#and all that kata stuff would be revealed in this
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mikkalia ¡ 1 year ago
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the more I think about this coruscant crew mission fic the more excited i get.
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jinmukangwrites ¡ 2 years ago
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weep little lion man (6/14)
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Fandom: Jedi: Fallen Order / Survivor Rating: T Warnings: N/A Ao3 Notes: still playing upload catch up, truly didn't mean to fall behind from uploading to Tumblr. There's one more chapter to upload after this! I update the fic every Thursday on Ao3, and I'm hopeful to get back on track for Tumblr as well :3
Summary: After defeating Dagan Gera for a third and final time, the Compass ends up in Bode's hands without a scratch. He could go back to Jedha with Cal... but he's holding what he wants. He doesn't see the point in pretending any longer. He makes a split-second decision. Or: Bode's betrayal goes a bit differently.
~°~
When Bode wakes, it's to pure peace.
Peace that he hasn't felt in a long, long, time.
His daughter, his sun, his moon, his stars, sleeps against his side, hair a mess, a soft smile on her peaceful face. It takes every ounce of strength Bode has to consider leaving; to stand up and let time move forward. If he's had his way, it would be just like this, for the rest of his life.
But he has work to do.
Slowly and carefully, he inches out of the bed. Kata mumbles and shifts, not waking, thank the stars. She deserves some rest. She can sleep in every day for the rest of her life.
He quickly changes into a new pair of clothes, and belts his holsters onto his body in the usual places. He checks over his blasters before putting them in place, pausing when he notices a third blaster that no longer belongs to him.
He should return it to Cal.
He can't help but feel happy at the thought of having an excuse to see Cal. Surely, today will go better than yesterday. Time and sleep could fix most anything, all Cal needed was to adjust. Surely he must realize how unhappy and unsafe he was while trying to one-man army the Empire. Their little spat last night, and the cold argument hours before that should be clearer now to the both of them.
He sneaks out of Kata's chosen bedroom, looking up and down the corridor and frowning when he realizes he doesn't exactly know where Cal had settled in for the night. He goes further down the corridor, checking the empty rooms as he goes, until he eventually finds a room which's door catches on the duffle Bode had given Cal.
He sighs in relief, opening the door further, but frowning when the room itself looks entirely untouched; not a single piece of dust disturbed.
He exits the bedroom, standing at the end of the corridor at a loss. Where else could Cal be, if not in one of these rooms?
Memories of the argument last night flutters into the forefront of his mind and he curses. He let Cal rile him up, get him angry, and Bode said things he shouldn't have. He can't count the amount of times he'd go to check on Cal back at Koboh just to find his bedroom empty and the kid turning out to be scaling cliffs and taming wild animals while under the moonlight. Cal doesn't sleep, especially if he's emotionally compromised.
He's outside.
And he's been outside all night.
He stuffs Cal's blaster into his belt and storms out of the room.
-o-o-o-o-
When Cal wakes, he wakes slowly. His body has arranged itself into something somewhat comfortable on cool ground, and the morning weather is perfectly decent; not too hot, not too cold. He opens his eyes slightly, thankfully the cliff had casted him in a shadow, so it's not too bright to look around.
He doesn't move quite yet. There's something foreboding about the thought of moving so soon.
He can feel his body, no problem. He doesn't feel injured; just majorly sore in a way that feels comforting and familiar instead of the soreness he had been suffering the day before. Nothing feels pulled, or torn, or punctured.
But he still doesn't move.
Subconsciously, he knows something is wrong. He knows that the second he stretches his legs and moves himself up so he's sitting, the wrongness will reveal itself. It's a terrifying peace before the storm; like sitting in an open field and watching a thunderstorm slowly approach. The sun still shines from behind, and the breeze is still friendly. Yet, that storm will arrive, and it'll last days, and the simple peaceful times will be a lost memory.
He slowly begins to realize what's waiting for him; it's lurking, eagerly waiting for his brain to turn on for it to pounce. He doesn't regret coming out last night, but he begins to regret sleeping out last night while in the chill, covered in sweat.
So he savors this peace for a little while, cursing himself for only making things harder.
Once the shadow of the cliff moves a little bit, and the position he's laying carefully unmoving in starts to become uncomfortable, he finally gives in.
He places his hands under his elbows and lifts himself up. His knee protests in still healing anger, but that's not what has him groaning.
It's the pounding in his skull, a stinging at the back of his throat, the blocked airways of his nostrils that he knows won't fully clear even if he found something to blow his nose with.
Great. He's caught a cold.
It's not bad, nothing he can't deal with right now. His immune system is practically a solid chunk of beskar, a year on Bracca alone introduced his body to more diseases and viruses than he'd ever encounter on a nice sterile ship as a Padawan, or even while on the battlefield of the Clone Wars. Kinda came with the mixing pot of species all squished together in tight spaces for cheap, hard labor territory.
He clears his throat and fixes his garments, looking around for his jacket so he doesn't have to walk back to the temple in just his sleeveless, sweat-stained training shirt. Bracca may have done wonders for his immune system, but nothing can help his complexion. Even on the rare partly cloudy days on Bracca his bare skin could redden. Prauf used to poke fun at him for that.
"Alright, Bd," he sighs, clearing a croaking throat as he stretches, "let's-"
Oh... yeah.
He clears his throat again, sniffing, and tugs his arms into his jacket and double checks the presence of his lightsaber.
Time to get today over with.
-o-o-o-o-
"I don't want you sleeping outside again," Bode says as they walk through the forest.
Bode had spent the whole morning worrying about Cal, even Kata had noticed it, asking him if he was okay while he made a fire to heat up breakfast rations. Cal returned closer to noon than to sunrise, caked with smears of dirt and bags under his eyes. He looked pale, still does actually, but had refused to explain his night's actions more than a I only did what you suggested.
Cal sniffs. "That a rule?"
Bode scowls at him, but turns back to the trail ahead of them. He had scouted the area after unloading Cal from the cargo-hold and finding a place to hide his jet. He had seen wildlife grazing east of the temple, wildlife that were potentially able to be domesticated. If not, they'll at least show where the edible plants are. Bode had made it clear to Cal earlier that morning that he expected Cal to help with chores and assist in making a self-sustainable home for the three of them. He had expected an argument, but Cal just shrugged and asked what needed to be done first.
"If it has to be," Bode replies. "Though it should be common sense. What if you catch a cold?"
Cal rolls his eyes. "Fine, whatever you say."
And it leaves off there.
Bode resists frowning. It's like Cal has completely switched his personality through the night. What was a burning anger and a palpable sense of betrayal just a cycle ago... is now just... aloof. Bode can't tell what he's thinking, or how he's feeling, and it's slowly starting to make Bode feel worse than if Cal had still been visibly angry.
Bode's seen Cal get this way a few times before; this natural deflection of whatever truth rages within him. The first time had been on Coruscant while Cal repaired an ascension cable; Bode had tried to nonchalantly dig for information about Cere Junda but Cal had carefully kept from mentioning anything damning... not because he had pinpointed Bode's intentions with the questioning, but because Cal had hard feelings about the topic. About Cere.
Another time was long after Bode had reunited with Cal on Koboh. He had asked about Cal's love life with Merrin, and he got dodgy. That must have been because he must have had feelings for the woman, but the Jedi's oaths of celibacy was something he was struggling with.
The other times were not as obvious, just simple glimpses into what Cal had thought about his old family. The way his voice went flat while talking about his time alone, how he put on a fake smile the first time they approached Jedha, how he always avoided using the bed Greez provided specifically for him.
Bode hadn't expected this kind of concealment to be directed at himself, though it's not like he had expected to care if Cal hated him or not either. And for once, he doesn't know how to read this.
Cal's upset with Bode, and Cal's no longer going to be transparent about the why.
And deep down, that frustrates Bode.
Tanalorr wasn't a place for secrets, not between Bode's family. Bode had promised himself and Cal that there was no reason to keep secrets. Well, all except one, but he'd tell that secret to Cal once he accepts his place on Tanalorr.
He breathes a mental sigh to calm himself. Cal's understandably angry. Let him process at his own pace. He'll open up again soon enough.
Cal clears his throat, he's been doing that all morning, and continues walking to where Bode is leading.
Bode stays silent for the rest of the journey, he doesn't know what to say.
Eventually, they make it to the field where he had seen the grazing fauna. However, that's not the highlight of the day. Yes, it was exciting to see that the fauna still hung around and that they were flightless poultry that weren't native to Tanalorr, but purposely brought by the Jedi two hundred years ago with the intention of domesticating. Bode doubts there's a single fauna larger than the tip of his pinky finger that are native to Tanalorr.
No, truly, that discovery was important, but it wasn't what lingered at the forefront of Bode's mind even as they let the fauna be with plans to build, or repair, an enclosure for them.
On the way back, Cal breaks off from Bode toward what appears to be another destroyed ship; a relic of an ancient war. This one is recognizably High Republic, the Jedi symbol stamped across one of the wings. Bode watches intently as Cal approaches the fighter jet, the younger man having already pulled off one of his gloves like it wasn't even an afterthought.
Psychometry.
Bode's always wondered what that's like.
The Jedi had never been too fond of obsessing over the past, nor the future. Visions, many said, were a path to the dark side. The Jedi were also hypocrites. Casting aside prophecies until they were convenient. Bode's honestly sure that the only reason Cal was allowed to continue into Padawan-ship despite his rare ability was because Anikin Skywalker's existence challenged their views first. The future didn't exist, and the past didn't matter... until they both did.
Bode watches, fascinated by how Cal goes about his investigations, brushing his fingertips along places most likely to have been touched. He doesn't fall into any trances; the kind where his body goes stock still and his eyes unfocus, sometimes rolling to the back of his head. He does pause every so often, his eyebrows creasing and his eyes closing with a sharp downward turn to his lips, but as Bode carefully reaches out with the Force, all he feels back concerning Cal's greater emotions is mild frustration at none of the echoes being stronger. Bode backs off before Cal can notice him pressing. Bode doesn't want Cal to feel more invaded than he already is.
Bode's a little glad none of the echoes are stronger. How Cal manages to continue to be so firmly himself through the strong ones is beyond Bode. How many lives has he lived? How many points of views? How many times has he felt death, or victory, intense love, suffocating fear? He'd done a little research into psychometry when he had been assigned to get close to Cal—"little" being relative, he couldn't do much study when there wasn't much to be found—but he at least knows that those with the ability experience the memories as if they were there themselves. Bode can't imagine being in someone else's mind, seeing how they see, feeling what they feel, thinking the way they think.
Maybe that's why Cal's always been so deeply kind and patient toward most people he met. He has an empathy far deeper than most will ever know.
Which stings a little, that Cal's so firmly decided Bode is wrong in what he's trying to do here; choosing instead to wallow in his own self righteousness instead of trying to see from Bode's side and...
And maybe that's the trick of it. Why Cal so stubbornly remains himself. Maybe, somewhere in his consciousness, he's drawn lines. Things he won't back down on. Things he's made a core at what makes Cal Cal. Maybe, what Bode's doing is challenging one of those core things that make Cal. It's not something he's willing to see from another point of view.
Bode just has to figure out what exactly is holding Cal up on this kind of life. Help him through it. Maybe see if Bode can... he doesn't know... make an echo? Force Cal to see things differently with Bode's eyes?
Somehow, Bode gets the feeling that would be more of an invasion for Cal than it would be for Bode. So he stashes the idea somewhere at the back of his head with the other last case scenarios.
Cal pokes his head further into the jet's cockpit, both hands reaching in despite one still being gloved. Curious, Bode advances closer instead of watching at a distance. He has enough experience with spacecraft to know when something is doomed to never fly again, and this jet certainly falls in that category, so he's not worried about Cal jumping into the pilot's chair and taking off—though fruitless that effort would be without the compass.
"Find something interesting?" He asks.
Cal doesn't jump, but the way his body springs up for just a moment suggests a monumental effort to not react. Bode presses a tight smile to his lips; he didn't mean to startle Cal.
Cal glances at him, then clears his throat. "Not really, the pilot was a Jedi, she survived the crash, she didn't leave many strong emotions."
That's probably a good thing that she didn't leave strong emotions. If Bode knows Jedi, which he's pretty sure he does, most Jedi who show strong emotions are ones who fall to negativity. Their darkness. Struggling with one's own Dark Side is hard enough without experiencing someone else's. Bode knows he himself has distanced himself from the Force because his own connection can get dicey as of late.
Cal hums, backing away from the jet and replacing the glove on his bare hands. "Let's head back," he says, glancing at Bode with an eyebrow raised before walking away back toward the temple. He clears his throat again as he walks away.
Bode watches him go for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. There it is again. That aloofness. There's no discernable anger, but there's no friendliness. It's like Cal's decided to treat him like a stranger. Which, fair. Cal's not lying that much of what their relationship had started as was all lies.
Bode wishes he could shake sense into Cal. Show him how good they could have it here if he'd just give in.
For now, he follows Cal back to the temple, telling himself over and over that Cal just needs time.
-o-o-o-o-
The sun is setting, and Cal's head pounds. Not only that, but throughout the day he's only gotten more congested. The entire day he's felt like he's been slowly suffocating, forcing himself to breathe though barely parted lips unless Bode looked at him, to which Cal would shut his mouth and hold his breath until Bode looked away.
He doesn't know why he's trying so hard to hide a simple, growing cold. Maybe he's afraid Bode knowing about it would hinder his plans to explore the area more on his own; or maybe he's just stubbornly trying to keep together what little pride he has left. Catching a cold on the first night feels embarrassing in ways that it shouldn't.
He brings the back of his hand to his nose, casually wiping like he had an itch, as Kata silently plays with her Mookie doll. A circle of stones corral a small fire, a pot Kata had found in the temple hung over it, boiling water. Bode had left the two of them alone while he's off getting more firewood; which feels wrong for a whole bunch of reasons. The man kidnaps Cal and then leaves him alone with his daughter like there's nothing weird about that.
Cal doesn't know how to act around Kata.
Obviously, she's innocent in everything. It's not hard to separate her character from her father's. She's smart for how small she is. Mature in ways Cal wasn't when he was her age. But she's still a child. A child who enjoys playing with dolls and singing songs to herself.
"Hey Cal? Can I ask you a question?" Kata suddenly asks.
Cal blinks. She's also unapologetically curious.
"Of course," he responds, pushing the discomfort of his own body to the back-burner, throwing her a smile. "Besides that one, I'm assuming?"
She doesn't look at him while she continues to play with the doll, walking it across the log.
"What's important to you?"
Out of all questions, Cal hadn't expected that one. Cal doesn't know many—if any at all—kids, but he's pretty sure kids don't ask questions like that to strangers they've just met. Cal would have expected something like, what's his favorite color, or where is he from, or can she see his lightsaber.
Getting philosophical with a child isn't at all what he was expecting.
The back of his throat tickles, and he clears it. "Um," he says, trying to figure out how honest he should be with a child he'd just met. A child he's going to be spending a considerable amount of time around for the time being until he can find a way to escape. A child who's just as victimized in this as he is, even if she doesn't know it. A child... who's looking at him now with an open interest and a raised eyebrow, expecting an answer.
He sighs, his shoulders dropping.
"My... mission."
"What's that?"
He brings a hand to the back of his neck, tugging on the shirt hairs. "Holding the line. Fighting the Empire. Protecting people. I'm a Jedi, one of the last, and I have to keep my people's memories alive."
She nods. "What else?"
What else? Stars, could the girl just ask to see his lightsaber or a cool Force trick?
He clears his throat. It's really starting to smart. "My family," he continues. "They accepted me when I had no one, I'd do anything for them. Other things too, but those are the most important."
"I see. Thank you, Cal."
He awkwardly nods his head. She looks like she's solved the secrets to the universe, but whatever answers she's found in their short conversation, she keeps to herself.
Feeling off-put, he lowers his hands into his lap. "Do you, uh, want to see a Force trick?"
Her face scrunches up for a second. "My papa can do those."
"Oh," Cal says, suddenly feeling distant. "Right. I... forgot."
Bode's a Jedi.
Bode used the Force on Cal. Only once, in their initial scuffle, and he hasn't visually used the Force since... but he used the Force.
"You can still show me tricks, though," Kata continues, unaware of his inner turmoil. "If you know new ones."
Cal pushes the turmoil down and makes sure his smile looks friendly as he reaches forward with one hand, using the Force to wrap around the Mookie doll. She smiles as she lets go of the doll, laughing as he concentrates as moves the doll, limb after limb.
Mookie does a jaunty little walk down the log and then back towards Kata, jumping up her arm and hugging her around her shoulder. She giggles and takes the doll back in her hands, hugging it tight to her chest.
"Papa usually just makes rocks float," she says, amusement brightening her tone and making her sound her age.
"Papa thinks his floating rocks are cool," Bode cuts in, announcing his arrival.
Cal gives an inner speech of encouragement before turning and watching Bode set down a load of firewood before he sits down on his own log opposite of their little fire pit. He reaches over and hands out rations, then leans over the boiling water with a smile. "Good thing I thought of grabbing tea-bags."
Cal hums, looking down at his rations and taking a bite. He can't lie, the thought of tea is tempting. Bode gets to work filling three scavenged (and cleaned) mugs with the water and then dropping the bags into the hot liquid. The smell immediately washes around them, miraculously clearing Cal's sinuses just for a promising moment.
"So," Bode says, "let's talk about rules."
Cal looks up. Bode wants to talk about this now? In front of his daughter?
