a few days ago? You sat up suddenly, immediately regretting it when the pain shook through your head again, re-starting the throbbin at 100%, and - after you could open your eyes again - looked down at your body. You were wearing a soaked through sweater that you had bought a few days prior and just as soaked through jeans and socks, your shoes nowhere in sight. The sea was restless and splashed against the sides of the jetty, dops landing on your sleeves and face. For some reason, the sensation of the liquid against your skin brought forth a flashback that completely blinded you. It was like you were watching from above as you relieved the last thing you remembered, how you had been going home after your part-time job at the library when the floor had literally peeled open below you and you fell into a cold nothingless, only for water to come crashing down at you from all sides. When you finally realized that you were not on the sidewalk a few blocks away from your home anymore, but in raging water, somewhere below the surface you were already only seconds away from drowning. With all the power you could muster and adrenaline rushing through your veins you managed to fight your way upwards and upwards until your hand finally broke through the water’s surface. The breath that you took when you made it up completely must have been the best and somehow worst gulp of air you had ever taken in. The adrenaline was ebbing off and the exhaustion made its way through all your muscles, but when you saw the lights in the distance you managed to keep on going until you had managed to pull yourself up a concrete jetty where you finally blacked out. Your mind made its way back into your body and you grasped the situation, even though believing it still wasn’t the easiest task. I mean the earth quite literally swallowing you up? That doesn't sound reasonable. And yet, it was the thing you remembered so you would have to live with that truth until someone could prove you otherwise. More and more questions started to swirl through your mind - an unreasonable amount of them quite honestly - but you knew you had to take things one step at a time. Okay, what did you know? You were in an unknown location so there was no new there, but your former question of ‘how long have you been there’ was now answered. Given the state of your clothes and the fact that it was still deep, dark night you couldn’t have been unconscious for long. But that didn’t help you much - you were still sitting there freezing cold and soaked with no idea where you actually were. What would you do usually when you were lost? Phone, ah, right. You patted over your pockets and actually found it, only to be very unsurprised when it only gave you a black void to stare into. Sadly you didn’t have a bag of rice to put it into in the other pocket, instead only a set of keys that you didn’t recognize along with something that looked like a keychain in form of a piece of polished wood with the letters D and (Your first initial) with a plus in between engraved into it. “Great, I can open some doors now, too bad I don’t know which,” you spoke aloud to yourself, only for the worlds to come out stuttered thanks to your teeth that were shaking just as much as the rest of you. You stuffed the keys and the broken phone back into your pockets and managed to pull yourself up and stand, even though all your muscles were screaming in despair. The thing you really wanted to do was lie back down and fall asleep again, wait for the sun to rise and dry your clothes, but you knew that with the coldness and the water all around you, you’d probably be dead or at least deadly sick by morning, so you had to find shelter, warmth and - maybe most importantly - answers. With slow, little steps you walked down the jetty, towards the buildings that looked unoccupied at that time of day, with an unknown city stretching out behind it that promised life and warmth. For what felt like hours, but was probably just minutes, you managed to walk a few feet until you were a safe distance away from the water and near a bench that must have been put there for people who wanted to watch the water or have a break from work or similar things. It looked at you so invitingly, so comfortably, so perfect. Deep inside you knew that you should probably not sit down, even if you told yourself it would be just for a few minutes, but your exhaustion took over and you sunk down onto it, falling to the side and rolling as good as it was possible together into a little roll. You’d take a nap, just a quick one, only a few minutes, then you’d get up with new energy and find the warmth you were looking for. The longer you sat there the heavier your eyelids got until you couldn’t take it anymore and the darkness enveloped you into its safety again.

The next time you woke up, things weren’t so bad anymore, it wasn’t all that blurry and the throbbing had dialed down a bit, but your body was shaking worse than before. In fact, it was shaking so bad that your shoulder thumbed against the backrest of the bench before being pulled forward again and repeating the circle, the only weird thing was that it was just your shoulder. And there was this weird pressure around it. Wait! You weren’t shaking worse, someone else was shaking you as if they were trying to wake you up. You peeled your eyes completely opened and looked into white voids surrounded by black and like your eyes were the camera of a 2000’ kids-camera they slowly zoomed out and revealed the white voids to be the eye-parts of a mask sitting on the face of a masked (duh) boy who was wearing a very, very colorful and bright outfit. It seemed familiar and the gears in your head started turning. “Habibti, you’re okay,” the boy said in a relieved tone and while he helped you sit up you mustered him with a confused look. “That’s not my name, it’s Y/N.” The way his mask contorted gave off a sense of confusion that mirrored yours, just with a little bit more worry in it, but before he could say anything else you motioned to his outfit. “What is it with the outfit? It isn’t Halloween yet, is it?” “You don’t recognize me?” he asked you and the tone of voice he used almost made you feel sorry for him, but given that you had no idea what he was talking about you would probably be able to cope. “No, sorry…” you started before the gears finally fell into place and you recognized it, “Oh, wait, I think I do, you’re playing Batman’s sidekick right? I think it was Robin. That’s so cool, I myself was always more of a Marvel fan - you know with Black Widow and all that - but both are super valid so cool hobby dude. It looks pretty rad too.” Even with the mask you could see the complete bedazzlement in his face and you wondered if your weird world-swallowing-experience had magically changed the language you spoke from English to Mandarine. “What- What do you mean?” “You’re Cosplaying right? Dressing up as a Comic Character?” you tried to explain and you could feel a slight anger building up at how stupid he made you feel without even being able to see his eyes. “I’m not Cosplaying a comic character?” he said in a questioning manner. “Yes, you are. You’re wearing the outfit and everything, like the guy in the Comics who works with Batman. I think his name was Richard or something, but you should know better, you’re cosplaying him after all,” you tried to explain yet again, seriously questioning your sanity. Now he really didn’t need the mask to hide the fact that he was seriously triggered by what you had said - even though you weren’t quite sure why. Had Robin been cancelled over twitter while you were unconscious? “I think it’d be better if I bring you to safety and get you checked out,” he averted the topic of the conversation and started to position his hands like he wanted to pick you up, but you put a stop to it when you pressed him away. “Listen, I appreciate the help, but I’ll definitely not be going with a complete stranger in a comic costume, so if you could just give me your phone so that I can call my parents or my friends that’d be great.” For a few seconds he just sat there straight, as if unsure of the best course of action, before he sight and pulled a phone out, unlocking it and handing it to you. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you thought about who to call, thankful that your mum had made you learn her number by heart, but when you went to dial it your whole body stopped working, like there was a physical restriction keeping you from typing. Suddenly you realized it. You didn’t know the number - you knew you should, that you had been using it for years upon years and that you definitely should know it - and your eyes grew wide. You scavenged through your head searching for more numbers, but then you realized another thing. There were none. How was that possible? You didn’t even know the area code from where you lived. “I- I don’t- what?” you looked up at the boy with tearful eyes, the reality of the situation just too much for you. “It’s okay, I’m sure it will come back to you,” he tried to sooth you, but you were too frustrated and sad to be happy about soothing from some creepy geek. “Would you please finally tell me why you’re in costume?” you asked exasperated and moved further away from him. “I-” The answer of the boy was cut short when a ‘whooshing’ sound echoed around the area and a booming voice called out: “Robin”. The boy shot you another look before shouting back. “I’m here, I’ve-” he obviously wanted to add something, but he cut himself off this time and just looked at you. A man in a black, leather suit with a black cowl over his face that you noticed to be definitely inspired by Batman and very well done came rushing towards you. Again, you couldn’t see his eyes, but you recognized the same worried look that the boy already had. “Oh no, not another one,” you sighed and pushed your hair back, “Is there some kind of Comic Convention here? Or is this a weird sexual thing?” Now the man looked at the boy even more confused, and the boy just shrugged, but instead of answering you, he brought his hand up to where his ear was under the cowl and spoke to himself: “I’ve found Robin, he’s found her, we’re going to come back now.” If it had only been the first and last part of that sentence you would have made a joke about them being into LRPG or something, but the ‘her’ part scared you for some reason. You stood up and backed away, happy that the boy didn’t keep the grip on even though his eyes were following your every move. “This was fun and all, but I’m still soaked and really cold, and I had a nice swim earlier which I want to calm down from again, so I think I’ll just go back home now, call myself a cab or something,” you turned around, more than ready to strain your muscles yet again with running away, but it never got to that point, because a second later you were ripped up from the ground and sizzled through the air. It was so surprising that you didn’t even manage to scream before you found yourself with hard ground under your feet again. You looked up at what had pulled you through the skies and found the boys face yet again and - may it have been from the scare of everything finally becoming to much - the last thing you could say before you blacked out for the third time that night was: “That’s some on point cosplay dude.”

The soft sheets of your bed gave you a sense of relief as you woke up from that weird ass dream that you were having. You were unsure about why exactly your unconsciousness was making you see these things, but you made a mental note about checking the dream meaning of getting swallowed by the sidewalk later on. For now all you wanted was to go have some breakfast and call your mom to tell her about that dream. So you opened your eyes and threw the blanket back only to be surprised by the ceiling that was definitely not yours. There was a sound beside you and you looked over to see a boy about your age, black hair standing up from his head a little spiky and green eyes focused entirely on you. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” you cursed and moved as far away from the boy as possible, “Who are you?!” “What do you remember?” the boy asked you, completely ignoring your question. Your eyes flew to the door that was right behind him and you found that there was no way for you to get to it without having to overthrow the boy - but by the looks of him he’d knock you out easily. “I was on my way home from my job when the fucking ground opened up, swallowed me, thrw me back up into the ocean and then I met two werid ass cosplayers before I woke up here.” “You still think we’re cosplayers?” “We?” “Yes,” he just nodded with complete ease. “Well, I gotta admit that flying thing was pretty rad. What was that? Are you actors and you’re making a movie? Because if so then I’m sorry for bursting onto the shooting site.” “We’re not making a movie,” he stated, still completely chilled, even though there was something else lying under it. “What then? You telling me you’re actually Robin? Because if so I’m not the only one who needs to have her head checked out,” you scoffed and rolled your eyes, arms crossing in front of your chest. The boy just mirrored your look, completely stern and serious. “You’re not serious, are you?” you couldn’t help but let out an unbelieving chuckle. He kept silent and just observed you. “You fucking are, oh my gosh.” “How can I prove it to you?” he asked, still so incredibly serious that you felt like you were a clown walking in on a job interview. “Oh, I don’t know. Call Flash, Superman and the easter bunny over so we can have tea with the tooth fairy,” you answered ironically and made a ‘cray-cray’ gesture with your hand going in circles beside your temple, but instead of being offended by your comment, he just pulled out his phone - the same phone you had tried to use earlier you noted. “What are you doing?” you asked, but he just held his hand up to sush you and raised the phone to his ear. “Hello, it’s Damian Wayne,” he introduced himself to the other person -  and you noted that he was not a ‘Richard’ after all, “Yes, could you do me a favor? Could you come to the Manor real quick? Yes, yes I know, no it’s not an emergency. The suit would be great, yes. See you in a bit. You opened your mouth again when he hung up to ask who he called over, but he kept his hand up and motioned to you to wait, while he opened up the window, even though it was still cold out. A gust of wind filled the room and suddenly there was another boy standing besides the original boy - Damian as he had introduced himself - who was wearing a cape, a shirt with a logo that was definitely Supermans and ripped jeans. “H-How the fuck did he just? Was he here this whole time? What? How?” you stuttered and looked between Damian and the other boy who looked at you even more confused than you felt, but Damian waved him off and motioned for him to leave, which he promptly did. The new boy looked at Damian with question marks in his eyes, but he just waved him off. “You believe me now?” he asked, directed towards you and you had to admit it was pretty convincing. “But how? I’m in a comic?” “Y/N, this isn’t a comic, this is reality,” Damian told you with a soft voice, but your eyes just widened and you tried to move back even further. “How do you know my name?” “In your left pocket there is a set of keys and keychains. One of these keychains is a piece of wood with two letters engraved. A D and a (Your first initial), am I right?” Your heart stopped for a second and you patted the pocket where that exact thing was still lying. “H-How do you know my name?” “What do you remember about your life, about how you ended up in the water?” he avoided the question like a pro and you decided to play along, just in hope he’d answer your question sooner or later. “I was born the daughter of Y/Parents/N in Y/H/T. I grew up normally and went to school, nothing special, got a job on the side and when I went home yesterday the sidewalk started to open up like there was an earthquake and I was suddenly in the water, I told you about that part already.” “And you have never met me in your life?” he asked and sounded almost disappointed. “No, an hour ago I thought you didn’t exist outside of paper, the internet and movies,” you huffed and tried to figure out what his endgame was with this, when he pulled his phone out again and tapped on it for a bit before shoving it in your direction. “How do you explain this then?” You moved forwards with caution until you could see the screen and your breath stopped. It was a picture of you. Of Damian and you to be precise. The two of you were sitting on a bench, laughing and smiling and obviously happy, a cute dog on the ground between the two of you where something else drew your attention. In the photograph your left hand was intertwined with his right one. “W-What is this? Some sick kind of joke?” “You really don’t remember? Not at all?” he asked flabbergasted. “Remember what? What is going on here?” you almost shouted, the frustration becoming just a little bit too much, “Please just give me some explanation, please.” “You’re Y/N Y/L/N, you really are the daughter of Y/Parents/N, but you didn’t grow up in Y/H/T, you grew up here in Gotham. You went to Gotham academy, where the two of us met and...became friends. You found out about me being Robin and my father being Batman rather quickly too,” Damian explained and even though it didn’t match up even slightly with what you remembered, it felt weirdly accurate. You went to the bed again and sucked down onto it, before thinking back to the picture and raised an eyebrow at Damian. “Not that I say it’s true what you’re saying, but if we hypothetically say it was, then we weren’t just friends, right? We’re together?” “Yes.” “Okay,” a sigh escaped you and everything was feeling blurry, but you had to continue asking, wanting to know the truth, “Then how do you explain me ending up in the ocean?” “That’s where things get a bit harsher,” Damian sight too, but obviously for other reasons, “Yesterday evening you accompanied me to a party - a family thing - on a yacht and things were going great, but something went wrong. No one had an idea that the weather would shift like that, but a storm came and the yacht was thrown around and you - you were thrown off, I thought you died, I was devastated, but- uhm...well… You remembered that keychain? I gave it to you for our first year anniversary and it may or may not have a tracker in it, so that I could find you in a worst case scenario and if that wasn’t a worst case scenario then I don’t know what is.” For a few minutes silence filled the room as you worked through all of the new information, but the sad look on Damian’s face, the seriousness in his voice, the entire situation in itself? They made it hard to doubt what he was telling you. Your gaze was stuck on your fidgeting hands when you asked the one underlying question. “Why can’t I remember?” “I don’t know, I think you must have hit your head when you fell off and your mind mixed things up - mixed reality into something else and took a few actual things and made them fiction,” Damian gave you his half-assed, definitely not medically appropriate explanation, but you couldn’t blame him for that, you had no idea either. You pulled your legs up and hugged your knees close as you looked at him, really trying to see this supposed boyfriend of yours, but your mind just turned up blank. “What if I’ll never remember? What if that’s the way it’ll be from now on?” “I’m positive that things will turn out fine, we have friends who have the best medical experience you can get, we even have mind readers who could probably help you and if not, we’ll help you make new memories, I’ll help you and I’ll wait for the memories to come back just in case.” “That’s not fair on you though, Right now I’m not the girl you’re with, you shouldn’t have to go through this,” tears were now welling up at your eyes, even though you weren’t completely sure why your emotions were so strong. “I don’t care, I really don’t, because no matter what you remember or don’t, I love you and I really hope you’ll remember that you love me too…”

[bigskydreaming]

Okay, long time followers will probably remember having read this, but I can’t find the original post and I’m trying to like.....force-reboot/jumpstart me working on my ‘Kings of the Sky’ AU again because I haven’t touched it in awhile and I have like literally eight different installments in various stages of completion and that’s ridiculous even for me. So here’s a repost of the first part of “Teachable Moments” the canon-divergence point of that AU series, where Jason calls Dick for advice after the Garzonas case and everything changes from there.

******

The way Jason Todd warily eyed the device in his hand, one might think it was an instrument of great and terrible destructive power, rather than just…his own personal cell-phone.

To be fair, he was Robin, and pretty used to the idea that even the most unlikely of things could be used for evil in Gotham. It could’ve been stolen and replaced at some point by a henchperson of Mr. Freeze, and using it could unleash some kind of cryogenic freeze ray that would turn him into a Robinsicle. Mad Hatter could be up to shit again, and dialing the phone at this very minute might mean syncing it up with a remote radio signal that would override his natural brainwaves and turn him into Tetch’s mindless minion of like…doom and stuff. Or…or…

Or sometimes, even in Gotham a phone is just a phone, and Freud is still a dumbass. And neither of the above possibilities had anything to do with why Jason was being a giant freaking pansy about entering the last digit of the phone number he would never ever admit to having had memorized for months now.

Nightwing had said to call if he ever needed to talk. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t actually want Jason to call, right? Like, its not as if Jason had remotely been expecting him to do that, so its not the sort of thing someone did just because it was ‘expected’ or shit. He was pretty sure. Rich people manners were weird though. Had to factor that in.

But Nightwing had also even made a point to say not talking to people about stuff was Bruce’s problem and that Jason shouldn’t let it be his problem too, and even though months ago Jason had been a starry-eyed dumbass who was totally drunk on the Bruce is the Bestest Kool-Aid or whatever, ‘Wing had definitely known what he was talking about there. So maybe he’d get it, and having this conversation with him wouldn’t be. Like. The actual worst idea in the history of ever.

Deductive logic said that Jason was getting worked up over nothing and there was no rational reason for him to be this nervous about dialing a fucking phone number. And he’d gotten pretty good at the whole deduction shit, given all the work he and Bruce had put into training his mind to view the world through entirely new paradigms, so Jason was pretty sure his math on that checked out. But on the other hand, Bruce was a hypocritical asshat that Jason was currently not speaking to, so what the fuck did he know about anything?

Aaaaand he was back to square one. Well damn. This was excellent. Very productive. Good hustle out there, Jay.

Sighing gustily, Jason flopped back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to pretend he hadn’t gotten used to how luxurious and cushion-y his ridiculously expensive mattress was. He’d gotten soft, he told himself. Then he scoffed at the idea that the past year and a half of rigorous Robin training and patrols had made him less tough than the pipsqueak he’d been back when living on the street, getting his ass kicked by bigger and badder on the regular. That hadn’t been hardness, that had been bravado.

But it had gotten him this far in life, so maybe there was something to be said for it after all?

