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wosoamazing · 10 months ago

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Recovery

Summary: Part 2 of Negative Thoughts and Beach Days

Warnings: Eating Disorder (slight talks of being sick but it doesn't happen) - let me know if anything else and I will add

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out, but I hope you like it and that it was worth the wait. Currently working on a two McFoord x Child!Reader fics and a Leah Williamson x Child!Reader fic and kind of a Sam redemption fic. But if you have any ideas for this series (either Barca, Arsenal or Matildas) or requests in general I will add them to my WIPs.

Lia had come over to cook dinner for you and Leah, it was something that happened quite often, however today the meal was fancier than usual. You just sat in your chair, in front of your plate, you used your fork to move the food around on you plate, taking small bites every now and then. You felt terrible you wanted to eat the food that Lia had taken the time to make, but there was a part of you that didn’t want to eat because of its fear of fatness and getting fat, and against your will this small part of you had started to take over more and more recently, causing you to feel funny when you thought about food, but this time something else was there, the thought of throwing up after you ate, this thought scared you, you had managed to suppress your thoughts and feelings for most of the meal however they finally bubbled over, causing tears to start free falling from your eyes, you felt stupid and pathetic all over again, you jumped up and left, sprinting up the stairs and into Leah’s room, you hide yourself under the covers and curled up, wanting to feel something else, anything else.

The two women that just a second ago were sitting at the table with you were in a mixed state of emotions, your sudden out burst caught them off guard, Leah really didn’t know what to do.

“Do you want me to leave?” Lia asked thinking it would be best.

“I’m sorry Wally,” you sister said to her still in a state of confusion.

“It’s okay Le, I’ll talk to you later, hopefully Bug is okay,” she said as they both started to get up out of their seats.

“Sorry about ending our night early,” you sister said as she hugged Lia, “it’s okay don’t worry, I understand, see you tomorrow, maybe?” your sister nodded before heading upstairs to find you.

Leah followed the sounds of your sobs to her room, she couldn’t see you but the lump under her covers indicated that you were there, she climbed into the bed and pulled your body on top of hers, she didn’t say anything, instead she rocked back and forth slightly whilst holding you tightly. You had gotten yourself so worked up you gaged, before you started coughing, Leah handed you the water on her bedside table, you took some small sips from it, Leah changed your position slightly so that your head rested against her chest. “Take some deep breaths with me bug,” you did as she said, your eye lids started to droop and your head began to get heavy, which Leah noticed “It’s okay bug, I’ve got you, I promise I will stay here, you can go to sleep if you want, we can talk later. Love you,” you didn’t respond, you buried your head into her side and eventually the exhaustion from your sobs caused you to fall asleep. When you body stopped shaking from your sobs and your breath was less rapid Leah sighed out a breath of relief, you had gone to sleep. She picked up her phone to see a message from Lia.

Lia: I hope everything is all okay, I cleaned up, I know you’re going to say I didn’t need to, but I did it just to make things easier, locked the door behind me. Hope bug is okay, message if you need anything.

Leah: Thank you, really you didn’t have to, but I really appreciate it. I don’t know what is wrong with bug, she was crying hard when I found her, eventually she fell asleep, I was worried she almost made herself sick, I think the only saving grace was that she didn’t eat much. I’ll keep you updated, sorry again about our night.

You become aware of your surroundings again slightly later, you were now resting against Leah’s side with her arm around your upper body almost supporting it, her laptop rested on her stomach as she did some work with her free hand.

“I-I’m sorry,” was what you mumbled into her side, alerting her to the fact that you were awake.

“It’s okay bug,” “Do you think Lia is upset that I didn’t eat her dinner? I feel really bad, she took so much time and care to make it and-”

“No bug, Lia didn’t even mention the fact you didn’t eat. She was just really concerned about you and whether you were okay or not.” you hummed in response “What’s wrong though bug? Do you feel okay?”

“um, well, I-” “It’s okay bug take your time, I’m here and I will stay here as long as you need” you knew from that response that Alessia had spoken to her, you didn’t know how much she said to her but she knew something, but you also knew Leah would want to hear everything from you, you wondered how long it had been since Alessia spoke to her, for her not to question you.

“I-I, I started getting conscious of my body a while ago and then these people on social media were being really mean and I know you say not to let it get to you but I did and then somewhere along the way I had obviously decided that not having my period meant that I was skinny enough and then I got my period and this voice in my head started to grow and was telling me I’m fat, and ugly and no one liked me and then I started to believe it so I stopped wearing my normal clothes and then when we went to the beach I couldn’t fit into my bikini and so the voice decided that I was really fat and ever since has not made me want to eat food and I’ve tried to not let it take over but it did and then tonight while I sat there looking at my dinner the other thing in my head was the voice that was telling me that if I ate it I would be fat and so I couldn’t eat and, and, and I’m sorry, it’s stupid and pathetic I know.” you blurted out managing not to cry, however tears started spilling form your eyes again when Leah sat up against the bedhead and pulled you into her lap and just hugged you tightly, resting her head on top of yours, giving you a reassuring presence. After you had calmed down slightly Leah started to talk, but she remained in the same position “I’m here for you bug, always, whenever and whatever you need, I would move mountains for you, I love you so so much, your my little bug. Please, please never feel like you have to hide your emotions, even when you think that they are dumb or pathetic or stupid because I can most definitely reassure you that they aren’t. We’re going to get through this together okay, I’ll help you, the team will help you.”

“I-I’m sorry” you sniffle. “There is nothing to be sorry about bug, this isn’t your fault.” she held you for a little while longer before she turned you around so you were facing her, she put her arms around your back, and looked at you. “I’m going to set up a meeting with Jonas okay, I try and do it for tomorrow morning so you don’t have to stress about it, Lessi did mention to me that she offered to do the meeting with you but I also want to offer to be there in the meeting for you”

“Um, could you do it with me? You can say no, but um, I would really like it if you could-” “Of course bug, I will definitely be there.” You smiled and leant forward to rest your head on her chest, before a yawn escaped your mouth. “Why don’t you go get changed unto your PJs and brush your teeth and I’ll do the same and then you can come back and sleep with me tonight,” you nod into her chest before getting up.

You climbed into the bed and snuggled up beside your sister, “can you tell Lia?” you softly said to her, knowing she knew what you meant.

“Sure bug, I love you heaps, have a good sleep.” she replied to you. You closed your eyes and mumbled “love you,” she placed a kiss on your forehead, and you quickly feel asleep. Once you were definitely asleep, she picked up her phone to message Lia

Leah: Bug is very sorry for not eating your food, the first thing she said was sorry, and asked whether you were upset.

Lia: Bless her, is everything okay with her?

Leah: um well, not really, can we call? Bug is asleep next to me, but she shouldn’t wake up.

Lia: Yeah sure, just give me a second.

You woke up the next morning at 7, slightly later than usual, Leah wasn’t in bed still, but you could hear her downstairs talking to someone else, who you thought was Lia. You made your way down the stairs and into the living room, to find Leah and Lia sitting there.

“Good morning,” your sister said as you walked in,

“Good morning, um Lia, I-I just wanted to say I-I’m sorry for not eating the food y-you made for us last night,”

“It’s okay Y/N/N, can I have a hug though?” she asked softly, you nodded and moved to sit next to her on the couch, she put her arms around you. She then let go of you, you moved so that you could rest your head on her should, she put on of her arms back around your shoulders and the other reached out for Leah’s, before she spoke, “we were thinking, maybe today at some stage I could or Leah and I could talk to the team for you if you want, it’s okay if you want to tell them yourself but we just thought you might prefer if we did it.”

“I think I would like that, thank you”.

You walked into training checking the time on your phone 9:30, your meeting was with Jonas at 10, you didn’t get the chance to train though, as your morning was mostly filled with tears and meetings. After you spoke to Jonas, who was very understanding you had to see the phycologist, dietician, and physios. You arrived in the dining hall a few minutes before lunch, and it had been obvious that Lia and Leah had told the team about what was going on as they all came up to you and gave you a hug as they filtered in.

Jonas had said that they would come talk to you after lunch, he encouraged you to invite a few people to stay with you to hear the plan so that they knew it in detail and could ask any questions they themselves might have. So, you asked Leah and Lia if they could join you and also Steph as she would be with you at Matildas camps but also because you thought she would want to know.

You were sat at one of the lunch tables, Lia and Leah were either side of you, holding a hand each and Steph stood behind you with her hands on your shoulders, as the staff informed you of the plan going forward. You were happy with it, it included some rules about food intake especially for game days but mainly just guidelines that you needed to stick to, you had to speak to the phycologist twice every week and the physios would be doing health checks on you more regularly. They would revise the plan in a month or so.

_____

You were walking out of the tunnel to the pitch for pitch inspections when one of the physios came to your side. “Here,” he said as he handed you an up and go.

“I don’t want to, I feel sick” you replied, trying to give it back to him.

“Well, that’s fine but you know the rules, you don’t drink it you don’t play,” you sighed as you pulled the straw out of its plastic and pierced the foil circle before you start sipping. One of the ‘rules’ in your plan for recovery was that to play you had to eat a sufficient amount of food that day, however you struggled to eat on game days due to nerves so the rule that you to drink some sort of meal substitute during the pitch inspection and finish it to be able to play was made.

“Thank you,” you rolled your eyes and walked over to Kyra.

_____

It was almost the end of mealtime, and you didn’t want to eat anymore, “Leah, I’m just not hungry, why don’t you understand that you aren’t listening to me,” “Just a few more mouthfuls please” “Leah, I told you I’m full.”

“I know you don’t want to bu-” “It’s not that I don’t want it, it’s that I can’t, I’m going to be sick if I eat anymore and that’s worse, realistically I want to eat more so I will be sick but that’s not healthy, so no, no more” you cut her off before your voice broke and you started crying, resting you head in your arms on the table.

“I’m sorry for pushing you too far Bug, I just wanted to help.” Leah rubbed your back, before you sat up and hugged her.

_____

“Tony, where are our up and go’s,” Alanna whined when you were handed one. Most of your Matildas teammates didn’t know, Tony said you didn’t have to tell them and you didn’t want to have the awkward conversation with them, so you didn’t, you weren’t trying to hide it, if they found out they found out.

“She’s just special” Kyra replies mocking you, you stick your tongue out before going over to Steph, who was with Mini.

“Up go, I wan” Harper said.

“I’m not sure if everyone can have one Harper, they might be special ones just for me,” her bottom lip dropped and started to wobble, “well maybe you could take this one as an ‘accident’ and I will have to go ask the staff for another one, I mean if they want me to play they will have to give me one,” you say with a smirk, before handing your up and go over to Harper, Mini’s brows furrowed, she was confused by what you meant. “I’m going to go get another one so I can play. Steph, you can tell her I’ll be back,”

You came back shortly later with another up and go in hand the way Mini looked at you informed her that Steph had told her. “You know you didn’t need to give her it, you should’ve kept it,” Mini instructed you as if you were her child before she pulled you into a one-sided hug, her other arm was occupied holding Harper. “I know, but they were always going to give me another,” you smirk “I mean they can hardly say no, how is that going to go down in the media.” Steph glared at you, “What?” you asked Steph playfully, she just rolled her eyes and sighed.

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #arsenal wfc #awfc #awfc x reader

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ellesthots · 2 months ago

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Fateful Beginnings

XXXIV. “the affliction of pity”

parts: previous / next

plot: Bruce is forced to look in the mirror after the next morning’s antics with you.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, bickering, hurt/comfort, splash of angst

words: 7k

a/n: more Alfred in this chapter !! let’s goooo !! more of a few things 😌 pretty significant chapter, might I say 💬 setting some seeds…

As you rolled over in bed the next morning, everything felt normal. Until you remembered you were in his clothes, in his house, and you’d hugged.

And the gun to your head. That too.

You checked your phone, at a measly eight percent. There were two missed calls from Dr. Crane. You sat up in a rush and called him back, worried something might have changed. He picked up on the last ring this time, a shift that caused a wash of anxiety to run through you.

“Ms. Y/N.”

“I’m sorry I missed your call.”

“As am I. How was Mr. Wayne last night?”

Shit. In the bustle of the evening, you’d forgotten. You lowered your voice. “Fine. We were able to touch base, and everything seems to be going well.” You stammered along. “I didn’t see any of the side effects you mentioned, either.”

“When will you see him again?” His tone was terse. Evidently he didn’t like when you didn’t answer.

“Today, actually.” You hoped he wouldn’t ask why. He didn’t.

“I don’t need to remind you of the stakes. I anticipate another update tonight or tomorrow.” The line clicked off. You wished you hadn’t taken the call first-thing, and struggled to shake it off as you walked down to get more Tylenol. You wondered if this much acetaminophen was good for you, but figured this much pain wasn’t, either.

Thankfully you didn’t have to dig for the Tylenol, or a glass, because they both sat at the counter beside the fridge. Your head hurt less, but your leg was positively throbbing. Bruce wasn’t in the kitchen, which you were grateful for. Last night’s memory was rapidly sinking into you with an anchor weight, particularly how you’d offset your conversation until some time this morning. You didn’t feel nearly as uninhibited now, and didn’t know if you’d be able to bring anything up.

You grabbed a protein shake and walked up the first stairwell. You held in a gasp when Alfred appeared, dressed immaculately as ever, as if he got a lovely full night’s rest. Part of you suspected he heard your shrieking cries, but he didn’t give it away if he did. “Morning, Miss. Would you like breakfast?”

You held the shake up. “I can just have this, thanks.”

“It’s no issue. I’ll be making some for myself and the boy. Come down in ten minutes.” He waved dismissively at your ‘meal’ and headed downstairs. You wondered what the hell he could make with only a few veggies, chicken, and ice cream. Maybe he had a secret butler lair with anything Rapunzel could ever want.

You turned to walk up the second set of stairs when a sleepy voice halted you. “How’d you sleep?”

You didn’t look at him, forcing your eyes to remain forward. Anxious butterflies swarmed in your stomach at the memory of him, on the brink of passing out, holding you while you sobbed. Your throat tightened, shy. “Fine.”

“Want to talk while Alfred cooks?”

You didn’t, but that gave you a time constraint. Alfred would save you from whatever awkward, embarrassing territory you and him might venture into. You still didn’t face him. “Okay.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Where is there?”

“The study, your room, mine. Anywhere.”

Your cheeks reddened at how genuine he still seemed. You’d fully expected him to act like last night never happened. You didn’t want to go in either of the bedrooms, and you eyed the old man’s study just up the stairs. You gestured to it, and heard him follow close behind.

The room was exactly as you remembered it; a thick wood table with a seat behind and in front. There was a decent-sized rug by a fireplace with some newspapers scattered around it. You cringed thinking about sitting across from him so officially, so you went to sit on the floor. He followed your lead, sitting a few feet away, closest to the papers. You fiddled with the unopened drink in your hand, moving its weight from palm to palm.

“How’s your pain?”

You sighed, an embarrassed grin exploiting your cheeks. “An attentive host.”

He waited, and you glanced up at him for the first time since you’d hugged. He had the same pants, and a different shirt. You inhaled so quickly you almost coughed. “I’m sorry about last night,”

“Don’t be.”

“I’m serious. It was weird and awkward of me,”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t have to do this.” You shook your head loosely, biting your lip. His eyes focused there a moment before flitting down.

“I want to help.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears beginning to well. You were frustrated and self-conscious of how much strain you’d put on him. “You’ve been nothing but helpful.”