"Rules?" Kata asks and Bode nods.
"Rules. The three of us have this planet all to ourselves, which means we are the only ones who can take care of it, and of each other. We all need to do our part. Do you have any ideas, Kata?"
Her nose scrunches as she thinks for a moment. "Keep... our rooms clean?"
Bode snaps a finger. "Keep our rooms clean! Good one, baby girl! But what happens if we don't keep our rooms clean?"
Kata thinks for a moment longer, then smiles. "You have to clean everyone else's rooms for a week!"
Bode looks thoughtful, then nods. "We can work with that. Okay, my turn. Everyone has to be back at the temple by nightfall. If you aren't... you're in charge of breakfast in the morning. Your turn, scrapper."
Bafflement isn't anywhere close to what Cal's feeling right now. Bode raises an eyebrow, eyes so persistently not looking at Cal's face, and Cal wants to scream. He feels like he's being held hostage, forced to be civil for a conversation he truly wasn't expecting to be civil. He could argue, but that would probably scare Kata. He could play along, but that would give Bode a win.
Damn. He fights from openly glaring at Bode. "Take turns with chores. You skip out, you do extra the next day."
Bode nods, even though Cal's answer had been lazy. Stars, his head hurts.
The list of rules grows as Bode turns the conversation through a few more rounds, each person giving a rule and a consequence, nothing too steep, nothing too punishing. A few rounds in, he hands out the now steeped tea, and Cal tries not to look too thankful for the beverage and how it feels so good down his throat.
Thankfully, it eventually ends with a hefty, reasonable list as if a group of reasonable—hah—people had made it. Bode looks like he's about to send Kata to bed, but the girl startles him with a question that has Cal's ears pirking.
"Papa, how long are we going to be here?"
Bode flounders for a second, before responding gently. "This is our new home, Kata."
Her eyebrows drop, and Cal keeps his eyes on Bode, breath drawn, as she continues. "It's lonely. I don't like it here."
A thousand emotions seem to flicker across Bode's face. Conflicting ones. Ones that has Bode turning his entire body away from Cal. "It'll get better, baby. Now how about you head off to bed, papa needs to talk with Cal a little bit."
She looks between the two of them, then slowly stands up. She retreats, and Cal wonders how many conversations had gone just like that between her and her father in the past, the blatant dismissal.
Bode watches her go, before bringing a hand to his chin and sighing the second she's out of earshot. "If you sneak off at night, if you try to steal my jet or the Compass, if you don't pull your weight, I'll lock you in that room you picked out until you regret it."
There it is.
"What if I fight back?"
Bode sighs.
"Or I run?"
Bode squeezes his eyes shut.
"Bode, you can't seriously think I'd let you lock me anywhere again."
He slams a hand down on the log, and Cal quiets, holding his cooling tea. "Because I know you won't hurt me," Bode says, voice deep and steely. "Not with Kata relying so much on me. Not while there's nowhere else for you to go. If you fight back, you know I'm a lot more comfortable hurting you than you are of hurting me."
Cal holds his breath for a second, skull pounding, throat protesting, and he releases it. "Okay."
Bode seems to relax, before glancing at Cal for just a moment. "Your turn, scrapper."
Cal startles. He had thought the conversation over. "What?"
"What are your hard rules, your boundaries? This is a two way road. Give what you demand."
Cal almost wants to scoff, stand up, and leave the conversation. But he considers it for a moment, then, screw it, decides to humor him.
"Don't tie me up," he says, and Bode twitches. "I'll help with chores, but in-between them I'm allowed free time to explore and be on my own, and I get the benefit of the doubt if I accidentally stumble across anything. I'll be honest if you catch me doing something I shouldn't. No more lying." Now that he's started, he can't stop. "Stop calling me scrapper. Don't talk about my family. I also want that muzzle thrown off a kriffing cliff."
Silence settles for a suffocating second until Bode slowly nods. "Reasonable. If I break any of the rules?"
"Locked in a room until you regret it," Cal says coldly.
Bode sighs. "Alright."
Cal lifts the mug to his lips and finishes off the tea, refusing to look at Bode any longer, his barely stringed together sanity finally taking a toll. Bode finishes his own cup, then stands up.
"I'll see you in the morning, Cal," he says softly, then he grabs the pot and dumps the extra water into the fire.
Cal stays where he is for a little while, even as Bode walks away and enters the temple. It's not quite sundown, but there's not enough light to think about going out if being back before dark is so important to Bode.
He closes his eyes, and does his best to consider today a victory. He got to go out and explore the planet, and he saw another crashed ship. He got some straight answers out of Bode, and now he can finally make some plans.
Help out with chores, then go out to find a way off this planet in his free time. Keep within Bode's lines, and he'd be home free.
He sniffs, his nose stubbornly clogging again now that the tea is gone. He can only hope now that his cold doesn't get worse and complicate things.
He really doesn't need things to be more complicated.
With a sigh, he leaves the steaming campfire and enters the temple, walking into his chosen prison cell. There are folded blankets on the bed, new ones, ones that wouldn't look so nice if they had been here for two hundred years.
Bode must have put them there.
Cal doesn't have it in him to feel grateful.
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luvrbug ¡ 3 years ago
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Hi! I just checked out your writing and i love it!! May I request something with katakuri and how on earth he would develop a relationship with a normal sized s/o? If not thats okay :)
katakuri is like ... right next to mihawk on "literally the most flawless man ever" list . he just wants his donuts and to make his sweet spouse happy. not much size stuff was mentioned butttt i dont think that would matter much to him! it probably would. make things awkward in the bedroom. but thats about as much as he's concerned with it.
«─────────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ───────────»
Katakuri
▸ Any romantic partner is likely arranged by Big Mom- she needs those political alliances, and what better way to show her utmost commitment than marry off her strongest child?
▸ Katakuri is.. less than pleased with this news. He'll do anything for his family and to ensure Big Mom is happy- but his own reservations cause him to seem standoffish and cold at first.
▸ He doesn't want to force any affection on you. He wouldn't mind having someone to confide in and .... maybe someday come to love. But he understands your feelings of being forced into this marriage.
▸ There was no kiss at the wedding, no "consumation", you sleep in different beds and never eat meals together. It can feel like Katakuri despises you sometimes.
▸ If word somehow gets out that you feel neglected or like Kata is upset at you (likely from brulee after you confided in her) he'll start making more appearances. Even if its just to read the paper while you eat breakfast in the morning.
▸ These domestic, quiet moments give way to you developing feelings for this big, intimidating mochi man. He's such a protective, calming presence. Nothing will ever hurt you with Katakuri standing guard.
▸ He's developed a fondness for you. Its a soft love, one that he quietly nurtures during his Merienda with domestic fantasies of you. He'll start to drop some subtle hints that his feelings go deeper than friendship.
▸ All of this subtle fondness, glances, soft touches, and other shows of affection come to a head one day in his office. You brought him a bento for lunch, chiding him for working himself too hard and not taking breaks.
▸ And Katakuri is just gazing down at you with the softest, sweetest look in his eyes as you get all huffy and irritated. You stop your little tirade while he just... looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky.
▸ Katakuri never imagined having enough trust to reveal his face to anyone, but when your tiny hands pull down his fluffy scarf and press gentle kisses all over his skin - he couldn't imagine life any other way.
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sameteeth ¡ 3 years ago
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im actually kinda mad at how they made nya be the water ninja. she's strong as samurai x, and was capable of beating the ninja right up until they reveal its *gasp* a GIRL! and then ofc her element is water, and wu and misako's shit handling of the whole situation pisses me off. theyre such useless mentors imo - wu can't see past his own mysticism and very rarely deigns to help, and misako is Wu But A Woman And Slightly Weaker. (ninja-knox-ur-sox-off has a good theory/meta on why misako couldve been one of ninjagos greatest villians, check out their stuff) honestly they couldve been replaced with teapots and the plot wouldve had the same flow. anyways, ignoring ninjago's lackluster character wrangling, nya's critical moment of truth, where she needs to defeat the preeminent, just ends with her summoning a big wave and doing it in one hit. which is fine, whatever, but there's so much more they could have done with it!
in her water ninja training, nya's weakness is her perfectionism. she's very talented and picks up skills quickly, so not being able to have immediate control over her powers is frustrating. she gets angry and gives up (similar to kai) and it takes ronin of all people to show her that it's ok to fail.
nya's been surrounded by all these impossibly strong people - the ninja, born with elemental powers, lloyd who becomes incredibly powerful, wu who is their teacher, and even misako, who is smart and seasoned. they are constantly in high-stakes situations they barely make it out of alive. (sometimes they dont make it out alive.) of course she's going to struggle with the idea of perfection - she needs to be perfect and smart and seasoned and have elemental powers and battle experience so she can save not only lloyd, but the other ninja and the entirety of ninjago. that's a LOT of pressure to put on someone!!!! especially when they are newly awakened to their powers and suddenly they are the only one capable of helping.
but nya is the element of water, a powerful and versatile element. and like water, she must persist. each raindrop adds to the flood that can level towns. her final, massive wave against the preeminent is impressive, but i would have rather seen nya struggle to summon more than a few raindrops. she fails. she fails, and tries again. with ronin and kai behind her, supporting her. cheering her on. and nya tries again, makes small waves the preeminent doesn't even notice. so she gets back up and embraces the failure and tries again. one droplet can cleave mountains. nya tries and tries and tries and lets herself fail! and she forgets the pressure mounting, the scared people only she can protect, she just flows. lets the power move through her, with her, and feels her strength and understanding grow with every misstep. she isn't trying to grasp the water anymore - she *is* the water. waves of all sizes crash into the preeminent, chaos created by an elemental master who hasn't had years of experience with her element or a mother to guide her through her kata balanced on the mirror-surface of a pond.
the preeminent falls, worn and battered like a broken jetty, eroded away by the constant water. the preeminent falls because nya gave up on doing things perfectly - she just went with the flow.
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furiosophie ¡ 4 years ago
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Hi, I saw you enjoyed Fallen Order, would you consider writing something about it?
Asking for a friend, not because you are my favorite fanfic writer
ahh thank you anon, i'm glad you enjoy my stories - i set this in the oh the things we left behind universe bc this idea has been knocking around in my head for ages, i hope that's okay :)
temple ruins
read on ao3
I’m right here, Cal hears echoing through his mind, overwhelming and steady and precious and warm, too far away to grasp yet so tangible still even in his dream, something far and distant dissolving, closer, closer, closer, snapping back into orbit, two entities becoming more than the sum of their parts, stitched together, bright against the emptiness of the universe.
He startles awake with a gasp, heart hammering in his chest. Beside him, Merrin stirs with a huff, not quite awake. The air is heavy around them, warm and sticky with the smell of summer.
Cal breathes in through his nose, lets the air escape through his mouth. He reaches out in the Force until his mind brushes up against the two signatures next door, small but strong in their own right, sleeping peacefully in their beds. The house is quiet around them, and so is the Force, everything where it should be, the only thing out of place that feeling lingering persistently at the back of his mind, so steady and precious and warm.
"What is it?" Merrin asks, her voice muffled by how her face is buried into his shoulder. Cal takes another breath, feels the sensation at the back of his mind slowly escape past his lips with a long exhale.
Merrin bumps her head against his shoulder. "Is it the kids?" she asks, a little more alarmed.
Cal pulls her closer against his chest, places a kiss against her forehead. "No, it's nothing. They’re safe," he reassures her. “Go back to sleep.”
"You sure?" she asks again, already drifting back under. She might feel it too, he realizes. Her connection to the Force is weaker here, so far from Dathomir, but not gone.
"Yes, it's nothing, really," he says again, pulling her closer still. "It was just a dream," he adds as her breathing evens out and wonders for the rest of the night if that is true.
---
It doesn't fully leave him, that feeling, not even after his first cup of caf, or his morning katas out in their small backyard. It stays there at the back of his mind when he prepares lunch for the kids and when he goes into town to get the missing parts he needs to fix their speeder and when he watches the sun set past the horizon from his usual spot meditating out on the roof just before dinner.
It's as if something shifted in the Force. As if something had finally settled like a scab had been pulled off a wound after weeks and years of discomfort to reveal new skin.
"You lied to me, Cal Kestis," Merrin tells him that night when they are getting ready for bed, her words accompanied by a shove to his shoulder, not too gentle. "We don't do that. We do not lie to each other."
Cal doesn't have to ask what she's talking about. "I didn't lie," he says regardless of the fact that she's probably right. He had known, hadn't he, right from that second he woke up, that something monumental had happened last night. "I just didn't think--" he shrugs, unsure how to actually put it into words.
They stand there for a second, in silence, just breathing, evaluating. "I can feel it too, I think," Merrin says then. "It’s different than it felt at home. The Force. Lighter."
"Yes," Cal agrees. "Lighter."
"How did that happen?"
"I don't know."
"But you want to find out," Merrin says with a sigh and slips into bed. "I know you. All that Jedi stuff. You still want to find out."
Cal wants to reassure her he doesn’t, that he wants to let it rest like he promised himself and her all those years ago when Merrin first realized it wasn’t just the two of them they had to protect going forward.
“Don’t do something stupid,” she warns him as he climbs into bed beside her, his mind reaching out one last time to check on the signatures next door.
“I won’t,” he says but she is right of course. He does want to find out. He really does.
---
He doesn't actually go to find out. No matter how much he wants to.
They are safe here, is the thing, he and Merrin and the kids. Tucked away in the mid-rim where they are known as nothing but the family brave enough to settle down in the woods atop the hill, somehow miraculously left alone by the beasts that roam the woods. They get to go and visit the small town down in the valley and watch the old Twi'lek lady at the market fawn over their twin’s freckles. They get to plant crops that will take months to grow and sit out on the porch at sundown to watch the lights of the town slowly trickle off one by one.
They are simply Merrin and Cal, parents to Zeldin and Trilla — not a Jedi and a Nightsister, not parents to force-sensitive twins, not things to be hunted — just honest people, working towards a happy, quiet life, like everyone else.
And that's too important to let go, it’s as simple as that.
---
He dreams of him for the first time when the leaves start to fall, autumn sprinkling the pathway to their house in a million shades of brown and red.
He dreams of a man dressed in black, imposing and all-encompassing like he's only ever met one other being, yet so bright it's nearly blinding, warmth settling into his bones, even as he dreams. He dreams about twin suns when the snow begins to fall in winter and about the ruins of the Jedi temple on Coruscant when the grass begins to sprout again in spring.
That warmth is always there now, like a pull towards the light. Like the memory of waking up to the sound of his Master’s voice, and the feeling of his bare feet skitting over the tiles of the temple’s halls. Like a call home.
He doesn’t tell Merrin but he suspects she knows all the same.
---
Cere finds them when the heat of summer becomes too oppressive to keep the windows closed at night.
“You feel it too, don’t you?” she asks him and it’s not a question. He nods regardless, the pull in his bones just another part of his existence now, like the aftertaste of caf on his tongue.
“It’s calling us home,” Cere says, hope in her eyes. “We need to go home.”
“I’m already home,” Cal tells her and leaves her out on the porch.
Still, he reaches out that night, as he dreams, nearly involuntary towards that light, feels himself brush up against it, stretched out across the universe just to catch a glimpse. He catches a laugh and words spoken in a language he's never heard, and then just beside that light a blank space in the Force, cool and calm like a harbor in a storm. Safe like he hasn’t felt since he was a child.
“I need to find him,” he tells Merrin the next morning, the pull transformed into an ache, a deep longing for a part of himself he’s long forgotten. I need to go home, he doesn’t say.
“Always with your Jedi stuff,” she scolds, but she kisses his forehead and sends him on his way with a promise to return to them, and the lingering sensation of her protection ritual still wrapped around his chest.
---
He knows the coordinates as soon as joins Cere on the Mantis. Yavin 4.
He’s never been to Yavin but it feels familiar to him still — the smell of the forest rising around him and the grass and moss scrunching under his boots — as they step out of the ship to be greeted by what feels more like a buzzing city than old decrepit ruins. There is movement everywhere, from the gaggle of kids running past them without fear or a care in the world to the people, decked out in colorful armor, unloading crates from landing ships.
“Mandalorians,” Cal realizes with some sort of childlike awe.
“Got a problem with that, aruetii?”
Cal turns to find a burly man in full dark-blue armor standing beside their ramp, arms folded across his chest. He looks like he could probably crush him with one hand, yet there is nothing in the Force that makes him feel alarmed about his presence.
“Uhm, no. Just--” Cal shrugs, a little lost. “I didn’t think I’d find any given what I was uh-- looking for.”
The Mandalorian tilts his head at him for a second, arms still crossed, and then something seems to click. “Ah! Not an aruetii,” he says with something Cal can only interpret as delight. “You’re one of them. You’re a Jetii.”
Something lurches in Cal’s chest, that pull in his bones so strong for just a second he worries he might fall to his knees. Jedi. He hasn’t heard that word spoken in such a long time, so casual, without any malice. Hasn’t thought of himself as one either. So casual. Without any malice.
“Yeah,” he says, voice halfway stuck in his throat. “Yeah, I think that’s me.”
“Come, come,” the Mandalorian says, already reaching out to grab him by the arm to haul him along past ships and buildings. “They’ve been coming from all over. I’m sure he knows you’re here. They must be waiting for you, little Jetii.”
“He?” Cal asks but it’s barely out of his mouth before the thick brush opens up to a makeshift training ground carved into the jungle behind the temple’s ruins, revealing a Mandalorian and a Jedi sparing amidst a fired-up group of onlookers.