Ugh. Decisions were hard. He objected on principle. He also really wanted to understand why he was this nervous…if he could literally fill the guy’s shoes and kick supervillain ass as Robin, what freaking sense did it make that he couldn’t even call him up on the phone?

Maybe you just know better than to ask him questions you don’t really want to hear his answer to, a smug voice said in the back of his mind. It sounded suspiciously like Willis Todd, which was all kinds of weird and fucked up, cuz Jason was damn sure his abusive a-hole of a deadbeat dad had never said anything that insightful in his life.

Which meant it was his own screwed up subconscious - presenting in the voice of his not so dearly departed douchebag dad, no less - that had Jason reacting out of spite, entering the last number and hitting Talk, all while totally on autopilot. Because apparently we’re all making healthy life choices in this Chili’s tonight, Jason snickered somewhat hysterically while his phone rang once, twice, three times.

Ugh. Was he always this fucked up in the head and he just never noticed, or was it a side effect of running around rooftops in a cape. Inquiring minds wanted to know.

“Hello?” Someone said then, answering on the fourth ring. Jason sat bolt upright, his nervous humor vanishing as quickly and unexpectedly as it’d hijacked him in the first place. For all that he’d only actually interacted with the older man a few times, his voice was instantly recognizable. As was his slight confusion.

Right. Because why would Nightwing have the untraceable number of the latest burner phone Bruce had given Jason, when the ever paranoid Bat had him swapping out phones every freaking week? Duh, Jay.

“Uh, its me,” Jason said hastily, as if he could somehow catch up to and overtake the epically long ten second silence he let lapse before his mouth started making words again. “Jason?”

“Jaybird! Hey! What’s going on?” The older vigilante’s tone instantly morphed into one of surprised delight, so apparent even across the phone that Jason actually pulled it away from his ear and stared at it, as if that could explain Nightwing’s inexplicable giddiness. He’d literally only met the dude three times. Give or take a concussion he was forgetting about maybe? Weird.

Then again, the older man was a circus performer from birth. Might just be good at faking being super excited to hear from people? Whatever. Still weird.

“Uh, you said to call if I was ever having, I dunno, issues with Bruce I guess? So I kinda had a question? I mean, if you’re not busy or anything.”

Just one question? Willis’ voice asked snidely, echoing in time with the rapid tripartite beat of Jason’s heart. Since apparently everything Jason said was trying to come out with a question mark attached to the end of it at the moment. Ugh, fuck you, subconscious, Jason thought forcefully, even as he ransacked the recesses of his mind for that bravado he was thinking about earlier. It had to be in here somewhere…

“No worries dude, I’ve got time. Hit me!” Nightwing said cheerfully. His lighthearted cadences were so at odds with the sweat suddenly breaking out on Jason’s forehead, the younger teen couldn’t help but wince in anticipation of its inevitable change once he got his actual question out. This was a bad idea, he decided, way too fucking late for it to make a difference. He had a hunch Nightwing wouldn’t be content to ‘just forget it’ or whatever even if Jason chickened out now.

So he took a deep breath, shrugged and did what Jason Todd did best. Said fuck it, put pedal to the metal, and drove at full speed for the metaphorical police barricade that was his way of picturing all the things telling him He Should Definitely Just Not.

“Do you think I’m someone who could kill somebody in like, cold blood?”

Aaaaand there went the lightheartedness. Well, he’d definitely stone cold killed that, Jason thought grimly into the silence that followed.

“Huh,” Nightwing said at last. “You’re gonna have to give me a second to switch gears here, Jay. I was kinda expecting something along the lines of ‘how do I avoid Bruce giving me the safe sex talk.’”

Jason flushed and nodded jerkily, not that the older man could see it. Still, it’d been enough of a workout just getting to this point. He didn’t trust what might come out of his mouth next if he kept trying to force it. Thankfully Nightwing didn’t make him wait too long before continuing.

“I think anyone’s capable of killing somebody in the right circumstances,” Jason’s predecessor began carefully. Except that was not remotely what he wanted to hear. Or helpful.

“I’m not looking for platitudes,” Jason grit out, not angry at the other vigilante so much as the whole fucked up mess and his inability to think about anything else at this point. “It’s just a simple fucking question. You’ve met me, do you think like, I’d be capable of just killing somebody or not.”

“I’m not offering platitudes,” Nightwing continued calmly, as if he wasn’t phased by the younger boy’s interruption or sudden aggression at all. “And its not a simple question at all. Speaking from experience, most people wouldn’t think of an eight year old as a cold-blooded killer, but that’s what I could have been if Bruce hadn’t stopped me from killing my parents’ murderer when I first tracked him down. And yet that’s still totally different from when I held a gun on Two-Face barely a couple years later, about to shoot him because somebody else told me to, and because I wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt me. Wouldn’t you agree those are two different situations and two different ‘kinds’ of cold-blooded killer? Context is kinda a big deal here.”

Huh. First off…what the fuck? Jason stared blankly up at the ceiling, trying to hurry up the processing functions of his brain because, again, what the fuck? He was like ninety nine percent positive none of that had been in the Dick Grayson Is The Greatest and Here Are All The Reasons Why brochure he’d had read to him every time someone new found out he was Wayne’s newest stray, and like. Uh. Yeah, that part would have definitely stood out. Because once more, with feeling:

“What the fuck?”

Oops. That hadn’t been supposed to be out loud. Bad mouth. Bad.

Nightwing just did a weird kinda half laugh half sigh combo. Rueful, Jason would describe it, if he were describing it to someone else, which it kind of felt like he was, relaying the conversation to himself now that it’d taken a hard right turn into the surreal.

“Blindsided you with that, huh? Sorry, should’ve figured neither of those are the kinda stories Bruce would want to share with you. Then again, I don’t really have any idea what Bruce has told you about me.”

“Not much,” Jason admitted. Which was a major source of irritation, if he was being honest. The much sung praises of Dick Grayson came from literally everyone he met except for Bruce. Who usually just got a pinched expression whenever Jason brought him up, and a rapid subject change that was not nearly as subtle as Bruce seemed to think it was.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Nightwing sighed. “I hope you haven’t put too much stock in anything else you’ve heard about me then. I’ll admit to a bad habit of enjoying my mystique, so secondhand hearsay tends to lose my best nuances.”

Despite himself, Jason’s lips curved up and he let out a rueful huff of his own. “I mean, this definitely isn’t where I saw this conversation going.”

The older man chuckled. “Thought I was going to just assume the worst and chuck the book at you?”

“Well. Yeah.” Jason shrugged, even though he knew it wouldn’t come across. “Bruce did.”

Nightwing heaved an exasperated breath. “Yeah, that’s kinda the thing about B. Sometimes, he’s great. Other times, he’s an ass. Its kinda an either or thing. He’s never really mastered the art of finding a midpoint between two extremes. Mostly because he’s never seen the point of aiming for middle ground.”

“Well its not like he’s ever really had to,” Jason griped. It just slipped out before he could stop it, leaving him feeling guilty for bad-mouthing B when he wasn’t around to defend himself. Especially since he knew Nightwing wasn’t the guy’s biggest fan these days. But he couldn’t deny it also felt good, in a way.

To his surprise, Nightwing just laughed. And not even in a malicious, spiteful kind of way, but almost relieved.

“God, thank you. You’d think that ‘hey, so my billionaire guardian kinda has entitlement issues’ would be a water is wet kind of revelation, but try saying something like that to pretty much anyone else…”

“And they look at you like you’re an ungrateful asshole?” Jason finished for him. Not that he’d ever actually tried saying that to anyone before, though he’d definitely thought it a time or two. But he could all too easily imagine the reactions he’d get, which was pretty much why he’d never gone so far as to speak the words.

“Yup,” Nightwing drawled, dragging out the p and popping it with emphasis. “And its not about being grateful or not, its just…there are some parts of everyone that just aren’t up for grabs, for other people to weigh in on or take charge of, you know? And a lot of people just don’t get that…because nobody’s ever tried it with them, or had to deal with expectations that…overstep, let’s call it?”

“Is that why you left?”

Jason winced the second it left his mouth. Too far. Definitely way too far, but he’d just gotten unexpectedly comfortable with the back and forth, and now he’d done the overstepping thing himself and was left with just dead air.

But ten seconds of heavy silence stretched into twenty, and went no further, as Nightwing sighed into his side of the phone again.

“The spiteful part of me wants to say it was more of a push than me just up and leaving,” he laughed again, but this time with unmistakable bitterness. “But even while that’s true, its not really the right answer to your question, because no matter how much of a clusterfuck that was at the time, its not…I mean, I knew at the time how to fix it. Where and how I needed to cave in order to make up with him and let things get back not quite to normal, but at least close enough.”

The pause wasn’t as heavy or tense this time, as Jason could almost sense the older man gathering his thoughts, trying to put them into words. He bit his lip rather than risk any more unexpected utterances escaping. This might not have been where he’d thought his phone call would lead, but now that he was here, hearing the answers to questions he’d wanted to ask for over a year and finding them almost comfortably familiar, he wasn’t going to risk distracting Nightwing or shutting him up for well. Anything.

“But it would have meant me caving. Settling in ways that I just…couldn’t. So in a way, yeah, I did leave, it was still my choice. And all of that was definitely a big part of it. I love Bruce, I do. I just couldn’t live with him anymore. Not without feeling like I had to give up my own autonomy and just be what he wanted. Or what he’d expected me to grow up to be, back when he first took me in. And as grateful as I am to him for that, I can’t honestly say I would have stuck around back then if I knew that was the price tag attached. I’m not…I don’t do well with people trying to force me to stick to one place, one thing. I was born on the road, you know? When I was a kid, I expected to spend the rest of my life living like that. Home was people. Not places. And so Gotham…its never fit me quite right, the way it does him, or even Barbara. Its not like I was miserable there, its just.”

“It wouldn’t have been your first choice,” Jason finished again, quietly. There was silence again for awhile.

“No. No, it wouldn’t have been. Not then.”

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

the wolf should’ve been afraid of me.

Titans 3.04

just under the wire! ... i hope.

like with the previous review, i’m typing this up as i see the episode. here we go!

spoilers ahead.

1. ... well. that was an interesting cold open.

1.25. i don’t know whether to admire this show’s restraint when it comes to gotham and its excesses, particularly arkham asylum. it’d be easy to go hammer and tongs, like suicide squad (2016) did, or any number of bat media did, at a tropey, colourful~~insanity~~ that can be quite damaging, casting mental illness in strangeness and criminality. it definitely shows gotham as... separate from the rest of the country, its own ecosystem of heroes and villains, a sort of rogue state. 

but that ecosystem is still human, with its heroes needing to clip parts of themselves away just to survive, growing old and needing to be recycled, its villains languishing in the same kinds of systems that fail everybody else who needs to be helped. it’s a quieter, tenser sort of wrongness: not strange enough that you can dissociate, but not close enough that you can completely empathise. gotham is its own creature.

1.5. i know that the reasoning behind this is more doylist than anything, but i’m so glad that joker was killed off with little fanfare right at the start of the season. he is the one man in the batverse that’s transcended its confines as this sort of ethereal boogeyman/eternal edgelord and to justify his presence in the series would mean giving him this tired, overblown importance and too much of a stab at colourful, tropey “madness” in this otherwise-subdued series. i wish all batmedia would follow suit and get rid of this fucker.

1.75. so jason is bucking scarecrow’s control! or reminding him of who exactly holds all the cards right now. circling back to what i talked about in the last review, it’s remarkable just how little time it’s been since jason’s “death” and he’s already got ‘minions’ and elaborately set up plans to track, break and kill the titans. just how long has he been planning this? when did he first look at WE weapons prototypes and think that’s something i can use to blow somebody up? and the most unsettling question: did he plan his own death at the hands of the joker just so that he could break batman?

at this point it’s obvious that the scarecrow at least started jason down this path, but it’s frightening just how far he’s travelled already.

1.8. aaagh, less than one minute in! i’ll shut up. 

2. conner washing his hands at the sink reminds me that he was directly in the line of explosion when hank got blown up and he’s probably got atomised hank-bits all over his skin that he’s desperately trying to wash off.

... you’re welcome.

2.25. conner, don’t you speak to gar fucking logan like that, sir, no!

2.3. if anything it’s the lex part of him that gave him the knowhow to recognise the weapon and build a de-activator for it. 

anyway, for that ‘half-breed’ and ‘talking tiger’ comment?

(i wish, tho, that we actually see conner more interested in the superman part of his legacy, like maybe listening to stories from gar, or even better, dick, so we get a better idea of the pressure he’s feeling to live up to that part of him and not the part that’s lex.)

((i talked about conner’s stages of moral development in his introductory episode last season, but i wonder if the next stage of his self-actualisation would be to further integrate the parts of himself and realise that they are only parts and he, conner, is an entirely different person unto himself that can make decisions on how to use what he has and what he knows. his superman abilities can be used to destroy. his lex knowledge can be used to save.))

3. oh dawn :((

3.25. is this the last we see of dawn and hank? i mean, we know donna is coming back; would it be a stretch to think they’ll try to have a go at resurrecting hank as well?

3.5. “deathstroke didn’t make us into killers.” good, because deathstroke didn’t make jason a killer either. there’s a missing step there you need to be looking for, dick. 

3.75. dick did try to break the cycle, step away from gotham, run from the possibility that he could turn into batman. it didn’t help; he couldn’t fully withdraw from his vigilante persona the same time he loathed it, and batman literally haunted him both asleep and awake. but maybe gotham doesn’t have to turn anybody into anything. maybe gotham has nothing to do with it at all. it’s about taking responsibility, realising some sacrifices are pure bullshit, and building an actual family instead of merely a team.

anyway: hugs!

(oh, also? mr “i hate flying”? i mean, there’s perfectly valid reasons to hate flying that’s not related to childhood trauma, but then again, this guy was literally a ‘flying grayson’ once. also also, remember that he also gets sea-sick. must’ve a lot of fun stories to tell.)

4. ooh that gar/kory confrontation was brief but cool!

listen, i have never seen a psychiatrist with that extravagant an office and SIR I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW HOW--

4.5. kory’s so unused to reaching out for help and it’s breaking my heart that HPG likely is some kind of impostor that’s maybe causing her symptoms in the first place. 

kory and dick have mostly been apart this season but it’s remarkable how their journeys have paralleled each other; kory processes her grief, isolation and existential dread into a determination to take care of this new family she has, no matter what it takes; dick does much the same, forging ahead with plans and solutions until he has no fuel left in him and spirals into a massive breakdown.

4.25. listen titans this really is a TERRIBLE continuity error. we aren’t goldfish; we can clearly remember that two minutes ago it was gar’s upper arm that was burned, not his forearm. COME ON.

“sensory deprivation tank” *SNORT*

anyway, gar is the BEST

4.5. i wonder where these visions of experimentation took place. was it on tamaran, or on earth, after she came to hunt down rachel/trigon and before she lost all her memories? is HPG a part of the scientist group that experimented on her? ... god, i hope not. i mean, i think he is, but it would be cool to have some positive therapist representation in media. 

5. you’d think the van transporting a dangerous supervillain that only batman could catch would be more secure but... i’m also not entirely surprised. 

5.15. i love dick gives ZERO shits about hiding himself or even ensuring scarecrow is adequately contained. just turns away after kidnapping him in BROAD DAYLIGHT and says ‘let’s go’. I LOVE THIS DUMBASS

6. lmao gar is having a really really shitty day SOMEONE GIVE THIS MAN A BREAK or just a goddamn story arc of his own

6.5. i’m really confused about the timeline here. so... sometime ago, kory came down to earth to hunt down trigon, yeah? at some further point down the line she and her sister were kidnapped and experimented on. THEN she somehow escapes but... loses her memory? a few months pass and then we see blackfire alive and well and free; she kills faddei, can impersonate other people, and is clearly seeking out kory. but now she’s still in the experiment facility...? what’s going on?

i’m not entirely surprised about the facility being mostly deserted. either the biggest investors in this project gave up on it and it was left to the most fanatic to carry on, or they were deliberately trying to lure kory and get her to free blackfire--expand the environs of the experiment, so to speak.

7. hopefully barbara is going to get something to do other than listen to various men give her Attitude

8. how do you terrorise a terrorist? well:

i love when dick is a scary-competent motherfucker.

8.25. ooooh, the attack on crane at arkham a ploy to get crane to blackgate? nice one dick, i didn’t even think of that. but why though? to protect crane from the titans? to intercept the van to blackgate and “rescue” him? seems likely--red hood was there, except dick got to crane quicker.

9. still reeeallly unclear about the komand’r situation. was komand’r captured after s2? is this all A TRAP?? if so, why are you stepping into the only thing that can contain you, kory????

9.25. so... definite parallels between dick/jason and kory/kom here. i’m just. i’m still. really confused. i’ll shut up now.

10. this may be my favourite dick look yet:

woodsman!dick in a beanie.

10.5. i unironically love how titans has made this bizarrely-devoted-to-his-moniker, toxin-spewing supervillain into a tamer version of hannibal, psychoanalysing his victims into submission. it’s of a piece with how inward looking titans is, the way all of its villains are obsessed with how our protagonists’ minds work, to the point where they would actually spend time inside of them. 

there are no big plots to end the world. no apocalypses or endgames here. these villains collect the titans’ insecurities like infinity stones. the way the titans defeat them is by achieving character growth--literally winning by the power of love. literally “the real superpower is the friends we made along the way”!

10.7. anyway, i’m betting dick is used to this bullshit from crane and is humouring him in the service of getting more information. the story about the wolf? an implicit threat, not to mention dick getting to control what crane knows about him and what methods he would use to manipulate him.

am i giving dick too much credit here? i don’t think so. he’s really impressed me so far this season.

10.75. like. there’s a real unreliable narrator vibe coming off with every person that talks about bruce (much like how the various members of the titans talked about jason’s motivations) and to buy into crane’s talk about bruce being a psychopath is to fall for the same manipulation that jason fell for. dick is the only person who hasn’t really psychoanalysed bruce this season, and i think some part of his detective brain is piecing things together into a bigger picture.

11. i’m glad kory rescued kom but did she have to kill the scientist?

(i mean, yeah, probably - the less people know that kom escaped the less likely they’re going to have the fucking govt on their doorstep, but still.)

11.5. dick’s gonna come back to wayne manor, stare straight at komand’r and go, well which room would you like? because the team might as well adopt ANOTHER person, yeah?

12. oh MAN that red hood/nightwing fight was AMAZING! and he did the thing! the boomerang escrima thing! i’m so delighted!

12.5. the anger and disbelief in dick’s voice when he says you told crane EVERYTHING?! tells me that he knew exactly what he was telling crane himself.