Bruce was quiet, watching you try to force back tears and channel your energy into one of his protein shakes. He didn’t know how helpful he’d be perceived when, after breakfast, he’d have to have another talk with you, essentially demanding that you’re never seen in the city again. He pondered how manipulative it was not to disclose that prior to asking you to open up, which clammed him from speaking.

The room felt staticky, like if you reached into the air, the tip of your fingers might spark. You figured he was being quiet so you had space to speak. The skeptical part of you wanted to tie your lips closed, ranting about how he didn’t want to give this to you, he felt he had to. The sensitive side yearned for someone to hear your pain, and he was being persistent about it. It was blood-curdlingly difficult, but you took the first step—chucking the words out of you while forcing your anxieties to the back.

“I’m just lonely.” You stared down at your hands, setting down the drink so you could wring them. “I thought coming here for school would give me community.” Your voice was shaky but you tried not to think about it, throwing the words out as quickly as they formed. “It made it all worse. I had this fantasy that the size of the city would energize me, but it’s just spitting me out.” Tears sprung to your eyes, forcing you to pause, rubbing your eyes hard. “Sorry.”

He could feel the desolation oozing off of you. Every time you apologized made him more indignant. “I’m not judging.” You glanced at him as you removed your hands from accosting your delicate corneas, and he nodded for you to continue.

The combination of his attentive presence and kind reassurance made the tears pass the floodgates. The words were coming quicker now, less inhibited. “Being home isn’t fun either, my mom’s cancer is just, they don’t want to talk about it.” Frustration bled. “They’re acting like everything is fine, like nothing is different. I don’t like being around them and I hate being away.” Your throat was constricting as you held back full-bodied sobs.

Anger was beginning to creep in, your face contorting into a glare. You still weren’t looking at him, looking off to the side, unfocused. “I had this friend group back home but they don’t give a shit about me. I don’t know if they ever did. I have Mar here, but she just parties all the time, and she didn’t even, she didn’t even ask how I was before she left yesterday.” You could hardly believe it hadn’t been twenty four hours yet. You could hardly believe how whiny you were acting.

The devastation and anger was riling you up, making the words spill out before you even comprehended them. “And I fucking hate that I’m even saying all of this right now. The gun, the fucking, the interview, you breaking down in that fucking alley wouldn’t have even happened if I weren’t meddling!” You were beginning to pant.

“Hey,”

You didn’t hear him, and started shaking, breathing so fast you could hyperventilate. Your thighs were starting to become a receptacle for your tears. “I thought he was gonna kill me, I’ve never seen a gun that close; I yelled at you and, kicked you out and, and, you’re tied up and,”

His hand on your knee made you shriek, slapping your palms to your cheeks as you folded over, wailing. “Everyone’s gonna die, everyone around me,” you gasped between every word, which rapidly devolved into trying to catch your breath in painful puffs.

He was melting like butter. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”

“Look at me.”

You wanted to say no, but you didn’t want to further inconvenience him. Meeting his concentrated gaze filled you with cavernous shame, your eyes stuttering down to his chin in subtle avoidance.

“Stop apologizing.”

Another lump jumped to your throat.

“Can I hug you?”

You nodded, relief pooling in your stomach at his request. You wanted another hug from him even if you weren’t losing your mind. “Please.”

This was foreign to him, but it was the only thing he could think to do. He wrapped his arms around you again, and it felt just as desperate, just as necessary, even for him. You didn’t cry as much as when he hugged you the night before, seemingly getting a lot of it out beforehand, and he struggled not to stiffen when your breathing began to even out, and your sniffles waned. Quickly. Very quickly. Your shaking slowed until the only movement was your breathing. That ‘please’ stuck to him like velcro.

It was extremely disorienting. He’d experienced people clinging to him in the suit, looking at the cowl with a frantic desire to be soothed, but never just as him. Not once. He didn’t know he could calm someone like this as Bruce.

You pulled out of the hug and sniffed, getting up to leave. You almost apologized. “I need to blow my nose.”

Alone in the study, he was worried he’d panic. The way you’d said it, it seemed not like you’d wanted a hug, but that you’d wanted a hug from him. ‘Please’ like you’d wanted one already but wouldn’t ask. ‘Please’ with your eyebrows knitting with neediness, ‘please’ cutting through the tears and shame even when his words didn’t make a dent.

He sat in a haze of dismay as disappointment crowded him at your departure. This wasn’t good.

He stood up to leave, mentally rehearsing a ‘need to shower before breakfast’ shout as he walked past the hallway bath, but you’d already come back.

Both of you wanted to hug again, but neither said so.

“Setting the table.” Alfred’s voice floated from downstairs. It almost sounded like he was whistling.

Bruce walked past, but you caught his elbow. “Thanks.”

Your lashes were still clumped together from crying. Your eyes were puffy and red. His hand twitched to wipe the tears still lingering on your cheekbone, but he cringed instead. “Don’t thank me.” He hurried down the stairs and hastily shut the door to his room.

Doing your best to ignore the tinge of frustration coating his tone, you met Alfred in the kitchen. The scent of a fresh omelet wafted from the stove out to the foyer. He had three table settings in the same fashion as last time, and you sat at your place with your hands tucked in your lap. Alfred was whistling, a jazzy sort of tune, as he scooped up the first one and walked toward you. “Same ingredients as your last visit. No peaches.”

Visit. What a kind way to dress it up. You thanked him as you took the plate, suddenly struck by a hazy memory of Bruce tilting your chin up to drink Benadryl. You swore you could feel his finger there now. You swallowed.

You weren’t in love with eggs by any means, but Alfred made them look salivating. It was plated to perfection, intimidating you nearly into not wanting to eat it. When he walked over with a pitcher of orange juice, you wondered where they’d come from—until you noticed an empty bag of orange netting sitting across the kitchen in the pantry. A few rinds were discarded near the stove, and you hurried to pour some for yourself. Bruce was woken up every morning with fresh squeezed juice? Or at least had the option?

The coolness of the juice was everything you needed, a balm to your hot throat. A satisfied chuckle came from the stove as you reached to pour a second glass. “Sumo citrus. Out of season, but still quite stunning.”

“I’ll drink you out of house and home.”

Alfred finished dishing up, and pulled out his chair before frowning. You followed his eyes to Bruce’s empty seat. After the short pause, he wiped his hands. “Ah, well. We’ll get started without him.” His cheery demeanor was infiltrated by a short grimace, undoubtedly perturbed by Bruce’s absence. “If you fancy any salt, pepper, let me know.”

He’d seasoned it spectacularly, and you told him so after your first few bites. Your stomach felt like an empty pit, realizing you hadn’t eaten more than the odd granola bar in days. You finished quickly, leaving little space for conversation, and he gestured to the stove. “Would you like more? I made an extra.”

You nodded, and he took your plate with a wink. “Finally I have someone who enjoys my cooking.”

“It’s stellar, really.” You eyed the orange juice, now with only a third of the pitcher remaining. You ate the second omelet, surprisingly just as warm as the first. Alfred had just finished his, taking a sip of his juice.

“Thank you. I needed that.” Your eyes trailed across the table to the glaringly empty seat, feeling dejected. He probably hadn’t come because you’d been too much, gone too far. Not only had you pushed the boundaries, you’d obliterated them. Why had you agreed to hug him again? Why had you let yourself lose control in front of him, again?

You’d forgotten how perceptive his butler was, too. He set his utensils in the middle of the plate, untucking his napkin from his lap. “I apologize for his behavior, Miss. It’s truly abhorrent.”

You shook your head so fast you saw stars. “No, it’s fine. He’s had a long day, and night,”

“So have you.” He gathered both of your plates and disposed of them in the sink. He rested his hip against the counter, tucking one hand into his pant pocket, the other grabbing the cane resting nearby. He sighed. “Feel free to have the rest of the juice, a shame for it to go to waste.”

He looked tired. Not as tired as the last time you came, but nonetheless. You obliged, already feeling the pressure on your bladder. You must’ve had half a gallon of this stuff.

Alfred’s head cocked toward the foyer. Bruce appeared not a moment later, his expression distant and cold. He slid into his seat and dug in without comment, not looking at either of you.

You set your glass down, your stomach flipping. You had half a mind he had simply taken too long in the shower, and tried his best to hurry, but no. In the same outfit, same dry hair, like he’d just been ignoring you.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Alfred glance up to the ceiling before tossing a dish rag over his shoulder, getting to work at the sink. You stood to join him, but he waved you off. “Appreciate it, Miss; you need to recuperate. I’ll manage.”

You stood there between the table and the sink, the already dim energy in the room withering further with every second Bruce remained unspeaking. You blinked a few times, unnerved and upset, walking quickly out of the room. You ducked around the corner, hoping they thought you gone. A few moments later, Alfred spoke.

“Bruce.”

“Don’t want to hear it.” They were both speaking hushedly, though Bruce was admittedly not trying as hard to muddle his volume.

Alfred’s tone was the coldest you’d ever heard it. “I’ve never been more embarrassed.”

Bruce didn’t respond, only scraped the fork against the plate as he likely hurried his meal.

“She’s been in a terrible situation,”

“I said I don’t want to hear it.” His tone was back to that very first night; back to the hallway at City Hall when you’d blackmailed him. That same haughty, defensive, biting timbre.

“I’m telling you regardless.” The sink stopped. “I fear you’ve become too desensitized for your own good.”

More scraping.

Alfred sighed, his tone gentling. “I know the last week has been difficult,”

Bruce pushed his seat out. “Going to talk to her.”

You tiptoed further into the corner, cloaking yourself in shadow.

“What about?”

“Getting her to leave.”

You’d never before heard Alfred scoff, but now you had. It was freakily uncharacteristic. “You’re better than that, Bruce. Do not.”

“Or what?” Bruce’s tone was mocking, the chair making a final thud into the table. You bit your cheek to abate the rising anxiety. Of course he wanted you gone. Of course you were nothing more than a nuisance. Rage nipped at your skin thinking about how he’d led you on, thinking that he might have cared.

Before Alfred could reply, Bruce emerged into the foyer, and immediately caught on to your presence. You glared at him, feeling tears smart your lashline again. His face fell with his shoulders and you huffed past him. “Y/N,”

“I’m grabbing my phone and you’re taking me home.” You were already halfway up the stairs, but he was catching up.

“Stop,”

You pressed on, breaking into a run up the second set.

He grabbed your wrist and you yanked it back, barely catching your balance. You whipped around, chest heaving, eyes wild. “Sorry for overstaying my welcome.”

You spun around and ran to your room, trying to slam the door but his foot stopped it. Tears streamed down your cheeks in silent fury. You grabbed your dress, shoes, and phone. “I won’t bother you at City Hall, don’t worry.”

“It’s for your safety.” His stepping into the room crowded it. He sounded exasperated. “You need to leave Gotham. Immediately.”

“You don’t get to boss me around.”

He scoffed. “Less than a week and you’ve already been threatened.”

“And he’s in jail whether I leave or not.” No longer giving a shit, you shimmied off the sweats and yanked off his shirt, leaving you in your bra and underwear. He averted his eyes and stared at the wall, audibly scowling. You threw them at him and they hit his shoulder. You wrangled your dress back on, still damp and awfully smelly. You sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on your loafers.

“It could happen again. You’re a target now.”

“I’m not leaving.”

He side-eyed you, checking if you were clothed. He loathed that he knew the color of your underwear now. “And I’m not cleaning you off the sidewalk.”

“Bruce Wayne would never have to do such custodial work.” Your tone was dripping in sarcasm and mockery, forcing him to grit his teeth. You were riling him up, you both knew it. You were riling each other, teetering on the precipice of words better left unsaid.

He stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind him. You glared at it. “You were going to leave last week.”

You finished fighting with the heel of your shoe, finally able to rush past him. He stepped in front of the door and your heart lurched into your mouth, eyes flashing. “You are not blocking me.”

He hesitated before stepping aside. When you put your hand on the doorknob he did too. “If this is because of last Thursday,”

“You don’t want it, I get it.” You jerked the door open, the phone falling out of your hand. You both stooped to reach it at the same time, your hands colliding once more. His hand tightened atop yours, forcing you to look at him. You ripped the phone away and swung the door open, leaving into the hall. He followed you out, draining the last bit of resolve you had.

“Is it a sin to make sure you’re alright?” You bit back the last half of what you wanted to say: ‘I already see how Alfred’s being punished for it’.

Bruce glared at you. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“It’s not just you.”

“None of it should be.”

“I wanna see where this election goes.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You bristled, hard. “I do. I want to report on it.”

He rolled his eyes. “You expect me to believe that? In a city you hate?”

“I hate the culture. Which I could influence.” You made the mistake of wincing down toward your thigh, and he stepped closer.

“I want to help you.”

You glowered at him, unappreciative of his indecisiveness. Did he want to help you, or hide away in his room to try and forget you existed? “Would’ve been helpful to show up to breakfast.”

Bruce groaned. You had a physical reaction to the sound.

You hated it more than most things, more than you hated humid hundred degree days and men catcalling—but even when he was angry, and distant, and weird, you wanted to stay in his orbit. You needed to, or Dr. Crane would have your head… and maybe his. “I’m the only one outside of this place who knows. I can be a tool.”

“I have enough tools.” He hated the piece of him that wanted to give in. He hated how his voice lost its edge the closer you got to the stairs.

You were also excruciatingly aware of how close you were to the exit, and how much you didn’t want to take it. Squeezing your eyes shut and imagining the Bruce that cried into your palm was the only way to cool your temper. His hugs lingered not too far behind… if they were even real. The only thing that actually moved the words past your teeth was remembering how deeply you regretted being cold to him at your apartment. “I want you to have someone to go to. And I want someone to go to.”

Your candor surprised both of you.

“It’s not worth throwing your life away.”

The wear of this argument wasn’t sitting right in your chest, and it forced your expectations lower. You shifted quickly back to the matter at hand. “I’m staying in Gotham, at least for now, whether you want to acknowledge me or not.” You didn’t need to be on good terms to keep an eye on him. He’d still come to City Hall meetings, and you’d be able to give some updates to Dr. Crane until he was out of the woods. It would only be a few more weeks. And you would enjoy getting to hear the city’s voice, trying your hand with more interviews.

You turned and set off downstairs. “What’ll it be this time? Packing me in the trunk?”

He barely registered what you said, his eyes fixed on your back as you descended the steps. ‘I’m just lonely’.

He grabbed his keys and walked to the garage with you, instructing you to lie flat again. “I’ll drop you off a few blocks away.”

Staring at the black ceiling of Bruce’s car while you bumped through back alleys and cobbled streets was, to put it lightly, depressing. You were starting to get used to the pain, utilizing it to distract from your whiplash disappointment and deep-seeded fear about being home alone tonight. At some point you must have closed your eyes and been lulled asleep, because his voice startled you into sitting up.

“Just a few blocks south. Closest I could get.”

When he noticed you’d fallen asleep, he drove around a few more miles so you wouldn’t be disturbed. He only started winding back in the direction of your apartment when he heard you begin to whimper. His hands had tightened on the wheel, his teeth gritting, as they so often did around you. He thought he’d mastered letting Alfred’s disappointment seep like guilt through his skin, but he couldn’t stop the thought he might be misrepresenting you.