The Jedi is clad in black, just like in Cal’s dreams, imposing and all-encompassing. He’s swinging a white lightsaber against the dark blade of his opponent but there is something off about the way they move, the Mandalorian meeting the Jedi’s swings not as if they were enemies but as if they are one, orbiting around each other. Twin suns, Cal remembers, bright against the emptiness of the universe. This up close it's nearly blinding.
He’s so distracted by their back and forth for a moment it only hits him as they drift apart to catch their breath, the fact that he knows some of the people gathered around them. He knows them from growing up at the temple, and from growing up at war, and one in particular from all the stories told about her, blue and white lekku recognizable even among the crowd. He knows all of them, in fact, even the ones he hasn’t met, through the Force that flows through them, uninhibited and free.
“Oh,” the Jedi clad in black says in front of Cal as if he just noticed him, the word in juxtaposition with how there isn’t a hint of surprise or confusion on his face as he clips his lightsaber to his belt to step closer. “There you are,” he says with a smile, eyes very blue against the afternoon sky. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Cal is clearly older than him, with his beard and greying temples, by more than a decade probably, but somehow at that moment, he feels like he’s a Padawan again, oblivious to the vastness of the universe and all it holds.
"Hi," Cal says mind going blank as the pull finally seems to bleed out of his bones to be replaced by nothing but that overwhelming feeling of warmth. "I'm Cal Kestis."
"Hello Cal Kestis," the man says and stretches out a gloved hand towards him. "My name is Luke. Welcome home."
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reticentshugyosha ¡ 4 years ago
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Remembering My Early Training
I feel really quite fortunate to have stumbled into classical martial arts when I was a kid. As opposed to the more generic and significantly less exciting forms of kick-punch arts out there, my experience of Ryukyu Kempo was infinitely more colorful and arguably deep, if not at times in unintended and unexpected ways.
The first several weeks of training in Ryukyu Kempo consisted of wearing normal clothes to a class of black (yes black) dogi clad students practicing an array of empty handed kata, alongside kobujutsu, and distinct grappling maneuvers called tuite. I, however (like most new students at the time) was slated to make my way to the edge of the training area to watch class, and more importantly, to make friends with “Mr. Suburito.”
A suburito is an extra large, weighted wooden training sword. Despite its already bulky nature, the more senior students of the school would bore out holes along the blade of the veritable branch and fill them with lead for extra difficulty. My adult-sized, but not otherwise modified “Mr. Suburito” was quite enough for me to handle in awkwardly learning how to carry and draw him, so as to perform a great many downward, centerline cuts subsequently. I mean wooden swords are cool and all, but it was admittedly a little curious way to begin training in what I expected to be generically open handed karate art. Fast forward 20+ years later and I’m still discovering the nuance of that particular exercise in reference to my open handed skill set (including both striking and grappling) and my practice of kobujutsu at large.
After a few weeks of learning to relate to Mr. Suburito, I was introduced to Naihanchi Shodan as my first kata (solo exercise), rather than a taikyoku or kihon (typically low block and middle punch) manner of pattern.
The instruction given for the seemingly arcane Naihanchi kata was that the interestingly venerated Master Choki Motobu famously noted it was the only thing needed to gain a complete knowledge of karate. Beyond that, according to the Guiding Principles of our school “in the past a single master studied a single Kata for more than ten years…” and that if we just wholeheartedly threw ourselves into the practice of the kata (which follows a single horizontal, line enbusen [floor pattern] that sees the student moving left and right in a side-oriented kiba dachi [horse stance], while performing 27 duplicated movements at the left, right and center of the body, including two seeming ritualized double handed “salutes”) we would be well on our way to becoming truly skilled and wise practitioners of the art.
All of these things about the Naihanchi Kata were of course true, and after quite literally hundreds of thousands of repetitions of that particular 27-movement form over the course of more than two decades, I still cannot pretend to fully grok the contents and blueprints contained within that one archetypal form. Nonetheless, the unspoken fact was too that Mr. Suburito and the arcane Naihanchi Kata (despite the realities of the respective, intentionally subtle and skillful physical conditioning technologies contained within them) were really about slowly introducing a potential new member of the dojo into the actual training methods of the style and school without revealing anything too obviously dangerous, should the new recruit to prove to not be of the “good moral character” demanded by the Dojo Kun. Should that be the case, and should such a recruit find themselves to have worn out their welcome, the public was nominally protected, and the secrets of the school were further safeguarded by those deemed trustworthy enough to receive them. To return again to an examination of the Guiding Principles “the eagle with the sharpest talons hides them.”
As you can imagine, the onboarding process was a little more lengthy than that at a typical karate school. I recall distinctly having to memorize and be able to recite on command the five statements of the Dojo Kun (school code) and the ten paragraphs comprising the Guiding Principles (about a typed page and a half combined) before being able to progress beyond Mr. Suburito’s lone company.
After Naihanchi Shodan was sufficiently committed to mental and physical memory, and an exercise or two beyond simple striking sets with Mr. Suburito, two more similarly single, horizontal line enbusen comprised Naihanchi Kata (Nidan and Sandan) would follow, before I (the student) would actually be introduced to anything clearly resembling combat in posture, gesture, or movement in the truly unique “Tomari” Seisan (which is in fact a rather intricate white crane form, as opposed to most other forms sharing its name). For me this took about a year (without receiving or testing for a single belt rank along the way; curiously even the black belts didn’t wear rank belts, only a unique form of pantaloons called nobakhama, with but a couple of students who had here-and-there tested for a colored belt donning one).
However, it’s notable that within three or so weeks I (who hadn’t been yet taught how to do a simple block or strike in the manner of the system) would suddenly find myself introduced to the chizikun bo, a type of paired koppo (6” sticks with leather finger loops drilled through their centers, used as weapons, which are placed over the middle fingers of both hands). As it turns out a 7th Dan Kyoshi (Master) of the art would be teaching a rare form for the weapon at an even rarer full weekend training camp alongside a river at a distant and rural campsite.
You see, Kyoshi was always on the verge or “retiring,” and taking his still undivulged body of genuinely unique knowledge with him. Kyoshi never could quite get a successful dojo up and running himself (in fact the dojo was quite transient and moved or closed at least once a year) but nonetheless he (due to a mixture of actual skill and cowboy charisma) kept a pretty dedicated band of students within his orbit.
Whenever Kyoshi was strapped for cash a special training called a “Spirit Class” (a four+ hour day of Mr. Suburito and Naihanchi-esque kiba dachi chudan tsuki [horse stance middle punches]) could be scheduled for a nominal fee, inclusive of a custom screen printed t-shirt. If the bank was really coming to task though, a new, and somehow legitimately rare kobujutsu kata could be transmitted, replete with a custom printed t-shirt (for one low price) over the course of a weekend, and all hands were to be on deck. At no extra cost came the knowledge that if you open the advanced chizi kata the wrong way it “looks like you guys are trying to tear your peckers off” (LMAO, seriously) and that if you want to shower at a rural campsite you should stop and get quarters first, and that when you stop and get quarters first you should make sure that the item you’re buying to break cash into change with costs an appropriate amount so as to retrieve quarters in change. Twelve and thirteen year olds have to learn this stuff sometime! 😉
At this point I feel it worthwhile to note that Kyoshi did eventually retire and move out of state and out of touch, with some yet untaught and authentically rare and valuable skills in tow. I still practice that kata, or what I think I was taught at the time, and I’ve met very few people that know the “advanced chizi kata.”
Picking back up in week five of my training (and far beyond) Naihanchi Nidan and Sandan were gradually learned, and suddenly I had been indoctrinated and inducted properly into the tradition. By then I practiced my kata and exercises single mindedly while lusting over a copy of the Grandmaster’s newly self-published textbook. The textbook was sold only by a single school in his association for what was then (and now, but then especially) a very steep price of $65 (and a far cry from the $15 cost of his senior student’s very useful introductory manual sold in the same venue).
Speaking of those students and that venue, it was around this time that I recall that I began to realize that our faction of the art was no longer in the good graces of the Grandmaster’s association, and that there existed some really bad juju between the two camps. But regardless, we were all agreed that we were far superior to, and would not associate ourselves with, the third group of people accused of having stolen some of the secrets of the Grandmaster’s art at a few generous public seminars.
But I digress. For us, our “classical” system (as opposed to “traditional,” or the even more anathema “modern” styles) of karate was supreme (and admittedly the older I get the more my bias does swing that way among Japanese and Okinawan striking arts). Labeled sell-outs like Gichen Funakoshi of Shotokan fame were but “shamisen players with silver tongues who only ever learned the outside of karate” (or so said that curious younger Master Motobu again…the older Master Motobu was quite more refined in manners and skill). In short, if you wanted to real deal, you had to come to us.
My early life experience in Ryukyu Kempo introduced me to some of the most wonderful and valued friends and mentors in my life who I have been blessed to have cherished relationships with for decades now. Too, it broke (early on, in life and in training) many of my romantic conceptions of humanity, while also providing me an all but stereotypicalized idyllic training milieu. I really couldn’t have had it better anywhere else.
~Sunyananda
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sparrowwritesforop ¡ 6 years ago
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It´s never too late. Or is it?
This is a request from @pinkhatlizzy​
Katakuri forgetting his girlfriends birthday
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At first it was just a small tug inside of him. The feeling that he forgot something. Katakuri shook it off, must be a mistake, besides there are other things he has to concentrate on. The gentle giant was currently on a mission, following his mothers orders. It´s been over 2 weeks since he left his home island, it was supposed to be a 3-day-trip , but there were complications along the way. Katakuri sat on top of a big rock to rest his feet, munching on a few donuts he got from a small store on the foreign Island. They were the same kind, his girlfriend always makes for him. The man got nostalgic, he couldn´t wait for this damn mission to finally end. There was nothing the sweet commander wanted more than to finally return to his home, to his family, his duty and most importantly his woman. The feeling returned. Did he forget about something? What could it be? Did he forgot to kiss you goodbye? No, he could remember kissing you quite heatedly before departing. Actually there was a whole lot more going on between of you besides kissing. He hid his small blush underneath his scarf.
Shaking his head slightly the tall man rose to his feet and walked back to his crew, watching all of them gathering all of their stuff, loading it into the huge ship.
Finally...time to head home.
It just took them a few days, but it felt like weeks passed till he finally spotted the silhouette of Totto-Island. His eyes searched through the crowd that came to greet them, but she was nowhere to be found. Didn´t she hear of their arrival? It was the first time that she didn´t wait in the harbour to greet him. Katakuri grew concerned....the weird feeling of having missed something grew..were you angry with him? What did he do? He made his way to Big Moms palace to report to his mother, but he couldn´t wait to look for her. After Mom was satisfied with the information he gave her, the sweet commander walked towards the cottage he and his girlfriend were living in (both of them preferred have their privacy, the palace was filled with nosy people). The light burned and the fireplace was lit when he entered, but she was nowhere to be found.  A lonely baloon next to a small gift box caught his eye, curiously he read the little card next to it:  “Happy Birthday, my dear (name), I wish you a beautiful day and a lot of fun with your present” - Brulée
Damn it. Now he got it. How could he forget something important like that? He has been extremely occupied with his mission, too occupied to rember his favourite persons birthday. He heard a shuffle in the bedroom, panicking he left the cottage, rapidly walking towards the small town. He needed to find something for her, as fast as possible. Without a doubt she knew that he was back on Totto-Island. His glance fell on a beautiful decorated shop. I think i know what to do.
-------------------------------
(Name) POV:
She looked out of the window. Where was he? He should be here by now... Should I look for him outside? She shook her head. There would be a good explanation for everything. Why he didn´t even bothered to send at least a small message on your birthday, why he hasn´t arrived yet...there would be a logical explanation for everything, it´s not like he stopped caring for her right?
After a while of pacing around the cottage, cleaning already clean surfaces and looking after the already finished donuts she made for Katakuris arrival, the door finally openend, revealing the sweet commander. “Hey”, she whispered, while slowly walking towards him. The tall man replied, but his answer got muffled by his scarf. The smaller woman smiled shyly before reaching up- standing on her tiptoes- and pulling off his scarf. She laid the heavy piece of fabric on the large loveseat next to her. “Kata-kun...what took you so long” He scrached his head embarrassed “The Mission was harder than we initially thought,but “, he took her smaller hands into his, “...this is not what I want to talk to you about right now” His small smile made her feel a lot more relaxed. Moving her arms around his neck she smiled “And what do you want to talk about then?” Grinning he led her to the door and outside their cottage, shielding her eyes, he led her towards their small backyard. “Happy late Birthday”, his rough voice made the small woman shudder slightly, while taking in the sight in front of her.
The light Pavilion was decorated with fairy lights and white roses, a elegant decked table was standing in the center of it, the metal candlebra lit up the whole scenery, setting a romantic mood.  “But...Kata...how? When did you---?” He interrupted you with a gentle kiss, the kind that made you forget what the hell you wanted to say. His huge hands moved to your face, gently stroking your cheekbones. His fingertips were calloused, due to his occupation as a sweet commander. One of these rough hands that usually fought and ended peoples lifes, now moved to the back of her neck to prevent her from straining her head to much while kissing. They silently looked at eachother after they parted. The tall man kneeled down in front of her, the womans heart speed up...Was he going to...? “(Name), I love you. Would you.”, he struggeled, but the woman knew what he wanted to say. There were no words needed. “Kata...of course..Yes” The young couple set a new milestone that day, making way for a lot more to come. What exactly? Nobody can say that, but it definetely is a happy end.
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frumfrumfroo ¡ 6 years ago
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My imagination usually gets captured by concepts first: a magic system, a setting quirk, a plot premise. All my ideas start out with "What if X?" and character development is, well not an afterthought, but it comes after and out of that other stuff. I am very much a plotter not a pantser so I usually don't even know who my characters really are until the plot has taken shape to reveal them. Is there a way to make this work or should I unlearn all of this and start from scratch?
There’s no wrong way to get inspired! Whatever grabs your imagination and gets you motivated to start somewhere is what it is, man, I wouldn’t say you can control that. If your process works well for you and at the end of the day you’ve written a good story, then it doesn’t need to change. What I’m getting at saying ‘it needs to be a story before it’s anything else’ isn’t about literal chronology of invention, I mean the story has to be the most important thing. ‘Before’ as in precedence. And a story isn’t a plot, it’s the idea(s) or feeling you are trying to communicate or express.
If you plot everything out before writing, you probably have the self-discipline to keep the story ‘first’ regardless of how you arrived at the finished product. Meaning, you may know all about how windmills are designed and built by magical sapient moles in your universe, but you’re only going to tell the reader about those moles if it actually adds to the story and not just to show off that you thought of this cool idea. Your worldbuilding can still be in service of the story becauseyou can still allow the story to drive any and all exposition. Middle Earth emerged from Tolkien’s recreational creation of languages, but LotR itself is a story first and the vast majority of the pure ‘worldbuilding’ he did is not in the novel at all. The fact that he did all that background isn’t what makes the world compelling and convincing, he just did that for himself because he enjoyed it.
SW still feels like a living, breathing world in spite of the fact we’re told almost nothing about how any of it works and Lucas clearly hadn’t made many firm decisions about what the background was- because it isn’t thinking of everything and making up a million details that makes a fictional world feel real. The characters authentically inhabit this universe, they take it for granted, and the audience will accept their reality very easily as long as the characters themselves remain convincing. Does some of this stuff make logical sense if you start to question it? No, sure doesn’t. Tonnes of it will immediately fall apart if you pull the thread. The treatment and nature of droids would be a gigantic problem if this were a science fiction story, but because SW narrative concerns are completely different it doesn’t matter. Vast majority of viewers will never question it because the universe makes emotional sense and this is a story about individual emotional journeys. This is why it’s such a huge disconnect to go from the vague emotional mysticism of the films to something like the old EU and its lightsabre katas. The GFFA is (or at least the OT version was) small in spite of feeling big because of its character focus. It doesn’t thrive on minutiae or ‘realism’ and trying to explain it or rationalise it too much actually makes it less believable.
Plot-driven narrative really requires more planning and a backward-construction kind of approach from plot to character, because otherwise your characterisation will suffer. If you already have fully formed characters, they need to drive development and plot needs to be flexible or you’ll almost certainly end up sacrificing their motivation and audience empathy with their arc to keep the plot on the rails.