12.75. “everything you are is because of him” - oh that reminds me of halluci!bruce from last season. i hope we see halluci!bruce again--he is so vicious but so entertaining... so much more effective at tearing dick down than crane or jason combined. goes to show that dick’s biggest enemy is own fucking head.

12.8. oh no! dick’s shot! crane is in the wind with red hood! blackfire is now with the titans! i love it!

honestly this season’s pacing is such a big step up from the last couple. gold star, show.

[misplacedgamer]

Tsuyu Can (Not) Be Trusted: A UA Traitor Theory

So when BnHA 320 dropped a couple days ago, @redblossxmm wrote a very interesting meta post that immediately grabbed my attention. In it, she goes over the chapter cover and the possible symbolism that might be at play. At first when I read it I was like "oh, that's kind of funny, wouldn't it be wild if Tsu was the UA traitor all along". But then I got to talking it over with @rikusoma on Discord and...yeah guys, Tsu might actually be the traitor.

I would just like to say before we get started that all of this is conjecture and based on a lot of admittedly circumstantial evidence. There has not been a lot of heavy handed evidence one way or the other on who the traitor even is (and if we’re being 100% honest, my primary traitor suspect isn’t even a student), but there’s still some fun stuff we can look at that could at least be considered setup against Tsu if that trigger gets pulled.

First off, I want to talk about how weirdly...in focus Tsu has been, especially in the early arcs. So far Horikoshi has only written two bonus chapters for MHA: a 5 page omake included in the character guide that highlights Bakugo's feelings after the 1st semester final exams, and a chapter completely about Tsuyu, her family, and the only friend she had growing up in middle school. Unlike the other bonus chapter though, this one was actually included in Shonen Jump with one of the chapters, and it later reappears in Volume 10.

What’s weird about this is that we ONLY see her family in this little bonus chapter. We actually do get to see a lot of the other families of class 1-A, but we DON’T see Tsu’s family. Horikoshi could have given us Tsu’s backstory and family organically in the story (or in a one page omake, he’s done a few of those, mostly notably in the chapter right before DvK2), but no, she gets a whole short chapter all to herself.

Tsu also gets a whole anime episode to herself (the first filler episode as well) in the vs Stain arc in season 2. What’s weird is that the episode opens with checking in on the other students and seeing how their internships are going, so that momentum could have been continued if they needed to fill time, but instead the entire back half is all Tsu. This should have some payoff later on, or it will have just been wasted narrative space (although since its filler, it could be argued that its empty space being wasted anyway, so it’s not as big a deal).

Now let’s get into some specific things I noticed that we can chalk up to “there are no coincidences”. First, Tsu getting dumped into the water during the USJ attack. Deku attributes this up to the LoV not knowing their power sets, but honestly Tsu is the only one who comes out on top here, compared to the other kids. Deku himself is stuck on a boat, so there’s not a lot of room for him to get going and fight, Bakugo gets blown into the ruins so there’s not a lot of room for him to do things without accidentally blowing himself up, Ojiro is surrounded by fire so he’s also going to have maneuverability issues, Tokoyami’s in the dark so Dark Shadow can’t be used effectively, etc. The low level thugs probably did not know the students' quirks because of how they reacted to Mineta’s goo balls, but if the traitor is a student and told the LoV about the class, then Kurogiri would definitely know. This would be a good opportunity to convince the rest of the class that Tsu was on their side, especially if she was able to be in her element and work as a team player.

Tsu also spends this arc adamantly trying to convince her classmates to call her “Tsu” instead of Asui, a cutesy diminutive of her full first name (like Deku using “Kacchan” for Bakugo, a shortening of Katsuki-chan). It’s interesting that she’s trying to get the boys to call her this too. While it’s fairly common for high school girls to give each other cute names, asking male classmates to also do it is honestly a little bit weird. She also calls everyone “-chan” throughout the story, which is interesting considering she’s once again lumping in the boys and the girls. You could interpret this as her trying to force a connection with the class, trying to be cute to create an air of friendship and intimacy quickly, along with getting them to drop their guard.

Next, let’s look at the Bakugo kidnapping arc. Tsu is not the only person who thinks it's a bad idea to go, but she is the one that most vehemently opposes it, comparing the mission to acting like a villain because you’re working outside of the rules. This is an extremely harsh thing to say, especially to Deku, who just broke both of his arms saving Kota and STILL pushed himself to try and rescue Bakugo and Tokoyami from Mr Compress. Seems to me like she’s very desperate to keep Deku and the rest home, enough to go for the freaking jugular like that. I could also bring up Tsuyu keeping Bakugo away from Deku in chapter 303 (because I’m convinced that if Bakugo had been able to talk to Deku he wouldn’t have run away), but the whole class was on board for that so whatever.

And now let’s get to the big one: Tsu has had two different near misses with the LoV so far. Shigaraki almost grabbed her face during the USJ attack, but it took just long enough that Aizawa was able to save her. Later on, during the Camp Training arc, Toga has her pinned to a freaking tree, but she talks JUST ENOUGH for Ochako to get the drop on her. As a counterpoint, Toga does NOT hesitate at all while trying to go for Ochako’s blood, immediately sticking her and grabbing some before making her retreat. Both times Tsu was put in enough plausible danger to make it seem like she was being threatened, but she wasn’t actually harmed in a significant way.

There are a couple other things we could point to (like how she’s on the cover for chapter 320, along with how weird it is that the chapter just randomly ends on her face, when a more dramatic ending would have probably been when Todoroki encased Deku in the wall of ice), but I think we’ve covered most of everything. To summarize: Tsuyu gets a lot of narrative space given to her despite not really being a relevant character. She is often getting put into danger without actually getting hurt, and Horikoshi has put a lot of effort into making her seem like a gungho team player that will do anything for her friends. Having Tsu be the traitor would make a lot of seemingly unconnected things make a lot more sense, and I think it would be a really good gut punch to have that rug pulled out from under us by her.

Now of course, we have the shakiest part of this theory: what would be Tsu’s motive? Well what little we know about her family is that her parents are often working and therefore she’s responsible for taking care of her younger siblings. It’s possible that she somehow got into some kind of vigilante/mercenary work in the underground in order to support her family. That would go a long way in explaining why she’s always so level headed under pressure (a lot like Bakugo, who also has a lot of experience in fighting, since he used to both bully and get bullied). Alternatively, AFO or the LoV has her family somehow, and she’s being coerced into it. Either way, I definitely think her family would be her motive here.

So in short, Tsuyu is 100% the traitor and clearly this is undeniable. Thank you to Blossxm for making my brain start turning, and thank you Riku for being my springboard the past couple days while I rambled about this ridiculous idea. More meta/theories are incoming, so if you enjoyed my shit post, please stick around and ramble with me about how crazy the last few chapters have been!

[forevercloudnine]

arkhamverse riddlebat ship meme

(Continuing with the questions that @heroes-etc​ picked out for me, this set being from this ship meme.)

3. who is more afraid about the other leaving them?

Edward, hands down. Arkhamverse Riddler is maybe the neediest take on the character I’ve ever seen. Which is saying something, because the panel from “Questions Multiply the Mystery” where he writhes around on the floor begging for attention is permanently burned into my mind. He also clearly doesn’t take rejection well, as evidenced by the graffiti in his cell shown in a promotional image for Arkham Asylum (2009). J'ai aimé, j'ai souffert, maintenant... je hais. “I loved, I suffered, now I hate.”

It didn’t make it into the game proper (too subtexty, maybe, given a general lack of non-Batman people this could be referring to), but from my perspective it might as well have, since I experienced all the games second hand by sitting on the couch next to my brother while he swore at the Riddler challenges. Anyway, if perceived rejection has you writing French poetry on your cell wall in what looks concerningly like bodily fluids, then you probably won’t deal well with the concept of actually being dumped.  

5. who is more likely to drunkenly confess?

Also Edward, given that he’s calling Bruce every five minutes. And if he’s not calling Bruce directly, he’s talking ABOUT Bruce in a public broadcast to all of Gotham. Eddie is the king of freudian slips sober, so one can only imagine what he would say in vino veritas. If he does get drunk, let’s hope for his sake that he opts to communicate through his private line to Batman rather than over every screen in Gotham.

6. who is more likely to push the other away (for any reason)?

Bruce, also hands down. Arkham Knight really goes out of its way to hammer in that Batman’s callous treatment of Riddler has wreaked havoc on Edward’s psyche, even if arguably Eddie had it coming. Riddler’s mole in the GCPD talks about this:

JT Walker: It used to be funny, you know [...] And then one day, it just wasn't funny anymore. It was pathetic. He stopped taking care of himself, got that crazy look in his eyes. I swear man, he's broken. You broke him.

Bruce’s subconscious gets a dig in on this topic via Joker hallucination. 

“Joker”: Good for you, Bats! Eddie doesn’t need help. No, no, no. Beat ‘em up. Lock ‘em up. That’s the best medicine. 

Even my brother, who would attempt to stab Arkhamverse Edward in the face War-of-Jokes-and-Riddles style if the games let him, felt guilty on Bruce’s behalf when Eddie started ranting about his photographic memory. 

Riddler: I can summon your sneering features at will. That is, when they don't burst unbidden into my brain [...] I can remember every time you've hurt me. Sometimes I wake up, Dark Knight, to the feel of your hands around my neck, your carbon fiber created fists smashing my solar plexus. 

I think because of this trait, one of the only ways this ship would work in Arkhamverse is if they came to an agreement during Arkham Origins (since Edward is... more or less... a vigilante in that game, albeit one that Bruce considers distasteful), well before their relationship gets to where it is in Arkham Asylum. The other way is if Bruce actually took the lesson Arkham Knight hammered over his head and tried to fix the damage done after faking his death. (In my mind there exists a many chaptered fanfic where after Batman “disappears” he moves to the second Batcave the games put under Arkham Asylum and takes on Joker’s “Eric Border” persona from the comics to become an orderly there. Whether it’s scarebat or riddlebat varies depending on my mood, but what’s consistent no matter what is that I have five WIPs on ao3 and I can’t write it until I finish at least one of them).  

7. who picks fights more often?

Obviously Arkhamverse Edward is the most irritating person who has ever lived, so he kind of wins by default. But Bruce definitely holds his own in instigating unnecessary conflict with loved ones in this continuity. I’ll cut him some slack during Arkham Knight because one could argue that he spends most of the game half-possessed by an evil clown ghost, but it’s not like he’s much better in ANY of the other games. The bit in Arkham City where he lies to Talia’s face about being willing to spend the rest of his life with her so that she’ll give him access to the Lazarus Pit — even though if he was just honest and asked for it she probably would have helped him anyway, given that she DIES protecting him in the climax — is probably the best example of how he will infuriate people who love him for no logical reason. It’s a symptom of the post traumatic hyper vigilance, probably.

So if Edward did get the closeness to Bruce that his subconsciousness seems to be gunning for, he could look forward to the physical violence and public humiliation being replaced with the same well-intentioned gaslighting and emotional manipulation Bruce gives everyone but Alfred in these games. Actually, is Alfred the only one who’s even aware that he’s alive after Arkham Knight? Bruce, please tell your kids that you aren’t a pile of ash in the crater that used to be Wayne Manor.

9. who is more likely to withhold their feelings for the other?

The obvious answer is Bruce, because he keeps his emotions locked in a lead box buried like twenty feet beneath the floor of the Batcave (probably along with a bunch of kryptonite, since Superman is flying around the Arkhamverse somewhere). But honestly Bruce doesn’t seem to have a problem getting it on with supervillains in this continuity. He and Talia chat pretty casually about a recent romantic rendezvous in Metropolis when they meet in Arkham City. His emotional distance from Selina in Arkham Knight seems less like him withholding his feelings from her, and more like him not being over Talia’s death (or Joker’s, which... the narrative certainly focuses on more than Talia’s...). 

So I think Edward would actually be more likely to withhold his feelings for Bruce. Even if Bruce approached him first, he’s too obsessed with the possibility of Bruce humiliating him to take any positive interaction (especially a romantic overture) at face value. 

Riddler: You left me battered and demeaned in Arkham City. I am the Riddler, Batman. I don't suffer humiliation. I pay it back.

He’s not really wrong, either. Batman does humiliate him in Arkham City (by misleading Edward into thinking he’d let him die, no less); it’s the same embarrassment Edward inflicts on his own victims, so it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it per se, but it’s definitely not Bruce taking the higher ground.

Sticking him in his own trap is pretty vindictive, and Riddler’s weird commentary about not letting Batman have bathroom breaks during his revenge trials in Arkham Knight hints that Cash and the other guards might have made his (clearly unlawful!) punishment even more humiliating than we see on screen.

Riddler: Rule the seventh. Bathroom breaks will be administered on a discretionary basis. Should we find ourselves at a pivotal moment in your arduous journey to self-realization and defeat, I expect you to hold it in. Rule the eighth. Any accidents resulting from my strict enforcement of the seventh rule are to be considered your fault entirely. 

So would Edward withhold his feelings for Batman? Yeah, probably. And it would probably take a lot of time and effort for Bruce to convince Edward that any feelings on his part weren’t just an attempt to humiliate Riddler further.     

[anika-ann]

WINSoD - Pt.4

What You Need (Is What I’m About)

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2, part 3)  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, one more ;)  Word count: 3400

Summary: In which fate has a strange sense of humour, the Maximoffs appear and... well. 

Warnings: brief violence, mention of death, messing around in one’s brain, language, cutesy and fluff (yep, it’s all there)

Part 3

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

You watched the kettle quiver as the temperature of the water climbed towards the boiling point. You’d like to say your blood was reaching it too, but despite the warm hoodie (Steve’s, naturally), you were feeling coldness seeping into your very core.

You hated waiting for him. You had never been a fan of it, sitting on your ass and stressing until he returned from a mission, bruised and usually bloody, but this time it was something else. This time, you had more than just a vague idea of what he was fighting; you had witnessed it first-hand. An army of fucking robots.

The team had left 43 hours ago, but who the hell was counting, right? Certainly not you. And you had certainly not been feeling the urge to ask Jarvis (R.I.P., my beloved A.I.) like every half an hour for any updates. You weren’t that desperate. You weren’t that scared-

Yeah, not even you were having your bullshit anymore.

You were shivering in cold from losing sleep, terrified and over all out of your mind. Nothing helped to ease your worries. Definitely not the fact they hadn’t made any contact ever since they had left.

They consisted of the usual Avengers team; Nat, Clint, Tony, Bruce and Thor, plus Bucky. All of them under Steve’s attentive command.

Surprisingly, Matt Murdock – also known as a freaking vigilante (a blind lawyer!!) – did not join the quest. He had said that robots were way outside his territory. You would beg to differ, because he punched the robot like a champ, yet you didn’t quite blame him for refusing. Bottomline, you still thought he was pretty swell (not to mention easy on the eyes, but that was beside the point). He had saved your life though, so you might be a bit biased. A lot biased.

Sam Wilson might have fought once too, but he would sit this one out as well. It was not helping your anxiety.

The soft click of the kettle brought you back to reality and you grabbed the handle to pour water into your mug, only to see you failed to actually put a teabag in it.

To be fair, you would have sworn you had done it, but that was just another prove of you losing your mind. At this rate you were about to burn the kitchen down – not that you felt like cooking… or eating for that matter. Steve was out there, in his own sci-fi movie that had somehow become reality and-

You sighed and set the kettle down, reaching for the box with chamomile tea. Taking one bag, you felt a strange gust of wind and curled into the hoodie as a shiver ran down your spine. Was the air-conditioning misbehaving…? Perhaps it was an aftermath of what they called the Ultron mess-

You shook your head, scolding yourself for getting paranoid and went to finally finish the simplest task of making yourself tea.

Only for your blood turning to ice when you noticed the teabag was missing. You had just put it there half a minute ago, you were sure of it. Your heart started hammering in your chest as you spun on your heels, your eyes scanning the room.

The cupboard behind your head clacked and your head swiftly snapped back to it. Feeling your own pulse pounding in your temples, you forced your brain to come up with a rational explanation.

You were losing your mind, you were imagining things, you hadn’t slept in almost two days, your mind was playing tricks on you-

Another gust of wind and the kettle disappeared from your hands, a shriek escaping your lips. On instinct, you opened the drawer and pulled out a knife. You were probably useless with it, basically offering it the potential attacker as a weapon, because they would be able to disarm you and use it to their advantage, but you didn’t give a shit. You felt better being armed.

What the fuck was happening?!

A man suddenly appeared by your left hip, like a hurricane inside of the room, and your body acted on its own, driving the knife in his side.

Or you attempted to; the knife met something solid that could not have been a body and the blond – he was a blond man, younger, hell, looking younger than you, dressed in a jumpsuit – stared at you with his mouth hanging open.

It was only then when you registered a strange red matter--- no, something unsubstantial, like an energy, swirling and changing, hovering around the blade that had stopped an inch from the man’s torso.

“Taka se ubivate, kolibri,” a female voice sounded from the other side of the room, nearly sending you into a cardiac arrest.

Yet, you couldn’t tear you gaze away from the strange man, whose face was now twisted in annoyed grimace as the woman seemed to be scolding him.

What kind of a language was that anyway?

Really not relevant.

There were two strangers in the Tower, in the very same room as you, they could be talking about how to kill you the most painful way and you wouldn’t even know, and for fuck’s sake, why couldn’t you catch a break-

“Ne ti e zabavno, foĭerverk,” he hummed back, his lips spreading in a smile, baffling you to no end. “Zdraveĭ, krasavitse.”

Your hand still on the handle of the knife that was no longer under your control, of which you refused to let go though because you were not a complete idiot, you had no idea what to do.

The man sounded almost friendly, but then again, villains often did. Sleazy. You would know.

A tremble ran through your body and out of nowhere, you made a lightning-fast decision of kicking the man in the crotch.

Your knee only brushed his manhood when your leg was no longer yours. With horror filling every cell in your body, you realized it was caught in the freaky red spiderweb of energy and you couldn’t move it no matter how much you tried.

Tears filled your eyes and suddenly you were free, the man several feet from you. A gorgeous young woman, dressed even more strangely than him – crimson leather jacket, black and half-torn leather leggings with high boots with way too many straps, her outfit completed by sleeves peeking from under her jacket –, stood next to him, cuffing him in the back of his head.

“Idiot!” she hissed and in the back of your mind, the one tiny corner that was not occupied with the fact you might die in the next second, you thanked god for some words being international.

Then, the girl with long wild red hair smiled at you apologetically, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

“Hello. Sorry for startling you,” she spoke with thick accent which you identified as Eastern-European and shot her companion a murderous look. “My brother is an ass and doesn’t know the difference between being funny and scaring people.”