Selfishly, he’d been centering himself in your distress, when in actuality… your life was bigger than that. You had parents to worry about. Friends to be disappointed with. A burgeoning journalism career to dive into, to which the corners of the internet were behaving like piranhas. A gun to your head, and an empty apartment in a city that genuinely seemed hell-bent on hurting you. Spitting you out, as you so eloquently put it.

Maybe he was pitying you, now.

The Moore was not-so-conveniently located on one of the main streets of town, forcing him back into a side alley between an old pharmacy and a deli that wasn’t open half the time. In the early days he’d stow the Batmobile here. The brick hadn’t changed much, a few new potholes. Wasn’t frequented enough to be as decimated as the roadway. He parked here when he’d visited you those few times.

He woke you, and while you roused, pulled your recorder and notebook out of the passenger glovebox. He’d circled back to Miller’s car on the way to your friend’s before the police got to it. He just hoped you didn’t make too big a deal out of his remembering.

Thankfully, you didn’t. You looked a bit surprised, but took it without comment. You looked disheveled, tired, pained. The passenger door swung open after he told you which direction to walk.

“Can your friend stay with you?”

You’d nearly shut the door on him before he spoke. Too tired to lead with irritation, you gave him a lackluster response. “It’s Friday. She’ll be out clubbing.”

You hesitated before shutting the door, wanting to thank him, but too hurt to commit. You fought not to think about how his laser eyes were focused on your back as you walked away. Struggled not to recall the weight of him.

Walking around Gotham in midday was like walking around an entirely different environment. Late morning to mid-afternoon was the only time kids were seen, and only with older siblings or adult family members. You couldn’t imagine growing up here. How it might harden a person.

It was a massive triumph pushing open your apartment door while holding a feeling bordering on terror that someone was waiting to jump you. You rushed in and shut the door like when you’d watched something scary as a kid. When the anxiety got too high, and you were positively certain a demon was rushing behind you to beat you to your bed.

In a blink you’d shoved a chair under the handle. Once in your room you walked its perimeter, checking all corners of the bath, under the bed, and resigned to shoving the couch in front of the door. A hazard if there was an emergency, but you couldn’t prioritize anything else right now.

You went to get water at the sink, feeling like a paranoid freak inspecting the jenga at your entryway. Once a-fucking-gain your thoughts wandered to the city’s prince; how silly did he think you? All this over one gun? I take fifty billion a night. A dark streak of violence ran through him, one that wasn’t evident in his arms, or gazing into his sleepy puppy eyes… You slammed the rest of the water, almost choking on it.

If you thought too long, you would break down, so you drew up an imaginary list of tasks to keep yourself tethered, trying to ignore how the water was beginning to sour the more you smelled the city’s backwash on your clothes. First: shower. Second: nap.

It was a Herculean effort not pressing DOWN when the elevator doors opened. Alfred was sitting across from it in the kitchen, his hands clasped together on the table. His gaze was focused precisely at eye-level, like he’d been a statue primed for Bruce’s arrival. “I want to talk with you.”

He looked at the ground, stepping out. “I’m going upstairs.”

“No, Bruce.” His tone was deadly serious, with a shaky undercurrent. Bruce conceded, as he so often did once Alfred got to this point. He didn’t come closer, only stepping out enough for the elevator doors to close, making up the difference by stepping to the side.

“I’m disappointed in you. Deeply.”

Bruce stared at the ground. He figured he’d have something to say to him about your leaving, like he had any idea what he was talking about.

Seemingly sensing his frustration, Alfred’s tone softened. “Seems to me you both could use a friend.”

“Look where it got you.” With a shrug of his shoulder, he gestured to where Alfred was sitting. It was evident by the way Alfred’s face fell, and his strict tone, he was referring to Riddler’s blowing up the top of Wayne Tower.

He didn’t miss a beat with his curt response. “Look at where it’s gotten you.”

Bruce slowly glanced up, struggling to see the full features of his face in the unlit kitchen, but still managed to meet his eye, sensing plenty more where that came from.

“Dory and I are getting older. If you keep following this path,”

“Alfred, stop.”

“I’m afraid you’ll end up entirely alone.”

The room’s ensuing silence chewed at that word, alone. Bruce wondered how he could slip past the man without escalating things. He knew he wouldn’t be let off without responding. He knew these situations all too well. “So I should risk someone’s life, for what? Temporary company?

“People come and go, that’s how life works.”

Bruce stepped forward, trying to work up the courage to storm past. The fuel wasn’t entirely there yet. “I’m not speeding up the process.” No matter how many times he explained this to him, he never got it. He never understood he was doing what he had to do, and that—

“The least you can do is be kind to her.”

Alfred was slipping under his skin again. “I am.”

The butler’s voice raised slightly. “By leaving her alone?”

“It’s for her safety.” He took another step, tempting a getaway.

“Or for yours?”

Bruce blinked hard. The old man never failed to tie a rocket to his shoes, and he propelled himself across the kitchen and nearly made it halfway before he spoke again.

“Don’t think I forgot what you said that night.” Alfred shifted in his seat, the boy now a few feet closer. He knew he was losing him, his hairpin trigger temper always half pressed when he spoke. Sometimes he felt like Bruce was waiting for him to give up with his fingers crossed behind his back.

“Year after year you’ve denied my every demand for your safety. Every time you’ve struck it down, as if each night you’re out planting flowers.”

Bruce looked everywhere but the table’s vicinity. “I don’t know what point you think you’re making.” He cloaked his words in as much snarl as he could, hoping he would get the hint and stop where he stood, before stuffing the air with more life lessons.

“Yet, after my accident, I noticed you changed the suit. You began coming home earlier.” Alfred stood up, and Bruce stepped back. He leaned on the cane, taking off his glasses with the other hand. “You know what you do is dangerous.”

He let out a brittle, taunting laugh. “That’s what I‘m saying.” Maybe he was finally getting the point. Maybe he would finally stop wasting his time and keep his projective, sentimental thoughts to himself instead of dragging them both down with it.

“Not in that way, Bruce.”

Sometimes Bruce wished Alfred could read his mind, hear all the things he wanted to say but kept hidden. Right now it was a lot of grumbles, some pointed accusations, but nothing unfurled on his tongue. Instead, his body reacted, quickening his heartbeat and narrowing his eyes.

“I think it goes both ways.” Alfred set his glasses on the table. “I believe you’re afraid if you let someone close, you’ll put them in the same position you once were.”

Heat bloomed in Bruce’s throat, and he tried to storm out of the room and escape the clouds weighing down the ceiling, but Alfred tossed another hook into his arm near the doorframe.

“And if you were honest with yourself, truly faced what you endure each and every night, it would feel like looking down the barrel all over again.”

Bruce could’ve screamed. He wanted to. He could’ve done a lot of things, but his mind was fuzzy. All his tired body did was tremble. All his mouth did was bite his cheek. Say the most benign version of the dialogue swarming inside. “You don’t know what I think.” As soon as he said it, he knew it was a bluff. He felt the tips of his fingers go cold.

“It’s far easier to disregard your life when you have no one to answer to.”

“I’m answering to you, aren’t I?”

Alfred paused, his voice lowering and slowing. “I often think you wish you didn’t have to.”

He locked eyes with him in an instant, Bruce having a visceral reaction to what he was insinuating. Did Alfred really think he didn’t care about him? Was his behavior being represented that poorly? His body filled with blue and purple emotions, his stomach tightening, face heating. The bruise fronted as defiance. “I’m doing what I need to. I—”

Alfred’s voice was bored, frayed. “‘Have a duty’. Yes, boy.”

Bruce bristled, hard, and visibly so. Alfred caught it, and felt a desire to rescue him, looking decidedly dejected. After the last week, however, he knew he couldn’t let things slide as he used to. The path he was on was destructive, and walking away wasn’t going to change anything. “You also have a duty to yourself.”

Bruce shook his head, his vision blurring slightly. “I don’t care about that.”

Alfred hesitated to go this route usually, and reserved it only for occasions supremely deserving—this was one of those times, though he was concerned how it would go over. Bruce was standing a few feet from him, between the fridge and the kitchen’s entry, his eyes darting across the ground like his head was swarming with thoughts. “Your parents would want you to be happy. Are you happy?”

As expected, Bruce responded with silence. Silence that cut Alfred’s heart in two. He knew he wasn’t. He hadn’t seen a genuine smile from him, or a full-bellied laugh for that matter, in decades. It might have even been since that night. The boy held so much pain, and kept so isolated. He gulped back tears.

“What I’m doing is more important than that.”

Against his better judgment, he folded. Bruce never liked to see him cry, going stiff and static. He didn’t do it often, but worried about burdening the boy so soon. So he sighed, shifting the subject. “If you don’t check on Y/N tonight, I will.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and set it near his glasses, moving his hand up to massage his temple.

“She doesn’t want pity.”

He held back another sigh, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Care and pity are not the same, Bruce.”

Alfred left first, not wanting to chance the boy’s tender conscience with any more guilt at having left preemptively. It wasn’t unusual for these conversations to end with Bruce coming into his room later that night with a thinly veiled olive branch.

Once in the confines of his room, Bruce nearly missed the edge of the bed, fighting off disorienting swells of emotion that left no energy for proprioception. Possibly more than he ever had, he wanted to curse Alfred out. Run into his study and tell him he had no idea what he was talking about. But his body was telling him otherwise. Telling him he was right. He was isolating. It was obscenely dangerous. He didn’t want to look at it.

Care versus pity. Every face from his childhood stuck to the back of his retinas. The pouting, downturned faces at the funeral. The ‘gentle’, rather condescending tone that echoed off the tower walls for years, until people stopped caring. Until he stopped trying. Until he stopped visiting his parent’s room and bolted the lock.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and clenched his core, subtly rocking back and forth, juxtaposing the two scenes, a task which felt like drowning—whatever happened last night and this morning, and absolutely everything he’d ever experienced from everyone else.

One felt warm. Uncomfortably so, but nevertheless comforting. The other was distant, and cold.

He tried to avoid it again, unclenching his stomach and stripping as he walked toward his bathroom. He turned the shower to scalding, and stepped in, hoping it would soothe his aching muscles to sleep, maybe beam Alfred’s confrontation out of his brain.

One felt like a balm, or a salve. The other felt like it carved him out deeper, eviscerating his insides. One told him it would be okay, and the other said he’d never be the same again. Their eyes gutted him. Told him his parents were gone, slaughtered, murdered. He ran some shampoo through his hair.

He lathered his body while it sat, feeling every pass over scar and scab. He loathed being in his body. Being aware of the injuries painting his skin. The drain in his bones. He was usually adept at avoiding it. Grinding until he passed out the instant his head hit the pillow. Sleeping in until it was time to suit up. Time to plan. To think about anyone else’s problems besides his own.

A bubble of soap slipped in his eye, and he flinched.

He suddenly felt like crying.

Pulling on your own sweatpants and a baggy hoodie was a luxury as you prepped to visit Rai’s. Frustrated at your screaming stomach that wouldn’t let you simply sleep the rest of your life away, you popped a small-dose edible so it would kick in after you’d come back and finished eating, letting you have a semblance of peace the rest of the evening. At the very least it would lower the risk of you screaming into your pillow all night.

Same walk, same street, same people, same sky. The constant ebbs of injury had colored you blue. A leaf startled you on its crunch, the sudden movement and barely-tempered shout causing the parents and children to slink away from you on the sidewalk. You kept your head down the rest of the route.

Rai was helping another customer when you arrived, but he gave you a small wave. You never liked to crowd people, especially the older customers that came in who lived in the historic buildings nearby. They treated Rai’s like a full-on grocery, sometimes bringing their own cart to fill. This lady, with her wispy gray hair and thick red sweater was one of those patrons.

You pulled a sweet tea from the drinks, and an orange soda. Rai was chattering away with the lady, who had ostensibly selected one of everything in the store. You reveled in having less time to spend in your apartment, and wandered to the chip aisle while you waited for your turn at the counter. Your fingers traipsed through rows of Ruffles and Lays, when you felt a buzz in your pocket.

Alfred.

Jesus, fuck. You raced to set the drinks down, your heart pounding. You’d left him in another state again. Too harsh, too unforgiving, fuck! “Hello? Alfred?”

“Hey.”

Bruce answered, and a concoction of relief and bitterness settled on you like a blanket of snow. “Hey…?” Your fingers tightened around the phone.

“I was wondering,” he drew a sharp intake of breath. “If you wanted to watch a movie or something.”

Shit, how out of sorts was he? “Like tonight?”

“Like tonight. I could go to your place, or,”

“Mine’s fine. I’ll bring the TV by the couch.” You were buzzing. You couldn’t very well decline, or what might he get up to? Was this his way of asking for help? You also couldn’t very well ignore the twinge of relief that having company would bring, even if it was his. Or the single atom in your body that preferred it to be him.

“Want me to bring anything?”

Your eyes flickered to the deli. “I’m good.”

“Half an hour work?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

Bruce hung up, heaving a deep breath. He flopped onto his back on his bed, Alfred’s phone falling out of his hand near his pillow. He felt better now. And worse. A little bit of everything.

What does someone wear to watch a movie?

After a few minutes he strolled to his closet, and thumbed a hole in his only clean pair of jeans. Hmm.

Dior. Prada. The sound of metal hangers sliding on a metal rod. Gucci. Dolce & Gabbana. He eyed the black jeans again, and the matching pair of trodden Converse in the corner. He pulled them on and grabbed the least distressed tee from his dresser… they were all worn thin.

It didn’t matter. Did it? No.

He grabbed his keys and headed for the basement. He’d have to leave through Wayne Terminal, take the beater car, drift. He passed Alfred on the stairs, noting the fresh outfit and shoes. “Going out?”

Bruce nodded, not saying anything until he turned into the kitchen and was fully out of view. “Checking on her.”

Alfred grinned with the sound of the elevator’s descent.

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just-dreaming-marvel · 3 months ago

Text

I'm From Brooklyn, Too ~ 162

OUT OF TIME MASTERLIST

I'M FROM BROOKLYN, TOO MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,060ish

Summary: Y/N and Bucky begin talking again. The bracelets Y/N wears aren't her friends. (warning: seizure)

Notes: Make sure you read Out Of Time to fully understand this!

Previously on I’m From Brooklyn, Too…

The bracelets felt heavy on Y/N’s wrists, despite knowing they were lighter than most. Everyone had left after Y/N recorded an apology video. She hated that she had to do that, especially since she meant the threats she made to the false Captain America. Currently, it was dark outside. Morgan was asleep in bed, and Y/N sat on the porch, staring at the water. The peace was interrupted by her phone buzzing. She answered it before even looking at who was calling.

“Hello?” She answered.

“Hey, Y/N,” Bucky’s voice rang out through the phone. “How are you?”

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“You…”

“I know, I should have answered your calls months ago… I’m sorry.”

“Why now?”

“I, uh, I saw the interview… and the apology video.”

“You did? And?”

“And I’m on your side. Sam should be wielding the shield. Steve chose Sam.”

“Is that all?”

“No… I saw you… I saw your portal a few weeks ago.”

“I don’t know—“

“Don’t try to lie. I know what I saw… why were you there, Y/N?”

“Why do you think, Bucky?” Her tone was harsh and emotional.

“Y/N—“

“No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t have the right to call and ask me questions. You left. I needed you, and you left.”

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, kissing Tony was really needing me.”