#writing#I can't feel good about anything I post lately#hope this makes sense#I tried to add this in my tags real quick last time#I'm not here to tell you the One True Way or that there is one#if your process works it can't be wrong!#but a lot of people seem to be doing this because they think they have to or they think it's better/more impressive#where the wikipedia worldbuilding obsession is actually killing the fantasy genre imo#because a) it doesn't work for them as a process#and b) they haven't actually written a story#they've written- at best- a potential setting#they have nothing to say and seem surprised they're expected to#you don't need to know or be able to articulate going in what your story is 'about' but you should certainly know once you're writing it#maybe nebulously at first but by the time it's done if you have no answer to this question#it's a pretty bad sign#anyway I have a nice tag ramble somewhere about what I mean that the GFFA doesn't benefit from being constantly 'expanded' in tie-in materia#and how the characters in SW actually seem less real if you take them too literally and try to make them too psychologically realistic#it's NOT literal and this is crucial to how the story functions#treating it like the Star Trek universe will only break it#which is why fanboy spec centring on rigid lore and technobabble is so ridiculous#the rules of the Force are what makes emotional sense at the time and trying to pin it down is a massive exercise in futility#can fs people sense each other or not? it depends on what helps tell the story and nothing else
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nyanzaya ¡ 6 years ago
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@aquaaes inquired: -crashes into ur inbox for that url shit cause i need that validation-
Send Me A URL and I’ll Respond With My Opinions… Im a week late or something bro - Still accepting
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Roleplaying/Writing
My favorite muse(s) of theirs and why: OH GOSH BRO. LISTEN. I don’t interact with like, a lot of your boys and I feel the bad but I really like Haru because uh, he’s your baby and you write him so well and I also like Makoto even though I like, forgot to reply to that starter... I ADORE IKUYA? HE’S ADORABLE? AND I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW HE ISN’T DONE WITH EVERYONE’S BS. SAME WITH THAT ONE GUY YOU HAVE AND THAT OLD MAN GUY WHO I SAID HIS VINE IS ’YOU CANT KILL ME IM A BAD BITCH” LIKE WHY ARE THEY SO FUNNY TO ME I DON’T UNDERSTAND IT. I love love LOVE your Izaya like, I cry at night and work when I think about him and then I think about IzaIza and don’t...don’t ask me if I’m okay. Because I’m not. I’m not okay. My favorite interaction/thread of theirs: Bro... the interactions between Yukine and that one Izaya? It’s so amusing. Then literally anything with the otp3 you have I just-- can’t recall their blog names atm but it’s with Haru and Rin and you use Ikuya. Can’t even LIE anything with the old man guy and that one guy who was like ‘if you kiss more than 6 times you’s not friend an’more’ LOL LIKE PLEASE. For us like, I gotta say the Iza/Izaya interactions idk they are like our oldest ship, I think they are like 4 or 5 years old which is, uhm, wild? It feels like....they hadn’t actually gotten to do much together but that’s because Izaya just “Bye bitch” a lot and other things. Even though I also really liked the stuff we had with Haru/Iza too, it as pure. My thoughts on their unique characterization/interpretation of their muse(s): I’ll start with Haru because, what the fuck. What the FUCK BRO. I never, ever in my entire life watched Free! Never have, not sure if I will but literally you make me love Haru and I don’t even know his whole like, story bro. How you do that? Like; wtf. You got me to love a character I thought I’d never really care about because the way you write him is so? fucking? impressive? BELIEVE ME. I always thought Haru was just a stoic guy that every anime needs because ‘oh we need a silent type’ but bro... You write him to be so much more. He is still quiet/silent hell yeah but, holy shit. You actually make it fucking interesting? LIKE? EXCUSE ME? Your use of body language and soft sounds is amazing! I honestly really appreciate it a lot, considering the fact my muses (mostly Iza) rely on reading body language quite a bit to understand another person. You just know how to write it so naturally and beautifully into a character like Haru who doesn’t use much words. Then fucking Izaya. Holy fuck. I absolutely ADORE your Izaya so much because it FEELS like it’s Izaya? Like, listen. He probably is very different from how he was years ago but he still has the soul and heart of a true bastard sad man who loves humanity. He’s so fun to write with and I always get so happy to write with him like; it’s a god damn privilege to me to get to write with him? Like I never thought I’d ever get to write with him because ya know, I was a personal blog before I actually started Rping and lmfao our meeting was so funny. You spam liked my blog because it was literally just full of drrr and quotes and I was like “This has to be a sign. they gotta like me because they followed me right have WHAT DOES THIS MAKE US?” And I did it back I think. LMFAO IT WAS SO DUMB BUT THAT’S HOW WE GOT TO TALKING. Listen kids, if you want someone’s attention literally spam like about 40 posts and follow them right after. It’ll definitely send the signal that you want to talk to them.  My thoughts on their writing style as a whole: UGH PLEASE YOU BLESS ME AND EVERYONE WHO READS It. YOU MIGHT NOT THINK ITS GOOD BUT IT IS OKAY? ITS GREAT! YOU LITERALLY HAVE A GREAT WAY WITH WORDS BRO Situation(s)/Plot(s) I’d love to see their muse(s) in: Bro... I don’t even know... but maybe an AU Transitior, like you remember that game right? LOL Maybe Haru as Red? And Rin as the sword? or the other way around?? :eyes:  Someone else I love seeing them interact with: oh god I can’t even decide because all of them make me just aaaaaa but prob anything with freestyleharu Anything else I want to say about their roleplaying: BRO. Your writing is inspirational, easy to follow and it’s fun to read. You are definitely doing something right and I’m just?? Proud of you :”> 
If We Know Each Other
What I Think Are Their Best Qualities: fun to chat with? Crazy fun ideas. Communicative once comfortable. A meme lord.  What I Think Are Their Strengths: In terms of personality, I can’t even tell you because we are so ride or die I don’t even know. I just love how we can talk about anything and it’s not weird or awkward. In terms of Rp; being able to work with pretty much any idea. Good at winging threads, especially if it’s a first interaction. Super friendly! Unless you are their close friend then they mean, but in that good way. A Memorable OOC Interaction Of Ours:
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This sums up our entire relationship 
Why Others Should RP With Them: If you want someone who would be as excited about a thread as you are, Vati is your boy. He has so many muses too from various fandoms so there’s so many things that could happen! All you have to do is just, know which muse you want to interact with and then jump in and Vati will literally return the favors right quick How Others Should Approach Them: Despacito memes in the DMs. That’s it. Or liking all their posts and then following them like they done to me then I guess that works too LOL be friendly with him and he’ll return it so fast it’s like you guys was friends from a past life. Other Roleplayers I’d Recommend To Them: Bro.... I don’t even know okay. I think you already follow everyone I rp with so I can’t recommend anymore LMFAO Anything else I want to say about them: I love you bitch, I ain’t never gonna stop loving you. Bitch. 
If We Have/Plan To Interact Together
A plot I’d like to write with them: Fuck plot lmfao. There isn’t really a plot I have in mind? I mean... I guess something with Iza’s v; grand finale verse but he does die in that one. I wouldn’t even know which muse would even deal like Izaya could but *laughtrack.wav* or maybe a plot with Iza and Haru but legit, no idea what plot. My brain keeps going back to Izabel LOL and that plot you kept sending me with the whole airplane crash and not revealing if Ringabel was on it or not. A muse I want to introduce to them: I think you already know all my muses? At least my active ones, like Zuo and our cursed content son Iza. There’s Aiko and Asher(zuo’s mom and then the kid he adopted) but i think you know them already. There’s also...Kata(Iza’s mom) but she’s like no where to be found lol. Iza’s kittens(Axel, Akira, Leon) But I don’t think any of your muses would want to deal with his kits LOL. Then there’s Mira who’s Iza in a future life and Vui who’s Iza’s pet cat. Course there’s Iza’s two life masters but i don’t really know about them xD A ship/broship I’d like to propose to them: I think Haru and Iza are kind of already a broship that could turn into something shippy probably and I think with Zuo and Gou they kind of are bros. Tbh I think either of my boys could be good or okay friends with any of your muses? Even the request ones but i don’t even know LOL Ship wise, like I guess Makoto and Iza would be cute AF tbh A thread with them I’m excited about: Our IzaIza one as always LOL then, because I remember you wrote me a thing with Makoto I have to respond to that one because I honestly just forgot-- I think that one would be cute even if Iza is hurt in that one.  Anything else I want to say: I’m really like, thankful for you because without you I wouldn’t be here writing Iza and Zuo. You don’t even know how much it means to me that you helped encourage the creation of this horrible dumb cat. I might of dragged you back to tumblr, but like I genuinely you’re having fun. We might not write much together and I understand the whole thing with muses needing to recharge or get in the mood so I can wait forever and wait my turn because I’d always be happy after month to get something from you. It just means more to me that you’re having fun because you kind of deserve to have fun anyway.
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violetsmoak ¡ 6 years ago
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No Safety or Surprise [Part I - Excerpt]
Summary: A haunting broadcast reveals the Joker’s final act and sets off a chain of events that will destroy the world. Terry finds himself collaborating once more with the estranged members of Bruce’s former team. As the end nears, however, he and the other Bats are faced with hard choices about survival—and forgiveness.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything to do with Batman. I don’t make any money off this. It’s just me playing in a sandbox. (And I’ll put a better disclaimer on this at some other point.)
Author’s Note: First fic in the Batman universe, yay! (Well, second, but the first one was high school ago and was a blatant self-insert lol). I’ve been toying with this idea for a while now. It’s taken some in-depth planning, but I finally have something to show for it. This is only one part of a very large first chapter, but I thought I’d throw it out there into cyberspace and see what people think. I’ll post it here in mini excerpts, but eventually I’ll put it on FF.Net and Ao3, once it’s all shiny and edited.
Spoilers: Everything in Batman Beyond until but not including the “Rewired” storyline or anything afterward. Also, references to events and characters present in the DC ‘verse up to the New 52 (after the “Robin Rises” story arc) but before Rebirth. (And JFC do I hate keeping all these timelines straight!)
Warnings: Leading up to canon-divergence; eventual main character deaths (except not really, because timey wimey stuff); a few minor original characters; multiple POVs
Timeline: Takes place after the events of 10 000 Clowns but before Terry McGinnis graduates high school.
Bruce is beginning to wonder if a Lazarus Pit might not have been a better idea than the liver transplant. Of the methods for artificially prolonging life, at least with the Pit, he would eventually start to feel like he was recovering.
After the madness subsided, at least.
On days like today—when it’s damp and chilly, and there’s nothing going on in Gotham to keep him glued to the computer screen in the Cave—it’s hard to remember the arguments he’s always made against using the restorative powers of a Lazarus Pit. He body protests with every movement as he eases it through several slowed kata variations. Part of his physical therapy, as suggested (ordered) by his doctors.
Since his procedure, he feels the exhaustion much more keenly. It’s a bone-deep fatigue that seeps into every muscle, emphasizing the way his bones creak and grind against each other, cartilage worn away from age and decades of abuse. It’s the way his energy levels drain so much faster no, to the extent that even his usual ability to will himself into action seems to wane every day.
Not that he really had a choice in the matter. He was in end stage liver failure, and the nearest Pit is in New Cuba. He’d just been lucky that there was a suitable donor in the hospital at the right time.
‘Luck’ is one word for it. ‘Cruel irony’ might be a better phrase.
Douglas Tan is one of the names he’s going to carry on his conscience for the rest of his life; or, at least on his liver.
Terry still makes jokes about Batman having a piece of a Joker inside him, but then Terry tends to use humor to cover up when he’s worried. Dick always did that, too; and Jason.
Bruce scowls, bothered by the direction of his thoughts, as well as the raggedness to his breath. He isn’t even moving very fast, but it’s taking him every bit of strength to keep at it.
Ace is curled up in his usual spot in the cave, watching Bruce with what seems to be narrowed eyes. As if to say, don’t overdo it or I will knock you over.
He knows the dog is smarter than most people.
Ace is one of the reasons the doctors were willing to leave him to pursue recovery on his own and not under some beady-eyed nurse in hospital. Money isn’t as much an incentive as it once was, with so many legal and health standards in the way; the older he gets, the less likely people are to trust his ability to make decisions, lawyers or not.
He tolerated a private nurse for about a day while having Terry make other arrangements and manufacturing a piece of paper saying Ace was a certified service dog. He’s not, but Bruce has no doubt the dog would activate the medical alert button at the computer if something were to happen. And Terry has an alarm set up, keyed into the surveillance and motion sensors in the Cave. If anything were to happen, he can be here faster than any ambulance.
Old age has fed into long-buried fears, and it gives him an embarrassing sense of relief knowing there’s someone to look in on him. It has always bothered him, being dependent—being weak.
Some days he’s more accepting of it; some days he wishes he had Kryptonian DNA.
Which is usually the point at which he forces himself to occupy his mind with other things, because envying Clark Kent can only lead down a dark, frustrating path of self-pity. One he’s determinedly avoided ever since meeting the other man.
After another fifteen minutes of forcing himself to think about nothing but the movement of his limbs, Bruce finally finishes his exercises. Sweat coats his back and his limbs ache with the same burn as if he just spent several hours grappling through the Gotham skyline. Even if it took less challenging movements to reach this point, that burn is comforting.
Familiar.
And that’s a word that’s been cropping up more in his thoughts lately. History tends to repeat, after all, but it’s still strange to experience. Terry’s been an excellent example of that.
Like Bruce, the McGinnis boy started out with nothing but a suit and an old man’s voice in his ear. Now, he’s got a network. Friends who he trusts and who will keep his secret. A steadily growing list of allies in the field.
The Police Commissioner. The Justice League.
And a Catwoman too, for Christ sakes.
He wonders what Selina would think about that.
Bruce just hopes the kid won’t make his mistakes. Forty years is a long time to rack up regrets.
At least Dick’s back in contact now.
Sort of.
He showed up the second night that Bruce was recovering from his procedure at the hospital; he’d managed to convince Terry to go out on patrol instead of wasting his time watching an old man sleep.
“Batman doesn’t get a day off.”
Bruce had dosed for a bit, but not deeply; it wasn’t difficult to discern that he wasn’t alone.  
One minute the room was empty and in the next, Bruce could feel that familiar presence—the one of a man who had carried the mantles of Robin, Nightwing and Batman—and somehow lived to tell the tale. Then his estranged son was stepping out of the shadows, glaring down at him, muscles in his jaw working and fists clenching and unclenching.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Bruce had croaked, wishing he had thought to ask for ice chips before the nurse left. “I’m too stubborn to die.”
The silence hanging afterward was filled with everything he couldn’t say yet. For once, Dick didn’t call him on it.
“You’re more stubborn than God,” his boy countered.
(He’ll always be a boy to Bruce, grey hair and eye-patch be damned.)
And yet, he sat, arms crossed and spine stiff for the rest of the night. Still angry, but there nonetheless. He stayed until morning rounds without saying anything, and then left.
They haven’t seen each other since, but sometimes Bruce can hear feedback on the comms when he’s directing Terry’s patrols. The tinny whisper of signals crossing from the bug he pretends he doesn’t know Dick planted on the underside of his medical ID tag.
It’s not much, but it’s something. The opening of the possibility that at some point, he’ll come around.
Barbara did, after all.
Mostly because of Terry, but afterward Bruce started making the effort. They can have conversations alone now that don’t end with her yelling at him (or punching him, on one or two memorable occasions). Bruce forgot how much he enjoyed her sense of humor and intelligence—how much he enjoyed their friendship—from before they slept together.
(That might be one of his life’s biggest shames. Oh, he has regrets associated with all of the family for one thing or another, but this is the one that still wakes him up at night feeling dirty.)
In a way, it’s easier with Tim, and that’s a bridge Bruce thought had been obliterated long ago.
Granted, he’s leaving Gotham again—the last incident with the Joker army rattled him enough that he put in for a transfer to the Chinese division of Wayne Enterprises—but he stuck around long enough to collaborate with Bruce on a subdermal antitoxin deployment implant against Joker venom.
(None of them want to be caught unawares again.)
It’s in the prototype phase, with only five of the devices in existence; he, Tim and Terry are testing them personally. It’s not exactly something the FDA is going to approve for human testing anytime soon, not with all the new legislation, but with the state of Gotham, it’s unwise to wait on it.
(He sent one to Barbara and one to Dick but doesn’t know if they’ve bothered to activate them. At least they haven’t sent them back.)
If the implant works, Bruce is seriously considering modifying the tech for the Wayne Enterprises medical division. There are a lot of illnesses and viruses out there which require regular dosages of medicine to keep them under control.
Maybe that’s the next project, after CAIN, he muses, grabbing his towel from where he draped it over one of the computer processors.
His global Clean Air Initiative Network is something he’d been working on before stepping back from the company. It was shelved almost immediately by Derek Powers when he took over, but since Bruce has been back, he’s been revisiting a lot of old projects.
Lucius’ boy did most of the technical work on it, and Foxtecha will have joint ownership of the patent when it’s ready for public consumption. Bruce would have asked Tim, but he knows how determined he is to get out of Gotham. He can read it in the tone of his emails, which have thankfully lost the stilted, formal business tone they’ve had since he returned to the company.
(Bruce mentioned paying a visit in the future, and Tim didn’t say no, so he counts that as a win.)
It’s a little disconcerting how the family is coming together again; disconcerting but welcome.
He’s received a vid call last week from Cassandra expressing concern over his surgery, and then a short, gruff email from Duke all-but ordering him to get better. There’s even a letter from Stephanie—or Eurus, as she goes by these days—smelling of dust and desert sun and incense found only in Nanda Parbat. Her messy, looping scrawl, echoed Dick’s sentiment about Bruce’s stubbornness and alluded to its genetic inheritability.
(That said more than if she had actually mentioned Damian outright.)
Bruce lost track of her not long after his son’s short and brutal stint under the cowl; it had surprised him to find out she ended up in Tibet.
It also relieved him. Because no matter how dark a path his son wandered, there would be someone to challenge him. To not obey without question. To give him a link to the life he once had, to being human and alive.
(Bruce very carefully doesn’t think about Jason—doesn’t wonder if things had been different, if he wouldn’t have reached out as well. Even after so many years, that wound is still raw.)
The whole thing is a stark difference from the last few times he ended up in the hospital, including when he was dosed on Joker venom several months ago. He didn’t hear anything from them at that point, which makes him think someone really thought he was dying this time and reached out.