She didn’t sound menacing at all; in fact, you saw every responsible older sibling annoyed at their younger family member in her. You blinked away the sting in your eyes and attempted to focus despite the ringing in your ears.

“Huh?” slipped from your lips intelligently, utter confusion gradually replacing your despair.

The blond rolled his eyes, which only earned him another clip round his ear.

“See what you’ve done? This is all your fault!”

“I was just messing around!”

“Do you have any idea what she’s been through? You scared her to death!” the woman hissed, effectively sending you back to the spiral of dismay, your slowly calming heartbeat skyrocketing again.

What did she know about what you had been through?!

With your knees wobbly and not to be trusted to keep you upright on their own anymore, you gripped the counter behind you with such force your muscles cramped.

“Who- who are you?” you breathed out shakily, catching the attention of the supposed sibling duo once more.

The woman smiled warmly, patronizingly almost.

“My name is Wanda and this is my brother, Pietro. We are of Sokovia. Your Captain and the other Avengers found us, showing us that we were fighting on the wrong side of things. Would you like to see?”

Her words echoed in your suddenly dull skull, the meaning escaping you.

And because her last sentence was what made sense the most and yet the least, you nodded.

Later, you would realize just how stupid and trusting you had been when agreeing, mostly because Steve gave you his look of disappointment and horror, but at the moment, it seemed right.

Somehow, on a level you couldn’t quite comprehend, you already understood they weren’t a threat to you.

“See how?”

Wanda smiled.

*Like this,* a ghost of her voice sounded somewhere deep in your mind, making you dizzy. What the hell-? *Please, don’t judge me. I thought I was doing the right thing.*

Before you could question such statement or the fact her lips were not moving while you heard her voice crystal clear, you were thrown into a vortex.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Ultron had been sure they were coming; he left a bait for them, an easy track to follow. The track they could follow towards their end.

Wanda wasn’t one to enjoy killing or hurting people in general, no. She hadn’t even considered herself a strong person once, but that had all changed with their parent’s deaths. She had had to rely on herself – on herself and on her brother. Where an opportunity had risen, to step up their game and possibly to get revenge on the name still haunting them in their worst nightmares, they hadn’t even hesitated.

Wanda had once been a weakling. It had been the tempering in fire, in a burning pain of experimentation with the sceptre that had made her the woman who she was now.

And she had a mission; she and Pietro had a mission, their chance at revenge finally gaining a shape.

She had already played with Stark’s mind, with the scum only interested in money and destruction; now she could do the same to all of them.

Bursting in with a crash, they clearly hadn’t expected such livid counterattack. A response so… nightmare-like.

Just a flick of wrist and a little concentration on Wanda’s part and they were dropping like dead, trapped in their own minds.

Black Widow, locked in a scary base, ballet dancers, martial art training and merciless killing, her fresh fears creating a horror picture of aiming her gun at her current lover’s head, at her soulmate.

“I should have known you’d never change. You’re nothing but human reduced to a murder machine…”

Thor, oh so mighty God, travelling back to his home planet to a feast, legends messing with his headspace, confusion and helplessness, thunder and lightning all around and out of his control.

“You’ll kill us all! See, son of Odin, close your eyes and see!”

The righteous captain, trapped in his own mind, folded like a house of cards under his soulmate’s dead eyes, anger and accusation blossoming into hate and finally indifference.

“You cared about your 40’s sweetheart more, anyway, didn’t you? If it was her in my place, you would have chosen her before the thousands. You wouldn’t let her blow up… but if I’m nothing to you, then you are nothing to me…”

Satisfied with her work, with only a nudge to their consciousness and their own brains doing the work for her, Wanda smirked as she noticed the busy archer. Now what tricks his could mind come up with? What hardship would he get caught in?

As she slowly sneaked behind his back, a voice snarled behind her, causing her heart to stop from more than a simple fright.

“Kak mozhe neshto tolkova malko da prichini tolkova nepriyatnosti?”

Her first reaction to her blood crystallizing in her veins with horror and rage towards the whole fucking universe, was a snarky reply.

How dared he to call her small? Implying she was weak? Underestimating her and saying that she couldn’t cause any real trouble? Oh, she would show him… that arrogant bastard! She would show him trouble-

“Laĭna…ti mi narichash nepriyatnosti?” she hissed back, carelessly losing the sight of the archer, not interested in him in the slightest all of sudden. “Vie ste strana s greshni khora!”

This stranger, this—this man-machine radiating pain as her powers barely brushed the surface of his mind on instinct… he was the real trouble as she didn’t hesitate to tell him. He was on the wrong side of things! Fraternizing with a mass murderer, with her parent’s killer-

“Pone te sa kho—” he wanted to argue, but they his mind stopped before it started screaming, punching her telepathic powers she seemed suddenly unable to turn off.

Memories, a dozen of his own memories, the way he looked at his soulmark in a mirror, the pain, the sorrow, the torture… his encounter with the Avengers, living with them; with the band of heroes she just put down, one by one, teasing and laughter, compassion and acceptance, even from the man who was supposed to be nothing but a cocky heartless bastard-

“What the hell did you just say?” Bucky rasped, astonished and horrified.

He realized it too then. Everyone always did, didn’t they? Because every person with a soulmark awaited a moment like this; the moment someone would finally say the words matching the ones on their skin, met their expectations or not…

But Bucky Burnes was the farthest from Wanda’s dream when it came to a life-long partner.

Strength is tempered in fire, she remembered reading once. She had once found a special irony in the fact that the treatment by the sceptre felt exactly like that. Wanda’s soul turned to steel with the games the fate had played with her.

So why did her hands fell from their defensive position to her side, limp and drained of all strength and determination they had known, tears stinging her eyes.

Her life was shit and she thought she had made her peace with that. But judging by the deep ache in her chest, she had been holding out for her soulmate more than she had thought. Because why else would it hurt so bad when she found out he was an enemy?

“And I thought Romeo and Juliet was just a lot of crap,” she chuckled bitterly, switching to English when he did.

His thoughts scream at her, disbelief, caution, pain, confusion, regret and hope— ambivalence. He had no idea what to do and he hated her for what she had done to his friends, but the knowledge of her being his, supposedly, it torn him in half, reaching out with willingness to forgive her if she fixed it, because if anyone understood fighting at the wrong side it was him--

Unable to resist, she dug deeper into his mind, baring his very soul, fascinated.

Pietro was still fighting with the archer and Stark, dodging the lame attempts at attack of the Avengers lost in their minds, but for two people, the time stopped.

They stood against each other, staring and motionless, and Wanda was confident she saw more than him. His mind was a tangled mess of emotions and desperate desire to get a hold of them and think rationally, bundle of memories and hopes colliding with reality and rock-solid facts and Wanda felt a pang at her heart, a crushing sensation in her chest when she finally embraced everything his headspace had to offer, getting lost in it.

Lost in him.

James Buchannan Barnes had a beautiful soul. Torn and glued together with little kind gestures from his friends, sweet memories of his sister and everlasting friendship with Steve, his no-longer-little-but-equally-stubborn Steve, Steve’s soulmate, his teammates that accepted Bucky with surprising ease and less judgement anyone would deserve… and the careful way he was giving away the pieces of the very same heart that was barely together, in gentle smiles and good-natured teasing, silent self-declaration of giving his whole life for every single one member of his new-found family.

And Wanda understood. In a fraction of second she looked under the illusions she had helped to build in the Avengers’ minds and saw the truth.

*Pietro, spri!* she cried out straight into his mind, begging him to stop fighting. With another flick of her wrist, her enemies were free of her handiwork, shell-shocked from the experience, too lost to find their footing. “Brat, spri! Pietro… greshim. They are right.”

The battle froze as if the time did and for a second, Wanda felt like she was in her brother’s skin, moving so fast that the world around her stopped turning. The stunned silence was only broken by a soft gush of wind when Pietro appeared by her side.

The Avengers seemed so baffled at her admission they didn’t try to attack them.

She exchanged a look with her twin, hoping her face spoke volumes as tears gathered in her eyes. She was far from convinced that Anthony Stark was a good man; but she knew he was better than the creature they had sworn to assist. And her mother always used to say that a man should be judged by the company he kept. From what she had seen in Bucky Barnes’ head, Stark had one bunch of fine people around; and their imperfections seemed to be balanced by the good they all wished to do.

Pietro understood. Of course he would. More than he could read her expression, he must have felt the change in Wanda’s aura, the transformation touching their bond as well.

He graced her with a reluctant nod of agreement. Via their mental connection, he whispered he trusted her. Her lips curled up in a tender smile.

“Are we just gonna stand here? Are we fighting together or against each other or what?!”

No, Tony Stark was by no means a man she would call good. In fact, she already found out he was an ass. But now, he had become her ally.

From all the eyes on their duo, she chose to meet her soulmate’s.

“Together, Anthony. Because there’s bigger malice in this world than you are.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Wanda nearly cut you off right then. The rest of what she showed was a blur of images, fear, pain and determination, destruction and cooperation, all of that leading to this very moment. It all resembled waking up from a very intense confusing dream, being pulled away into consciousness by the first sunrays of the dawn.

You blinked heavily as the world swayed off its place, the counter seemingly in a peculiar angle from your point of view.

Why was the lamp not up, but on the side? Why was it spinning?

“Oops. Sorry. Never made the connection for such a long period of time-“ a voice reached you, breaking through the hush of blood and your own heartbeat in your ears.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to get a fucking grip on both your body and thoughts.

Bucky had a soulmate?

No, not relevant, the images were too unclear for you to be sure everyone made it out alright, you needed to see Steve first, you had to-

By the time Steve’s figure appeared in your field of vision, you were certain you were steady on your feet and finally managed to control your mouth.

“Steve!” you cried out excitedly as you sprang his direction, relief mixing with delight, because he was alive, he was not bleeding visibly, he-

-was suddenly graced with an identical twin, two loving tired smiles blending into one and splitting into two the next moment, swimming in your vision and you felt something solid grabbing your body and positioning it right into his strong arms.

You gazed at him in haze, melting into his warm and firm embrace, spotting a swirl of red energy flow around you.

Oh. Wanda’s work, no doubt. Sweet.

“Are you okay, doll? Are you sick? What happened?”

Wanda’s guilt was nearly solid in your reach, but you only let your head lull onto Steve’s shoulder, plunging into the fluff of love that his presence provided.

“Nah. I’m fine… just drunk on you…” you mumbled.

The girl’s bubbly relieved laughter rang in the room, bringing a satisfied smile on your face.

Steve’s kiss landed on your forehead, corners of his own lips upright despite the concern in his voice.

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s just get you to bed…”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 5

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Thank you for reading!

I chose Bulgarian, just to avoid traditional Russian this once. Bucky is a Winter Soldier after all and he should know how to speak 30 languages or so :D just thought this would work. Google translator used; apologize for any mistakes.

I hope you had an okay start to 2021 :-*

[miss-choco-chips]

Home

Four times Tim just wanted to go home, and one time he’s actually there.

(  @animemangasoul I think you’ll like this one)

(I was listening to Home by Machine Gun Kelly X Ambassadors & Bebe Rexha while I wrote this. Might have cried a little. I regret nothing)

----.----

His mom is holding his hand, a rare occurrence. Were he in a more… stable state, he’d squeeze the moment for all it’s worth.

But the coldness of fear had his heart in a ice-like grip, and the scenery around them did little to appease him. Nothing, not even the warmth of being held, could keep him from shaking.

-I want to go home -he whispers in his mother’s ear when she picks him up in her arms. Safe against her body, he thinks he can feel his heart melting a bit around the edges where panic had frozen him over.

Mom tightened her hold, eyes leaving the crying kid and his dead parents for the first time in a long time. He feels how one of her hands drops its place under his leg to pat his back, more comforting than he ever thought she capable of.

-Yes, we are leaving now. Jack? Bring the car over, we’ll wait here.

She doesn’t lower him until they are back at the manor. Then, his parents retire to their rooms, both to rest and prepare for their trip to the Bahamas the following morning. 

Tim shivers all night long, yearning for the warmth he was too distracted to appreciate a few hours ago, back at the circus.

This wasn't what he meant, when he asked to go home. He just wanted to feel safe.

----.----

This… wasn’t what he expected. To being caught, that is. Specially by his hero.

Jason (Robin, call him Robin, don’t you dare slip up, he can’t know you know!) is looking down at him, hands on his hips. He’s doing his best to look stern, but the short shorts, pixie boots and unconscious thug at his back ruin the effect of his glare.

Tim, camera held tightly as it’s been for the last couple of minute since the man came out of the shadows to try and steal it from him, distractedly thinks Batman should get on that, teach Robin his famous loom. He’s feeling starstruck, more than fearful.

-It’s too late for a squirt like you to be out. Streets are dangerous, no’ne told you? Specially ‘is parts o’the city -the young vigilante drawled, accent thicker than Tim recalled from back at the gala when their parents introduced them in passing. Not that Jason would remember.

-I… I’m not a squirt, I’m ten -he finally blurts out, wishing he could smack himself the second the words leave his mouth.

-Children should be on bed at this time.

He does his best to calm his erratic heart, and canalizes all the sass on his pint sized body to arch an eyebrow- Hypocrite much?

Robin growls, but Tim can tell he’s doing his best to hide a smile.

-I can leave you here, you know.

He knows Jason is bluffing, looking for a reaction, but the mere idea still makes his barely calming heart kick into overdrive again. The scare of a few minutes ago was too fresh on his mind. He already knows he won’t be going out again soon, not until he could plan a new route to photograph his idols while traveling only by rooftop, to best avoid the scum of the city.

-No, wait… please -he moves forward, hand taking a handful of cape, as if that could stop the vigilante if he actually was planning to leave.

Jason took the chance to wrap him on it like a little blanket, picking him up in his arms like a baby.

-Don’t worry, shortstack. I’m taking you home so I can be sure y’er actually following your bedtime.

Feeling a little braver in his hero’s arms, he fired back- Don’t have any.

-Whatever, you lil liar.

-It’s true. You can ask my parents… that’s it, if you’re willing to go into my house for a chat. Masks are in bad taste though, you’ll have to take yours off.

Truthfully, both his parents are away on business. Not that he needed to know about the bluff.

This time, he didn’t bother to hide his amusement, letting his barking laughter come out.

-You little shit. I’m not giving you my secret that easy.

Tim just shrugs, painting his most innocent smile. It’s difficult to keep it in place when Jason asks for directions, and then drops him at his bedroom’s window.

The giddiness of meeting his hero can’t quench his disappointment when he watches Jason’s back as he leaves. 

A little, childish part of himself had believed, hoped (with all the innocence his heart had left), that when Jason said ‘take you home’, he was talking about his own. 

----.----

He’s training as hard as possible. His body, shaped by the multiple teachers he hired through the years, hurts in a way he never thought possible, and has been like that ever since he first went to the training mats to face Bruce.

He knows the pain is necessary, what he learns there could be the difference between life or death (his eyes never fail to go to Jason’s suit, his altar, where he, as his whorshipper, would always go ask for strength and courage), but it's hard to remember his purpose for being there when he goes to bed each night with aching limbs.

Still, he endures.

This last week has been both harder than any other, and the best he’s ever had. The first, because a full on out gang war had forced him, Dick and Bruce to work overtime, going out every night for twice their usual hours (thank god for spring break). The second, because to save time and strength, he’d been allowed to stay the night at the manor with them.

He can’t believe how nice it is to have breakfast with someone. Sure, they have it at like three pm, but still. The pained body was so, so worth this.

When they caught their last perps, all tied up and pretty for the GCPD, Tim was simultaneously absolutely beat and the happiest he’s been.

Batman puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, saying ‘let’s go home, Robin’, and he thinks for a moment he’s dreaming again.

He actually sleeps a bit, on the Batmobile trip. Beyond tired, feels his body being raised and then lowered again in a soft surface, something warm over his chest, and then lights out again.

When he wakes up the next morning, he’s at Drake Manor. The breakfast table is empty, the hallways colder than he remembered, and he wishes last night had actually been a dream. It would hurt less, if it had been all in his imagination; instead, he has to live with the knowledge of being so close, yet so far.

Not for the first time, he wishes ‘home’ were a different place.

----.----

He sighs, dropping his suitcase uncaringly. Anything important is on his phone anyway, who gives a fuck. Certainly not an overworked seventeen year old kid who’s just getting back after a long day. 

The place was clean, spacious and with a modern decoration style he kinda likes. The mechanic fishes certainly give it a nice touch, and the underground nerd cave he built for himself is the cherry on top- bottom, whatever.

It’s a nice house. A place he made for himself, to come back to. With scanners that automatically alert him if some sneaky ninja plants a bug, or a snoopy family member was sniffing around for his toys. He knows everything that happens here, in this little kingdom he built from scratch.

Of course, there are some itty bitty problems with it. Not the layout itself, that one was a dream came true, and no security issue either: all of Ra’s thwarted attempts at having his people breaking in confirmed how tight it was.

But, for some reason, the thermostat didn’t seem to work. It was always way too cold. 

The soundproof walls were good at keeping his secrets under wraps, but they also made it seem so unnaturally quiet, it gave him the creeps.

No table in sight. Not that he needed one, he shrugs. Lunch he eats outside, at the office. Dinner is a quick thing, a sandwich while he gets ready for patrol or some other snack while he types away at his computer. Breakfast… he doesn’t know why, but he never feels right when eating it, so he skips it more often than not.

Sighing again, he falls face first into his absurdly pricey couch. Blindly patting the coffee table until he finds the blanket he always keeps there, he thinks about taking a lil nap. He didn’t sleep last night (or the one before that), so it feels like he’s earned this break.

Decision made, Tim takes his phone out of the secret pocket in his coat and selects the app that makes background noise. He always sleeps better with it.

Yeah. This is a nice, comfortable place.

Too bad it’s not home.

-I just want to go home -he whispers to himself before letting unconsciousness claim him. 

If asked, he’d said the break in his voice was a yawn and not a sob.

----.----

When he wakes up, it’s to noise all around him. That alone puts him on guard so fast he would have pulled a muscle, if he were anyone else. As a Bat-trained vigilante though, he just tensed before opening his eyes to analyze his surroundings.

This… wasn’t his place, where he distinctly remembers falling asleep, face down on his couch. 

This was Titans Tower. Was he losing track of time? Had he been on a fight and got hit on the head? 

-Hey, you’re awake -Kon’s head poked out of the kitchen area, smiling as he floated all the way to where Tim was lying, on the living room’s couch.