“He was fake, Bucky! A figment of my imagination! I escaped Wanda’s false reality only for to have left! I find out my brother is dying, and you still weren’t there. You didn’t answer calls. You didn’t show up to the funeral… you left…”

“Y/N… I’m so sorry…”

“Honestly, Buck, I’m sorry too… For you and for me.” Y/N took a deep breath and looked up. “What the hell have our lives become?”

“Something neither of us could have ever imagined.”

“Never,” she shook her head.

“I’m going to talk to Sam tomorrow. I’m going to fix this.”

“I wish I could go with you, Buck. I’ve left Morgan too much and I’m basically on house arrest after what I did.”

“I know. I’ll keep you updated.”

“You will? You’re not going to disappear on me again?”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re going to have to prove it.”

“I know.”

Y/N sighed, her thoughts racing. “We need to sit down and have an actual conversation.”

“I know… once this is all over.”

“Promise?”

“Doll…” Y/N sucked in a breath at the nickname. “I promise.”

“Good night, Bucky.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

~~~

“So, he called,” Natasha stated as she sat at the kitchen island, coffee in hand.

“He did,” Y/N replied as she did the breakfast dishes.

“And?”

“And I don’t know, Nat. It went well… I guess.” Y/N sighed, turning around as she dried her hands. “It definitely could have gone worse.” She came and sat beside Natasha. “He’s going to talk to Sam today.”

“I hope those two can figure something out without being complete idiots.” Nat took a sip of her coffee. “How are the bracelets?”

“Fine… I’ve worn bracelets similar to this, you know? Way back when I was working on Coulson’s secret team, and my powers were just appearing.”

“What a lifetime ago.”

Y/N let out a light chuckle. “You’ve got that right… I’d forgotten how quiet is it when I don’t have my powers in here.” She tapped her head. “I haven’t even had them back for a year yet and I’ve already forgotten what it’s like without them.”

“That can be scary.”

“What’s scary is that I think everyone is right… I think they are controlling me.”

“You’ll get through this, Y/N, you always do.”

“But do I? Or does the next bad thing happen before I can fully get my mind around the last one?”

~~~

“Mommy, watch this!” Morgan shouted before doing a summersault.

“I’m watching!” Y/N smiled as she paused her exercises to watch her daughter.

The two of them were down in the training room. Y/N decided that picking up training again would help her get her mind off of things. Morgan asked to join and now it was a daily thing. Morgan completed her summersault through her giggles. Y/N smiled and clapped.

“Way to go, sweetheart!” Y/N cheered. Morgan ran over, and the duo gave each other double high-fives. “You’re getting so good at that, Morgan.”

“Auntie Nat has helped me practice!”

“I’m sure she has.”

“She said she was a spy.”

“She was.”

“She said that you were too.” Flashes of memory played before Y/N’s eyes. Morgan came over and tugged on Y/N’s arm. “Is that true, Mommy? Were you a spy?”

“Uh, well, I—“

“Y/N,” Natasha’s voice rang through the room. “We have a situation up here.”

“Morgan, why don’t you go play in your room while Mom tries to figure out what Aunt Natasha wants?”

“Okay!” Morgan nodded and quickly ran up the stairs.

Y/N followed behind her, but instead of heading up the next set of stairs, she met Natasha in the office.

“What’s going on?” Y/N asked.

“Zemo has escaped prison,” Natasha stated.

“What? Why?”

“No idea.”

“Who would have—“ Y/N stopped herself. “I need to make a phone call.” She pulled out her phone and called the most recent number.

“Hello?” Bucky answered.

“What the hell did you do?”

“For the record, it was Sam as well.”

“That doesn’t make it any better! What could you possibly need with Zemo?”

“Sam found out that other super soldiers were being made, and we’re stopping it.”

“Super soldiers? There’s a serum out there?”

“It appears so.”

“Do you need help?”

“Not at the moment. I’ll let you know, though.”

“No, you won’t.”

Bucky ignored the jab. “I met John Walker.”

“Really? Did you take the shield from him?”

“Unfortunately, I didn’t get to… I hate him, Y/N.”

“Join the club.”

“Sam and I are handling this, okay? You have to trust us.”

“I was more trusting until Zemo became involved… At least let me send Natasha.”

“Not a chance. Someone has to stay with you.”

“He has a point,” Nat muttered.

“Fine. But any more stupid decisions, I need to hear straight from you. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky responded. “Got to go. Call you later.”

“This man is going to kill me,” Y/N mumbled as Bucky hung up.

“How many super soldiers do you think are out there?” Natasha asked.

“Who knows,” Y/N sighed. Her right hand went to her left bracelet. “I should be helping them.”

“You need to be here. Security is tight, but there’s basically an army out there wanting you kill you. It’s safer to be here. Bucky and Sam can handle themselves and whatever mess they’ve gotten themselves into. For Morgan’s stake, you need to stay here.”

~~~

Peter and Harley showed up the next day, saying that they were missing Morgan. Y/N knew that Pepper and Rhodey were behind the boys’ appearance, probably hoping that it would distract you from your current situation. Morgan was happy to see them, which in turn helped Y/N.

“Uh, Mrs. Stark?” Peter said, coming up to her one morning.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “How many times must I ask you to call me Y/N?”

“Sorry, uh, Y/N.”

“What’s up, Pete?”

“Could you—uh—could you train with me this morning? I’m trying to work on my strength and technique and I figured—“

“I’d love to Peter. Meet me down in the training rooms in 15.”

Peter hurried off and Natasha smiled at Y/N. “That will be good for the two of you,” she commented. “You need to work on your technique without your powers away.”

“I’ll pretend that wasn’t a jab at me.” Y/N stood up from the dining table. “When Morgan wakes, let me know. I promised that we’d paint this morning.”

“Will do.”

~~~

Peter was right on time and the two quickly began sparring. Y/N began to feel like something was off with herself but pushed it aside. She believed that it was just her body getting used to pushing itself without her powers. Y/N and Peter continued, with her giving tips throughout the spar. Slowly, Y/N began to feel tingly in some areas of her body and numb in others. She swayed slightly, causing Peter to stop his movements.

“Mrs—Y/N?” Peter called, but it sounded so far away. “Are you alright?”

“Pete…” She breathed out. “Get help…”

Suddenly, Y/N collapsed on the floor and begun seizing. Peter was quick to move next to her and make sure her airway could be cleared.

“FRIDAY!” Peter shouted. “Get Natasha!”

“I’m right here!” Natasha said as she appeared beside the two. “Harley has Morgan and FRIDAY has called for an ambulance.”

“What can we do?”

“We have to wait it out, make sure she can still breathe.”

“That’s it?”