Barbara, maybe. Or Dick. However much tension there is between himself and Bruce, he does keep in touch with the others.
Hell, it might even have been Terry. The kid doesn’t know the rest of them personally, but he’s gotten adept at navigating the computer in the cave. And he’s always been curious about his predecessors.
Bruce’s first family.
Or maybe just the first phase of the family.
Bruce shies away from that secret bit of knowledge he has about Terry, and his brother Matt. What he discovered the first time the kid returned to the Cave with bloody gashes that needed stitching up. The files and medical information buried beneath every firewall he could fashion, so the boy never stumbles upon it accidentally.
The most he’s allowed himself to acknowledge it is an amendment in his will setting aside trust funds for both boys.
As if triggered by his thoughts, the screen of the Bat-Computer flickers to life. He rolls his shoulders, expecting an alert on some heist or robbery going on in the city; another case to add to the docket for Terry to investigate after school (depending on the severity).
Bruce doesn’t expect the Cave to suddenly fill with a jaunty, haunting carnival tune that makes his entire body seize in recognition. And yet, he already knows what’s coming even before the words HA HA HA coalesce upon the screen.  
TBC
NEXT
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dutifulhope ¡ 7 years ago
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  A very interesting subject to discuss is the dub’s adaption changing her title from SHSL Kendoka (practitioner of kendo) to Ultimate Swordswoman. Honestly, I truly feel Peko’s reveal would have had an even more powerful impact if we weren’t already practically given a spoiler with the needless title change! 
  Like, just because someone practices kendo doesn’t mean they’ll know how to use an ACTUAL sword. The closest most kendoka will get, if they don’t have an interest in using actual swords, would be with a bokken. Unlike a shinai it’s made from wood, not bamboo, and is meant to be more true to a sword’s actual weight and there’s different kinds to reflect different swords. 
  Shinais are MADE to be harmless and the most you’d ever get is a bruise but Peko’s is different because she’s hiding a goddamn katana in it while bokken are typically never used in any sort of regular sparring because of how dangerous it is except if you’re Peko and an equally extra character (you could basically club someone to death with it) and is pretty much only used for solo cutting exercises (there’s even a special kind of bokken for this) or kata: choreographed scenes for solo performances or pairs. 
  I understand their fear was probably “nobody knows what the fuck kendo is” but it’s a discredit to the sport and its popularity across the word even if it’s not an Olympic sport. I GET IT, I GET IT... But I’m upset about it anyway.
  What all this rambling is boiling down to is how I view Peko’s talent: SHSL Swordswoman is her REAL talent with SHSL Kendoka being the cover, even if she’s good at that too. Kinda goes hand-in-hand but also not really? Like, all rectangles are squares but not all squares are rectangles. Yeah. Especially since kendo has some rules to it and stuff that differentiate from sword battles... and while she says she loves it but doesn’t actually have an actual ranking in the system.... but oh I’ll ramble forever if I get into it.
  This is known to high faculty staff members (like Chisa, though Peko doesn’t know this herself though after Chisa being Chisa she has her suspicions) only. Anyone else, they have to earn it. You won’t catch Peko with a sword easily is basically what I’m getting at, ha.
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cherryfinolahobbes ¡ 3 years ago
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Cherry wrinkled her nose at the idea of talking about her feelings anymore. She was a naturally a heart on her sleeve type of girl, but she wasn't interested in talking anymore. Besides, she really didn't know what all Happy knew. She knew Tony would give the other man all information he needed, but what if it wasn't all of it. What if she said or revealed something that changed things? She'd made that mistake before. People started treating her differently, started looking at her with pitiful eyes and then they started talking to her less because they didn't know what to say and then just stopped talking to her. She didn't want that.
"It...would be nice to feel like I had a little control," She admitted. Cherry gave Happy a little smirk, trying to ignore the idea of the big man not being around someday should something happen, "but we know that you'd never let me get a punch in if some creepazoid was around,"
The idea was thrilling, she had to admit. Martial arts seemed so complicated and intimidating with the katas and rules and rankings. She didn't know much about boxing, but in her mind it seemed so much more straight forward. It was just punching, right?
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Cherry took the offered door, sitting herself down in the passenger's seat. She smoothed her skirt over her lap and buckled herself in as she wait for Happy to get seated. She looked over at the big man curiously. If she was honest, she'd known Happy or at least been around him as long as she'd known Tony, but she didn't know much about him personally. "Where did learn?" She asked. "Boxing and fighting and stuff?"
cherryfinolahobbes​: 
Cherry’s breathing evened out as Happy gave her back a little rub. She started to come more back to herself and she let go of his shoulders, reaching up to rub the remaining tears from her eyes. She always appreciated the space Happy gave her on days like these. No prying or over mothering (although he could be quite good at that too), he typically left her to her thoughts with the radio playing. That’s why he’s next suggestion surprised her.
“Boxing?” Tony had tried to get her to learn some martial arts, but Cherry was too timid to really spar. She did enjoy Tai Chi from time to time. Boxing though…could she do that? “Are you serious?”
“‘Course I’m serious.” Happy gave her a nod and glanced to the building, “I mean, I’m all for talking your feelings out if that’s working for you, but… Well, even if I am around, sometimes it helps just to feel like you can protect yourself, too. Don’t you think?”
Happy couldn’t be with her every moment of the day. Not to say his team weren’t amazing guys;, hell a few were retired ARMY guys, and Tony made sure they all respected Happy and didn’t have any issue answering to him. But he knew Cherry felt more comfortable with him, around him or Tony or Pepper and Rhodey. Probably because Tony had hired her and they were around the most. 
Happy gave a shrug and a small smile, moving away and opening the back passenger door for her, “Could be fun.”
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ramblesandreviews ¡ 8 years ago
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117. Lena Luthor x fem!kryptonian!reader
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Request: Can you do a lena luthor x fem reader where you’ve been best friends since you were kids and you reveal that you’re Kryptonian when you save her life leading her to confess her feelings for when you think she hates you because she knows that you’re an alien please
Honestly being best friends with anybody with the last name Luthor was probably a bad idea. You couldn’t help it she had saved yoh even if she didn’t realize it. When you crash landed onto the earth you where beyond freaked out. Everything was just so loud and nothing made sense, it didn’t help you didn’t have anyone to take care of you. It also didn’t help that you had the body of a twelve year old and the hunger if three grown men. The orphanage lady was beyond baffled.
That’s where you met Lena. She had already been adopted by the Luthor’s but every once and a while she’d come visit the orphanage she was brought to. You didn’t understand why she came all the other kids claimed that being adopted by a family was amazing. They also pointed out that the family she had been sent to where rich and used a hundred dollar bill as a tissue.
Most kids in the orphanage ignored her because of this but Lena didn’t seem to mind. She only came to visit one of the people who worked at the orphanage. The first time you spoke to each other was when you had accidently broke your friend Tyra’s arm. You two had made a bet with each other and you had gotten so caught up in the game you forgot to control yourself.
Your twelve year old self sat in the faded green desk chair with a huff. Tyra had been your last shot at having a real friend, everyone else called you destructo girl and wanted nothing to do with you. That was when a green eyed girl walked in, her heart beat was slow and steady as you heard a content sigh escape her lips. Without really paying attention to you she plopped down in the seat across from you.
You blinked for a second nobody ever sat near you, and you didn’t recognize her. A grin settled onto your face, maybe she would even talk to you. You swallowed your nerves down and said, “Uh hi.” She didn’t respond but looked around the room as if you might be talking to someone else.
When she saw no one she turned to you and raised a hesitant eyebrow. “Me?” she asked messing with her dark hair. It was your turn to frown and you couldn’t help the sarcastic response that escaped your mouth.
“No,” you paused sarcastically, "I was talking to the empty chair next to you.“ the girl stiffened and you clamped your hand over your mouth, "Oh Rao I didn’t mean to say that…” You trailed off examining the girl’s look of confusion and annoyance.
You swallowed again and hoped you hadn’t offended her. “Can I try again?” you asked hesitantly you never could control your impulses. Your mother had called it an extraordinary gift, but your father had called it a defect. She nodded and you heard her heartbeat increase slightly. “Hi my name is (Y/n), what’s your name?” You asked nervously.
The girl frowned. “Not to be big of myself but do you not know?” You shook your head as the girl continued to give you a look of mistrust. Your gaze softened you recognized that look it was the same one you looked at in the mirror each morning when it was your turn to use the bathroom.
“Uh you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I’ll just uh sit here if you want someone to talk to…” You trailed off as the girl continued to study you. You smiled at her and then leaned back into the chair. You heard the top caregiver chewing a boy out in the room you had to go in and stiffened when you heard her stop. The door opened and the boy, named Zack, escaped rubbing his knuckles. He shot you a sneer and the girl across form you a condescending smile.
“Oh hey Luthor,” the boy spat as if t was something offensive, “I wouldn’t sit too close to destructo girl over here, she might break that pretty palace of yours.” He scoffed and the girl frowned then looked down at her lap.
You shot him a glare, “Shut up Zack or I’ll,” you thought for a moment, “Dislocate your shoulder, put it in place, and then dislocate it again.” Zack huffed and took a step forward when Mary the woman chewing him out stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. He froze and quickly left the room.
“Ah Lena I wasn’t expecting you for another hour or so,” she paused smiling at the girl across form you. You grinned, Lena it reminded you of the names on krypton, short and sweet. Mary shot you a shrewd look, “Ms. Clumsy I also was not expecting you hear after last time.”
You flinched and said too quickly, “That’s not my name.” Mary glared at you as Lena shot you a curious look.
“Well let’s not forget you decided not to give anyone that information,” she paused, “Ms. Clumsy.” You gulped and rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly. “Hmm, well luck for you Lena’s here so I can’t punish you,” You pumped your fist, “yet.” Your arm deflated to your side. You where sent to your room and that was the last you saw of them the rest of the day.
The next time Lena showed up she talked to you and pretty soon it became a routine. She would talk about her adoptive family and all the things they would make her do. You would talk about the school you went to and the odd things you encountered. She would smile and ask you to continue talking about things even though they where as simple as birds. You became best friends, able to tell each other anything that was, except Krypton.
You both grew older and her Superman appeared along with the fiery hatred of her older brother. After finishing up school you followed Lena everywhere just to make sure she was safe. That also included the move to National City. You where hesitant at first considering the rise of Supergirl but you knew you could get her to back off if you flashed her your house crest.
And so you met Kara Danvers, who cornered you the first chance she got, and Clark Kent. You met the DEO and Kara’s sister who had interrogated you almost violently. That lead you to your current problem, an attack on L-Corp. Kata had gotten there just in time to stop Cyborg Superman and after the both of you sharing a look you grabbed Lena and bolted up the stairs.
It took almost all of your will power not to fly somewhere safe, but you knew it would be a bad idea and continued running. Lena gripped your arm making you stop so she could catch her breath. You fidgeted nervously and noticed the shoes she was wearing. “Seriously Lena? I told you to throw those heels out a month ago.” You complained.
She shot you an annoyed look, “And I told you to stop eating so much fast food and eat a vegetable.” You placed a hand over your heart and gave he a faux offended look. She nodded and crossed her arms across her chest, you felt your stomach flip and you swallowed nervously.
You heard a loud bang come from the bottom of the stairwell. Your face paled and you lifted Lena in your arms and took off her high heels. “Hey stop those are my favorite pair!” You set her back down and through the pairs at the men bellow. You got two in the four head but there was still a man running up the stairs.
“Come on!” Lena yelled and grabbed your arm entering the nearest floor room. When you entered there where still employees hiding under desks. "Hurry get into another room!“ She yelled the workers nodded and fled into the nearby bathroom. She quickly ran towards the nearby science equipment and started mixing some chemicals.    
"Now’s not the time to quench your thirst for knowledge.” You pointed out with a small glare. She gave you a pointed look and then went back to the beakers mixing and matching and doing all sorts of stuff that made your head hurt.
“Honestly, how long have you known me?” Lena scoffed with a playful smile. She was trying to make a trap for him, you realized with pride. You grinned and then a shiver went up your spine. You can hear it, you realized, the small ticks coming from his chest. 
“Lena get into the bathroom.” You stated unemotionally.
She shot you an offended look, “What do you mean go into the bathroom, all have you know I can take perfect care of mys-” You cut her off with a with an almost angry look on your face.
“He has a bomb Lena.” Her mouth closed and silence ensued. All you can hear where the small ticks two stories below, slowly making there way upward. Lena’s heartbeat spiked and your own clenched at the sound of thumps that made their way into your ears.
“You don’t know that.” Her voice was almost accusing, like she didn’t want to believe you. No not that, you realized looking at the vulnerable look on her face. Like she didn’t want to believe how you knew.
“I can hear it, now get the hell into the bathroom.” You said reluctantly and when Lena didn’t move  you went and lifted her. Her heartbeat spiked again but in a different way then before, you frowned. You entered the bathroom and placed her down making sure to tell everybody not to let her leave.
Lena hated you, you could feel it and the thought made your stomach churn uneasily. You sighed as long as you stopped this guy from killing her and everybody else you were okay with that. After you stepped out of the restroom you saw him he was pointing a gun at you.
“Uh hi.” You where distinctly aware of the way he gripped the handle tighter. You cleared your throat, “How about we put the gun down?” The man only cocked it back getting ready to shoot at you.
“Where is Lena Luthor?” he asked with a gruff voice. You eyed him carefully, you knew he’d shoot you no matter what you just had to know when the bomb would go off. You used your x-ray eyes to find the bomb and raised an eyebrow, it had a timer on it which was totally impractical, not that you where complaining.
“She’s not here.” you lied watching the timer only less then a minute left. He shot near your knee only to watch as the bullet bounced of leaving a hole in your pants. The both of you stared silently at each other and you smiled. “See you really shouldn’t have done that.” 45…
He started firing at you again and again until he had no more bullets left. You stood there waiting patiently for him to finish when the door burst open. 40…
Lena Luthor stood there with all her glory a fierce look in her eye, shock filled her features when she stared at you. You looked down your clothes where riddled with bullet holes and she was probably surprised to see you alive. 30… You remembered the bomb and flew forward quickly knocking the man out carefully you removed the bomb from his vest and held it close to you. 25…
“I’m sorry I never told you Lee,” You paused before jumping out the window. Lena screamed as you struggled to fly upward, away from all the skyscrapers. You grunted softly, you hadn’t flown in a long time. You examined the bomb with a bittersweet smile. “So much trouble for such a little thing.”
You curled the bomb into you careful to make sure nothing stuck out wen it exploded. You gasped you were falling and had forgotten how to fly. “I’m sorry..” you trailed off knowing Lena couldn’t hear you.
“(Y/n)?” you heard Kara ask. You felt strong arms catch you and the last thing you heard was Lena screaming and the whisper of, “I love you.”
…
When you came to all you could hear was arguing and you felt a soft hand gripping yours. “Will you all shut up? She’s waking up.” Your eyes felt heavy when you opened your eyes. You groaned and sat up stretching when a hand pushed you down gently.
“Whoa there bud, I thought I told you the only time to come back here was when you wanted to work for us?” teased the voice of Alex Danvers. You grinned sluggishly and turned your head to see Lena sitting their with puffy eyes. You felt immediate guilt and opened your mouth to speak when you felt arms wrap around your neck tightly. Alex smiled and pulled Kara along, who waved at you, to give you two privacy.
You held Lena in your arms feeling the sobs that wracked her body. When she stopped crying the two of you stayed like that a little while longer. When she pulled away she kissed your cheek and punched your arm. “Ow!”
“How could you, without so much as a warning, jump out of a window?” She asked angrily, “I mean it was incredibly brave, and selfless, and you saved so many people, but maybe give a girl a warning next time, yeah?” She rambled running a hand through her hair. You smiled and without thinking placed a hand on her cheek. She stiffened an you froze realizing what you where dong.
“Oh crap sorry Lena, I uh wasn’t thinking, um I’m sorry, please don’t hate me- Mmph!” You where cut off by her swiftly placing her lips to yours. You kissed back after a second or two and she melted against you. Her lips were soft and rough all at the same time, your breath mingled and she dug her hands into your hair.
“I love you.” she said when you both pulled away breathing hard.
A goofy smile appeared on your face, “I love you too, and I’m sorry about not telling you about everything.” She ran her hands up your cheeks and smile at you.
“I understand, and I know that you would have told me eventually. It’s kind of hard to forgive you, but I know that you trust me and I know I trust you, so I forgive you.” She said softly with a vulnerable look on her face. You sat there latched to each other knowing that you loved each other.
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thaibuddhistamulet ¡ 7 years ago
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The Takrut bailan Pitsamorn of Luang Por Gaew (2393 – 2462 BE) is an amulet that is over a century old and is considered an eminent member of the ‘Gao Yang Tee Kuan Mee Dtid Gaay’ (Nine Sacred amulets which one should wear for perfect blessings), of olden days, which was a famous proverbial saying of devotees of amulets in Thailand in olden times.
This exhibit below, is a perfect example of the classic and most commonly accepted Takrut Bailan Pitsamorn of Luang Por gaew being round like a wheel with a hole in the middle and wrapped with Sinjana cords, red ancient Chinese lacquer (Rak Chart), and gold leaf.
This exhibit can be considered ‘Tae Doo Ngaay’ (very easy to see its authenticity and true age), from the darkened hardened lacquer and depth of immersion of the gold leaf. The appearance of the amulet possesses exactly the right signs of natural ageing to authenticate its age as being from the Era of Luang Por Gaew, and its materials and style of making is inimitably supportive of this, which gives a 100% certainty of authenticity for this amulet.