The sight of his friend was enough to loosen his muscles. Still unsure but immediately comfortable he sat up straight and looked around. He could hear Bart and Cassie bickering on the background, probably the kitchen, Greta’s laughter coming to him from the same place, and those were Anita’s shoes and Cissie’s backpack near the elevator.

The first two and Kon, he could get. They were all Titans. But the three girls? They were retired, so what…

-Hey, boy wonder, let your brain take a break. I can hear you thinking from here and it’s giving me a headache -the super joked, landing by Tim’s side and poking his forehead lightly.

-That’s because you never think, you aren’t used to it -he fires back automatically. Then, a slow blink-  What are the girls doing here? What am I doing here? Last thing I remember I was… at the Perch. Sleeping.

-Yeah, and what a deep sleep that was. Been pulling all nighters, haven’t you? -his best friend shook his head, beyond giving Tim a disappointed look. They knew each other way too much to be surprised by their respective bad habits- you didn’t even flinch when I wrapped you up in TTK and flew you here. And about the girls, I told Cassie and Bart I was gonna pick you up, and they decided to make a thing out of this and went to bring them here, just to hang out. Like back in the days, you know?

The mention of their Young Justice times never failed to give Tim a heartache, but this time it just made him feel warm. 

He tried to look stern, but the smile he could feel growing on his lips against his will probably ruined it.

-But why did you? Bring me here, I mean.

Kon tilted his head, visibly confused.

-What do you mean? I heard you. You said you wanted to go home.

Something deep and frozen inside him abruptly melted, like it was hit by a flamethrower. The intensity brought tears to his eyes, body shaking uncontrollably as he bent over himself, hands clutching the opposite arm tightly, as if trying to hold himself in one piece.

Kon’s arms were around him in an instant, worried shouts piercing his ears as he plastered the smaller vigilante to his chest, unthinkingly helping him keep his broken pieces together. The warmth from his best friend’s body served as a welder, and Tim could finally breathe without the fear of breaking apart.

-Tim? Fuck, what’s wrong? Are you okay?! Here, dude, I got you.

-Kon? What is i- fuck, what did you do? Hey, Tim!

-Rob? Oh my god he’s crying, why is he crying!

The voices came closer, surrounding him from all directions as multiple hands touched him in an attempt to comfort.

It was too much, too warm, too bright.

He hoped it’d never end.

-I just…

Everyone stopped talking. His voice was broken by sobs, but he sounded happier than they had ever heard him.

-I’m just happy I’m finally home.

[princeanxious]

Cracked Ribs and Old Promises -

TSS Analogical superhero/villain au fic

Warnings: mentions of trouble eating, anxiety, dark/misguided Roman, severe injury, let me know if i should add more!

Thank you to @the-modern-typewriter for the scenario prompt that inspired me to write this!!

“The Knight had been going after anyone he could deem evil, and it had gotten to the point that The Knight had to be leashed in, forced into a league of heros to keep him from going wild. It slowed him down in the end, yes, however, not for good.

Why did Virgil know this, you might ask?”

A new Superhero in town was quickly becoming known for his super strength, and ability to pull objects temporarily from thin air, his chosen name? The Knight. Dressed in galiant and knightly garb and known to speak like a true fairytale prince.

He was also known for constantly disrupting the balance code between villains and heroes.

Some villains were labeled dangerous, others not so much, some were simply suspicious, others weren’t quite villains by definition. Some of those that had powers chose to avoid the hero scene, with the sad disadvantage of being mistaken as having suspicious intents with secrecy. The Knight had been going after anyone he could deem evil, and it had gotten to the point that The Knight had to be leashed in, forced into a league of heros to keep him from going wild. It slowed him down in the end, yes, however, not for good.

Why did Virgil know this, you might ask?

He knew this because The Knight had recently zeroed in on him, a bystander to most, but a non-threatening villain to those few heroes who knew of him. Perhaps, though, he was more of a vigilante, bordering hero terms but always mistaken for a villain. What could he say? Black and purple looked good on him!

Perhaps it was because The Knight had zeroed in on his powers, apparently no one was good if they had control over shadows and darkness, right? The Knight’s morals always seemed too black and white, nevertheless, The Knight seemed to trail him wherever he went. It was a surprise that The Knight didn’t assault him at work or at home.

Seriously, as if Virgil didn't have enough of an anxiety disorder as it was!

Still, there were upsides to it all. The Knight was in a league with a couple of nicer superheroes, ones that spared him or directed The Knights agressions away from him. In fact, one of Virgil’s favorite superheros from that bunch was his own ‘nemesis,’ L.O.G.(Logical Omni Genius, though only Virgil knew that). Truly, there was very little rivalry between them, in fact it bordered on companionship.

Their first fight had been one of wits, moves, and careful actions. Riddles and brain teasers, ‘answer me this and I won’t shut down the factory’s powergrid’ questions and more. There was little aggression, nor any hostility. L.O.G. knew of Virgil’s environmentally friendly motives, or at least learned about them quickly. In all reality, L.O.G. took place in making sure Virgil's plans were both foolproof and harmless to the people it would affect. Virgil even had a little sense of pride in that L.O.G had verbally deemed him a worthy ‘nemesis.’ Still, Virgil was a villain, if only because he could no longer bother the breath to defend himself from having the label.

Today, though. Today was different.

Virgil had nothing but his shadows, he was built for stealth, for mind games, for eliciting existential fear. Virgil was not built to fight, no, he actually bruised very easily, he couldn’t even throw a proper punch despite L.O.G.’s best attempts to teach him self defense. Virgil really wasn’t built to be the villain people made him out to be.

The Knight, for whatever reason, was more fired up than ever to get at him this time. Virgil had been cornered on his route to visit the site of his next strike, weaponless and with nothing but his mask to hide his identity. Well, it wasn’t like Virgil needed weapons, of course, but a holstered dagger sounded great right about now, anything to defend himself from The Knight’s wrath!

From the get go, The knight had already managed a solid surprise punch to the back of his shoulder, he would be surprised if his shoulder wasn’t dislocated already from that one hit alone. Thankfully though, Virgil(or, in his current situation, ���Nightmare’) didn’t need his shoulder to control the surrounding evening shadows.

The Knight didn’t take kindly to that, growling out rude comments about Virgil’s very existence. Virgil tried to remain in his calm, sarcastic demeanor, firing back witty remarks and snide comments to keep Roman distracted while he formulated an escape plan. Virgil hadn’t eaten well in the past few days due to the stress, so his energy was almost too low to use his shadows to teleport himself, so that was saved as a thread to grasp as a last resort.

Still, though, The Knight had cornered him good, thankfully but also sadly away from civilian life, away from superhero patrol routes, away from anything that could have saved Virgil if he had just begun screaming for help. There was no way out.

The Knight was quickly losing patience with Nightmare, tired of the wordplay and tired of the mind games. All too soon The Knight had Nightmare in his grasp, ignoring how frail and light the villain was as he tossed the man around, expecting the real fight to start. But it didn’t, no shadows came to attack him, but instead worked to cushion each blow, or fall that was administered to the shadowy villain.

He was getting angry, why wasn’t this awful villain fighting back!

The Knight finally tossed Nightmare against a close by brick wall, trying to ignore the sickening thud of the man collapsing to the ground. Thankfully, the man was still breathing, and even struggling to sit up. Still alive, that was good.

“Some chivalrous Knight you turned out to be..” Virgil muttered, though not really expecting the other to hear him.

“You are one to talk, you vile Villain.” The ‘hero’ spat back.

“God, oh chivalrous one, if you hate my guts so much why haven’t you killed me yet? Poor taste, I’m tellin ya, leaving an injured animal in its misery.” Virgil joked sarcastically, growing tired of the other drawing out these exchanges. There was no doubt that a few of his ribs were cracked, and his right shoulder was definitely dislocated now, a possible fracture or brake on the same arms wrist. He didn’t even want to consider the hell that was going to be hiding the bruises at work, if he could even make it that far. He just wanted to get home already.

However, Virgil’s choice of words rung out in the air, and for the first time the prince was silent, staring at him with a mix of unreadable emotions. The next few words out of The Knight’s mouth as his eyes narrowed at Virgil made his blood run cold.

“You know what? Maybe I will.” Next thing Virgil knows, there's a sharp sword in the other’s grip, and hes stalking solemnly up to the injured villain.

Panic seizes Virgil, flooding his senses and throwing his frazzled mind into overdrive. Shadows zip around him, coalescing around him as his physical body quickly fades to teleport, but not before seeing The Knight running at him with the sword drawn. The danger recedes as his body dissipates.

“Where now?” The shadows ask him.

He responds, weakly, “Safety.”

He expects to be deposited in front of his home, where he can curl up and sleep the pain off, and perhaps take a trip to the doctor to investigate his wounds. Expects a night of weak painkillers and an uncomfortable couch, an aching chest and another lonely, hungry 24 hours.

What he doesn’t expect, is to be softly placed in front of L.O.G.’s private lair’s door. Despite the confusion and disorientation, Virgil knows his time is limited before he blacks out and is really put in danger, so he stumbles up and presses the right button to be let in. L.O.G’s hyper intelligent A.I(aptly named Data) system’s voice answers the call.

“Hello, Nightmare. Welcome back.” Virgil sags against the side of the wall, wheezing a bit as his exhaustion finally hits.

“Hey, Data. I-is L.O.G home?”

“Negative.”

Virgil curses, “Do I have permission to enter?”

“What is your reason for this emergency?” L.O.G’s only rule for Virgil entering the lair without himself present was that it had to be an emergency, and Data was simply confirming to inform L.O.G of said emergency upon his return.

“Critical injury, as well as imminent threat of blacking out in about 7 minutes, 10 tops.” Virgil wheezed, and was grateful that Data asked no more questions to let him enter. He stumbled inside, thankful to be in a safe environment to black out in.

“Nightmare, do you require any assistance? You are disoriented, I could assist you.” Her voice was calm, obviously concerned that Virgil was going to drop dead. In all reality, Virgil’s energy had just been overused. The recliner looked tempting, but his ribs ached at the thought, he needed to lay flat.

“Is there a bed anywhere?” He asked, hoping that he wouldn’t have to sprawl out on the floor.

“Yes, let me bring it out of the wall for you.” Data’s voice was calming to his rapid beating heart. He watched with a bit of amusement as a panel slid down from a wall to reveal an extra room, set with a bare bed and a dresser, some posters and even a pile of folded clean clothes yet to be put away. “You can rest here until L.O.G. returns from his current patrol. Feel free to ‘yoink’ one of L.O.G’s hoodies if you feel so inclined, so that you do not get cold. I can assume you do not have the energy nor the time to make the bed before blacking out.” Virgil snickered softly, knowing data’s verbal slang was his own doing. Still, Data was right, he was most certainly running out of time.

Slowly trudging up the few small stairs to the opened room, he expressed his gratitude to Data before he lost the energy to talk. He made quick work of a deep blue hoodie, not even bothering to take his roughed up suit-top off when considering how much effort and pain it took to even pick up the hoodie and put it on.

He was lucid enough to toe his boots off, but at that point, the edges of his vision were darkening, and he knew he needed to lay down quickly. Carefully, he laid down flat on his back, distantly thankful for L.O.G’s choice in memory foam, adjusting the hood over his eyes and attempting to get comfortable. It took another minute before Virgil’s vision gave in, and he was out like a light for the next three hours to recharge his energy from overusing his ability.

….

….

Logan was glad that this patrol had been one of information gathering rather than of action. It was something he could do well and keep himself occupied while the others were off doing who knew what. Most currently, no one seemed to be up to much, not even his nemesis, whom he hadn’t heard from in just under a week.

Now that the patrol was over, everyone was returning to their secondary abodes/lairs to recharge for the night, considering how late it was. In fact, Logan was anticipating coming home to a quiet, normal morning, perhaps even with the chance to read more of his current book. What he had not expected, was for Data to greet him as L.O.G. at the door, instead of Logan.

That meant only one thing.

“I must inform you that Nightmare is currently resting within your bedroom, and to be careful not to spook him.” Logan barely registered why, striding up into the lair to find his nemesis resting in his bed. No contact for a full week, not even a hello, and Nightmare is resting in his bed.

He got so far as to reach out and rest his hand on the vigilante’s shoulder, expecting him to awaken with a start. To his surprise, the man whimpered but otherwise did not wake.

Strange.

“Data. What was Nightmare’s reason for entry?” Now that Logan was getting a good look at the other, he noticed a bruise peeking out on Virgil’s neck, and another poking out from Virgil’s hand. He knew the other bruised easily, but these were dark and fresh and angry, a worrying combination.

“To recite the recording exactly,” Data began, before switching over to the recording of Nightmare’s labored and pained voice, “Critical injury, as well as imminent threat of blacking out in about 7 minutes, 10 tops.”

“When did he get here?” Logan took notice of Virgil’s breathing, each breath still labored as if it hurt to expand his chest. Normally Nightmare was the type to curl up no matter the position or place of rest. Seeing the other laying flat out and stock still was highly concerning. “About two hours and 34 minutes ago. I am sensing concern, L.O.G., if it helps, a body scan of Nightmare’s current health indicates that it is stabilizing and not depleting.” Logan nodded.

Nightmare was experiencing an energy blackout, which meant that he would be out for the next 30 minutes to an hour, likely the latter due to his injuries. For now though, Logan draped a blanket over his injured companion and set to work on preparing a late meal and some coffee. Sleep would not be an option tonight.

He’d settled on a frozen pizza, it being too late to make a full meal. He set aside a tall glass of water and strong painkillers before he forgot, then had Data upload and present his league’s daily task logins for the week as well as send out a request to his league’s best healer, Patton, for possible assistance, looking for something to do to pass the time. He was much too stressed to read for leisure now.

He felt his eye twitch as Roman’s log sheet remained a mess, knowing he’d have to sit down and force Roman to fill it out correctly before lecturing him on why he was in the league in the first place. Strangely, Roman’s current log for the day remained blank, which was for one, against the rules. And secondly, entirely unlike Roman. He’d ask Roman about it later, and hope that Roman did not go completely awall.

Logan manages to busy himself until Nightmare wakes up, eventually hearing Data answer to Nightmare’s soft question. There's a bit of shuffling, it taking much longer for Virgil to arrive into Logan’s kitchen than he would have liked to see.

“Goodmorning, V. Coffee?” Came Logan’s strained voice, the question was rhetorical, obviously. Virgil was hugging his right arm with his left, which was odd because it was always the opposite. Virgil said nothing in return, a guilty look passing over his pale face.

Indeed. Something was definitely wrong.

“Sit down.” Logan ordered, “You are not going anywhere until I’ve taken care of your wounds.”

Virgil complied without complaint, sitting slowly in a chair instead of on his usual counter perch. He waited, watching Logan pull out the pizza and set it out to cool after cutting it into slices. And yet, still, Logan’s silent questions did not get directed at him.

“You're not interrogating me? Or angry?”

“Oh no, I’m furious. But, shockingly, not at you.” Logan looked up, a fiercely passionate glint to his eyes as he stared at Virgil’s obviously injured wrist, unconsciously being cradled in his other arm.

“If I ask you what happened, you will run, won’t you?” Virgil could not confirm nor deny this, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. The Knight was part of L.O.G.’s league, an obvious conflict of companionships and oaths. He looked up at Logan, and said nothing.

The unnerving silence from his usually snarky nemesis spoke plenty, Logan could tell his nonthreatening companion had been completely and utterly broken.

Justice behind bars for such a heinous act would not suffice for the rage Logan felt. And L.O.G. had a sneaking suspicion he knew just where he needed to begin.

“Data. Call Roman.”

[everbluesky]

Inside My Mind Chapter 2-

Blood and Crimson

Pairings: None

AN: Special thanks to @schweeeppess for beta-reading! She’s absolutely amazing!

Tagging: @chidori-chan

!Slight Violence/Gore Warning!

He watched the eight men circled around him draw closer and closer, guns raised, and their leader spoke up.

“We made a deal. You give us the cash, and we give you the goods. We’ve done our part”—he cocked his pistol—��now where’s tha money?”

He tightened his grip on the case of “goods”.

Just go through the motions, this shouldn’t take long, he reminded himself.

“Mr. Roscoe will deliver your money soon,” he said, addressing the Italian gang’s boss. “I’m just here to pick up his goods, Mr. Alfonsi.”

“Oh-ho-ho, I see,” Mr. Alfonsi laughed. “You’re trying ta play us!” Turning to his group, the gang leader said, “Ya hear that boys? This midget is trying ta trick the great Alfonsi gang out of our cash!”

The other men laughed along with their boss but soon the mocking laughter died off and the serious atmosphere grew thicker.

Another member spoke up.

“What should we do wit him, boss?” He called.

Mr. Alfonsi smiled cruelly.

“Well, we’re just gonna have ta get a payment of our own,” he said, raising his gun and aiming it at ‘the midget’s head.

‘The midget’ relaxed as he heard the gun fire.

Focus, he remembered. Any emotion can get you killed.

The bullet stopped centimeters from his forehead, and the Alfonsi gang gasped.

“Oi, what kinda trick are you playing?” Someone yelled, stepping back in fear.

The Italian gang leader swore.

“He’s one of those meta freaks!” Mr. Alfonsi stammered, cocking his gun to fire again.

But it was too late.

‘The midget’ drove the bullet that had been meant to go through his head straight between Alfonsi’s eyes before sending it through all the other gang members temples.

He watched as they dropped, literally, dead.

A bullet through the brain isn’t something most people survive.

The aforementioned bit of ammo, now covered in blood, floated back to him and he pulled out a small plastic bag to put it away.

He then walked towards Mr. Alfonsi and crouched down next to him, pulling off the large gold ring with a fancy letter “A” engraved in it from his finger. He put it in a separate bag then continued to gather the smaller gold rings from the other members, making sure they were all dead in the process.

The last member left, when he’d finished with the rest of them, was a kid who looked to be about 15 years old.

It was such a shame that he had to join up with this gang.

He leaned down and started to pull the ring off the boy’s finger when the teen’s hand shot out to grab his bloody wrist.

He had to fight down the instinctive flinch of shock.

“P-please, I…I don’t—” Blood splattered from the teen’s mouth as he was cut off by his rattling coughs.

He narrowed his eyes.

It looked like his bullet had missed where he had intended and had instead impaled the boy through a lung.

“I..I don’t…..wan’ die…please…” the boy gasped.

His eyes were fixed on the smaller boy as he breathed, gaze still locked on the boy’s.

Don’t feel, it just gets in the way.

No.

You were made for this.

Wrong.

You shouldn’t feel bad for your targets.

Why not?

You follow your mission only.

He pulled a small knife from his belt.