“For now.”

~~~

Y/N could smell where she was before she even opened her eyes. It smelt too clean, like bleach. There was also a soft beep of nearby monitors and the feeling of a needle in her arm that led Y/N to know where she was. Opening her eyes, she had to blink a few times before she was able to focus. The hospital room was big, probably because they knew who she was, and Natasha was the only other person there, sitting on a chair beside her.

“The seizure had to have been bad if I’m at the hospital,” Y/N rasped, pulling Natasha’s attention from her tablet.

Natasha reached over and grabbed a cup of water, handing it to Y/N. “The worst I’ve seen you have for a few years now,” she responded.

"Where are the kids?”

“Pepper and Happy have Morgan. May came and grabbed Peter and Harley.”

“Did Pete see everything?”

“He did, but he did good. Stayed by your side the whole ride to the hospital while I took care of Morgan and Harley.”

Y/N stared at the ceiling. “He shouldn’t have to see me like that.”

Natasha sighed. “I know… Rhodey is on his way.”

“The President shouldn’t be bothered by a simple seizure.”

“It’s not that simple, Y/N.”

“Natasha is right,” Rhodey said, entering the room. “It’s not that simple.”

“Sorry to pull you from your duties, Mr. President,” Y/N smiled, trying to joke.

“Y/N,” he sighed, “you’re family. You, Morgan, Natasha, the whole Team, are my duty to care for.”

“Now you’re sounding like Tony.”

“Maybe because someone needs to be right now.”

“What’s going on?”

“The reason for your seizure.”

“I know the reason for my seizure and I’m honestly surprised I didn’t have one the moment these bracelets were put on me.”

“The doctor told me that if your seizures continue to be like this and if they come on more frequently, you could have severe consequences,” Natasha stated.

“We need to decide if the seizures are worth keeping the bracelets on you,” Rhodey said. “I think that we need to consider keeping them on you and Nat—“

“I think they come off today. Powers can be controlled. We can’t afford Morgan losing another parent when she doesn’t have to.”

“Y/N’s powers are different, we all know that. That’s why the bracelets were made and why we brought them up.”

“They are just as dangerous as her powers! Do you really want Morgan to lose her mother too?”

“Of course I don’t! But we have to think about—“

“Enough!” Y/N shouted. Rhodey and Natasha quickly quieted down and looked over at Y/N. “This is not your choice. It is mine and mine alone.”

“You know it’s not that simple.”

“As do you, Rhodey… I need some time alone. I need to think.”

“We can give you that time,” Natasha said. She reached over and squeezed Y/N’s hand before standing up and guiding Rhodey out of the room.

With a sigh, Y/N reached over and took her phone from the side table. She quickly pressed a recent number and waited for a response.

“Y/N, I know that I promised to call. I’m sorry. But right now—“

“Bucky,” tears were collecting in her eyes, “I need you.”

next chapter >

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moonlight-prose · 1 year ago

Text

BLOOD ALONG THE MOON

➛ 03. WICKED NIGHTS

a/n: honestly i didn't expect to take a year to ever post about this fic again. if i'm being honest i figured this would become an abandoned series. solely cause the inspo for this character completely left my head. but i couldn't let go of our reporter and their love story with this bat. so while the updates may take time, i'm ready to keep going with this. enjoy.

summary: halloween was always been your least favorite night of the year, but circumstances make it so much worse.

word count: 8.2k+

pairing: bruce wayne x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, cussing, angst, fluff, awkward beginnings, a small bit of romance, murder, death, crime scenes, grief, gratuitous prose about the darkness of gotham.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Halloween. Your least favorite night of the year.

The city streets were crowded with people; a sight not unusual to the dark pit that Gotham transformed into. But that didn’t mean you had to like it. Even getting to work was a struggle due to the overcrowded platform of the subway and the scarcity of cabs. If you had your way you’d wish everyone would suddenly vanish—giving you a chance to find some reprieve before the onslaught of darkness that plagued this night every year. Although you were foolish enough to hold out hope. Foolish enough to believe that things would be different; that nothing wicked would befall this night.

If only you’d known.

Work was filled with people milling about, some in costumes, some not. You wore your usual black coat—a pair of boots accompanying your look. If someone were to ask you’d claim you were dressed as you were every other day of the year—as a reporter working yourself to the bone. It would be sure to get a laugh from a person or two in this office.

It always did in the end.

Only this time…you weren’t laughing.

The interview you had with Bruce Wayne yesterday continued to bounce around in your mind; the thought of how to write it, still missing. You didn’t want to sound like every other magazine that sprouted nothing but gossip. There’s a reason why you chose to work at the Gotham Gazette. So you could get into the nitty and gritty of the story—no matter how dark it got in the end. To you this was either a story people would talk about forever, or it would remain a forgotten piece that would later wind up in people’s trash cans come morning the next day.

“Day.” Henry leaned against the doorway of his office. A pencil behind his ear, his glasses propped on the end of his nose, and a cup of crappy coffee in his hand. “I need to talk to you.”

You hoped you would have at least five minutes of time to breathe before you were called into what you liked to claim was the equivalent of the principal’s office. But it seemed that Henry Goldfinch decided to pick on you this week more than anyone else.

The interview notes you’d jotted down during the night were crammed into your small black notebook—nearly burning a hole in your pocket. There was no doubt in your mind that he’d ask you about them; intent on seeing a full story by tomorrow night.

“Look Henry I did the best I could with the guy, but he barely even spoke—” You were cut off at the look on his face. “Am I in trouble?”

“I just got a call from Mr. Pennyworth.”

Shit, you were so fired.

“If he wants to retract any statements then I’ll work with what I've got, but you were the one who gave me this story and I think I can do a damn good job on it.”

“Would you let me talk?” Your jaw snapped shut, cutting off the remainder of your ramble; or what you’d like to call reasons why he shouldn’t fire you. “Don’t unpack your things.”

You felt your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently you caught Mr. Wayne’s eye,” he said, settling down in his seat. “That call was Mr. Pennyworth giving me notice that Bruce Wayne is heading down to The Gotham Gazette today.”

“What?” you exclaimed, nearly falling into the chair behind you. “What the fuck for?”

“He wants to take you to lunch, kid.”

You fell into the chair, staring wide eyed at Henry who regarded you with a smirk.

Bruce Wayne wanted to take you to lunch. He was coming to your work in order to…pick you up.

Any way you tried to string it together, the news still remained hard to comprehend. Still you caught on to Henry’s words from before. You’d caught Bruce Wayne’s eye and now you were going to have to deal with the consequences of that. This would be the first time in years since he’d left Wayne Tower to do something as mundane as go to lunch. Let alone with someone like you.

“What do I do?” you croaked, trying not to panic as the reporter in you attempted to take over. Was this only a social call? Or did he want to do a follow up interview?

Henry leaned forward, the damned smirk still on his face. “You go to lunch with him. Maybe he likes you.”

“Likes me,” you scoffed. “I’d no sooner learn the identity of The Batman before Bruce Wayne admitted to liking me.”

You wanted answers like any sane person would, but the idea that Bruce Wayne possibly liked you left words unavailable to you. That was the farthest thing from the truth, except coming up with some other alternative left you with nothing yet again. What the fuck were you being called to lunch for? You hoped it was just him personally asking you to rip up the notes you took from yesterday while he watched.

“They’ll be here soon. I’d get your ass moving.”

“Right.” You stood slowly, a feeling of unease spreading through you with every step towards the door. “Did—um—Mr. Pennyworth…did he sound upset?”

Henry scoffed, taking a sip from his coffee. “And here I thought you didn’t give a shit if you pissed people off Day.”

You felt the switch flip in your mind. A reminder of who you truly were on the inside coming back like lightning cracking across your body, and you stood taller in your place. You didn’t care. You never had.

“I don’t.”

“Atta girl.” He tipped his cup slightly your way, watching as you walked back out into the office—the straight set of your spine once again returning.

You didn’t come to Gotham to make friends. You came here to work, to build a career that would outlast you if you were determined enough. Pissing off Bruce Wayne had never been on your list, but you figured it was bound to happen eventually. It was either now or later in life. Thankfully everyone had their hands full worrying about The Batman and the election—so you pissing off the Prince of Gotham would go unnoticed.

Grabbing your bag, you did a quick sweep of your desk to make sure that everything was accounted for before you left. You weren’t sure how long this lunch would take, but you didn’t intend to come back later.

The elevator doors opened once again with a loud creak, thankfully revealing it to be empty. Your heart thrummed in your chest a mile a minute, the tension still in your shoulders as you walked towards what might be the end of your career. While you knew the possibility of this simply being a social call was high, you couldn’t ignore what might very well happen. The ding of your stop brought you out of your daze enough to get out and head towards the front doors.

Glancing up towards the sky you saw the gloominess still remained—a reminder of where you were, what this city was reduced to. While you may have called it pollution of the environment, others would call it weather. After all there was always a difference in opinion when the opinion came a bit too close to the actual truth.

A sleek black car sat directly outside of the doors, a man in a black coat was hunched beneath an umbrella leaning against its side. You recognized him the second he raised his head, his blue eyes practically singeing your skin. Henry really wasn’t kidding when he said Bruce Wayne himself was coming to pick you up from the Gazette. People stopped and stared at the spectacle that was this man. By all means he was considered a hermit from the rumors that spread through Gotham like poison, and yet there he was, meeting with an unknown woman—a reporter nonetheless.

“You don’t seem like the lunch date type of man,” you said, standing far enough under the awning of the building where you didn’t get wet from the rain, but still felt it splatter against your coat.

His lips twitched, eyes skimming your figure before flicking up back to your face. You wanted to ignore the flutter in your chest from that simple gesture, but your body wouldn’t let you. It seemed that whoever Bruce Wayne was…he had an affect on you—a hold that refused to be severed.

“It wasn’t my idea.”

Scoffing, you turned to glare at a man who stood only a few feet away, clearly eavesdropping in on the conversation.

“So you aren’t here to have lunch with me. You’re simply here by the orders of Mr. Pennyworth,” you retorted.

“Alfred,” he said, finally standing to his full height for the first time since you met him. He was taller than you actually anticipated. “He thought it would be a good idea.”

“He thought going on a date with a reporter was a good idea?”

He shrugged slightly, the tension in his shoulders made the movement awkward. “Would you call this a date Miss…”

“Day.”

“Day,” he repeated quietly, his lips forming around the word as if it was already familiar to him. “Interesting name.”

“Nick-name,” you replied.

He nodded slowly, his gaze so intense you found you had to keep looking away. “Your real name isn’t printed on any of your bylines.”

You smiled albeit rather ruefully as you stepped close enough to be underneath his umbrella with him. “I’m afraid you’ll have to earn my real name Mr. Wayne.”

Again you watched—entranced—as his lips twitched slightly. Almost like he wanted to smile, but forgot how exactly to do it. He’d been in pain so long, suffering the grief of losing those he loved most for nearly his entire life, and not once had he learned what the true meaning of happiness was. For some unknown reason, you wanted to be the first one to show him.

“Okay,” he murmured, turning towards the passenger seat door and opening it for you. “And it’s Bruce.”

The words were accompanied with an outstretched hand to help you into the car, his hold simultaneously gentle yet firm as you sat. Your eyes met his briefly, something flickering to life between your gaze, before the door shut entirely and you were left in silence for a few brief seconds. It gave you enough time to catch what little breath you had in your chest—the interaction far too electric for someone like you.

Get some fucking sense.

You weren’t the type of person Bruce Wayne would fall for. One day he would find someone as wealthy as him, someone who knew his life due to shared experience. You hated those fucking words with a burning passion. Shared experience with people never went over well in your line of work. For a reporter, shared experience meant you had nothing original to say. It meant that you were the same as everyone else around you and to you that was damnation itself.

“Where would you like to eat?”

The question was barely loud enough for you to hear over the traffic and rain, but his soft tone caught you in its hold until you were solely focused on him. Once again that unfamiliar spark of energy crackled in the air. You were afraid that if this continued, you’d walk out of this lunch date with a newfound crush on Gotham’s Prince. That thought alone was enough for you to tear your gaze away—settling in the seat and staring through the front window.

“You invited me, Mr. Wayne. Why don’t you pick?”

He fell silent, hands shifting from his lap to the steering wheel and back again. “I don’t know many places to eat around Gotham anymore.”

Of course Bruce Wayne of all people would eat at home day in and day out. Thus was the luxury of having a personal chef in the Wayne Tower. Although you couldn’t stop the small grin from forming at how funny you found all of this.

Going to lunch with this man. It should have been absurd—almost laughable—but there you were. About to tell him to drive into the heart of the city just to take you to your favorite diner. Reporters would murder you just to stand in your spot. To spend mere moments with him. Yet it seemed that all you had to do was exist.

Rather than dwell on the moment any longer, you told him where to take you and it seemed that he knew the city a lot better than you expected. Pulling out of the spot with ease, he swiftly swung the car around in a rather illegal u-turn before making a quick right turn. You had to hand it to him…he knew how to handle a car. Part of you wanted to call it sexy, but you killed that echo in your head before it could manifest into something else.

Feelings were dangerous in your line of work—having seen the pain several reporters went through when they fell into bed with lethal people. You wouldn’t wind up like them. All you could allow in your life was friendship, nothing more. A friendship with Bruce Wayne wouldn’t hurt you. Not when he refrained from speaking to anyone, let alone the worst of the worst that roamed Gotham.

He turned another corner, the rain getting worse the further you traveled into the city. Driving in this weather would have stopped you from going, but it didn’t seem to phase him. He took it in stride, focusing intently on the road with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting between you. It would be so easy to pick it up, to run your fingers over the lines in his palm. And for a moment you indulged. You imagined what being with him would actually feel like.

Would he treat you the same way? Or would you suddenly become special. You couldn’t picture him treating anyone in a loving manner, let alone you and that’s where the fantasy died.

“That’s it,” you said, pointing to the flickering sign out front that only read DEM as opposed to its usual bright DEMETER’S TABLE name.

“Is it closed?”

You laughed, barely a puff of air, but you knew he heard it. Opening the door you ignored the downpour that threatened to soak you down to your very soul, and patiently waited until he got out himself. The expression on his face caught you slightly off guard as you watched him get out. You would have figured it was nothing—having seen him wear a grim expression all throughout your interview with him—but this looked different.

“I know it’s not the best place, but the food is—”

“I could have opened the door for you.”

That killed the worry filling your chest in an instant. He wasn’t upset that you brought him to what looked like the shittiest diner in all of Gotham. In fact, he could care less about that. He wanted to open the door for you…like a gentleman.

You nearly laughed in his face, but the rain was starting to seep into your shoes, causing your whole body to shiver and he fared no better. It caused his hair to stick to his face, the coat doing absolutely nothing to keep him dry.

The sign from the diner cast a luminescent glow across his face, highlighting his high cheekbones. You found yourself wanting to brush your lips across them. Though it was daytime and the sun remained stuck behind the clouds somewhere, you still felt as if night encased you in its cold embrace. Yet standing there with him in the rain, keeping his stare, you felt warmth flicker in your chest. As if he had placed a piece of the sun in your heart.

“You don’t have to do that with me,” you said softly, turning away before you grew too attached to this odd man.

The bell above the door rang throughout the building, alerting her of your presence. Your friend Dem stood behind the counter, her graying black hair wrapped up in a loose bun—a pen going directly through it to hold it in place. She looked up at the sound, a broad smile pulling at her wrinkled cheeks and bringing to light the soft lines around her eyes. When you first moved to Gotham she was the person who practically took you under her wing.

“Day! You are soaked hun. You shouldn’t be out in this weather.” She walked around the counter, immediately handing you a hot steaming cup of coffee. “Especially not since you just got over pneumonia. What are you trying to do, kill your…”

She trailed off, her eyes growing wide as the bell rang again and Bruce entered behind you, looking worse than you did. You knew the shock she was feeling, having gone through it about thirty minutes ago yourself, and did your best to drag her back to the present.

“Got a free table?” you joked, knowing the diner was practically empty.

That seemed to do it. The smile—though hesitant this time around—was back as she gestured to the second booth by the door. “I’ll be right with you sweetie.”

“Thanks Dem.”

You slid into the old brown booth, feeling your clothes stick to the fake leather. “Here.” You pushed the mug of coffee his way. “It’ll help with the cold.”

“I’m okay.” He reached up to push it back, but you held it in its place.

“I’m not asking Wayne.” Smiling, you leaned back. “Besides…can’t have one of the most important people in Gotham getting sick on my watch. I’d definitely be fired for that.”

Without another word, he lifted the mug to his lips, placing them directly where yours were mere moments ago. The spark flared to life again, cracking like a familiar bolt of lightning through your body and burning you to the core. Looking away, you clasped your hands together in an effort to seal in any heat that might try to escape your body. You weren’t sure if you liked the feelings that were causing your body to go haywire. For all you knew, you could have been imagining this entire thing.

You wouldn’t put it past your mind to play tricks on you as you sat across from him.

“Why this place?” Once again, his question caught you off guard.

“What?”

He set the mug down, pushing it your way. “Why this diner?”

His blue eyes were fixed on your face, as if attempting to see past the shield you wore day in and day out. When a person suffered enough pain to last an entire lifetime, they tended to become closed off. You were that person and from what you could see…so was he. The temptation to ask him how he survived through the pain, how he managed to come out of it at the end somewhat of a person, was on the tip of your tongue.

But you figured it was better to stay silent—keep it to yourself until the right moment came up.

“It was the first place I came to when I first moved to Gotham. I used to live a block away from here.” Sipping on the coffee, you tried to busy yourself to avoid his piercing gaze. “Though, I had to move because my apartment got broken into while I was sleeping.”