  The amulet should be worn on a neck-chain or at the lowest point above the waist, as it contains Bailan parchment scrolls with Buddhist Prayers, and should not be worn below the waist. The Takrut Bailan Pitsamorn of Luang Por Gaew is considered one of the top Nine amulets of all time of the ‘Krueang Rang’ Talismanic Charm category of Thai Amulets, famed for its Kong Grapan Chadtri Klaew Klaad and Metta Maha Niyom powers.
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  Luang Por Gaew made his Takrut Bailan from Bailan that came from the village of Bang Pern, whose name means ‘Block Guns’ and is part of how he began the empowerment of Maha Ud and Kong Grapan Chadtri within the parchment scrolls before inscription. When his devotees who he would ask to go toe bang Pern to cut Bailan parchment for him to inscribe, they would ask ‘why do we have to travel so far to get Bailan parchment when it grows nearby?’. Luang Por Gaew would always say ‘if you want the best of the best, sometimes you have to travel far and wide to find it, and if you dont go to get it, then you wont ever have the good stuff’
  Luang Por Gaew would inscribe the Bailan leaves with the Khom letter ‘MI’ and encircle it with inscriptions of the Kata Hua Jai Suea Saming Were Tiger Invocation (Phū Pi Phū Pa) in Sacred Khom Agkhara Characters. The Hua Jai Suea saming is also known as the Hua Jai See Sahaay (four friends heart Mantra).
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  The strange thing is, that as Luang Por Gaew was gathering the materials in his Kuti to inscribe the Takrut, the birds in the forest were making lots of noise chirping and calling out. But as soon as Luang Por Gaew began his inscriptions, they all fell silent. As he finished the last one, and closed the ceremony, the birds of the forest all began to resound with loud calls and birdsong again immediately!!!
  Luang Por Gaew delcared this to be a confirmation and sign that the spell within the Takrut possessed Maha Ud power, to silence (guns and enemies). The Takrut Bailan Pitsamorn is especially famopus for this Kong Grapan Chadtri power, but in addition is also highly regarded for Klaew Klaad and Maha Lap Serm Duang Metta Maha Niyom mercy Charm.
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  This revealed that Luang Por gaew knew that the Bailan of Bang Pern had special powers which is not found in all Bailan fields, and that the village of Bang Pern did not get its name for no reason, for the earth powers within this municipality defeated the powers of gunpowder, through a high presence of gunstopper minerals in the earth.
Below: Luang Por Gaew of Wat Puang Malai
Luang Por Gaew Wat Puang Malai
  The Takrut Bailan Pitsamorn is one of the most ancient forms of Takrut, and is considered very powerful protection against all forms of danger, including physical harm against sharp objects that pierce the skin (Kong Grapan Chadtri), Anti Ballistic Weaponry (Maha Ud), evade accidents (Klaew Klaad), against poisonous wild animals (Pongan Sadtw Raay), Anti Black Magick (Gae Aathan) and Ghosts and Demons (Gan Phuudt Phii Pisaj).
Kata Maha Ud
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Luang Por Gaew Takrut Pitsamorn Bailan Parchment Scroll Wat Puang Malai The Takrut bailan Pitsamorn of Luang Por Gaew (2393 - 2462 BE) is an amulet that is over a century old and is considered an eminent member of the '
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troofless ¡ 5 years ago
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BNHA semi romantic/platonic bkdk Steelheart AU time!
Basically if you haven’t read Steelheart by Brandon Sanderson it’s set in a semi-post-apocalyptic world where one day a giant firey star (Calamity) appeared in the sky and gave a few people superpowers. These people, now called Epics, got drunk on their powers to the point of extreme arrogance. They would start fights with other Epics for the right to rule cities and kill humans if it suited their whims bc they thought normal humans were underneath them. Epics are treated with extreme reverence and terror bc of the massive powers they wield.
Epics can be classified into Lesser and High Epics, the difference being High Epics have an additional superpower (called prime invincibility) that make them almost impossible to kill eg Invincibility (impenetrable skin), Self-Reincarnation, Regeneration, Precognition. Epics can have more than one superpower.
However Epics are possible to kill when you target their sole weakness (fear), usually stemming from past trauma eg drowning to death bc past trauma of drowning in a lake etc etc.
>> Main plot of the trilogy is how this dude joins the Resistance (called Reckoners) to kill Epics and save humanity and maybe find the truth about humanity along the way.
Izuku takes p much the same role bc like David instead of a hero otaku he’s a Epic otaku
His mother was killed by an Epic but he still believes in the inner goodness of Epics (for a certain number of reasons), but agrees that most Epics are doing it wrong and should be killed to save innocent people who are suffering
Yeah he tells everyone his intensive research into Epics is p much a hobby bc when he was young he really wanted to be an Epic to save people and that’s why he started keeping notes and it’s just a habit now
Anyway the story starts with him tracking down a High Epic to track down the Resistance bc he wants to join them, and there he meets Bakugou engaging in a fight w said High Epic which Izuku theorizes to be the Resistance’s next target
‘KACCHAN????!!??’
Izuku pops up out of nowhere and assists Bkg, they kill the High Epic and return to base where Izuku convinces them with sparkly eyes that can he join them?? Everyone is suspicious but then Bkg brings up Izuku’s nerd notes and grudgingly (very grudgingly) says that they would help a lot. Everyone immediately accepts Izuku into the fold.
Why does Bkg know about Izuku’s nerd notes? Izuku comments that he didn’t think Kacchan would remember, and reveals to everyone that they were childhood friends/classmates all the way to high school, when the Calamity happened and Bkg disappeared into the void
Anyway Bkg is furious at Izuku, w all the inferiority complexes and trauma being there, bla bla bla you know the drill all the edgy childhood ‘can you stand’ stuff happened in the past
But there’s a good reason why Bkg keeps Izuku at an arm’s length, trust me
Anyway the night Izuku is initiated into the Resistance he bumps into Bkg in the corridor and basically Bkg drags him into somewhere isolated and threatens him, saying if Izuku ever revealed his secret Bkg would kill him
Bc Bkg is an Epic
And Izuku knew this bc he was there in class when Bkg manifested his Epic explosion powers and burnt down his home, killing parents in the process. He may or may not have also burned down his high school and killed his classmates and tons of students, leaving Izuku as the sole survivor
Bkg’s powers: Explosion, superhuman reflexes (though he keeps telling everyone that he was born talented like that bc Bkg FLEXES). Technically his powers classify him as a Lesser bc he doesn’t have prime invincibility (or so he says) but the multi-usage of his one (1) epic power kinda make him one. He indirectly gains flight (explosions…), mini bursts lasers (useful for lockpicking, or so he says), and other useful stuff. Bkg is Bkg, basically.
But like in this AU Bkg hates his powers for good reason too (being a bipolar mass murderer fucking sucks), and pretty much live in denial that they exist. Uses mainly guns and cc gun kata, but can handle sniper rifles. Has a soft spot for machine guns but hates using explosives and is queasy when Ashido tries to get him a rocket launcher (ROCKET LAUNCHER!!!!). Funnily enough he is voted by everyone to be Person Least Likely To Be An Epic In Disguise bc though he has the personality of an Epic (extreme hubris), they theorise he would long have acted on his impulse to kill everyone (extreme compulsion to boast reason for said hubris), but he hasn’t, so he can’t be an Epic
Todoroki’s conspiracy theory is that he’s an Epic’s lovechild explaining his intense hatred for Epics and revulsion for being compared to having the personality of one
Anyway they plot to kill the Big Boss of the city! Which will be *spins wheel* Mirio (Epic name Lemillion)(bc you know. he’s killed millions of people) with *throws dart* Dabi and Toga (interns from another city of Epics ruled by AFO/Shiggy), Tokoyami, Asui, and Iida as subordinate Epics
Amajiki, Nejire and Nighteye were killed by Mirio’s hands in this AU bc extreme hubris :))) Also Mirio has the history of killing Overhaul, the previous ruler of the city
Mirio has the power of permeability, super reflexes and dexterity, and teleportation (the gist of it is that he was OP just like he was in the original world)(Overhaul was right in nerfing Mirio he is too strong)
Izuku knows Mirio and Nighteye but keeps that a secret, but he does share w everyone his theory that after studying his fight w Overhaul he thinks Mirio’s weakness is indirect attacks (when he shielded a little girl from a bullet he bled from it). Izuku knows this bc he saw Mirio in the aftermath, but he doesn’t tell anyone that and says he got that from studying old camera footage that Mirio destroyed a few days after the fight bc he got corrupted and took over the city
The plot is p much them plotting to assassinate Mirio and his henchman (luring him out? infiltration? both??) and saving the city in the process
There is of course arguments against this saying the city would collapse w/o the protection of the super powerful High Epic Mirio but they agree it’s for the best that he dies (insert recent incident of unstable Mirio destroy stuff)
Ppl in the Resistance: Aizawa (leader of branch Resistance in current city), Yaoyorozu (second in command, in charge of making plans and intel), Todoroki (ops guy? normal dude), Uraraka (sniper), Kirishima (support w Bkg), Kaminari (mechanic and support) and Ashido (in charge of weapons stocking and uncertified medic whose solution to everything is duct tape and staples)
Endeavour is a morally grey High Epic ruling another city in this AU (he’s p chill here actually he doesn’t kill anyone and protects the people from other Epic attacks), Todoroki left and joined the Resistance and denies having any connection w Endeavour bc dad issues
All Might is the legendary Epic who never got corrupted, but disappeared one day and was never seen again, everyone assumes he’s dead
Anyway they lure the subordinate Epics individually and kill them
Throughout the whole story Izuku and Bkg are always at odds w each other so to shut them up Aizawa puts them on a mission to kill like one of the more powerful subordinate Epics
Everyone: WHAT
There are some people arguing that Izuku hasn’t proven himself to be exactly trustworthy yet but Aizawa argues that the person who would keep the closest eye on Izuku and not hesitate to kill him would be Bkg (jokes on you bc this is bkdk but anyway) and hence Bkg and Izuku would be a great pair for the mission
Although we all know like Aizawa knows that it’s just UST and he pairs them up to make them solve their previous trauma issues
They get into a scuffle before, during and after the mission bc they are that disaster duo
They definitely fail the mission and Bkg has to resort to using his Epic powers to bail them out
Bkg becomes more short tempered than usual bc of that
Also they have a lot of witty banter throughout the entire thing, before Bkg withdraws into his tsun shell again (there is no dere Bkg is wholly tsun)
Note that their relationship is still rocky, no Deku v Kacchan 2 yet but at the point of let’s say Final Exams Arc, where they grudgingly accept that they would work together for their shared goal
Anyway one day the subordinate Epics aka Dabi and Toga sniff out their hideout and appear and knock Bkg out and capture him. They reveal that they noticed that Bkg was an Epic and when they told Shiggy he told them to capture Bkg so they could convert him to the dark side. Meanwhile subplot of Toga getting trashed by absolute eight pack abs Uraraka
They tell him if they want to save Bkg they have to surrender and bring their leader to see Mirio at a specified location
(of course the interns’ goal is to make the Resistance and Mirio take each other out like Yakuza Arc style)
Izuku kinda loses it and wants to go rescue Bkg, but Aizawa says Bkg would have told them to go ahead w the plan to assassinate Mirio and not care for his safety as a hostage
(Izuku. Although Bkg doesn’t have prime invincibility he is still an Epic, he won’t die that easily…)
Anyway they kill Mirio in a fight, and once Izuku sees Mirio is dead he nyooms straight for Bkg’s location w Uraraka, Kirishima, Todoroki (everyone else is incapacitated)
They find Dabi and Toga there trying to corrupt Bkg (they ignored Mirio’s order to kill Bkg once the Resistance attacked bc have their own agenda remember), and they save him (damn Bkg why you Princess Peach like this)
Yaoyorozu arrives with backup and distracts them long enough to regroup, but Twice appears to bail Toga and Dabi out when Mirio dies, and they escape the city through Kurogiri
The building/ship on an ocean/underground base (idk haven’t fixed a location) is on fire and Yaoyozoru orders everyone to escape, but the falling rocks separate everyone as she says that
Izuku and Bkg both hobble out, but ha ha guess what Bkg’s weakness is?
If you said fire you are 100% correct
Anyway Bkg kinda freaks out bc he’s useless in situations involving fires (both w his usage of Epic powers and his fear) and kinda faints, and so Izuku, now all alone in the fires, whispers to Bkg ‘hey remember during one of our fights you accused me of keeping secrets from you bc you thought that was my way of looking down on you? well here is my secret and well on the 1/10000th chance that you’re still conscious and almost-but-not-really-delirious I’m deciding to share my secret with YOU’
And here is plot twist number 420 of the day: Izuku is an Epic.
Anyway Izuku busts out of the hideout with his super strength and gets them out of there safely. He hands Bkg to their medic Ashido who staples him up JJBA Fugo-to-Mista style and pronounces him Good to Go
The city celebrates and Aizawa takes control by saying the city is now under the protection of Endeavour (bc Endeavour is a High Epic who is secretly collaborating w the Resistance to end other Epics bla bla insert real life political examples about how to correctly go about revolutionising an entire city)
Anyway a day after the aftermath Bkg pulls Izuku aside and confronts him w his suspicions bc although he was unconscious there was no way Izuku busted them out of there w/o a superpower.
Also Izuku is a bad liar and he has been hinting w his actions throughout the entire plot like telling Kacchan that he has been entrusted with the hopes and dreams of a better future after one of their fights (but from WHO?? and entrusted with WHAT exactly???) and also Izuku accidentally bending forks in his stress and when someone calls him out he panics and calls them magic tricks or smth, or the time there was an event where they visited the market for weapons and he witness a slave ring selling kids for unpaid labour and when he thought no one was looking when he went out in the middle of the night and destroyed their hideout with one stomp but the next day they see it in the news and think it was a small earthquake (upon hearing that Izuku breathes a small sigh of relief, someone comments he must be relieved that the kids don’t have to suffer anymore right? and Izuku is like Yeah! That is Totally What I Was Thinking About And Not The Fact That I Am Afraid Of Having My Epic Powers Found Out And Subsequently Lynched) idk small foreshadowing stuff like that throughout the entire plot ok
Bkg is like dude. is this the reason why you’re so agreeable to keeping my Epic powers secret?! bc you too have powers and were looking down on me??! (Deku v Kacchan 2: Electric Boogaloo)
Izuku’s powers, inherited from All Might before he died a peaceful death: Gifting (permanently, or for a short period of time), Super strength and dexterity (but not reflexes), Minor prediction powers (though Izuku claims that is his own skill and not part of his Epic powers). Izuku is also, unexplainably, unable to be corrupted by his powers
Izuku’s fear is being powerless to act, which is why watching helplessly as Kacchan was kidnapped hit him particularly hard, but he overcame that which also alludes to his 100 level mental strength to resist corruption
Bkg, whispering: Holy shit.
Anyway the main story ends there with a hint of part 2 where they solve the mystery of OFA/AFO (where Calamity occured when AFO appeared and gave everyone powers to watch the world destroy itself for fun, and the only way to make the Calamity disappear and return sanity to the Epics is to *insert plot mechanic I have not figured out yet which has to do with Izuku’s OFA power* *or maybe it’s just as simple as killing AFO and Shiggy. idk*)
Hawks would appear in part 2 as an insider agent who recons w the Resistance at the start of part 2 and gives them intel on how to kill Shiggy. He is a normal person.
But the start of the start of part 2 definitely starts w Bkg and Izuku in chains in some kind of prison in an Epic hideout in another city. Bc Izuku tripped and fell while doing parkour during their mission. (Bc Bkg was forcing Izuku to train his usage of Epic powers bc more firepower is good in fights in the future!!!) While Epic who captured them is having a turf war with another Epic outside they do a prison break showing their pretty competent relationship now (and yeah both of them are too emotionally stunted have a relationship)
i’m sorry there is 0 continuity in this plot i wrote this at 1am while delirious and hungry please take it and leave
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violetsmoak ¡ 6 years ago
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no safety or surprise [1/?]
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18035168/chapters/42616919
( See First Chapter for full Disclaimers & Warnings)
Summary: A haunting broadcast reveals the Joker’s final act and sets off a chain of events that will destroy the world. Terry finds himself collaborating once more with the estranged members of Bruce’s former team. As the end nears, however, he and the other Bats are faced with hard choices about survival—and forgiveness.
Rating: T (may change depending on the amount of graphic/details I decide on)
________________________________________________________________
chapter one: the calm before the storm
Neo-Gotham, Friday, June 13, 2042 9:04 AM
MCGINNIS
Siblings, Terry thinks as he scowls down at the little gremlin on the couch, are highly overrated.
At some point, while he was getting ready for school, Matt snuck into his room and stole his comforter. The twip is now wrapped up like a giant burrito, watching television and pretending he doesn’t see Terry’s irritated expression.
“Don’t you have your own?” he grumbles. “You’re going to get your sick germs all over it.”
“You can just wash it later.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I think it’s cute,” Mom interrupts, stopping the fight in its tracks the way she always does. She doesn’t look up from her phone, thumb flying through a text. “And you used to do the same thing, by the way.”
Terry blinks. “I did not.”
“You did. With mine and your father’s bedspread. That, and homemade soup? Always made you feel better when you were sick.”
Which, okay, Terry can sort of remember that.