“I’m…sorry,” He said. The boy’s eyes went wide as he slashed the knife across his throat. Blood splattered and started to pool on the floor. The boy’s eyes were still fixed on him. He stood up and put his knife away.

It was a small, underground, and still growing gang, but they were great at getting their hands on strange and illegal materials and weapons. It was just what The Foundation needed. And now, they didn’t need to pay them.

Mission accomplished.

————————-

Two months, twenty-three days, and eleven hours.

That meant eighty-four days and eleven hours.

In thirteen hours, it would be eighty-five.

Dick was getting nervous. How could he let Tim slip off the radar that long? Maybe he was just being… paranoid, or something.

Was that the right word to use? He didn’t know and couldn’t find it in him to care. He just knew that Tim had dropped off the radar for way too long, considering what happened beforehand.

But he’d have to push it back in his mind for a moment. He had things to do.

Dick jumped from rooftop to rooftop, making his way to some abandoned warehouse near the docks of Gotham. He was supposed to meet Jason there twenty-eight minutes ago, but had been on just about the opposite side of Gotham when Jason had called him.

Cautiously entering the warehouse through a glassless window, Dick silently leapt to the ground. He landed behind a large stack of crates and a couple of dusty shelves.

There was a single dim light illuminating what Dick guessed was the center of the dirty and smaller warehouse. He carefully picked his way around the edge of the stack of crates, half expecting to be shot at or attacked.

Neither occurred.

Jason was crouching under the light, investigating something on the floor—or maybe he was wounded.

Dick made his way over.

“Hey Hood! Sorry I’m late. Traffic was nuts out there,” he joked, grinning. Jason didn’t even look up.

“Apology accepted—just get over here,” huffed irritably.

There was something about the situation that made Dick feel inexplicably nervous.

He moved closer and crouched right next to his brother, asking, “What’s up? Are you hurt or something?” And he didn’t try to hide the concern laced in his voice.

Jason turned to look at him, apparently confused.

“What? No.” He gestured to whatever he was looking at, and added, “Just…look at this.”

Dick gave the floor his attention.

He hadn’t exactly noticed it before, due to how downright filthy this place was, but there was a huge puddle of dried blood directly in front of them.

Dick’s brows furrowed in confusion. Had Jason forgotten they lived in Gotham? Blood on the ground was a common thing. Sure, this was a lot, but it wasn’t anything special to Dick.

“Oh wow, blood!” Dick gasped in mock-surprise. “Never seen that before.”

He could feel more than see Jason’s eye-roll.

Jason held something out to his brother, hand clutched around something small.

Dick held out his hand and let Jason deposit whatever he was holding into his palm.

Only when he got a look at what the thing Jason had given him was did he understand Jason’s concerns with the blood.

In Dick’s hand was Tim’s metal Red Robin insignia, broken in half crudely, and mostly covered in blood.

For a moment, all he could do was stare down at it in disbelief, confusion, suspicion, and pain.

Tim must have run into someone or something…strong. Strong enough to snap his insignia in half.

Dick forced himself to tear his eyes away from the weight in his hand and shift his gaze back to the blood, which he realized was a lot. The dried puddle looked much bigger now that Dick knew where the blood came from.

But was it actually Tim’s? Or just some sort of set-up to make it look like Tim had bled that much?

Jason finally spoke.

“I almost missed it. I only noticed it when my foot ran into it. It was stuck there pretty good.” Jason said with a shrug, almost convincing Dick he was casual about the whole thing.

But Dick knew his little brother better. Jason was worried, and he was angry, and he probably didn’t feel like saying too much about it.

Dick’s eyes went back to Tim’s insignia.

“Are you sure it’s his blood? It could be a setup.” Dick remarked, hoping for the latter.

Jason shook his head.

“I dunno. DNA test?”

Dick looked at the blood on the insignia and tapped it against his fingers.

“I don’t know. Tim’s been missing for almost three months. We might be able to, but it depends on how old this is. DNA in dried blood usually only sticks around for three months max,” Dick said, feeling his heart sink with every possible set back. What if it was too late? What if Tim was dead?

Jason started to say something, but the sound of the lock on the large doors in front of them being opened caused the two vigilantes jump back into the shadows.

Dick was hidden behind the stack of crates he’d landed beside, clutching Tim’s insignia tight in his hands. No matter what, he refused to lose it. Jason was on the opposite side of the lit space between him and Dick, back pressed against a large, solid metal shelf.

Dick heard footsteps echo against the stone floor of the silent warehouse and crouched, just to be safe. He peeked through a small opening between the crates, trying to get a better look at the figure without being seen. He could only see him from the waist down.

The figure seemed to be wearing a long, black trench coat of some kind, tight black pants, and charcoal grey, steel-toed combat boots. He also had what looked like a dark, metallic red utility belt lined with silver metal tools and other various metal objects, including a line of bullets under his coat. That meant that he most likely had a gun. Dick put Tim’s insignia in his utility belt and pulled out his escrima sticks.

He glanced over at Jason, who had already gotten his gun ready. Dick then glanced back through the small opening. All he saw was black, and a tiny bit of metallic red. Dick soon realized that they were right in front of him. Dick stayed as still as he possibly could, and ducked a little when he heard a smaller, metal crate being picked up from off the top of the pile of crates he was behind.

He stood still as footsteps echoed farther and farther away from him. He nearly breathed a sigh of relief, but then tensed as he watched Jason step out from his hiding place and aim his gun at the stranger. The sound of a gun resonated throughout the building, and Dick moved out of his hiding place to see what the damage was.

“What the h***” Jason said, gun still raised at the figure. Dick looked at the figure. The bullet hadn’t hit him. In fact, it had stopped mid-air, about 3 inches away from his back.

The hooded figure was holding the crate under his right arm with surprising ease, despite its size. His other dark red gloved hand was hanging loosely at his side. He had frozen in his tracks but hadn’t made a move towards either of them. Dick tightened his grip on his escrima sticks but otherwise kept an outwardly calm composure.

The figure then turned slightly, not facing them, and not enough for Dick to get a good look at his face. He held out his hand and let Jason’s bullet drop into it.

“What’s in the crate?” Jason asked, gun still up. The figure didn’t respond, or turn his head. Instead, he examined and rolled the bullet through his fingers, as if it were some sort of valuable artifact or a piece of an important experiment. He then tossed it up in the air a couple of times. Dick narrowed his eyes.

Suddenly, his arm shot out in their direction, and the bullet came flying with it, as if it had been fired from a gun. Dick and Jason both moved, and the bullet went flying into the wall of the warehouse. They both stared at it in shock for a moment. Then Jason turned back to face the newly proclaimed enemy, gun at the ready.

“Hey, that wasn’t v…” Jason trailed off, looking around. “Where’d he go?”

“C'mon! He couldn’t have gone far!” Dick shouted to Jason, running out the door. He turned and looked around, looking for any sign of the stranger. Jason came behind him. There was nothing. No sign of him anywhere. Dick looked down and let out a sigh of defeat.

Then, he noticed something shiny and small, about the size of a quarter. He picked up the small rhomboidal object and turned it in his hands. There was some sort of symbol on it, but he couldn’t exactly make it out in the dark.

“Guess he’s gone?” Jason asked.

Dick nodded, slipping the thing into a pocket in his gauntlet for later.

“Yea, let’s get back to the cave.”

[fromthewindowtothewally]

Back to You - Birdflash

Based on this post: “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” Feel free to leave a request here, whether it’s based on this post or not.

Also on AO3

-S

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

Dick turns to him with furrowed brows. “Sorry?”

“Patrol. You’re leaving again for patrol.”

Something about his tone—or lack thereof—must give away his intentions, because Dick is sighing as if he’s the most put upon being in the world. “Wally, we talked about this.”

“I’m well aware of what we talked about, Dick, but I’m more concerned about which one of us actually listened.”

Dick brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, lines of stress running jagged along his forehead. “We’re really doing this again?”

“You still have bandages wrapped around your leg from a bullet wound!” Wally feels a little shaky, heart racing because when he thinks back to Dick, on that hospital bed, he’s hard set on experiencing something like that as little as possible. “You can’t even wait till one mutilation goes away before chasing down another one?”

Something flickers in those azure eyes. “You make it sound like I try to get hurt.”

“You certainly don’t try to avoid it as much as you should.” This isn’t what Wally had intended to happen. Or maybe it was. He doesn’t really know anymore.

“You want me to drop the Nightwing mantle.”

“No,” Wally glowers, voice saturated with angered honesty. “What I want is to not have to worry about getting a call, telling me my boyfriend was found dead on the street.” A hollow, lifeless sound scratches its way out of his throat. “Actually, no, that wouldn’t happen. The only thing that would tell me you died was a news segment: ‘Blüdhaven’s masked vigilante defeated in rough and tumble with notorious villain Baine’.”

Dick has the decency to look away in what seems like shame. What he says next, though, contradicts that in its entirety. “Baine hasn’t been around for a long time.”

“Oh, you’re kidding me.” Why can’t you see I love you too much for this? “Dick—look, I can’t stop you. You can’t be stopped by anyone, that’s clear as day.” He stands from the bed, each movement of his muscles rickety and stiff. He feels like he’s a house one second form caving in. “But I need you to understand that when you’re out there, getting stabbed at and thrown into fires, you’re not the only one getting hurt.”

He wants Dick to say something, anything, because Wally can’t be the only one that’s hurting right now, can he? But then he turns around, to se if Dick, by some horrid miracle, just didn’t hear him.

He sees nothing but a closed window, and somehow, some way, that stings more than anything Dick could have said.

  Wally stares at the wall for the next five hours. He’s fully aware of what absurd hour it is, and how it drags on his mental state to stay so still and bored when his body demands he go so fast, but—sleep is eluding him.

So, he waits.

Dick enters through the window soon after, freezing for but a second when he spots Wally on the bed.

“You’re awake,” he whispers. His voice sounds raw and tight—wrong for how loveable Dick Grayson truly is.

“Yup.”

Wally hears the familiar rustle of the Nightwing suit hitting the floor, clank of escrima sticks reverberating in his mind. His hand starts to fidget, lightly scraping at his leg in an attempt to distract himself from the silence; it’s more empty, now, when he knows that loving chatter and familiar banter could be filling it.

“What you said, before,” Dick whispers, “about not wanting me to stop… what I do. You know it’s dangerous, right?”

“Fully aware, Grayson.”

“So why’d you say it?” Dick sounds just as ragged as Wally feels, ready to snap at any given moment.

“Because I know what being Nightwing means to you.” Wally sits up to lock eyes with Dick, who has thankfully taken off his mask. “I would never ask you to give it up. But when you asked me out, and when I accepted, you committed yourself to me, too.” You’re supposed to care about me too…

Dick nods rigidly, placing himself at the foot of the bed as his eyes fixate on the spot just next to Wally. “When I was out there tonight, I… called Tim and Jason. Asked them to cover for me for the next two weeks.”

As rare of a feeling as it is for him, Wally’s brain is struggling to catch up with what’s happening in front of him. “Huh?”

“You’re right. You matter to me, Wally, so damn much.” A war of emotions goes by in Dick’s eyes in an instant, before something that Wally doesn’t like settles in there. “And I figure that you deserve someone so much b—”

“Dick Grayson, so help me, I will murder you if you finish that sentence.” Wally stands up on his knees to shuffle over to Dick. “Do you want this to end?”

“What? No!”

“Alright, then: do you love me?”

The hurt and overwhelming love that bores into Wally’s soul makes it so hard to breathe. “With every inch of my being.”

“And so do I. So, now that we’ve laid down the foundations for the continuity of this relationship, we need to… I don’t even know.”

“You worry about me,” Dick explains, as if it were some newfound piece of knowledge. “You worry about me because I don’t have powers like you do.”

“I—that’s… a part of it, yes.”

“And the other part?”

Wally feels like the expanse of his lungs isn’t enough to hold the air he needs, isn’t enough to mellow out the erratic pace of his heartbeat. “I’m worried that one day, if it comes down to it, you’ll choose hero-ing over me.”

And that isn’t what Wally meant to say, but it’s clearly what he felt in his heart of hearts, because tears are scorching the backs of his eyes like a raging flame.

“Oh, Wally…”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would I say that? “I know, it’s ridiculous—”

“I’m not him, Walls. You know that.” He does, Wally supposes, but hearing Dick say it doesn’t hurt. “If the choice between doing what I do and the people that I love is ever presented to me, do you know what I’ll pick?”

The horrifying part of it is that he doesn’t. Wally knows, is so familiar with what Dick feels when he’s soaring through the skies of Bludhaven, on the way to save some poor bastard who took the wrong alley on the wrong night. It’s what he himself feels when he pushes himself to tap into the Speedforce; liberation, ecstasy. How could he expect Dick to make such a choice with anything but arduousness?

“You don’t…” Dick is quick to firmly grab Wally’s jaw in his hands—rough, but ever-so-gentle in their treatment of him. “Wally, believe me when I tell you, that when I am fighting for my life with some egoistical maniac, you’re the thing keeping me going.” Wally must let out some disbelieving noise, because Dick is putting more strength behind his hold to the point where Wally has no choice but to stare into his breathtaking eyes. “I’m serious. Being Nightwing means nothing if I don’t have the support of those I love behind me. And Wally, that includes you.”

He feels his chest constrict all over again, though this time a large fraction of it has to do with the love he has for the man in front of him. “I’m sorry, this isn’t me being very supportive.”

“You are, though. You never discourage me, Wally, you just voice your worry in a very Wally-esque way.”

“Shut up, dude.”

And it’s so magically them; Dick, twisted awkwardly and hands still locked onto the solid line of Wally’s jaw, while the redhead tries to minimize the force of his sobs, while calling his boyfriend and love of his life ‘dude’.

“I’m sorry, Dick. Really.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Dick brushes off. “I mean it. If anyone here is apologizing, it’s me. You should never, ever forget how much you mean to me, and it’s my job to make sure you remember.” He kisses Wally with the utmost care, as if Wally were some sapling that would crumble under the full strength of Dick’s love.

With how hard the younger loves, though, it may just be true.

“Anything I can do to make it up to you?’

“Well,” Wally sings, “a new Chinese place opened downtown. I heard its twenty-four-seven.”

“You’re aware that it’s currently four in the morning, and that I just came back from rounding up thugs?’

“I mean, if you don’t want to repair the tatters of your boyfriends heart, I can’t force you.”

“I hate you.”

They’re both grinning and this, right here, is the man that makes Wally do stupid things. Agreeing to date a member of the Bat Clan being one of them, though right now, it’s heading down to a restaurant when even the roosters are napping.

“Well then feed me and I’ll get off you back.”

“Never.”

Before Wally can react properly—which says things about Dick Grayson and his own speed—he’s being pinned to the bed by the solid warmth of his boyfriend—and all is right with the world.

Wally is in love.

[bigskydreaming]

Imagine the Batkids hanging out at like....the food court of a mall or something, Jason keeping paparazzi at bay with finger guns that manage to be wildly ominous even if the gulping paparazzo have no true idea WHY that particular motion from this particular man has cold beads of sweat breaking out on the backs of their necks. Damian loudly proclaiming he hates everything and everyone even though he only half means it, well at least until Tim asks if he needs them to go get him a booster seat. To which Jason stops long enough to cackle about Tim finally finding someone he can actually literally look down on, it must be like Christmas for him, and meanwhile, Duke idly says to no one in particular that he can never decide if he accidentally got adopted into the Addams family, the Manson family or the Kardashians.

“I would be great at being a Kardashian,” Jason muses.

“Well you’re already 90% ass, so you’ve got that going for you,” Steph chirps brightly.

“Die, but for real this time,” Jason volleys back, equally pleasantly.

“I can’t believe the English major is suggesting I plagiarize him,” Steph says with eyes wide in mock bewilderment. Jason scoffs.

“What English major? In case you’ve forgotten, I never even finished high school, I was busy being de - “

He cuts off as Cass holds out her palm and Dick and Duke both slide ten dollar bills across the table to her, accompanied by groans. Tim jabs a finger at her with a scowl, half rising out of his seat in outrage.

“That doesn’t count, he didn’t even finish saying it!”

“Also, you’re cheating,” Damian adds on hotly, too incensed to notice he’s literally standing in solidarity with his most hated enemy. Though Tim catches it, if the slightly constipated look on his face is anything to go by. “Do you really think us so blind we can’t tell that Brown blatantly set that one up for you?”

“Don’t hate the players, hate the game,” Steph says sagely, as she and Cass split the take.

“What the hell just happened?” Jason asks. No one looks anywhere near the zip code of apologetic.

“Well we definitely didn’t all get together once a majority of us had done the knock knock knocking on death’s door thing ourselves and wound up making a long-standing bet about how long you can go without bringing that up and where the clock restarts each time you do,” Steph says thoughtfully, eyes intent even as she stares off into the distance, like it’s an actual mystery and she’s really trying quite hard to scry out the answer.

“What?” Jason says flatly.

“In my defense, they were doing it long before I came along and they said it was like, a family tradition,” Duke offers.

“I mean, it’s not like we lied,” Tim shrugs. “Besides, it was Cass’ idea and she’s died twice, so it’s allowed.”

Jason redirects his ire on their sister. “Why are you the worst.”

She shrugs. “I died.”

“I used to think having a sister would be cool. I can’t believe you ruined sisters for me.”

“Bite me, little brother,” she says sweetly. His face flames. Detonation imminent.

“I’m older than you!”

“Not if you don’t count the six months you were dead,” she sing-songs. “Besides, Tim’s lying. It was his idea.”

Jason’s head swivels like a turret-mounted missile launcher. Tim chokes on his French fry.

“What the hell! That’s not tr - .” He trails off then, frowning slightly. “Wait, was it? Oh. Right.”

Jason’s eyes narrow, tension on the trigger, but Tim rallies and just shrugs unrepentantly.

“Eh. You’ve tried to kill me like three times. Suck it up.”

“Next time, I’ll be sure to try harder,” Jason growls. Tim smiles serenely and takes an extra obnoxious slurp of his milkshake.

“See? You’ve learned something new today. You’re welcome.”

“Why am I not live-tweeting this,” Steph wonders, yanking out her phone and sending digits swiftly flying across its keys. Dick leans over on her left to view her screen.

“Are you tweeting as Batgirl about her fellow vigilantes, or the random blond stranger always seen out with the Waynes but that no one can determine their connection to?”

“First off, I’m the EXOTIC blond stranger, excuse you. Get it right. And second...idk. Either. Both. Does it really matter?”

“Well, it might if you actually do tweet the same content from both accounts and someone somehow manages to spot some kind of connection,” Tim says dryly. Steph scowls without looking up from her phone.