Something flashed in his eyes. Anger? No…something else.

Clearing your throat, you continued in the hopes of appeasing your now racing heart. “Anyways. Dem took me in, she took care of me and it felt nice. So I stayed.”

Before he could reply, Dem arrived with two plates in her hands. You smelled the burger before she even placed it on the table—your stomach clenching with hunger. Her specialty that you first ordered when you came here. It made your heart warm seeing her place it in front of Bruce, her smile kind and welcoming. No matter who he was, Dem always saw the good in people. Saw what they needed and willingly gave it to them without question.

She was a mother to the strangers that wandered into her diner.

“More coffee?” she asked, staring at the single mug that sat empty in the center of the table.

You noticed she didn’t ask if you’d like a second cup, her body language telling you enough. She thought this was a date. You weren’t sure if you should correct her or not.

“Please,” Bruce said, interrupting your thoughts. He handed her the mug, never asking for an extra one, but seemingly happy to share with you.

Once again your heart fluttered and this time…you let it.

“Dem’s burgers are possibly the best thing to be created.”

His lips pulled up in a small barely there grin. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You should,” you replied, smiling around a bite of your fry. “As a reporter all I have is my word.”

You didn’t catch the way he looked at you, his eyes shining with something that hadn’t been there in a very long time. Instead you focused on gazing out the window at the rain. The way it transformed the city into something dangerous. Yet even through the darkness you could see it. The small hints of the light seeping through the clouds and shining down on an otherwise grim place.

Carole King played on the old speakers—a favorite of Dem’s you learned early on—and it created a soft symphony of warmth as it mixed with the rain. You wanted to stay there forever. In a place of comfort and love.

You’d even include Bruce in it too.

He bit into the burger, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as the taste burst across his tongue. The sight caused your heart to lurch in your chest, warmth spreading up your neck and into your face. And you tried your best to shove it down. How ridiculous of you to find the sight hot, but there you were. Speechless, watching as he enjoyed one of your favorite meals.

Dem’s voice humming to the song snapped you out of your ogling; you looked to her to find something else to focus on. Except the small knowing smile she wore on her face and the wink she threw your way did nothing to help your situation. Rather than dwell on it, you began to eat. Content to remain silent until the both of you finished.

The singular cup of coffee was set down in between you two, dragging your gazes back to one another. You glanced at the mug, then back at him. As if that was the defining factor of whether or not this was a date. He chewed thoughtfully on a fry, his eyes still on you, while you mulled over whether or not you could magically turn the one mug into two.

It turned out to be an impossible feat, but one you found you didn’t mind.

“So tell me—” You pried your trench coat off, draping it over the back of the booth. He’d discarded his thirty minutes ago, his black button down now rolled to his elbows. ��What’s Bruce Wayne been up to?”

His eyebrow quirked, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smile. “This isn’t a second interview is it?”

You shrugged. “I’ve gotten enough for my article already. This is me asking.”

“Hm.” He leaned forward, hands clasped together and hair falling back into his eyes. “And who are you exactly?”

The smile you’d been fighting for an hour came through. “I don’t think you’ve earned that yet.”

The coffee mug had been refilled three times now, your energy coupled with the spark of attraction (you were still denying) between you brought life back into your body. While he didn’t disclose much about himself—saying bits and pieces here and there—you still found yourself engrossed in his words. You wanted to know more, to see the man behind the mask that was Bruce Wayne.

Maybe if you were lucky enough he’d show you his true self one day. For right now you were content to remain just as you were.

A reporter who shied away from any aspects of love, sitting with a man who was discovering what the meaning of joy was all over again.

“I can wait,” he murmured, his eyes no longer resembling the cloudy skies outside. You could see the lightness in them—the shining blue unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

You glanced down at the mug, seeing something in it you hadn’t before. For whatever unknown reason Bruce Wayne—the man who had been reclusive his entire life—trusted you. Even though he didn’t say it outright he didn’t have to. You saw it well enough and something told you…he knew you could see it. He wanted you to see it.

Time was slowly ticking away, reminding you that you had a job to get back to, but you still remained. Sitting with your elbows pressed to the table—unconsciously trying to get as close to him as possible. Maybe if you never left the world would melt away. If you became a permanent part of this diner, the city that happily ate away at every resident would leave you be. You’d be forgotten in a place that thrived on the lost and forlorn.

“Why me?” you inquired after the beat of silence threatened to swallow you whole.

The soft lilting notes of Billie Holiday echoed in the empty diner. Dem was nowhere to be found and the only two remaining customers were you and Bruce. Still sharing that singular cup of cold coffee. It had created a ring on the table, your lipstick a slight stain on the white mug. The color smudged off from where Bruce had placed his lips. Sharing a hint of a kiss that would never be.

He leaned back in the booth, no longer stiff—the nature of a man who had hid from society for years now traded in for someone different. His body language was enough to make you stare. Transfixed on the way his shirt continued to hug his figure even though it had dried an hour ago.

“Why not you?”

You huffed. “Answering my question with another question. And here I thought I was the only reporter in the room.”

“I’ve had my fair share of interviews.”

“None that I’ve read.” You slid your plate to the side and clasped your hands together in the hopes of looking as intrigued as you felt. “Do tell Mr. Wayne.”

The tension was beginning to set in his shoulders again. A small overlay to the man that lingered beneath. As if he was bringing up a mask he constantly carried with him. He hid constantly day in and day out, but right now he didn’t sit before you the Prince of Gotham, but instead a man who was trying to relearn how to live. Whether you wanted to admit it to yourself or not…Bruce Wayne was like you in ways you couldn’t have imagined.

“Alfred keeps them from printing.” The admission alone was enough for you to change the subject, but he continued to talk—cracking open yet another small sliver to the impenetrable armor he wore. “People they don’t…they always look for something wrong.”

You nodded, digging your nail into your palm. “Flaws are sometimes easier to sell.”

The sad truth of being a journalist is more often than not people weren’t looking for the truth. At least not in Gotham. They wanted something to sell. A piece of the person that one would deem too vulnerable to be shown to the rest of the world. They wanted to satiate the greed that clawed its way to the front. Rarely was the truth their only reason for writing a story.

“You’re not interested in flaws.” His eyes grew softer, hand splaying on the table to trace a random shape as he watched you. Saw through the facade you wore. He dug right down to the depths of your persona and dragged it to the surface—a relenting and brutal act.

Yet you wanted it to happen all the same.

“I like the truth.” You distracted yourself with the shape of his finger, the length of it as it shifted. “It sounds better.”

For a split second you allowed your eyes to flicker up, to meet his in the dim lights of the diner, and you finally caught hold of that niggling emotion. The one that held you captive in your own right. You liked him. Despite only meeting him yesterday, you found yourself drawn in by his haunted eyes. The same ones that practically burned a hole in your skin, until he was forever a part of your form.

Bruce Wayne felt familiar to you.

Not in the way that a stranger finds a face in the crowd familiar. Not even in the way an old friend would feel seeing someone from their past once more.

He was familiar in the way two souls separated beyond time and space were familiar. You couldn’t quite explain it, but somehow you knew these eyes that traced the lines and curves of your face. Committing you to memory. You were two distant beings made up of different particles of the universe. Yet there in that diner you found one another—as if gravity had dragged your cells together all along.

Two halves of a celestial being finally forming to be one.

You almost wanted to laugh at the notion that Bruce Wayne and you had anything in common. Let alone that there was any physical attraction between you.

But there it was. The truth you’d been searching for all along.

You could almost laugh at how fucked it all was.

How horrifically beautiful.

Night was beginning to settle over the city, calling to the horrors that lingered in the shadows. Prompting them to finally emerge for the one night where fear ran rampant in the streets of Gotham. Being scared on Halloween wasn’t an unusual occurrence, but this year things felt different. You could practically taste the blood that would run through the grime filled streets come morning. The same one that you would later have to report on.

Bruce stood beside his car next to your apartment building. You had directed him here after another hour spent in Dem’s diner barely speaking yet saying more than you would have liked. For some reason he was able to unearth more about you than you had found out in the entirety of yesterday’s interview with him. If being a Wayne didn’t wind up working out for him, he’d make a killing out of being an investigative journalist.

You told him as much before you left.

“Got any plans for tonight?” you asked, already knowing the answer you’d receive.

He looked up to the slightly darkened sky, at the way that the clouds did nothing to allow even slivers of the sunset to break through. You had to hand it to the city. There was some irony in the way even nature plagued the city in darkness. As if its legacy was always meant to be this. An abyss that drowned everyone within.

A barely there quirk appeared on his lips. “I’ll be out of the city tonight.”

Convenient.

The thought crossed your mind of asking him to join you for a lonesome dinner and half a bottle of wine. But the line had been drawn in the sand long before you agreed to accompany him for lunch. An invisible border you couldn’t cross. He was a Wayne. A part of a world you could only reach through second hand stories and gruesome aftermaths.

If the lunch had been more than strangers sitting across from one another, you would have joked about your house being Capulet and his Montague. But something told you irony wasn’t his strong suit. Nor would it favor you being able to see him another time. That is…if he even wanted to see you. For all you could tell this was merely a social call placed on his shoulders by Alfred—the man you came to see as Bruce’s father figure.

“Well…”

“Would you—”

You smiled, feigning being professional for the sake of your giddiness. “You go first.”

He cleared his throat. “Would you be available in a few days?”

“Oh…” Rather than take it easy on him, you decided that the best course of action was to jab at his wall just a bit. Just to see if something would crumble even further. So with a smile you stepped closer, watching the rise and fall of his chest quicken just a bit more. “That doesn’t sound like Alfred speaking.”

A heavy breath left his lungs—washing warm across your skin. “It’s not.”

“So this is you asking?”

He nodded, probably irritated with the way you were clearly teasing him. But that’s the thing. He let you tease him. He gave in to your small ruse and let it play out until you felt like you were finished.

If you could get away with this, who knows what else you’d be able to get away with. Perhaps calling him a stupid nickname. Or even getting to know his favorite color.

Something told you it was brown.

“What’s your favorite color?”

His eyebrows rose, mouth parted slightly as if you’d thrown him for a bigger loop than anyone had before. And much to your own surprise…he answered. Honestly.

“Black.”

Ah…you were close.

“Tuesday. The rush of Halloween will be over and my paper should give me some free reign. I’ll be available then.”

Another solemn nod as if you just informed him that you were attending a funeral for a recently departed loved one. You learned to realize that his nods were simply a part of his personality. Eventually you would be able to decipher what each one meant, what they were attempting to say without using words. His voice seemed to be an afterthought—actions speaking louder than words could say.

“Tuesday it is,” he replied with a soft hesitant smile. You wanted to see it again, ask him to never frown again, but this was merely a fleeting moment in the grand expanse of things.

He stood there for a minute more as if leaving was the last thing he wanted. Then got into his car, turned the engine once, and drove down the street. And you watched him disappear into the already dark horizon. The day never existed to begin with, but the storm wouldn’t stop the chaos of the night. So you gave one last glance to the street before heading inside, ready to hole yourself in your locked apartment til sunrise the next day.

The shrill ringing of your cell phone startled you from your small nap on the couch. A throw blanket that was a mishmash of colors was thrown over your body, a half empty wine bottle on the coffee table and the book Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde face down beside it. Ever since finding it in the Wayne tower, you began to look through the old text. With the silly hope that you would find pieces of Bruce Wayne in the words.

“What?” you grumbled, rubbing a hand over your face to rouse yourself from the groggy state of sleep. Your brain was sluggish, body content to remain on the couch for many more hours, but Henry’s grim voice startled you awake.

“The Mayor’s dead.”

You sat up. “What the fuck do you mean the Mayor’s dead Henry?”

A quick glance at the clock told you it was nearing the middle of the night. The noise outside still persisted though. People always partied the worst on this night. Especially in this city.

“If this is a joke—”

“Shut up and listen will you.” Your mouth clamped shut, eyes falling to the book. “They found him in his home. And it’s gruesome. Whoever did it was a right fucked up person, but I can’t get there at this time. The streets are too packed.”

The breath caught in your throat, even as your eyes stung with exhaustion. “And I’m closer to the scene.”

“It’s a favor and it’s a big one Day.”

You sighed. “I’ll leave in ten. Who’s on the scene?”

“Gordon.”

Good. Gordon never gave you shit for being a reporter like the other detectives did. Many wanted your kind out of Gotham all together simply because of how good you were at getting your nose into places it shouldn’t be. With Gordon there at least you would have a chance to do some meaningful reporting—or at least help where you could in figuring this out.

Henry listed out a few details they told him, what was going to occur within the next few days. But all you could think about was Bruce. You’d miss your chance to see him Tuesday after all. Too stuck in the midst of a city wide crime scene that would take up more or less all of your time. Which left him on the outs. You scribbled down in your black notebook a note to call him and ask for a rain check.

At least then one good thing in your life wouldn’t disappear without a trace.

You grabbed your coat, shoved your arms in the sleeves, and locked up your apartment as the weight of the news rested heavy on your shoulders.

With the death of the Mayor came an investigation. One that would no doubt lead to more bloodshed in the streets and leave a city divided amongst itself. You had heard about shit like this happening in Gotham, but you were never around to see it yourself. Yet there you were. Right in the thick of it with no other option but to see the chaos through.

People filled the streets. Some drunk, some not. Which didn’t make getting to the scene easier. You fought through the crowds, managed to catch a train down there, and somehow came out unscathed. And above in the night sky…his sign hung like a full moon. It called out to the chaos of the night, and made a promise to those who liked the cover of darkness that they would only be safe for so long.

“Shit,” you muttered, feeling the rain strike against your cheek. It stung as you crossed the street.

Police cars lined the sidewalk, sirens blaring and bright, and for a moment…there was light in Gotham. You could barely see in front of you, but at least they illuminated the pathway to the front entrance. Many of them were taping off the building, others standing around and gazing at the sky—probably asking themselves if he would show up.

“If it ain’t Miss Day!”

You felt the weight lighten as you reached the top of the building steps. “Officer Martinez. Funny seeing you here.”

“You come to talk to me tonight?”

The smile was involuntary on your lips as he let you head in with him, holding the door open for you. Martinez always had a soft spot for you when things like this befell the city. After all he was usually around when it came to Gordon and with a job like yours, you ran into cops a bit too often for your liking. But Martinez was the exception. He brought you coffee on long nights at crime scenes, cracked jokes at the worst times, and even drove you home if he was around.

“Of course,” you said with a grin, bumping his shoulder. “I’m here to write a piece about the greatest cop in the city.”

He scoffed. “Flattery will get you everywhere chica.”

“Do you know what happened?”

Another flight of steps revealed even more cops scattered around the place. You could see the flash of a camera in the distance, whispered voices filling the air as you entered. Several cops gave you nasty glances, scoffing to themselves at the fact that you were allowed to enter. A reporter. Someone beneath them. To them you were the vulture that came to pick apart the mess they were left to clean.

“All I know is what Gordon told me. And even that’s not much.”

“Where is Gordon?”

Martinez shrugged. “Went out to fetch someone. Figure another detective.”

One more step into the room and you felt it. The pressure in your chest, the pinch of pain in your side where you were still healing. As if crime in Gotham called to crime. A horrid likeness that permeated the air. When Henry said the scene was gruesome he wasn’t kidding. You were ready to bolt the second you could smell the blood—the sight nearly too much for your stomach to take.

“Fuck,” you murmured, eyes wide and body wracked with fear.

“It’s not easy to see.”

“He’s…oh fuck.”

You didn’t need words to know Martinez was concerned about you. His eyes told you enough. They lingered a bit too long, tried to see past your mask you quickly pulled up when it came to scenes such as this. If you were lucky you would make it out tonight without any nightmares.

You were rarely lucky.

Someone called his name, causing him to leave you alone in the room with a few other people. Yet all you could focus on was the Mayor. The message scrawled across his head screamed so loud you could practically hear the voice of the killer. It punched right through your chest, made you pay attention without any barriers. Without mercy.

“What the fuck?”

You turned when someone’s voice filtered through the air, disbelief clear in their tone. Perhaps they found something worse. Something that would make you want to unsee everything that happened tonight. But what came to your attention was not what you expected. Your heart dropped to your stomach, a flutter going through your body, as the sight of him filled your view once more.

For some reason he seemed bigger in the room. He towered over everyone here, eyes still striking against the dark color of his suit. For a moment you couldn’t breathe, nerves filling your body with each heavy thump of his boot against the hardwood floor. How he would react to seeing you again took over your mind. Yet you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe…he forgot about you.

Maybe to him you were just another lost soul in a sea of tragedy.

Someone he saved once and didn’t think twice about second.

He stopped midstep, gaze falling to your form, and for a split second…he stiffened entirely. Recognition flashed in his eyes before something darker took its place. You were reminded of the night he dragged you home, the night he held you as you cried about death. As you begged him to keep you alive.