There was something safe about being wrapped in blankets that smelled like Dad’s aftershave and having Mom spoil him with food made just for him. A pang of sadness hits him, leeching away from his irritation; Matt was never able to do that. Their parents divorced rather soon after he was born, and Dad wasn’t around Matt much afterward, let alone when he was sick.
Since Warren McGinnis’ death, Terry is the only adult male presence his brother has in his life.
And I’ve done a pretty crap job of that so far.
He’s always so busy, working for Mr. Wayne on and off the books. The criminal element in Gotham makes it practically impossible to maintain connections outside the life.
It’s ironic that Batman is better at being a role-model for Matt than Terry is.
The fight drains out of him, and he gives a put-upon sigh. “Fine. He can have it. But if I get sick, I’m going to hang him over the balcony by his feet." He turns away, but knows Matt is sticking his tongue out at the back of his head; it’s what he’d do at that age. “So, what’s the verdict? Staying? Going?”
Whatever Matt has, their mother seems to be coming down with as well. She’s been debating all morning about whether she intends to go into work or not. Terry’s stuck around, in case she does decide to go, and he has to watch Matt; he can Livestream his classes, she can’t exactly do the same for her job.
“I don’t know,” Mom says, frowning at the screen. “Jarvis and Riley are out today too apparently.”
Terry whistles; he’s happy he hasn’t caught whatever’s going around. It’s still the cold part of June, around the time when the temperatures fluctuate between mild and freeze-your-nuts off. Mom always tells him how when she was a young girl, the weather already started warming up in May, but because of global warming summer doesn’t really arrive until July.
So now, June is the summer flu season.
Point being, I could still catch it. And won’t that be fun.
Because Batman doesn’t get sick days, and Terry knows from experience that having a cold while wearing the cowl is probably the most disgusting feeling ever. And that includes wading through sewage and cleaning rotten food out of the refrigerator.
While Mom continues to debate with herself, he fires off texts to Dana and Max, asking them to cover anything he misses for the first period, in case he’s late. There are about ten seconds before he gets a response from Max.
‘No problem. Is it work? Or work?’
Before he can respond, Dana’s text comes in. ’everything OK w/ mr wayne?’
And he can’t help a smile at that, because he doesn’t have to make up any kind of lie or excuse, because they both know. He’s still getting used to the fact that Dana knows, and that she understands. And wants to help.
It’s more than he ever thought he’d get when he started this whole thing.
‘Wayne OK far as I know,’ Terry texts them both back, mentally crossing his fingers that he isn’t jinxing anything. ‘Mom & Matt not feeling great. Keeping an eye on them a bit.’
‘aw, sux. tell them feel better from me. dnt worry, got u covered! <3’
There’s a minute or so before Max responds.
‘Too bad. Nasty flu this year, huh? Not feeling great either, but test period 2, so…’
Terry’s eyes widen. ‘Wait. What test?’
‘LOL.’
‘Srsly, what test?!?!’
There’s no answer, and Terry frowns down at his phone, trying to decide if Max is messing with him or not. He’s about to double-check with Dana when his mother speaks.
“I think I will stay home,” she decides, rubbing her cheekbones. “My face hurts. I really hope it’s not another sinus infection. That’s all I need on top of everything.”
“Hey, take it easy,” Terry tells her with a comforting smile. “It’s been a while since you had the day off. Besides, the world’s not going to shut down because one astronomer doesn’t come into work.”
“You say that now,” Mom says dryly. “If an asteroid is hurtling toward the earth and it’s my job to spot it, you’re going to feel pretty foolish.”
“Nah, never happen.” He grabs his bag and starts for the door, stopping to press a kiss to the top of his mother’s head. “With Superman out there? And the Justice League? Pretty good job security, I’d say.”
“Lame,” Matt grumbles from his blanket cocoon. “Batman can take them all. He probably has a special rocket to shoot stuff down.”
And, okay, maybe Terry might rethink his stance on siblings, because damn if those words don’t make him grin.
Matt notices and frowns at him. “Why are you smiling at me like a creeper?”
And, there goes that good feeling.
“Trying to decide whether to take a pic and send to your friends and show them how pathetic you are right now. You’re like a human-larva hybrid. It’s gross.”
“Yeah, well—well, you’re adopted!”
That’s his latest insult to everyone when he can’t think of anything else to say.
“Matt!”
“At least I was planned,” Terry retorts.
It takes a moment before the penny drops, and his brother’s overly pale face goes red. “Moooooom!”
“Terry, leave your brother alone, he’s sick,” she sighs, rubbing her eyes.
“What’s his excuse for the rest of the time?”
“Go to school, hon.”
Matt smirks at him, and returns his attention to the television, flipping through cartoons. Terry rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything about favoritism, because it always comes back to how he’s an adult now and should know better than to stoop to the level of a ten-year-old. 
I can win a fight against the deadliest member of the Society of Assassins, but not this. Go figure.
“Will Mr. Wayne need you today?” Mom asks as he puts on his jacket. He knows she’s wondering if he’ll be able to come home and relieve her from Matt-duty at some point, which he totally understands.
“We’ll see. I’ll probably drive out to check on him tonight, but I think I can get home after school if you need a break.”
“That would be appreciated.”
“Do you want me to bring you guys anything while I’m out—?”
There is a sudden, sharp drop in pitch throughout the entire house. Terry’s ears pop a little, the same way they do whenever Shriek mutes the sound in the surrounding area, but somehow his hearing simply becomes sharper now.
Before Terry can wonder if it’s a sign the sound-terrorist is back out on the street, the living room is filled with music. A jaunty, haunting carnival tune that instantly has the hair on the back of Terry’s neck raising.
His gaze whips to the television screen, which is flickering between static and a blank screen with the words HA HA HA flashes across it in red.
His mouth goes dry.
________________________________________________________________  
WAYNE
Bruce is starting to wonder if a Lazarus Pit might not have been a better idea than the liver transplant. Of the methods for artificially prolonging life, at least with the Pit, he would eventually start to feel like he was recovering.
After the madness subsided, at least.
On days like today—when it’s damp and chilly, and there’s nothing going on in Gotham to keep him glued to the computer screen in the Cave—it’s hard to remember the arguments he’s always made against using the restorative powers of a Lazarus Pit. His body protests with every movement as he eases it through several slowed kata variations. Part of his physical therapy, as suggested by his doctors.
Since his procedure, he feels the exhaustion much more keenly. It’s bone-deep fatigue that seeps into every muscle, emphasizing the way his bones creak and grind against each other, cartilage worn away from age and decades of abuse. It’s the way his energy levels drain so much faster now, to the extent that even his usual ability to will himself into action seems to wane every day.
Not that he really had a choice in the matter. He was in end-stage liver failure, and the nearest Pit is in New Cuba. He’d just been lucky that there was a suitable donor in the hospital at the right time.
‘Luck’ is one word for it. ‘Cruel irony’ might be a better phrase.
Douglas Tan is one of the names he’s going to carry on his conscience for the rest of his life; or, at least on his liver.
Terry still makes jokes about Batman having a piece of a Joker inside him, but then Terry tends to use humor to cover up when he’s worried. Dick always did that, too; and Jason.
Bruce scowls, bothered by the direction of his thoughts, as well as the raggedness to his breath. He isn’t even moving very fast, but it’s taking him every bit of strength to keep at it.
Ace is curled up in his usual spot in the cave, watching Bruce with what seems to be narrowed eyes. As if to say, don’t overdo it or I will knock you over.
The dog is smarter than most people.
Ace is one of the reasons the doctors were willing to leave him to pursue recovery on his own and not under some beady-eyed nurse in the hospital. Money isn’t as much an incentive as it once was, with so many legal and health standards in the way; the older he gets, the less likely people are to trust his ability to make decisions, lawyers or not.
He tolerated a private nurse for about a day while having Terry make other arrangements and manufacturing a piece of paper saying Ace was a certified service dog. He’s not, but Bruce has no doubt the dog would activate the medical alert button at the computer if something were to happen. And Terry has an alarm set up, keyed into the surveillance and motion sensors in the Cave. If anything were to happen, he can be here faster than any ambulance.
Old age has fed into long-buried fears, and it gives him an embarrassing sense of relief knowing there’s someone to look in on him. It has always bothered him, being dependent—being weak.
Some days he’s more accepting of it; some days he wishes he had Kryptonian DNA.
Which is usually the point at which he forces himself to occupy his mind with other things because envying Kal-El can only lead down a dark, frustrating path of self-pity. One he’s determinedly avoided ever since meeting the other man.
After another fifteen minutes of forcing himself to think about nothing but the movement of his limbs, Bruce finally finishes his exercises. Sweat coats his back and his muscles ache with the same burn as if he just spent several hours grappling through the Gotham skyline. Even if it took fewer challenging movements to reach this point, that burn is comforting.
Familiar.
And that’s a word that’s been cropping up more in his thoughts lately. History tends to repeat, after all, but it’s still strange to experience. Terry’s been an excellent example of that.
Like Bruce, the McGinnis boy started out with nothing but a suit and an old man’s voice in his ear. Now, he’s got a network. Friends who he trusts and who will keep his secret. A steadily growing list of allies in the field.
The Police Commissioner. The Justice League.
And a Catwoman too, for Christ sakes.
He wonders what Selina would think about that.
Bruce just hopes the kid won’t make his mistakes. Forty years is a long time to rack up regrets.
At least Dick’s back in contact now.
Sort of.
He showed up the second night that Bruce was recovering from his procedure at the hospital; he’d managed to convince Terry to go out on patrol instead of wasting his time watching an old man sleep.
“Batman doesn’t get a day off.”
Bruce had dozed for a bit, but not deeply; it wasn’t difficult to discern that he wasn’t alone. 
One minute the room was empty and in the next, Bruce could feel that familiar presence—the one of a man who had carried the mantles of Robin, Nightwing, and Batman—and somehow lived to tell the tale. Then his estranged son was stepping out of the shadows, glaring down at him, muscles in his jaw working and fists clenching and unclenching.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Bruce had croaked, wishing he had thought to ask for ice chips before the nurse left. “I’m too stubborn to die.”
The silence hanging afterward was filled with everything he couldn’t say yet. For once, Dick didn’t call him on it.
“You’re more stubborn than God,” his boy countered.
(He’ll always be a boy to Bruce, grey hair and eye-patch be damned.)
And yet, Dick sat, arms crossed and spine stiff for the rest of the night. Still angry, but present nonetheless. He stayed until morning rounds without saying anything and then left.
They haven’t seen each other since, but sometimes Bruce can hear feedback on the comms when he’s directing Terry’s patrols. The tinny whisper of signals crossing from the bug he pretends he doesn’t know Dick planted on the underside of his medical ID tag.
It’s not much, but it’s something. The opening of the possibility that at some point, he’ll come around.
Barbara did, after all.
Mostly because of Terry, but afterward Bruce started making the effort. They can have conversations alone now that don’t end with her yelling at him (or punching him, on one or two memorable occasions). Bruce forgot how much he enjoyed her sense of humor and intelligence—how much he enjoyed their friendship—from before they slept together.
(That might be one of his life’s biggest shames. Oh, he has regrets associated with all of the family for one thing or another, but this is the one that still wakes him up at night feeling dirty.)
In a way, it’s easier with Tim, and that’s a bridge Bruce thought had been obliterated long ago.
Granted, he’s leaving Gotham again—the last incident with the Joker army rattled him enough that he put in for a transfer to the Beijing division of Wayne Enterprises—but he stuck around long enough to collaborate with Bruce on a subdermal antitoxin deployment implant against Joker venom.
(None of them want to be caught unawares again.)
It’s in the prototype phase, with only five of the devices in existence; he, Tim and Terry are testing them personally. It’s not exactly something the FDA is going to approve for human testing anytime soon, not with all the new legislation, but with the state of Gotham, it’s unwise to wait on it.
(He sent one to Barbara and one to Dick but doesn’t know if they’ve bothered to activate them. At least they haven’t sent them back.)
If the implant works, Bruce is seriously considering modifying the tech for the Wayne Enterprises medical division. There are a lot of illnesses and viruses out there which require regular dosages of medicine to keep them under control. The difficulty is finding funding and ensuring the board of the directors doesn’t jump on the chance to charge exorbitant amounts of money for the technology. The whole point of the tech is to help anyone who needs it, not just the filthy rich.
Maybe that’s the next project, after CAIN, he muses, grabbing his towel from where he draped it over one of the computer processors.
His global Clean Air Initiative Network is something he’d been working on before stepping back from the company. It was shelved almost immediately by Derek Powers when he took over, but since Bruce has been back, he’s been revisiting a lot of old projects.
Lucius’ boy did most of the technical work on it, and Foxtecha will have joint ownership of the patent when it’s ready for public consumption. Bruce would have asked Tim, but he knows how determined his estranged son is to get out of Gotham. He can read it in the tone of his emails, which have thankfully lost the stilted, formal business tone they’ve had since he returned to the company.
(Bruce mentioned paying a visit in the future, and Tim didn’t say no, so he counts that as a win.)
It’s a little disconcerting how the family is coming together again; disconcerting but welcome.
He’s received a vid call last week from Cassandra expressing concern over his surgery, and then a short, gruff email from Duke all-but ordering him to get better. There’s even a letter from Stephanie—or Eurus, as she goes by these days—smelling of dust and desert sun and incense found only in Nanda Parbat. Her messy, looping scrawl, echoed Dick’s sentiment about Bruce’s stubbornness and alluded to its genetic inheritability.
(That said more than if she had mentioned Damian outright; his youngest son has remained stubbornly silent.)
Bruce lost track of her not long after Damian’s short and brutal stint under the cowl; it had surprised him to find out she ended up in Tibet.
It also relieved him. Because no matter how dark a path his son wandered, at least there would be someone to challenge him. To not obey without question. To give him a link to the life he once had, to being human and alive.
(Bruce very carefully doesn’t think about Jason—doesn’t wonder if things had been different if he wouldn’t have reached out as well. Even after so many years, that wound is still raw.)
The whole thing is a stark difference from the last few times he ended up in the hospital, including when he was dosed on Joker venom several months ago. He didn’t hear anything from them at that point, which makes him think someone really thought he was dying this time and reached out.
Barbara, maybe. Or Dick. However much tension there is between himself and Bruce, he does keep in touch with the others. Hell, it might even have been Terry. The kid doesn’t know the rest of them personally, but he’s gotten adept at navigating the computer in the cave.
And he’s always been curious about his predecessors.
Bruce’s first family.
Or maybe just the first phase of the family.
Bruce shies away from that secret bit of knowledge he has about Terry, and his brother Matt. What he discovered the first time the kid returned to the Cave with bloody gashes that needed stitching up. The files and medical information buried beneath every firewall he could fashion, so the latest Batman can never stumble upon it accidentally.
The most Bruce has allowed himself to acknowledge it is an amendment in his will setting aside trust funds for both boys.
As if triggered by his thoughts, the screen of the Bat-Computer flickers to life. He rolls his shoulders, expecting an alert on some heist or robbery going on in the city; another case to add to the docket for Terry to investigate after school (depending on the severity).
Bruce doesn’t expect the Cave to suddenly fill with a jaunty, haunting carnival tune that makes his entire body seize in recognition. And yet, he already knows what’s coming even before the words HA HA HA coalesce upon the screen. 
“Hell-O World! It’s your favorite rascal…”
________________________________________________________________  
GORDON
There are times when Barbara misses being a vigilante, if only because there was a lot less paperwork involved. Questionable legality aside, there was always a simplicity to the whole endeavor: track down the bad guy, entrap-and-or-beat said bad guy into submission, and then drop them off at the GCPD.
Now that she’s the one behind the desk, though, she has a lot more appreciation for the work her father did. She wonders how he never developed an aneurysm or stress-related heart condition due to the grief Batman (and the rest of them) caused the department.
She has barely sat down in her office, but there’s an influx of emails flooding her inbox. She scans through the first few—requests from someone in IA sniffing around some of her open cases on the barest hint that she’s allowing Batman to help, reminders about upcoming social functions she would rather skip, two officers that have to be brought up on disciplinary charges—and sighs. It’s just the first two dozen.
Today is going to be a triple espresso kind of day, I can tell, she decides, rolling her shoulders and tilting her neck from side to side.
Another message chimes as it comes in.
Crime Alley and Tricorner are requesting more plainclothes officers in the area, ostensibly to deal with an upswing in crime over the past twenty-four hours.
Barbara frowns at this—it must be significant if those particular precincts are reaching out, they usually hate working with Central. Then again, everyone’s been jumpy about security since the Jokerz almost destroyed Gotham.
They’re still finding bodies from that one. She’s got three of her officers’ families grieving without any closure.
Barbara goes back over incident reports from the last few hours, noting a rise in attacks on the homeless, property damage and extreme road-rage (twenty-six separate incidents of that, which is a new daily extreme for her). From the initial investigations into each of the unrelated events—all in different areas of the city—there doesn’t seem to be any motivating factor or link.
What the hell is going on?
A crime spike isn’t ordinary for June; they usually start around now and then play out over the course of weeks.
Not hours. Have any of our usual players been released from custody lately? There’ve been no outbreaks or escapes that I know of.
If there is someone out there stirring things up, she hopes to God it’s just someone like Walter Shrieve. Arrogant and brilliant offenders she can deal with; they’re always so eager to prove themselves the best, and it always leads to their downfall. It’s the criminally insane ones that keep her up for days on end trying to restore some semblance of sanity to a city that’s never going to get any better. Even worse is a combination of the two.