“Stop oppressing my shenanigans with your logic, Timbleton.”

“Timbleton?”

“It’s my new name for you. For it is both pretentious and douchey, as are you.”

Tim glowers. “Sometimes I honestly can’t remember why I went out with you.”

She shrugs. “You were a fifteen year old virgin and I have a killer rack. It wasn’t that deep.”

“Hey, you are still just the exotic blond stranger seen with us all the time, right?” Dick says suddenly, seemingly lost in thought. “Like, B didn’t adopt you since I last saw you or anything.”

“No, and you know you don’t ACTUALLY have to ask me that every time you see me.”

He shrugs. “I mean I kinda do. You are always here, and it is Bruce. It’s not like he ever tells me when he adopts someone new so like, you could be my sister for four years before I even realized it if I didn’t ask.”

“Ooh. A sighting of Dick angst, spotted in the wild. Those are rare,” Jason snickers. Dick just eyes him.

“FYI, I still have footage of a certain Robin, age fourteen, singing Backstreet Boys. And I have Roy on speed dial. Tread lightly, Little Wing.”

“You said you deleted that!”

“I lied. I do that sometimes. I’m terribly problematic.” Dick beams beatifically.

“Why have I not seen this footage?” Steph shrieks.

“Make me an offer,” Dick says as leans back smugly.

She wastes no time, fingers dancing across her keyboard again, and moments later Dick pulls out his own phone and reads her incoming text. One eyebrow arches significantly.

“That’s an offer, alright.” He frowns. “You came up with that quick. I’m either impressed or disturbed.”

Steph shrugs. “I get bored on stakeouts sometimes.”

“You can be dispressed,” Cass pipes up helpfully. Dick nods solemnly.

“An excellent suggestion, Cassandra, thank you. Just for that, I’ll send it to you too.”

“I will stab you,” Jason says dangerously.

“Just think, Jay, if you didn’t try and stab me all the time already, that might actually be incentive not to....oh whoops, finger slipped, just hit send, how terrible, much regret.”

“I feel like there’s supposed to be a life lesson in there somewhere,” Duke murmurs.

“Stay out of this, new kid on the block.”

“Does that make you Marky Mark or like, Donnie?” Tim wonders idly. He shakes his head at himself then, baffled. “Why do I know the names of the New Kids on the Block?”

Stephanie meanwhile is watching her phone with what can only be described as naked glee. It’s muted - she’s never one to share her spoils freely after all - but apparently that is more than good enough for now as far as she’s concerned. Beside her, Cass intently stares at her own screen, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“I will kill you all someday, and when I do the courts will rule it justifiable homicide and I shall be vindicated.”

“Please, Todd. As if I don’t have contingencies in place to ensure you receive my vengeance even from beyond the grave, should I ever perish at your hands.”

Silence falls across the table as they all stare at Damian.

“See, now I’m dispressed,” Tim says. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to take a guided tour of your brain, but then I think why not wait til Halloween and sell tickets too.”

Damian glares at him, but to the surprise of everyone, Tim included, he reacts no further than that. A few seconds later though, Duke bolts upright in his chair across from him, directing his own baleful glare at the smaller boy. Damian just stares at him meaningfully and jerks his head in Tim’s direction. Duke rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Shut your facehole, Drake, you blithering dolt,” Duke says robotically. “Also, you are excessively diminutive for your age and nobody likes you. Allegedly.”

Once more silence reigns supreme.

“Oh fuck, can he possess people now?” Jason asks.

Dick waves them all down, gesturing for quiet before he takes the lead, studying Duke with an intent focus. “I think I speak for all of us here, when I say: no, but seriously, what the actual fuck.”

Cass nods gravely. “What he said.”

Duke shrugs a half-hearted apology. “It’s nothing personal Tim. It’s just that Damian and I have an alliance, and part of the terms are I have to defend his honor, since - and I quote - ‘tt, the very notion I need assistance defending my actual person is laughable, Thomas, don’t be daft.’”

“Wait, we’re doing alliances now?” Steph asks, because of course that would be the part that catches her attention. “I want an alliance. Cass, make an alliance with me.”

“Kay.”

“Whose idea was this alliance, anyway?” Jason asks. Duke just shrugs again, this time defensively.

“Hey don’t look at me, Dick’s the one who apparently thought it was a good idea to introduce Damian to Survivor reruns.”

All eyes turn to the eldest. In a particularly accusatory fashion.

Well, with the exception of Damian, as he has returned to his meal and is quite contentedly dining with a distinct air of smugness about him. (Even more so than usual.)

“What? I couldn’t get him to agree to watching anything else on TV, and then we came across some reruns and I thought it might appeal to him.”

“And you saw no potential drawbacks to him seeing appeal in the basic premise of voting people off the island?” Jason asks skeptically. Dick picks up a fry and studies it with clear deliberation and an equally clear attempt at avoidance. Subtlety, thy name is not Grayson.

“In hindsight, it’s possible mistakes were made.”

“I mean, at least now Dami’s attempts at casting undesirables out of the family are rooted in democracy instead of totalitarianism. That’s progress, right?” Steph asks. Heavy on the uncertainty.

“Right, and I have some beachfront property in Kansas to sell you,” Tim says sardonically.

“Nah, you keep it. I’ll just get it in the divorce when we get back together in ten years, marry, and I abscond with half of your fortune.”

“Wait, what?”

“Shh, just let it happen.”

“Hang on, back to this alliance,” Jason says, turning back to Duke. “So what are you getting out of it?”

“Oh, he has to do my calc homework for the rest of the semester,” Duke replies.

“Duke, you should have just told one of us you needed some help with your homework,” Dick says with an unmistakable note of concern in his voice. Duke shoots him a quizzical look.

“I don’t. I just don’t want to do it.”

“This is why Duke is the most valid,” Steph nods knowingly. Cass nods in agreement.

“Hey, did nobody else notice that in essence, Damian implicitly admitted he needed help protecting his feelings from getting boo-boos,” Tim pipes up oh so casually. The youngest among them narrows his eyes.

“In my spare time, I peruse the occult tomes recommended by Raven and the Zatara brat in search of a ritual that will make it so you never existed in the first place,” he says, matching his tone to Tim’s conversational one. Not deterred in the slightest, Tim just adopts an expression of over the top faux sympathy.

“Sucks you can’t just ask me for help. I already know where one of those is.”

“Dami, no!” Dick speaks up sharply. Their little brother slumps back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wasn’t actually going to do anything, Grayson,” he sulks. Dick snorts.

“You were absolutely about to jump on top of the table and kick Tim in the face. Don’t even try and pretend I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I was an only child once,” Jason muses. “I should have appreciated it more.”

“But then you couldn’t form an alliance with me, little brother,” Cass points out, equal parts sweetness and wickedness. He hesitates, visibly torn between wanting to protect his vaunted older brother status and agreeing to an alliance with the most feared of them all.

“You’re evil.”

She shrugs but doesn’t contest the point.

“I’ll form an alliance with you, Cass,” Tim says, smirking at Jason.

“No thanks.”

Tim’s mouth falls open and he looks between her and his now cackling older brother. “What the hell? You’ll form an alliance with Steph and Jason but not with me? Why not?”

“I’m chaotic neutral,” their sister explains sunnily, as she steals some more of Dick’s fries.

[danyka-fendyr]

As the Raven Flies: Part 9

Honestly, I’m too tired to do a proper intro so...blah blah blah, something self-detrimental, probably a heavy heaping of praise for Dream because I literally never shut up about her, and definitely something about how I’m the worst mixed into an apology for being like this and having the world’s flakiest fic schedule. Awkward closing comment.

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli @disengagefrmreality @superwolfchild-fan

Wordcount: 1910

Chapter 9: In which, Vivien does not want to just say goodnight and go.

Vivien tried not to think of the answer to the pressing questions of her guardians as they discussed who might have tried to kill them. She tried to shove the answers down deep inside her, hopefully, to never be found again. Even as she drowned, she tried to swallow the idea coming into her mind. But finally, after eliminating most other possibilities, Karen said the words she had been dreading.

“I don’t think it would have been anyone for Vivien. Nobody knows who she is. As a vigilante, I mean.”

Vivien took a shaky breath. Briefly, she wished that James was here. She pushed that completely useless thought aside, trying to pretend to herself that her hand wasn’t itching to hold someone else’s and that he hadn’t been the first person to come to mind.

“What if it was someone who knew me?” she whispered.

“Knew you as Diviner?” Karen frowned, worry about Vivien’s secret identity flooding her features.

“No.” Silence. “What if...what if it was someone coming for me. Someone who wasn’t very experienced with explosives. Someone who wanted to make me afraid. Someone who didn’t care about Diviner. Just wanted to hurt me.”

Gosh, why did she wish James was here so badly?

“Who would want to hurt you, Vivien?” Frank’s voice was a low rumble, laced with danger and some dark fury she had only seen flickers of so far.

“Karen,” Vivien didn’t look at her. “Did you ever read the newspaper clippings about how my family died.”

Karen was silent for a moment, that clever mind of hers working, putting pieces together faster than anyone else Vivien knew. “I wasn’t going to out of respect for you, but I just thought...”

“It’s alright. It’s public information.”

“They said terrible things about you,” Karen said quietly. 

She sounded so sad.

“I know.”

“What does your family have to do with any of this?” Frank asked.

Vivien didn’t answer, and neither did Karen because she was still thinking. Her brain working overtime, practically humming. Then, she gasped, the sound of a mental key unlocking.

“But he’s in jail,” she whispered.

“We should probably double-check that,” Vivien said, trying to pull up whatever was left of the bravado lying in tatters at her feet.

“Who is in jail?” Frank leaned forward on the couch, twisting his body to see both of their faces better.

“My brother,” Vivien said, hating the way the word sounded rolling off her tongue.

“I need to go make a phone call,” Karen said.

She sounded afraid. That was not comforting to Vivien. Not in the slightest bit.

Karen sat up, heading into the kitchen. Vivien could hear her pacing, her voice quiet as she spoke on the phone in panicked whispers and murmured words. She could feel her own panic growing, like a forest fire sparking up in her chest, rising higher and higher up into her throat, choking her, making her wish she could vomit up those flames.

When Karen walked out of the lousy excuse for a kitchen, her face was all the answer Vivien could have ever needed. It was pale, features all gaping wide with shock and fright. Vivien was going to be sick.

“Last night,” Karen whispered. 

“Why didn’t we hear about it on the news?” Frank asked.

He sounded like he was underwater.

“They’re trying to keep it quiet. They’re afraid of the panic it could cause if they let people know he’s loose, supposedly. I think they’re more afraid for their worthless reputation.”

Vivien’s vision swam in front of her eyes, and the whole room felt like it was tilting. She was so dizzy, the fear filling her up faster than she knew what to do with it. Pure, undiluted terror stripping her down to only her basest instincts. Self-control out the window, she texted James, even though the letters were swimming in front of her eyes. She needed him here. She could barely piece together why, but she just knew she needed his smiles and his warmth and the way he always got her to smile back and she had to smile, had to feel something other than this terror, because it was making her so cold. Icy little fingers clamping down on every piece of light in her life and dragging her down with the r panicked, malice-filled little whispers of that night.

There had been so much blood. Everywhere she had turned, blood. Someone was screaming. Screaming so loud, so earth-shattering, that even now Vivien couldn’t comprehend the agony behind it. The pain of it was blinding, white-hot, tearing her apart more than any knife could. It was her voice screaming, echoing through her own mind, a high keening sound barreling up from the depths of her memory.

It might have made it out into the room with Karen and Frank if she hadn’t passed out before she got the opportunity to draw enough breath for that kind of scream.

She came to slowly, her breathing easier than it had been before. That was the first thing she had noticed. She had forgotten to breathe after hearing...the news.

The next thing she noticed was her hand. It was warm, and she realized it was warm because someone else was holding it. She looked down to the larger, calloused hand holding her own, then trailed her eyes up the arm to see the boy attached to it. 

He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes nearly matching his inky hair. He also looked worried for her, something she had gotten used to from everyone else since the incident, but somehow had yet to get used to from him.

She flinched at the thought of that night, and his eyes cleared as he looked at her.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, pushing back pieces of her hair and talking to her so gently she might have thought she was a wounded animal.

She had seen him help an actual wounded animal once. They had been hanging out at a park once since Karen said she needed to do something fun for the sake of doing something fun, and they stumbled across a baby bird that looked like it had fallen out of its nest and gotten lucky with only a hurt fledgling wing. James had treated that bird much the same way he treated her now, with the same gentle touches and quiet voice, except he seemed to care a lot more now.

Her breathing was already picking up again, thinking about what she had learned. She wanted to go back to sleep. To be knocked out for eternity and a day, if it meant she wouldn’t have to deal with her reality right now. She wanted to take James and lock herself away for a million years.

He shifted out of the chair he had dragged into her room so that he could sit by her bed, crawling in next to her and gathering her into his arms. He was warmer than her, and she realized she was shaking like a leaf, though not with the cold. She was just shaking, her hands trembling violently.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re okay,” he mumbled, holding her tight to his chest.

“I can’t...I can’t stop,” she said breathlessly, staring at her hands.

“I know. Just breathe, Vivien. Just breathe,” he told her.

He took one of her hands, placing it over his heart, where his own chest fell in a steady rise and fall. She concentrated on that, trying to match it, trying to mimic his pace. Slowly, her shaking stopped, and James pushed the hair out of her face again. 

“I’m going to go get you some juice. You’re in shock. You need to drink it to help your body cope. Do you understand?”

Vivien nodded, lacking the energy to snap at him, to tell him that she could understand simple instructions.

He came back with a glass of apple juice, and Vivien drank it all slowly. The house was quiet enough that she got the feeling Karen and Frank were sleeping, but she asked anyway.

James nodded. “They didn’t want to go to sleep. They were trying to insist they watch over you, but I volunteered. Promised them I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. Not that I had any other choice what with Frank putting a knife to my throat.”

Normally she would have laughed, been angry. Instead, she just stared at her empty juice cup.

“I’m sorry.” The words were deeply sad.

“It’s okay. He’ll warm up to me eventually.”

“Will he though?” The corners of her mouth started to turn up a little in a smile.

“He will. I’m going to work on him. Everyone succumbs to my charm eventually. Even you and you are a very hard to please woman, Vivien.”

“I think my demands are perfectly reasonable.” This was easy. This banter was nice and familiar.

“Are you going to be okay?” He asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t feel okay.”

“I know.”

She leaned back into him, and he let her, body adjusting to accommodate for hers. She was smaller than him, and so it was easy to fit herself into his side and lean her head against the place where his shoulder met his chest, the muscle holding the two together smooth and perfectly fitted to cradle her head. Even if it hadn’t been, James’ hand still stroking her hair would have supported her head.

“I can’t stop...I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop going back there.”

His breathing hitched like he was in pain. Maybe he was, but she couldn’t see his face to know. A second later, his voice answered the question for her.

“You should try to sleep some more,” he said. It wasn’t the cloistering sweetness of sympathy in his voice, but pain, bright and clear. Pain because he hated that this was happening to her. “It will make you feel better.”

“Okay.” She swallowed. “You should...you should go home and get some rest. I’m sorry I made you come here for no reason.” 

He stiffened at that, moving her so that she faced him and could see the seriousness in his bright blue eyes, see how much he meant every word.

“If I had a way to know every time when you were in trouble, when you were hurt, I would come Vivien. Every time. I didn’t come here for no reason. I came here to help you, and I would have come even if you’d told me there was nothing I could to make it better. I would have come just to try. So don’t think that I’m not here of my own free will.”

She nodded slowly, let him know she understood. Then he kissed her forehead softly, and she let her eyes close, let herself feel safe for a heartbeat.

“I should go, though. But I’ll be back early tomorrow. As soon as I can get out of the house. And before school. I’ll drive you in if you want to go, okay?”

She nodded, wishing with everything in her that he could stay as he slipped out of her bed, letting her lay down and curl up on her side.

“Goodnight,” he said.

She mumbled the word back as he walked away, and she could have sworn he seemed reluctant as he flicked the light switch and left.

[siobhanwolff-blog]

Through The Dark

The biggest of thank you’s to @superpupdanvers for being an angel and beta reading this. I love her so much!

TW: graphic violence, mentions of sexual assault and abuse. Proceed with caution. 

May 9th, 3am —  Las Vegas, Nevada.

Being a superhero is nothing like how they depict in the movies. But sometimes, it is like in the movies— having to fight off super villains in order to protect the city you love so much.

Phoenix was quite possibly the most dangerous supervillain Shade had ever encountered. She also happened to be one of the first he’d fought. She got her jollies on creating chaos and making Shade feel helpless.

An apartment building was on fire and Shade’s intangibility was next to useless against the heat of the flames. He can walk through solid objects with ease but he isn’t immune to temperature and the flames licking at his intangible skin still hurt like hell. He had gone in and out countless times, his head dizzy and lungs burning from inhaling so much smoke. In the building for what could be the eight or twentieth time, Shade grabbed up a small boy in his arms whose pulse was dangerously slow.

And that’s when the backdraft hit, sending Shade flying through the explosion and debris. So many people died when the apartment complex went down, so many people he should have been able to save.

But usually, on ordinary days, it’s nothing like that.

Most nights being a superhero just means rescuing a guy from a potentially deadly mugging, or walking a crying girl who was just beaten by her boyfriend to a women’s shelter. Most nights it is just sitting in a garbage-scented alleyway and comforting someone before walking them home. Shade spent most of his nights just walking people home and being a shoulder to cry on. Because wasn’t a guy in a mask who offered his time a patience better than no one at all?

She looked barely eighteen, stumbling down the alley, being backed up by a large brute of a man. The girl was clearly a prostitute, wearing a tight dark grey dress that left little to the imagination and more makeup than was healthy for her skin.

“I told you to leave me alone,” she had said, on the verge of hysterics as he pushed her against a wall. The guy was massive, tall and easily twice Shade’s weight in muscle alone. He would had have to take him down quickly and quietly.

Shade skimmed down the side on the building he’d been sitting on the roof of. Keeping himself cloaked in the shadows, he silently approached. The guys hand was sliding up under the hem of girls dress now, muttering filth into her ear as she shook. Shade had to lean up on his tiptoes to be able to press his hands over the brutes eyes, whispering a soft “go to sleep”. The man screamed and crumpled as the darkness, cold and unforgiving, pulled him into unconsciousness.

Her name was Isabelle and Shade sat with her in the disgusting alley for an hour, rubbing her back and handing her tissues that he kept in one of his utility belt pockets. When she’d finally calmed down, he offered to walk her home.