You wondered if he was thinking about that too. If you stepped close enough maybe you could see it in his eyes. Fragments of a memory that still burned bright and alive in your mind—a bad movie you could never turn off. So there you sat in the theater. Forced to watch it replay.

Maybe if you asked he’d sit with you. Keep you company in the darkness.

“Daywalker.”

Gordon had a habit of using the formal version of your nickname. A call sign that seemed to jolt you from your own mind—eyes snapping from The Batman to the man standing beside him. He regarded you with a confused look. A question lingering on his tongue.

One you quickly overlapped with one of your own.

“What the hell happened Gordon?”

His eyes went soft. “Chaos.”

The pain in your side flared to life again. “And what’s he doing here?”

The thump of his boots echoed behind you as he circled the scene. No doubt taking notes about what happened, what was left behind for them to find. Gordon held up a green envelope, writing scratched into the paper as if it was left there in anger—the pen nearly breaking through. A formal address to the man who still remained behind you. A call out to The Batman himself.

Either this guy was insane…or he understood what The Bat would react to.

“So all this…was for him?”

Eyes burned into your skin when you said the words, another thump letting you know he still remained, still listening in the shadows of the room.

Gordon shrugged. “That’s what he’s here to find out.”

You nodded, stepping back to let Gordon do his job with the others as you surveyed the room yourself. Every once in a while your gaze fell back to him. How he stalked about with purpose, each step measured and calculated. He understood the tension in the room, how cops hated that he stood amongst them.

After all, he fell lower into their likeability category than you. To them you were the vulture, but he was the thief. He took their image—their reputations—and made it worse. He took their jobs right under their noses. Not because they couldn’t do it, but because with him it would come to a final end.

You caught bits and pieces of the conversations at hand, heard how the Mayor must have died, but your attention still remained with The Bat. How he stood wary with his back to the window. Every now and then you swore his gaze fell to you, but that might have been your imagination. Your mind hadn’t stopped racing since you stepped past the threshold; the crime scene doing nothing but wracking your body with fear and anxiety. Two things that were an enemy to a good reporter.

“Killer may have come through the skylight.”

You glanced up, eyes tracing the metal lines of the glass above and tried to imagine the scene playing out before you. How they’d get in, how they’d hide. In your head it matched up, but something felt off—as if the scene itself was too perfect. Too pristine for you to gather anything notable.

Gordon’s voice peaked your interest, drawing you closer. “What does a liar do when he’s dead?”

“There’s a cipher too.”

Something flickered in the back of your mind. You remembered Henry having a book of riddles on his desk. Some cheap Christmas gift someone in the office got him in the hopes of giving their boss a sense of humor. You had flipped through it once or twice while waiting for him to show up for a meeting. But you could recall the same riddle being printed with all the others—in a list of nearly three hundred, you remembered that one for its dark flair.

“Lies,” you murmured to yourself, attention forced to the outburst towards Gordon.

But it was the darker and much deeper voice behind you that sent a cold shiver down your spine. “He lies still.”

The answer to the riddle.

Yet even that didn’t tell you much. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t going to give Gotham the easy way out. No, you could see the darkness lingering in the distance. The threat of something more on the way. And there wouldn’t a fucking thing anyone in this room could do about it. Except for him. His name was on the envelope, his sign in the sky and soon…Gotham would be turning to him for more than just an answer to a riddle.

“Happy fuckin’ Halloween,” the commissioner spat, turning away from the scene with enough anger to rival the killer. Grief plagued the air and while you should have stayed, asked for statements, all you wanted to do was go home.

So you bid Gordon goodnight with the promise to call him tomorrow for more than just this. Your stomach was in knots, bile filling the back of your throat, but you could barely move. His gaze still burned a hole in your back, watching as you left on semi-steady feet—the wound that lingered now a reminder that you were nearly this person. You were nearly another story in a newspaper.

Martinez came up beside you as you stepped out into the hall, a cup of hot coffee in his hands. He must have grabbed it from down the street, because he held his own. The rain still pounded outside striking loudly against the window but it had become a drowned out echo. Simply background noise to a tragedy that kept you locked tight in its grasp. You could see the headline of tomorrow’s paper. The words bold and loud amidst the gray color—a color that matched the sky.

GOTHAM MOURNS.

“Want me to give you a ride home?” Martinez asked, eyes still plagued with concern. You wanted to wipe it from his face, place his carefree smile back where it belonged. Except no one would be smiling tonight.

You sucked in a cold breath, sensing the presence of The Bat as he followed Gordon out to the hallway.

“Yeah. A ride would be nice.”

Tomorrow was a new day, but the truth still remained, waiting to break free. Darkness ran through Gotham so deep it would take prying the streets up to see it, but something told you exactly that would happen. This was not the end of the blood that would turn this city red.

It was only the beginning.

#bruce wayne x f!reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #the batman x f!reader #the batman x reader #the batman x you #battinson x reader #battinson x you #the batman #my writing

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oh-koenig-my-koenig · 1 year ago

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'Fit for a King' - WIP - “If you have had me on my back, we can also be on a first name basis” (König POV)

Fit for a King - Masterlist

König is talking to Ridgeback that he doesn’t want fem!sergeant Müller on the next – her first – mission with KorTac, Ridgeback is not having it, so he makes König talk to Müller about it, cue social anxiety meets superiority complex that comes with being this tall and buff, Müller puts him in his place and… what can I say? He’s turned on by that. And it gets them to talk with each other (finally). (2k words)

CW: NSFW, imagining explicit scenes, pervy!König

a/n: I'm still writing scenes whenever I think about them, so there still will be chronological skips and context missing in between, but I'll update the Masterlist in the order that they happen in (also gonna add some general info about the characters to the masterlist soon). This is a scene in his POV as I wanted to give the whole story a dual POV thing in general, I hope you like it! (two chapters are still in the pipeline for today or tomorrow, from Müller's POV again) ((also still working on a way to incorporate the german translations better))

“If you have had me on my back, we can also be on a first name basis”

(NSFW)

“I don’t want her on the mission.”

“She’s going. End of discussion.”

“Fine. But I’ll have to see if she can stand her ground first.”

“Meaning that you’ll actually talk to her?”

Ridgeback can’t see the scowl under my hood.

“Yeah.” What I mean is ‘fuck, no’.

He grins at me.

Ridgeback calls after her in the training room. “Müller, a second of your time?” – “Yes, sir.”, she says stepping away from the weights she was working with. “The Colonel is unsure about your… skills on the battlefield and I was wondering if you could maybe demonstrate something to change his mind.”, he explains. She pulls up her eyebrow and gives me the sideeye. “Didn’t he read my transcript?”, she asks. I don’t say anything, but Ridgeback looks at me, waiting for me to explain myself. I clear my throat. “Uh yeah, I read it, it’s just uh-“ She looks up at me and the words don’t come out my mouth. I feel the heat in my cheeks. “What if like a big guy comes up to you and like… attacks you?” Wow, so eloquent. “You know that I’m a sniper, right? Most of the time I’m not gonna be around any ‘big guys’ except for present company.” God damn it, why did I ever start this topic up? She’s going to make me put my shoe into my mouth or however that saying goes. “Uh yeah, correct, I’m just saying, what IF.” She looks at me like I might be a bit crazy. Maybe I am. She confuses the shit out of me.

Then she shrugs her shoulders. “Okay.” and struts over to the mattresses for combat training and martial arts. I follow her, waiting what she’ll do. “You also read that I’m trained in field combat and Krav Maga?”, she asks again. I totally did not. I laugh it off, not sure if I should take her seriously. She gets in position looking up at me in all her 5’8’’ cuteness. “You ready, big guy?”, she asks me, tauntingly. I cross my arms and shrug. Before I can register her moving, she has gripped me, one hand fisting the fabric of my shirt and the other one latching onto my wrist. Just a moment later I’m in the air.

She flips me. She tosses me over her own back with enough force to move a little Volkswagen. And she actually goddamn flips me. As my body gets slammed into the mattress, my back colliding with the floor, I can feel arousal lick up my spine, making me hard in an instant. “Ah, scheiße1.”, I mutter under my breath. All I want to do is pull her with me – or better even – her trying to hold me down as she gets on top of me. Scenarios flood my brain, smutty and perverted. How she would tie me down, strip me, tease me. Take her seat on my face, make me eat her out. I groan. I would feel her heat on my face, lap at her wetness, take everything she would give me. She would stroke me, edge me with her soft hands and nimble fingers while pressing her pussy into me, maybe she would even try to fit my length into her mouth. She would grind on my lips and tongue, she would let me give her the pleasure she seeks until she comes on my face and I drink up her arousal, her wetness staining my hood.

The imagination alone makes me leak at the tip. Ahja, du kleiner Perversling2. I scold myself in my brain. Has it really been that long since I had a woman? Like, biblically. I guess it has.

She stands over me, setting a foot on my chest, her boot digging into my pecs. “So, can I join you, Colonel?” I’m kind of glad that she didn’t call me by my name just now because I fear that I would have come a bit in my pants. At least a little bit. I raise my hands defensively: “Fine, fine, Müller.” I clear my throat. “You can handle yourself, as you demonstrated just now.” She laughs and the soft and sweet sound taunts me. “I can even handle more than just myself.”, she adds confidently and steps away from me, holding her hand out to help me up.

I resist the urge to pull her down and jump up on my feet again. Now I’m towering over her, a whole foot taller. Oh, to have her run from me as I chase after her, would be so sweet. Hör auf3, the voice in my head fights against the pervy thoughts. Something about her taps into something primal inside me.

Ridgeback’s short clap gets my attention. I almost forgot that he’s still here. “Well, I think this got resolved. See you tomorrow then.” Müller waves goodbye, and I lift my hand too, not able to tear my gaze away from her. She looks back at me and I wish I could’ve just talked normally to her instead of behaving like an ass. I sigh inwardly.

Killing people, turning them to pulp, is easier for me than talking to them. Really talking, not just barking orders. And she makes me feel like for the first time in forever that I wish it was the other way around.

"Would you spot me, Colonel?", she asks me then. I sigh, in- and outwardly this time. "Please, just... call me König.", I tell her. "People who had me on my back already can refer to me on a name basis.", I joke feeling the heat in my cheeks flare up again as I see the confusion on her face. Get a hold of yourself, Mensch4. "Also, I made myself look like a complete ass in front of you, you deserve to let the title slide.", I say further, not stuttering as much as before, and she nods slightly. "So, is that a yes or a no on the spotting, König?", she asks plainly. I swallow down how it makes me feel hearing her say my name in that cute accent of hers and return her nod.

She goes over to the weight rack and starts to fit plates onto a barbell. I help her by lifting the barbell from the ground to give her easier access. She’s satisfied with 50 kilos on each side and then goes to lift it up the squatting rack. Oh, she’s going to do squats. With 120 kilos. I’m so double fucked.

“You ready?” I nod and stand behind her holding out my arms. I’m a head taller than her, so I can look at myself in the mirror in front of us as she is not obstructing my view. My eyes are on her again though. She has wide black training pants on, but her hips don’t leave much to the imagination. Her torso is clad in a compression shirt, with a sports bra underneath. Everything is covered up, tightly packed to not be hindering while working out. Yet in my mind it looks like the sexiest thing anybody could ever wear. And that is before she starts to squat right in front of me. I curse under my breath and push away the pervy thoughts. Just be normal for once. She doesn’t need you lusting over her right now, after you just insulted her like that.

I follow her movements hovering my arms beside her, ready to take off the weight if it’s necessary. But she’s squatting the weight no problem. After a few reps she sets the barbell down on the rack again. “Okay, I think, we can add some more plates.”, she says already hefting another 20 up. “Goddamn, you’re squatting more than half the team here.”, I remark. “Really? I’m a bit rusty to be honest.” Rusty? Heilige Scheiße5. She continues: “I wanted to build up strength again because I’m gonna be more actually in the field, but I don’t wanna squat this kind of weight without somebody to spot me.” I nod behind her and she gets ready for the next set. There she is, squatting my body weight like it’s nothing. It’s so fucking attractive to me, I can’t help it.

“Wouldn’t some of the others help you? Spot you?”, I ask as we set down the weight again. My hands stay on the barbell for a moment longer until she meets my eyes in the mirror. “I mean, I talked to Aksel and Nikto a bit, you know, Scandinavians unite, but eh- I didn’t wanna bother them. I think this is the longest interaction I had with anybody in the base. They’re not really talking.”, she explains with a shrug. I hold back a groan. This might be at least partly my fault because of the way I treated her the first few days. “So, I didn’t really have the guts to ask somebody to help me.” She shrugs again, but I see a hint of sadness and apprehension behind them. “But with what you pulled today, I didn’t have those reservations.” She grins at me a little bit.

“I’m sorry.”, I say then, the words sticking to my tongue, not slipping out my mouth easily. It’s not like I don’t feel sorry, I really do. I’m just not one to apologise easily. “Don’t worry about it.”, she tells me. “You’re not the first superior to doubt my abilities.” I feel a pang in my chest. Yeah, yeah, I can be a bit of an asshole, but it’s just setting in now how the whole situation must make her feel. And I want to take it all back. “Yeah, I… I know how it must look like right now from your point. I’m sorry really. I was an asshole about my doubts and I went about it in the most jerk way.” She turns around, her hands on her waist as she looks up at me like ‘Are we really still talking about this?’. The sass.

“It’s okay, Col- König. I accept your apology.”, she reiterates. She must see the doubt in my eyes because she says, with emphasis: “Really.” – “Okay. Schwamm drüber6.”, I say and extend my hand. She takes it and shakes it. Even through the thin fabric of my gloves I can feel the warmth of her palm and it makes me wish I wasn’t wearing any to feel her skin on mine.

“I’d head to dinner now. You wanna join me?”, she asks. “I get it if you can’t, you know, rank and all.” I scoff. “Nobody is asking for our ranks when we’re knee-deep in mud next week, so forget all about that.” She grins at my answer and jogs to the hallway. I follow her with big strides. “I don’t even know why they made me Colonel.”, I tell her as we walk down to the mess hall. She giggles and the sound makes me feel all floaty. And I kick myself again – in my mind – for not just talking to her. Or maybe just ask her to train with me. Instead of making it seem like I’m out to get her. “Maybe your reputation? And of course, the unique set of skills.”, she suggests. “I have a reputation?”, I’m surprised. “Yeah, kinda.” We enter the mess hall and get in line for a plate of beef stew. “Like what?”, I want to know as I stand just a foot behind her. “I’d rather not say.”, she evades. “Also, I don’t think that that’s who you are.”

“What do you think I am then?”, I ask her as we sit down. Other people are already here and I see a few surprised faces, including Horangi’s. “Really really big.” She laughs and I chuckle with her. “That’s just because you’re so small.”, I counter. “Psh. It’s not about the size.” I can see a hint of mischief sparkling in her eyes as she says that. Was that innuendo? “It’s not?”, I tease her. She leans forward and whispers like we’re sharing a secret: “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so cocky about it. Even a mouse can fell a tree, if she only knows how to.” I laugh at her remark. “Touché.” – "Maybe that could be my callsign: Mouse.", she jokes. "I like that.", I say fully grinning behind my mask.

scheiße: shit

ahja, du kleiner Perversling: uh-huh, you little pervert

hör auf: stop it

mensch: literally 'human being', in this context more of an exesperated 'dude!'

heilige scheiße: holy shit

Schwamm drüber: literally 'sponge over it', meaning let's forget about it

#könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig x fmc #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut #könig pov

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thetriplets3 · 1 year ago

Note

"Your lover isn't feeling well, and even though it's probably dangerous to drive this late at night, you have to make sure they're all right."with Chris strniolo please??

I made it about just a bad day I hope that’s okay, I can redo it if you want anon! Also please read the note at the end!! Thank you for all your requests

warnings: anxiety, depression, overall a bad day mentally, brief mention of a mother daughter relationship (please let me know if I missed anything so I can update this)

☎️ One call away ☎️

It’s hard to tell what exactly made me feel this way, it’s just one of those days. I’ve struggled with mental health problems for years and it’s been getting better but some days feel like I’m back to where I was before. That’s what healing is, some good days some bad, the good outweigh the bad. It’s just frustrating to make progress and then feel like you’re starting from the beginning again.

I spent almost every hour tossing and turning last night unable to fall asleep or stay asleep for long. Despite this I have yet to get out of bed and it’s 3pm. I haven’t been able to do anything except mindlessly scrolling through tiktok not even paying attention to them, in my own little world that I desperately want out of. My phone vibrates, snapping me out of my trance to see a text from my boyfriend Chris.

Hey pretty girl haven’t heard from you all day. Everything alright?

I stare at his text for a while trying to find the right words to make everything sound like I’m fine. Sighing I drop my phone on my bed and head to the kitchen grabbing a snack before making my way back to my bed. Finishing off my snack, I curl up under the fuzzy blanket Chris got me for my birthday. He was here the other night, it smells just like his cologne. I lie there, basking in the smell that lingers bringing me comfort. I want him here, I need him here but I just can’t get myself to put this on him. He has so much on his plate already I don’t want him to worry about me, I’ll be fine this feeling will go away, until it inevitably comes back. A never ending cycle, it’s exhausting.

Apparently it’s been over an hour because I get another text from Chris.

Sweetheart is everything okay? What’s going on? I’m here talk to me.

Realizing I never replied to his first text I grab my phone and send a text back.

Hi love sorry for ignoring you. I’m fine I’m just not feeling it today. I love you and I miss you.

Almost immediately I get a text back which makes me smile at his concern.

What can I do to help? Do you want space or do you want me to come over because you know I’ll drop everything for you no matter how late it is.

My heart swells at how sweet he is.

You being here would make things better.

Within 10 minutes he’s knocking on my bedroom door, having let himself in to my house. Hearing me hum as a response he quietly makes his way to my bed, crawling in next to me.

“Hi sweet girl, I’m here now it’s okay” he said softly.

Quickly I scoot over into his arms, just wanting to be held by him. Closing my eyes I sigh trying to release the weight of the day. With his arms securely wrapped around my body, I feel safe. With a shaky breath I start trying to explain what’s going on.