Uneasy, she fires off a message to her counterparts in New York and Toronto, to see if they’re seeing similar phenomena in their jurisdictions. She hopes this is nothing, but she’s getting a hunch. And her hunches never lead her to anything that could be remotely called good.
“Get me Commissioner Sawyer over at MPD,” she tells the computer. She and Maggie go way back, and the other woman doesn’t pull that intercity rivalry crap when it comes to sharing important information.
“Yeah, the dregs are coming out of the woodwork here, too,” Maggie tells her after they exchange the requisite pleasantries. Her voice is carefully measured in a way that tells Barbara she’s not having a good day, either. “We had a damn flash mob that caused an A-trak derailment this morning. I have no idea how there weren’t more casualties, but…”
“Where’s Superman when you need him, right? I’d heard he was back in play.”
According to Bruce and Terry, anyhow.
“If he is, he must be off-world or something, because I doubt he’d be sitting on his ass at a time like this. What about on your end?”
“Well, we’re not exactly beyond the powers of the GCPD right now,” Barbara replies, a little smugly. “No need to take the Bat-signal out of storage.”
Yet, the unwelcome voice in her head echoes.
“Oh-ho, aren’t we getting confident in our old age?” Maggie sneers, but there’s no real malice to it. “For all our sakes, I hope it stays that way. But I’ve got a hunch...”
“Yeah,” Barbara sighs, her stomach dropping. “Me too.”
It’s not a good sign when both she and her opposite number in Metropolis are on the same wavelength.
As Maggie hangs up, three more incident reports pop up on the side of her screen. Skirmishing at Gotham General—that’s all they need now. If things are just warming up, it’s looking like another long day.
Sam’s not going to like it…
Barbara dials in the number herself this time on her personal line. There’s a trill and the viewscreen pops up to show her husband in his office at the DA, scowling down at a tablet. His expression clears when he sees her.
“Didn’t I just see you this morning?” he jokes. “Or were you that keen to see me again?”
“Always,” Barbara tells him, softer than she speaks to anyone else. “But I’m actually calling to apologize. It’s going to be a day, and I don’t know if I’ll get home for supper.”
“It must be bad since you just got there.”
“Things have been hairy all night,” she admits. “I’ve got incident reports multiplying as we speak. You’d think with the bug going around people would be staying home to recuperate, but it looks like they think it’s an excuse to break the law.”
“Well, it’s Gotham. After all this time, it’s not a surprise.”
“It’s really, really not.”
“I know I’d rather be home in bed,” Sam says, and normally a comment like that would have innuendo behind it. This time it’s all too earnest. He rubs his face tiredly. “I think I’m coming down with it too, to be honest.”
“If you give it to me, you’re sleeping on the couch for the next week,” Barbara informs him automatically. “I can’t afford to miss any work for the next…forever.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, hon. The minute they see you blink in this business, you’re dead in the water.” Sam grimaces and rolls his shoulders, and Barbara experiences a tinge of concern because he does look pale.
“Maybe you should go home,” she suggests. “You can work on your cases at home, can’t you?”
“Unfortunately, no. I’m due in court at ten o’clock.”
“If you’re dead from the flu, do you know how many criminals are going to walk free?” she demands, only a little bit joking.
He chuckles. “Come on, Babs, you know no one’s died of the flu in twenty years.”
Barbara has a witty retort on her tongue, but it stalls when Sam’s image freezes in front of her. It seems at first to be a lag, but then the screen morphs from his office to what looks like a brick wall.
She feels an icy cold slice through her, the same one she always gets when anything is associated with him. It’s the echo of a bullet, tearing through her internal organs and spine, and the hair-raising chill.
Barbara doesn’t really read the words, too focused on the high, cold cackle in the that somehow blocks out every other sound. 
________________________________________________________________
DRAKE
For the first time in a long time, Tim is happy.
His house is a gutted mess of boxes and detritus, but unlike in his younger years, it’s not because some supervillain has come crashing in to threaten him. He smiles, a little whimsical, at the date on the holographic calendar, and the word that hovers there: Moving.
In a week, he and Arlene will be in Beijing, and forever free of Gotham City.
They made the decision together in the weeks following the Jokerz attack, after Tim escaped the Cave the last time. He made it clear to Bruce and his new apprentice that it was the last time.
He doesn’t mind continuing to work for Wayne Enterprises—hell, he helped build that company, he takes a certain amount of pride and responsibility for it—but he won’t be doing that from Gotham. There’s too much history here, too much…everything. Apparently living on the outskirts or even in the same state (even on the same continent) isn’t enough for Tim to completely escape the lingering, nightmarish legacy of Batman.
Of Robin.
He wants normal. And after everything he’s been through, he more than deserves it.
“Oh, I’ll be sure to tell your dad, he’ll be happy to hear that,” Arlene says, chatting with their daughter Janet on the vidphone across the kitchen. In the den, the low sounds of the television provide background noise.
“—the level of unrest breaking out in the world’s major cities, has politicians asking, ‘is this another Yellow Vest Movement?’—"
“Honey, Janet says she and Maeve will be coming to help with the move after all.”
“You mean coming to eat pizza and beer,” Tim replies with a smile; they’ve already hired movers.
“Semantics,” he hears his youngest daughter laugh. “Either way we’ll be there.”
“Always happy to see you, kiddo.”
“Now, I’ve got to let you go,” Arlene says. “I have a nine-thirty conference call with Peking U., but I’ll speak to you later on.”
She has a follow-up interview for a position in the Linguistics Department there. It’s a step down from her current professorship at Gotham University, where she was on the tenure track, but when Tim pointed this out, she insisted his mental health was more important than her job prospects.
He tells himself he gave in so easily because after so many years of marriage it’s futile to argue with her. He tries not to acknowledge the total relief that he didn’t have to argue with her about it.
“Yeah, no problem Mom. Talk to you soon.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too!”
The video feed of their daughter winks out.
“Do you need me to get out of your hair?” Tim asks.
“No, I’ll take the call up in the office,” his wife replies and presses a kiss to his temple as she passes. Then she pauses, turns around and grabs the coffee pot to bring with her. “And I’m cutting you off. Any more of this and you’re not sleeping tonight.”
Tim sighs. “It’s like you know me or something.”
“And don’t forget it, mister!”
He listens carefully to the sound of his wife retreating up the stairs and over the landing, and then reaches for the microwave, where he surreptitiously stashed an extra cup earlier that morning.
And swears when he finds it missing; a quick glance to the sink sees it already washed out.
Damn it, she does know me.
But the thought is more fond than irritated.
Arlene is the only sure thing in his life, especially after his trauma. They met through Kate Kane—or rather, because of Kate Kane. The two women attended West Point at the same time, and Arlene acted as a character witness for Kate prior to the dishonorable discharge. Though Arlene graduated from the Academy, she did not spend much time on active duty before she was injured by a roadside bomb and lost her leg. Afterward, while dealing with her own PTSD, she pursued an academic career. She and Kate lost touch, and it wasn’t until the media released news of Kate’s murder that she heard of her again.
Arlene attended the funeral, which is where Tim met her for the first time. Two weeks later, they met in a support group for trauma survivors and started getting coffee together. It took Tim a year to figure out she was flirting with him (which Jason never stopped teasing him about, even when he was on his deathbed). After everything with Stephanie, and then with Jason, Arlene offered a safety none of his other partners ever had.
There’s a high-pitched trill from his cellphone, and he glances down to read the text from Cass.
‘ayt? need yr flight info. to pick u up from airport next wk. :) :) :)’
His sister still prefers to text over talking by phone, even all these years later, which he’s pleased about. So much these days is done with face-to-face screens or even holographic technology; he wasn’t really a people person before, but it’s getting rarer and rarer to have any kind of privacy. Texting—especially across the encrypted server he’s set up—is a relief.
Tim relays the details to her, along with the implied greetings from his wife, and expects that to be it. But then he gets another text.
‘question? 4 work.’
Tim tenses.
Cassandra Cain works as a retired ballerina who opened her own school of dance; it’s highly unlikely the work-related question has anything to do with that. It’s probably for Black Bat.
But he cautiously texts back, ‘As long as it’s just a question.’
He’s had to re-learn to establish boundaries.
‘fair. u worked cybersecurity. ever hear of Morningstar. hacker/agency???’
Tim frowns, thinks back, and shakes his head even though she can’t see it. ‘No. Never dealt with anything like that.’
Ok! 3Q. worth a shot. will c u & arlene on thurs. 520GG!’
‘88MM’
He waits a few minutes, but there are no more messages forthcoming, and then sends out the last message—‘88MM’, before putting his phone away.
Unlike everyone else from his vigilante days, Cass knows how to not push.
And yet…
She rarely asks him about anything that might involve her after-hours work, both out of familial courtesy and because her operation is, at least unofficially, supported by the Chinese government. Legally, there’s not a lot she can involve him in; when she does, it’s only where she has absolutely no other recourse and it involves paperwork and non-disclosure agreements.
Only twice has she asked him something in an off-hand way, which he knew instinctively had to do with Black Bat but pretended not to realise. The last time, his information helped her locate and dismantle a eugenicist breeding program using homeless girls.
Perhaps that’s why he finds himself reaching for his laptop and looking into anything to do with Cass’s mysterious ‘Morningstar’.
The word generates a broad spectrum of results, even when he searches through the Dark Web. Nothing to do with drugs, nothing related to human trafficking or weapons—nothing that wouldn’t immediately stand out to Cass in her own searches. He narrows search parameters, skating through encryptions and IP trails and layers and layers of disturbing data—
Within ten minutes he comes across the exact word in connection with a burgeoning hacktivist group known as DevilNight, but no indications as to what it refers to. It’s odd, considering the group has only existed for a short while and has hardly done anything worthy of attention. It makes no sense that something like this would be on Cass’s radar, especially considering based on his tracking, the group is based in Idaho.
He has just started to peel back the layers of the group’s security when his computer screen freezes. A beat later, words begin to type on his screen, and the blood drains from his cheeks.
H E L L O  J U N I O R
Even as the words register, Tim is already shoving himself backward, away from the screen. His hand slaps against the spot in his neck where Joker’s microchip was implanted—the spot where he injected Bruce’s anti-venom deployment system. It’s a reassurance, a reminder, he will be safe—
Horror suffuses him as another message typed out in front of him:
D O N ’T  B E  A  N A U G H T Y  B O Y
Bile rises in his throat and Tim feels the world spin. Instantly, he is back in that horrible room, hysterical laughter in his ears and a falsely cheerful melody playing in the background.
He has to fight himself back under control, checking his surroundings, going over simple facts about himself in his head—
Not Junior not Junior not Junior—
My name is Timothy Jackson Drake. Drake-Wayne.
He is still that, even if he never uses the name anymore. He never got around to changing it, never had the courage to.
My parents were Jack and Janet Drake. Mom died when I was a boy, Dad remarried. Dana. But they died—
Kidnapped, poisoned, murdered, went insane—
No, he’s getting off track. Facts, he needs facts about himself, to ground him, to remind him of who he is and not what he has lived through.
I work as a communications director and do contract work for Wayne Enterprises. I have two daughters—Kate and Janet. Kate is a veterinarian; Janet is a stockbroker. She married Maeve last year. Kate is pregnant with our first grandchild. Arlene and I go to Florida every winter…
At long last, he gets himself under control again, can separate himself from the specter of Junior.
He expects the laughter and the inner echoes of carnival music to fade away.
Instead, it becomes louder and more distinct.
Tim stares at his screen in horror as the message vanishes, the words replaced with something even more sinister.
HA HA HA.
No.
Not again.
He can’t do this again.
________________________________________________________________  
GRAYSON
Dick only ever feels his age in the mornings.
There’s just something about his body waking up after a long sleep, before his training kicks in to ignore the aches and pains, that can’t fight off the heaviness as fast anymore. Every day it’s more painful putting himself through the usual routine of exercises to keep himself in shape. 
Thankfully, he’s still outwardly put-together enough to hide it.
He smiles ruefully at his reflection in the bathroom mirror—more of a grimace, really—and studies the patchwork of old scars and not-so-old bruises across his chest.
He knows he doesn’t look his age. It’s not even due to cosmetic surgery or organ replacements or even the personal holograph projections that have gotten popular in the last decade. Longevity just happens to run in his family; John Grayson’s father was still pulling triple somersaults at eighty and Mary Lloyd’s grandmother lived to be a hundred and thirteen.
The only thing artificial in his body are metal plates and pins that replaced bones fractured beyond natural healing, and the biotech keeping the bullet in his spine from moving. (And the antitoxin implant Bruce sent him; because no feud is worth getting dosed with Joker venom, whether the bastard is dead or not.)
Not bad for fifty-nine, he decides and heads for the kitchen.
There’s a moan from his bedroom, and he pauses briefly as he passes to consider the woman lying in his bed in nothing but his bedsheets. In her sleep, she curls to one side, causing the sheet to slip a little and reveal bruises in the shape of his fingers across her hip. He can feel the matching set on his own back.
Definitely not bad for fifty-nine.
For a moment he debates the merits of returning to bed and continuing where they left off last night, but that would be against one of the unspoken rules they established when they started sleeping together.
The other is that they don’t use real names.
He doesn’t know or want to know hers—after a lifetime of failed relationships and broken hearts he knows better than to get attached. And though he’s aware she knows his—the world knows his name since that fiasco with the wannabe Hush—she never uses it. If she must, she calls him Wing, and it’s a clear reminder that she has no intention of crossing any boundaries to let things become personal.
He has no problem with that; he calls her Black.
He’ll never call her Cat because that’s what Bruce called Selina Kyle. Associating this Catwoman with the original just feels a little too oedipal to Dick.
(Selina never really gave off motherly vibes, but she was the most constant presence of all Bruce’s paramours, so she sort of ended up in that role by association).
The original Catwoman was the only one Bruce could never completely push away—though that might say more about Selina’s stubbornness than the old man trying to keep hold of the people in his life. She decided when they were in a relationship, or out of one, whatever Bruce wanted.
In the end, even that wasn’t enough though. Her heart was never as strong after the incident with the real Hush.
Dick remembers attending the funeral. Bruce didn’t show up at the service or the burial. It was a few years into his self-imposed exile, right after Damian’s departure, and soon after Steph and Cass. He obviously hadn’t wanted to face any of them (maybe couldn’t face them).
But there was a crack in the headstone the next time Dick brought flowers (an imprint of a fist he would know anywhere) and he knows Bruce blamed himself for that too.
Dick heads to the kitchen, grabbing a coffee for himself. He debates for a moment, leaving one out for Black, but if the usual pattern holds, she’ll be jumping out his bedroom window soon without even coming into the kitchen. She’s not exactly one for goodbyes. Instead, he leans on the counter and pulls out his mobile, scrolling through the day's news stories.
Call him old fashioned, but he prefers to read the news than watch the featureless blue talking heads on the television. He spends about a minute skimming a beat piece on the successful launch of Wayne Enterprises' latest environmental initiative. Tim was telling him something about that the other day; it was the most animated and relaxed Dick had seen him since that night with the Jokerz.
“It’s basically like a planetary rebreather,” his estranged brother enthused. “You know how trees take in carbon dioxide and release oxygen? It’s sort of like that, but on a larger scale. Once it's all set up, any toxins pumped into the atmosphere will get filtered out and converted to oxygen.”
Tim had then gone on a lengthy explanation about the technical details that Dick had no chance of following, but given how enthused he’d seemed, it hadn’t mattered.
He’s going to miss him, now that he’s headed off to Beijing, but Cass is ecstatic. As far as Dick knows, they haven’t seen each other in ten years. It almost makes him want to head over and join the reunion.
Except that would be counterproductive to his current plans.
Dick is in Gotham on the pretense of opening a second athletics course, but really, it’s to keep an eye on things.
He doesn’t trust Bruce not to screw up whatever he’s doing with this new kid, and the boy’s too green to notice the signs of losing himself to Bruce’s mission. When the old man cuts him off—and it’s when, not if, because Bruce will inevitably screw this up—the McGinnis kid is going to need someone to keep his head above water.
Dick’s only been around him a handful of times, but there’s a cockiness and attitude there that reminds him of Jason. That’s concerning enough on its own, but what really makes the hair on the back of Dick’s neck stand up is the sense he has of this kid’s potential to do damage. He’s seen that, before, too, along with the results.
Christ, the kid even looks like Damian. If I didn’t know Bruce so well, I’d think…
He shakes off the thought because it’s too disturbing to contemplate.
The point is, Terry McGinnis needs someone looking out for him, even if he doesn’t realize it. Bruce isn’t going to do it and Barbara has clearly forgotten a hell of a lot of history since she’s allowing the boy to fly around her city risking his life.
So it’s up to Dick.
Again.
I’m way too old to be getting another brother, he thinks darkly, in what once might have been genuine humor but now feels just exhausting. Especially considering his track record with the others.
He doesn’t even know where Duke ended up.
Something flickers on the edge of his eyesight, and he turns to look out the window of his apartment. Across the street, the giant vid-screen advertising the latest energy drink blinks and goes briefly blank. Along with every other screen as far as the eye can see.
Dick narrows his eyes, taking a step forward to study the phenomena, and then freezes as his quiet apartment is invaded by obscenely cheerful music and a laugh he wishes he could forget.
Every screen for miles spells it out, and he knows immediately that things are about to get worse.
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