And then there were nights that are purely sickening. Nights that left Shade drained and crying himself to sleep. Those were the nights he would much rather be risking his neck fighting other supers. Because those are the nights he’s cleaning a dead man’s blood from his spandex suit, or finding the body of a child tossed to the side like nothing, holding the hand of a dying rape victim he was to late to save, or watching someone commit suicide by jumping from several floors up. He saves lives, but those are the nights he feels like he has failed his city.

Shade didn’t know how a drug bust had turned into this. He had already called the cops, which was definitely his mistake. He was young, hadn’t figured out that he needed to call after he’d knocked out the thugs. But as soon as the cops showed up, all hell broke lose. Two of the cronies took off, but the guy that appeared to be in charge started shooting. Instinct kicked in and Shade let the bullets buzz through him harmlessly. And turn a cop into swiss cheese instead. He was close enough for Shade to grab before he hit the ground. He held the officer in his lap, pressing uselessly at the wounds to slow the gush of bright red blood. He died within seconds. His labored breath stopping and body going slack in Shades arms.

Those are the nights he wishes he could erase from his memory. But the spackle of a hostages brains isn’t something easily forgotten. The world is so, so fucking cruel. And Shade is just trying to help— trying to protect innocent people from what he sees every goddamn night. And that would be a hell of a lot easier if the police weren’t always trying to put him behind bars.

Which is exactly why Shade was running down unfamiliar streets. His breath huffing out of his lungs in harsh pants, heart beating like it was trying to break its way out through his ribs, and boot-clad feet pounding against the pavement. Even on awful nights, this was the worst part of what he did. Running from the cops for hours when he could instead be helping people. When they could be helping people. Instead they were just wasting time, time that could mean the difference if someone lives or dies. But the police weren’t saving anyone— they are chasing Shade. Even if they ever got close enough to him to actually cuff him, he would simply slip away. He was a shadow, and that’s what shadows did. Just disappeared in the buzzing nightlife of Las Vegas.

Bullets whizzed harmlessly through him— into his back and out of his chest, straight through his head to lodge uselessly into brick walls. It was as if he really was made of shadows, completely untouchable.

He rounded a corner that was more tall buildings than flashing excitement. He faded into the dark. Melted back against a wall, becoming apart of the shadowy darkness. He couldn’t do this in the center of the city buzz. Everything moved so quickly in Vegas, and people would notice if a shadow against a wall stopped moving. Shade had made this mistake when he was younger, first figuring out how to be a vigilante of such a busy city. He had taken a bullet to the shoulder for his ignorance. Shade was smarter know.

He watched silently as five police officers and a German Shepard rounded the corner in search of him. He held his breath fearing the smallest puff of air would give him away.

But they went right past Shade, couldn’t see him cloaked in the shadows. Two people stumbled out of the bar directly across the street from him. A man and a woman who were drunk, and leaning into each other, and laughing. They looked so happy and that wasn’t something Shade saw often. Usually when he saw people stumbling out of bars it was accompanied with angry yelling.

The cheap watch around Shade’s left wrist vibrated, it was three in the morning— it was time to go home.

An hour later, Shade costume hidden underneath the broken floorboard in his bedroom, Ronan Kingsley laid in bed unable to sleep despite his exhaustion. Always being tired was something that simply came with being a Las Vegas superhero— it was in the job description. And he knew when seven rolled around and he had to get up and actually function, Ronan would hate himself for not falling asleep until four-thirty. And one of his roommates, it was always Sara, would make a snarky comment about him sleeping around and his other roommate, it was always Kira, would silently hand him the coffee he needed oh-so-badly. And neither of them knew.

They couldn’t know. That was just another one of those things that was in the job description. If they wanted to assume he was sleeping around or involved with a sketchy gang, that was fine. He didn’t care what they thought he was doing when they found him gone in the middle of the night, as long as they didn’t think he was running around Las Vegas in a superhero costume. It was safer for them to not know.

And then Ronan would shower, get dressed, and go to work. Because that’s what twenty-six year-olds did in Vegas on Mondays.

~

“Kingsley!” Kathy shouted at him when he walked into The Beat, looking irritated. He knew he was five minutes late but traffic was a bitch, due to an awful car accident, but she had never gotten irritable with him before. In fact, ever since she hired him after her son moved to New York to go to law school she had treated him like a son. Most of the time she was more of a mother than his own ever had been.

“I’m so sorry I was late, there was an accident and—”

“I don’t care about that,” his fiery redheaded boss said, simply waving him off. “Did you not get my texts last night?”

“Uh,” no, Ronan thought, because I turn off my regular cell and leave it at home to fight crime on the streets of Vegas and only carry disposable crappy cells incase of an absolute emergency. But he couldn’t say that, because Ronan was not a crime-fighting hero in tights. He was just a guy that worked at a coffee house and he was clumsy, and nothing interesting ever happens in his life. Just boring ol’ Ronan.

“Never mind, doesn’t matter. This is Oliver,” Kathy put her hands on the shoulders of the curly haired guy with her, who was smiling all too brightly. Ronan had not even noticed the guy, with observation skills like that it was truly a miracle he hadn’t gotten himself killed yet. But when Ronan met Oliver’s shining green eyes he swore that his breath got stuck in his throat for a moment. There was no way to deny that he was beautiful. His red hair was messy and his eyes were bright even though they were hidden behind wide, round glasses. He was younger than Ronan, shorter, and his shoulders weren’t as broad. But When Ronan shook his hand he could tell that Oliver was strong.

And Ronan swore that he would not allow this boy to be his downfall. He stayed aloof and kept even the people he loved the most at arm's length. He was not about to forget what he was— who he was— just because some pretty boy made his chest feel like a thunderstorm.

“He is the new weekend barista but since Angie is on maternity leave I will need you to come in for the next couple weekends and train him. I can’t just put a newbie behind the counter without supervision, my customers expect nothing but perfection from us and—“

“Wait,” Ronan cut her off, icily. “Sundays are my only days off, I have things to do.” He had yoga class in the morning and always got a couple extra hours of patrolling in at night. He didn’t want to give that up to work a seven day week. Kathy and The Beat were important to him, but so was his Sunday routine.

His fiery boss rolled her eyes. “Fine, take Monday off,” she waved it off before launching into the story how she built the place from the ground up. Literally and metaphorically. While it captivated Oliver, Ronan had heard it a million times and tuned her out to help the other barista prepare to open shop. Emilia was technically the pastry chef but since they were short-handed she had been helping out.

She said his name softly to get his attention and Ronan arched an eyebrow at her. “I can train him today if you’d like.” She offered with a gentle smile. It was a tempting offer, Ronan wanted very little to do with the beautiful man, but he shook his head.

“It’s my responsibility, besides you do more than enough as it is.” She looked like she wanted to argue, but before she could Ronan walked to the front to unlock the doors and flip on the neon Open sign. Regulars quickly filled up the shop and they were both too busy to make any conversation.

~

By noon Ronan wanted to strangle him. He was a hard worker, charming, and the customers adored him. Logically, Ronan knew he was a great guy and there was absolutely nothing wrong with him. He was a great addition to the team and would fit right in with the ‘family’ Kathy insisted that they were. But he was touchy and Ronan’s muscles ached from being continuously tensed. Oliver was flirty and Ronan tried not to take it personally when he winked at him but he was so unaccustomed to being hit on that he didn’t know how to handle it and stared at Oliver until they were both uncomfortable.

After the lunch rush dwindled down, Ronan leaned against the counter next to Emilia. “Can you hold up the fort if Oliver and I take a lunch break?”

She smiled sweetly and nodded. “‘Course I can. Are you going to D’Latte?”

“Always do,” Ronan answered. He was already untying his apron and hanging it on one of the hooks behind the wall. “Want me to bring you back turrón?”

“Please.” She said and he nodded. Ronan may scoff at his bosses claims that they were a family, but he did have a soft spot for his co-workers. Kathy, Angie, and Emilia were good people and The Beat was his second home. He would never admit it, and he would always keep his kindnesses to a minimum, but he did care for them.

Ronan showed Oliver to the break room and asked Kathy if she wanted anything from D’latte before heading out. The small coffee place across the street was more than just a coffee shop. They offered a revolving variety of Spanish baked goods and sandwiches and had the comfiest chairs. And Ronan, no matter what mask he wore, always received free coffee. Which was more than a little disconcerting, but he chose not to think on it too long.

“Ah, Ronan my friend!” Mr. Soto greeted in his gruff Hispanic accent when Ronan entered. But he could not even muster out a hello in reply, his eyes glued to the television mounted high on the wall behind the coffee shop counter. The sound was off, but turned to a news channel.

Bank Robbery Leaves Seven Dead the text at the bottom read. “Can you turn the sound on please, Mr. Soto?” Ronan asked as he walked closer, eyes not leaving the screen. He heard the coffee shop owner sigh but did as requested and turned on the sound on the TV.

It happened at eight that morning, when Ronan was complaining to Kathy about not having a day off.

The robbers started shooting when police showed up, used a child as a hostage to get away. Ten men or women in masks taking a child. They were interviewing the missing child’s father, a man in his early thirties, eyes red and wet with held back tears, and begging to have his daughter back. Begging for Shade, Vegas’ vigilante to bring his unharmed daughter back to him. And Ronan felt sick.

Mr. Soto clicked off the television completely.

“I think that’s enough of that,” he grumbled, pressing a large paper coffee cup into Ronan’s shaking hand.  He felt like he was going to be sick.

A child hostage. It had been hours. Unless they wanted to use her for something else, she was probably already dead and Ronan could have stopped it.

Ronan was wrong, being chased by incompetent police wasn’t the worst part of what he did. It was this. Feeling so much not like a superhero, because he could have saved her but he didn’t.

[scifrey]

Get To Know The Writer

 Get to Know the Writer Tag

Rules (always post the rules): answer the questions given to you, write ten questions of your own, tag ten people.

@rosecorcoranwritessaid anyone who wants to do it can, and it looked interesting.

1.) Where did the title(s) of your latest project(s) come from?

 The titles for The Accidental Turn Series were sort of decided by a committee of my agent, my editor, my publisher and me. I’m rubbish at naming books, so through a series of emails a list of about a hundred throw-them-out-there titles were whittled down (mostly by Googling them and seeing if any other book had that title already) to a few themes. From there we narrowed down and named the first book (The Untold Tale, where I had been calling it That Feminist Meta Thingy), and then the other two books dominoed into place after that (The Forgotten Tale, and The Silenced Tale.)

These titles are because in book #1, the fantasy is being told from a side character who in fantasy-novel tropes is often overlooked. In book #2, other fantasy stories start vanishing, forgotten by the readers, and in book #3,someone is trying to silence the writer of these fantasy books forever.

 City By Night, one of my novellas, is also being reissued next month. Its original title was The Dark Side f the Glass, which was both an allusion to Alice Through The Looking Glass, as it’s about a woman who falls into a TV instead of through a mirror, and a tip of the head to the song of the same title from the soundtrack of one of the television shows the novella satirizes, Forever Knight. However, my agent thought the reference was too obscure, and after another big round of back-and-forth, it was decided to name the novella after the fake-TV show I made up for the story.

 The titles of the to books in The Skylark’s Saga (#1 The Skylark’s Song, and #2, The Skylark’s Sacrifice) are because I do love alliteration when I can get away with it! These are the only titles of the recent projects that I decided on my own and the rest of my team liked! Score!

2.) Do you have any rhyme or reason behind your character names?

Sometimes yes, sometimes no. For the Accidental Turn Series fantasy books, I stole a lot of street names or snipped letters out of traditionally “European” names, like Kintyre, Forsyth, and Bevel to make them look suitably fantasy-esque on the page. But when the characters come to the “real world” I made a point of surrounding them with characters who had distinctly non-white, no-European names like Ahbni, Ichiro, and Juan just to really emphasize how much more diverse the “real world” is over traditional fantasy. 

In Triptych, every friend who helped me with edits got a character named after them. And in The Skylark’s Saga I got a bit silly - the Sealies all have surnames inspired by pagan gods, the Saskwayins are colors, and the Klonn are plants.

3.) What is your writing routine, if any?

When possible, I like to write at night, in silence, and with only my desk lamp on.  I try to keep my desk area very tidy, too, with only notes about the project I’m immediately working on written on my whiteboard wall. I need the only mess to be what’s in my head.

I’m more of a pantser who has, by virtue of writing series, been forced to learn how to plan. But even then, my planning is pretty rudimentary. I often do this in a notebook on transit (I tend to come up with ideas when I’m in liminal spaces), and run that by my editor. If she approves the vague outline, then I often write whatever scene is foremost in my mind - whichever has really grabbed my imagination, and allows me to figure out who my characters are, what the voice is, who the narrators are.

From there I often write chapter one, and then usually skip straight to the climax of the book and write that. This way I know where I’m aiming before I properly knock the arrow. Even if the target eventually shifts, I still have a sense of its shape and location.

From there I tend to skip all over the narrative and write whatever arrests me or I have in the front of my mind. Once that’s done, I go back to the start and begin the process of filling in the gaps. If I get another idea, I’m always happy to jump ahead and do that.

Using Scrivener has made this process a thousand times easier than when I had to scroll-scroll-scroll through Word.

When I don’t have to go to my dayjob, I try to write about 4000 words per day. When I do, I am for 500-1669, which keeps me limber for NaNoWriMo.

4.) Where is the weirdest place you’ve ever written?

I actually wracked my brains on this one, and I was going t say something like “a 400 year old house on the top of a mountain in Japan” or “in the shadow of the Great Pyramids in Giza”, but honestly, the real answer is on my BlackBerry while high off my face on morphine in the emergency room. Apparently I wrote a GREAT short story, which I emailed to all my friends, and emailed them. Without telling anyone that I was in hospital with Organ Death ™. And without remembering at all that I’d done it.

5.) Do you prefer to write by hand or type?

Typing, hands down. I type way faster than I handwrite, and I get frustrated that my pen can’t keep up with my brain. If I get an idea when I’m away from the computer, I usually only jot down enough to remember the scene/idea/mood/exchange without writing it out. I despise having to do the work twice, and that’s what transcribing from paper to computer feels like.

6.) Ideally, where would you like to see your writing take you in five years?

I’d like to break this barrier there seems between me and the Big 5. My agent and I have been working at it, but there seems to be some strange gap. Lots of editors at the Big 5 like my work, but no one seems to want to sign it. I get compliments on my voice, on my word crafting, but no contracts. It’s so frustrating to be so close to the possibility of working with a team with more resources than I have so far. 

7.) Which character is most fun to write and why?

Now that Triptych is complete and being serialized on Wattpad, any opportunity to revisit Kalp is a delight. I love looking at the world through his eyes. Olly, from The Maddening Science was a lot of fun too, again because of the way I have to shove aside my own assumptions about how and why the world works and see it through the lens of his own intelligence and lived experience. And Bevel will never not be a hoot, because there’s something just so great about getting to be that crass, and to come up with dirty jokes that fit in a fantasy world.

8.) What advice would you give writers just starting out?

Read widely outside of the genre you want to write in. If you want to write fiction, read non-fic, pop sci, and academic papers. Read the news. Read blogs. Read things that are in your wheelhouse, but then randomly grab something from the library that looks cool. You never know where the next idea will come from. Let your imagination wander.

9.) Do you have any “writing heros”? (This could be published writers or non.)

Anyone giving it a go! It’ hard, and it’s disheartening when people don’t love something you’ve put so much work and heart into. It’’s easy to give up on. Don’t.

Otherwise, I love Dianne Wynne Jones’ blatant subversion of stereotypes and tropes, which has really informed my writing, an Jane Austen’s ability to create such diverse, thoughtful, and complex characters.

I also super appreciate fanfic writers, cause they do it out of sheer love, and work for years to hone their craft. Among my faves are @bendingsignpost @sheafrotherdon, and @madlori.

10.) Tell me about your work-in-progress.

 Oh lord, is this a can of worms you really want to open?

 The Silenced Tale & The Accidental Collection  - books #3 and #4 of The Accidental Turn Series  are done. They just need to be line-edited and then the editor can lock the manuscript and it’s out of my hands and into the typesetter/designer’s. (And then of course I need to ramp up to marketing machine.)

 Book #3 is the conclusion of a trilogy of books about a secondary character in  fantasy epic who becomes self-aware and slips the pages of his book.

 The Skylark’s Saga - The two books are written, but one of the relationships is changing dramatically and I need to go in and shift that. I have no idea how much writing/rewriting this is going to entail. However, I do know that I want to get it done by the end of the year. As soon as the manuscript for The Silenced Tale is locked, I’ll be moving onto this.

 This duology is a steampunk-adventure-romance book about a girl vigilante and her ornery rocketpack who gets trapped behind enemy lines after being shot down in a dogfight.

 The Austen Hollywood AU  - I’ve written the first book of the series, and my agent is shopping it now. It’s possible that it may only get signed as a one-book deal, but ideally I’ve developed it as a six-book series (one for each of Austen’s). At some point I’d like to write the first three chapters of the remaining five books, to demonstrate what the voice and tone of each is gong to be like. (Possibly for NaNoWriMo this year??)

 These books are modern adaptations of Austen’s work, but they will all intertwine as characters from different aspects of the entertainment industry cross paths, work together,  and as they do in the originals, find love and contentment.

 The Maddening Science  - at some point I’d like to develop my short story of the same name into a full-length novel, but it would take a lot of research on my part, and a lot of buy-in on a publisher’s. I’m not quite ready to tackle this one yet, though I have pitches and synopsizes and the like written.

Henrietta - This idea is relatively new idea, born from watching a documentary and then reading the non-fic biography that inspired it (see, reading outside your genre helps!), but I think I’d really like to take a swing a writing a historical romance based on the life of a certain historical mistress, something like The Other Boleyn Girl. It would take a massive amount of research as well, but I think would be really interesting and engaging. The woman’s life was fascinating.

The Neridis - I wrote this book about four years ago and it’s been trunked. I’d like to pull it back out and give it a spit-polish and a steam-up, then self publish it sometime next year under my erotica pseudonym. It’s a time-travel lesbian romance story that can easily be punched up into erotica.

And of course, there are three other books that are sort of hovering in the back of my mind, but I’m not ready to write them, or even really a pitch for them yet. The vampire one might be a screenplay instead, I’m not sure.

 Oh, and I am looking to place a script, too - I wrote it under spec for a company that later decided not to shift from distribution into development any more, so I’m not sure what do with 228 pages of cute lesbian comic-book creators falling love over lattes and superheroes. I keep thinking that it would make a great webcomic/graphic novel, but I have no idea how to find an artist willing to commit to like a 500-page graphic novel, and more importantly, find the money to pay them.

I tag whomever wants to jump in. No pressure.