“I don’t know what brought this on but I hate it I feel so helpless and lazy. I didn’t have it in me to even brush my hair it’s such a simple task and I couldn’t do it” I sputter out in tears.

“Don’t say that you know it’s not true that’s just what your mind is telling you and your mind is being silly today. Think of it this way it’s your body’s way of telling you to just relax and slow down and to take time for yourself. It happens, and yeah it sucks but tomorrow is a new day and a chance to try again” he reassures me. “Give me one second I’ll be right back”.

Rolling out from his grasp I lie there waiting for his return. Getting back in bed he hides what he went to go get behind his back and opened his arms for me. Reaching over to my nightstand he grabs my remote and opens netflix selecting my comfort show, making me smile.

With my head on his chest and my tired eyes fixated on the tv, I feel him move as much of my hair as he can to my back. Slowly and gently he brushes through my knotted hair starting at my ends. The repeated motion of the brush against my scalp has always been something I loved. It reminds me of being a kid and sitting on my mom’s counter as she did my hair for the day. It’s always been a comforting feeling to me and Chris knows this.

My eyes grow heavy as I struggle to keep them open. “Go to sleep love I’m not leaving. I love you so much I hope you know how proud I am of you, you’re so strong” is the last thing I hear before succumbing to a much needed sleep.

taglist:

@iluvmatt @antisocialties @dwntwn-strnlo @fake-coolbeans

AUTHORS NOTES:

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #readers pov

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accio-victuuri · 2 years ago

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CPN : 3/24 LRLG Post

As if the excitement that we all have today, the eve of Weibo Night where they will be at the same event isn’t enough, LRLG had to go ahead and bless us with an update. A very recent one at that. Usually, the contributions shared to us are events that happened months ago. This is why we are able to match which is which fairly easily or notice something we haven’t before.

It starts of saying “today”, meaning this happened 3/24, XZ’s arrival in Shanghai. I have thoughts on LRLG deciding to share this today and who allowed it. If we’re going by the assumption/speculation/clownery— whatever you wanna call it, that these contributions are sent out with xz/wyb’s “blessing” then there must be a reason why they are switching from the usual pattern. They could have easily shared this after the whole weibo night craziness. As what they did in previous events, but they didn’t. So what’s changed? I’m not looking at this as a negative in any way, I am just curious. Did they see how excited BXGs are so decided to give us something? Are they also just dying to be in one place again so they are sharing this happiness to us? No matter the answer, All I can say is : “Bless Shanghai!🙏🏼”

now onto the fake rumor itself. same disclaimer applies. this is all fan fiction. ‼️

It starts with a phone conversation ( i think ) between the boys and it’s mostly yibo. As you will notice in this entire scene/s, it’s all on WYB’s perspective ( literally only one red circle in the entire post ) so again, we have an additional “clue” that this lrlg person is from wyb’s team.

WYB: "Wear more when you come"

XZ: "Okay, I'll use it for you..."

WYB : "sock"

WYB: "I can't see your news anymore, you tell xx"

WYB: "good"

This exchange is so simple and sweet. Their love language is being attentive towards each other and what the other might need, even as “simple” as needing extra clothes to wear because of the weather. And so GG decides to wear a Tod’s biker jacket that makes him look so sexy instead ( as seen in photos / videos of him boarding the plane today and arriving ). 😂😂😂 I mean, WYB & I are not complaining with his choice of clothes but I hope it does keep him warm. and GG’s “ i’ll use it for you..” he really can’t say No to his puppy. He will do it if his puppy wants it. I just. I’m done with them.

The next part is his staff ( a woman based on the emoji ) is saying how unfortunate it is that he has work today and he is mildly pissed that has to because if he didn’t, then he can pick GG up at the airport. I mean. That’s interesting. I wonder if he did that before and i’m surprised at how brave he is to even consider “planning” to do that out of all days. It’s the day before WB night, paps are waiting for all the celebrities to arrive at the airport so if he goes — there is a higher chance for him to get spotted compared to just the normal day. Or maybe he knows the ins & outs already as he’s almost always filming in Shanghai over the past years so he might know how to make it happen.

Then you have a scene where people are playing cards, and I think there is drinks involved. but he ( wyb ) can’t come and join because he has works. The people are telling him to try and join because tomorrow ( WB night ) is busy and there will be lots of material to shoot. I just love WYB’s dedication to work and cackling at the emojis LRLG is using for him — I can totally picture his face like this and going “what are you all doing???”

in the meantime when the subject is XZ, he all sweet smiles.

and this exchange is just too much —

WYB: "Get me the power bank"

👧"Hurry up and play, you won't be interested in playing with your phone tomorrow.

WYB: What are you talking about?"

👧: Would you like to see how you smile now

WYB: XZ is coming why won’t i be smiling.

and he goes on to say 恋爱脑 with that smiley face. I don’t know if he’s fuckin trolling himself at this point, because this is same/similar label said about him by that yangyang paparazzi. the same one he refuted was false because they were saying he single then the next sentence has ambiguous relationship with an older woman and so on.

so i am looking at this like, he’s trolling and this only applies to GG. It’s not necessarily real for him, cause i highly doubt it— looking at how they live and thrive as individuals too. He’s using it and also making fun of that ridiculous rumor spread about him.

HIS SMILE THO MUST BE LIKE THIS :

he just smiles differently when it’s connected to ZZ. I think no one can deny that. It’s so radiant ✨✨✨

I AM ALSO CURIOUS ABOUT WHAT THIS EXCHANGE MIGHT MEAN: ( the people talking aside from wyb is his staff )

“Those who didn’t know thought that xx stole our boss”

"they're here"

"it's here"

WYB : "Finish xx this afternoon, we will record together tomorrow"

"I have sorted it out and sent it to xx for confirmation, no problem with me

WYB "Good job"

WYB "What time will the filming be, you can tell me when the time comes"

Shoot with who? I mean, I’m not really expecting XZS to share a bts of XZ’s photoshoot because they are together soooo ( based on this cpn ).

The next is his his ( wyb ) staff telling him they will prepare food for him and put it in the car cause it will be hard to eat tomo because of the show and how busy it would be. They said they will fix just small things he can carry and also provide him warmer. Awwww. They are so sweet and caring of Bobo 🥹

AND LAST IS THIS EXCHANGE :

👩🏻‍🦰: “you are really so happy today”

🟢: “im happy every day”

👩🏻‍🦰: “nonono there is a difference”

🟢: “😊”

👩🏻‍🦰: “that’s great”

I’m thinking this girl who commented is probably part of the cast/crew. not sure why i get the feeling, cause the emoji is different form his staff. lol. I’m so giddy thinking about yibo being all radiant and happy knowing that he will be with ZZ very soon. ☺️

LRLG also has a message for us at the end:

Be Safe. Have a long and fun weekend!

What a great treat to all turtles, setting all of us in a good mood before the day of the show. I have no expectations. I’m looking forward to seeing what they will wear and to see the photos. I’m proud of the awards/ recognition they will get — all well deserved. everything else is just a bonus. 💕

-END.

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here folks im just clowning like i always do #all of this is cpn #how dare you drop this on a friday when im busy lol

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ask-dcf · 3 months ago

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Doggo duty. Ask tomorrow. Aaaand update on Startales.

No asks today do em tomorrow blah blah blah blah.

Here is the juicy info I wanna share. Currently one of the characters involved in this AU is getting something special made by an awesome artist I follow. Think of it as a bit of a teaser for what’s to come. And I’m slowly starting to work out the ideas more for the main character (self insert… again… LOL) aswell as for Frisk. Thooouuugh I am hitting a bit of a snag. Much as I love the Outertale themed outfits I’m hoping to find something more futuristic and modern for kids wear. If anyone has any ideas please tell me in the replies cuz I’m struggling even with google search. I wanna make sure they have something obviously functional but something a they would like to wear. May have to look into Star Wars for refs I dunno. But once the refs are all done I’ll start working on the script. It will be more of a light novel Esque story so sadly no text boxes (unless my gf can make em but I ain’t gonna bother her over it). I really wanna work on this cuz I love sci fi and have always loved space battles (yes I’m a Star Wars fan XD). And I kinda wanna try something different with the Undertale AUs and make something that feels like an ACTUAL “Alternate Universe”Not just doing the same thing every timeline does, which is not a problem I just wanna try a different path. And for all the magical and fantasy like in other AUs. I think we barely have anything more modern or sci fi esque, at least from what I have seen. So yeah this AU is different but still has that Undertale taste of things. In any event. I’ll see you all later. Much love and bless all. Hope I can work on this New AU soon. And yes the other AUs I made are still alive, will still make sure they get all the love~ x3

#mod talk

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yigaclvn · 3 months ago

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Chapter 6: The Apprentice

Michiko starts her training with Lord Ren.

Mentions of injuries and disabilities. Slight angst and comfort. A new OC is mentioned.

“Michiko, you’ll still receive tasks to complete but they’ll be much scarce now. You’ll be focusing on your training with Lord Ren. In the meantime, you’ll be joining him in his area of patrol.” Master Kohga stated and she nodded.

“Well…” the master’s masked face turns to both of them. “Now get going, I’ve got some napping to do.” He said waving them off wholeheartedly.

“And Lord Ren, make sure to update me on Michiko’s progress.”

“Of course, Master, I’ll keep you posted.”

The two of them left Master Kohga’s study as they started making their way to the training ground in silence. He’s rather a quiet man, so she’s not sure if Michiko should make conversation. She chooses to remain silent, deciding that if conversation will happen, it should happen naturally.

With Lord Ren taking Michiko as his apprentice and her tasks dwindling for the time being, she was hardly ever home and spent most of her time at the hideout training. The master has given her sleeping quarters along with another young woman who was training to be a nurse to work alongside Ayame, the clan’s primary medic. And Michiko moved her things into her new living space.

“We’ll continue training tomorrow morning.” Lord Ren commented as she nodded.

Without another word, Ren made his way to the west wing of the hideout where the blade masters' sleeping quarters were. Once alone in the hallway, Michiko faced the door and quietly walked inside. Her roommate was already asleep as she made her way to her side of the room and changed from her Yiga uniform into sleepwear. Once she’s changed, she brushes her teeth then gets into her futon and shuts her eyes.

“I hope I can do this..” she mumbled before drifting to sleep.

In the next few months since Michiko started training with Lord Ren, she has:

sprained her ankle.

improved at using a bow and arrows (even though it wasn’t her main goal).

She started learning how to use the earthwake technique.

And in those three months, she felt like she wasn’t moving forward. Both physically and mentally.

Her vicious sickle strikes his sword as Ren was slightly pushed backwards but not enough to take him down. Before Michiko could react, Ren responds with an attack of his own that knocks her down. She groans in frustration as she gets back up on her feet.

“Anticipate the next move. Use the blocking techniques I’ve taught you.” Ren instructs. “You’re not thinking about strategy. I can tell.”

Ren charges for another incoming attack, and she instinctively raises her vicious sickle to stop the strike and protect herself from the blow. Once his attack is blocked, she charges at her master, managing to strike him in the stomach with the butt of her sickle. He takes the blow head on and grabs her, shoving her side and sending Michiko to the floor. She rolls with a lack of grace before standing up. Her face had smacked the ground and she could feel blood dripping down her lips when she stood back up.

Michiko raised her vicious sickle above her head, as she landed a quick slash on Ren. While she’s not aiming to kill, she at least aims to try and hit him. The two blades clash and there’s a loud screech of metal.

Lord Ren had anticipated her doing that. The end of his sword comes up and smacks Michiko right in the stomach. She’s once again on the floor, panting and unable to muster the strength to get back up. Ren lowers his weapon as he walks over to her.

“We’re done for today.”

“Eat something.”

Lord Ren joined Michiko today as the food was placed in front of them. She grabbed her plate and started eating, chewing slowly. Today’s events weigh heavily in her mind, and a comfortable silence falls between them as he pours two cups of tea and passes one to her.

“Thank you, Master Ren.”

“Michiko… I can tell something’s troubling you. What is it?”

She exhaled, trying to come up with an answer for him.

“I’m worried that I’m not improving… even with your training, Master.” Michiko replied, hoping he’d buy it.

“That’s not the truth… you and I both know it.”

She stared wide eyed at him, putting down the spoonful of soup she was about to take.

“You struck me today and you haven’t been able to do that until recently. I know you’re aware of this but I’ll ask again. What troubles you?”

She pushed the contents in her soup absentmindedly.

“Nothing…”

Lord Ren frowns as he looks ahead and takes a spoonful of his soup. For a moment, Michiko wonders if he can sense her body language.

His silence makes her cringe internally before finally answering the truth.

“I received a letter from y-your parents. She felt odd using the word “our” after being away from Lord Ren for a very long time. Even though at some point, they did grow up together and had a sibling-like bond.

Ren stroked his chin. “I see.. is that why you were so sloppy during our training session today?”

Michiko scoffed at his statement. Of course, both Ren and Michiko both knew why she had moved into the hideout. Master Kohga had given him a task to help her improve physically and mentally, lest she gets kicked off the clan. In the time she had been training underneath Lord Ren, he was very much aware of how his parents wanted both of them to become the greatest blade masters. And the pressure to live up to their expectations. With that being said, opening up to him or anyone for that matter was very hard. And the topic of the letter was an even harder topic for her to touch on.

Sure, they were kind and generous with Michiko but how would she be able to answer their letter especially when it’s been months and she was still not a blade master.

“And what did the letter say?” Ren asked.

“Not much..” she lied once again.

His lips pressed into a thin line and she sighed knowing that there was no point to beat around the bush.

“They wrote how happy they are to find out that I’m your apprentice and that you’re training me. And they’re expecting my announcement of being a blade master soon. They don’t show it outwardly but I can tell they’re losing hope in me rising up the ranks. Especially because it’s been two years since I joined the clan and haven’t become a blade master yet.”

Ren hums and she hopes that this is a sign the conversation is over. She felt rather awkward spilling out everything to Lord Ren especially since it was his parents she was talking about. But thankfully he understood what the dynamic was like at home and what she meant — especially when he was finally of age to start his training to join the clan.

“Do you wish to become a blade master?” Ren suddenly asks.

“Yes, it would make them proud.” Michiko answered.

“But do you wish for it?”

Michiko slightly tilted her head in confusion.

“I don’t follow.”

“You answered that you would make your- our parents proud. But pride is not why someone becomes a blade master. They do it to protect each other and their clan. Especially when we’ve been oppressed. Do you wish to do that?”

For the first time ever, someone asked Michiko why she wanted to rise up the ranks.”

“I… I’m not sure if I could turn down the offer or let alone get kicked off the clan.”

“Why is that?”

Michiko shifts in her seat as she pushes her bowl of soup away from her and takes a long sip of her tea. She tries to hide from his gaze even though Michiko knows that he actually can’t see her.

“… Michiko?”

She looks away, trying to blink away the tears that threat to spill for her eyes.

“Grief never seems to leave me.” She answered softly.

Lord Ren turns to face in her direction. “They caused you this suffering, didn’t they?”

Michiko knew he wasn’t referring to their parents but rather her biological family — the ones who left her to fend for herself nineteen years ago.

Her hands fall from the table to grip the fabric on her uniform.

“Why did you join the clan?” He asked her.

“Because I want to protect my family especially when your- our parents could’ve left me out there nineteen years ago but they didn’t. If it wasn’t for them, I don’t know where I’d be. Probably dead.” Michiko shuddered at the thought.

Suddenly, it feels like old times like it’s easy to talk to Ren. She takes a deep breath before continuing. “Even though I may not be their biological daughter, it still means a great deal to me that they took me in. And I want them to feel that they raised someone worthy of not just being their adopted daughter, but also of being part of the clan. I want to rise up the ranks to pay them back for everything they did for me and to protect my family within the clan. That’s why I feel the need to rise above.”

Michiko paused, looking down at the long forgotten cup of tea sitting in front of her. When she looks up, Ren beckons her to continue, humming softly.

“I was meant to be a sacrifice to the family I was born into. When I was born, I had this strange power and because of it, I was originally going to be given away as Lord Ganon’s servant. And I don’t know how or who took me away from there the day before I was going to be sacrificed. But it’s not like I asked for these powers. It’s not like I asked the goddess for this- this curse.” She commented and gently flicked her wrist as her eyes started to glow a soft hue of red.

Michiko looks away, returning to the tea and tears slowly roll down her cheeks.

“Michiko.” He starts gently. “Just because you were born into that family, doesn’t make you a bad Sheikah. On the contrary, learn how to wield your power and use it for good things. And you’re a part of this family now. Of this clan. The royal family already put our ancestors through so much and the clan, we don’t do that to each other. Once you’re in it, we all protect each other. When I joined, I knew exactly what I was getting myself into and even though I’m now blind, protecting my clan is something I’d do over and over again.”

Michiko doesn’t look up but she’s attentively listening.

“We’ll train and help you get through the grief.”

A/N: guess who’s returning next chapter? 🤭

Taglist: @swordsofdevotion @nottheheidi @icantgetnosatiisfaction

#sooga #the legend of zelda fanfic #the legend of zelda #sooga x oc #sooga x original character #yiga clan #yiga oc #hyrule warriors age of calamity #hw aoc #breath of the wild fanfic

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jjunieworld · 3 months ago

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hi everyone!! i just want to give a little more insight into the salt under the sea and it’s progress thus far. a lot of people have been asking me when it’s coming out or why hasn’t it come out yet and i want to inform everyone.

(putting explanation under the cut because it is kinda long!) trigger warning: death, mental health issues and general health issues, and depression

if you haven’t noticed, for the past couple months there would be times where i was very inactive, like up to a month of inactivity here and there. i even took a month long hiatus. to put it bluntly, the hiatus was because my beloved dog had died and it really hurt me deeply. i literally grew up with my dog and so did my family, so to see my dog’s life come to an end made me really depressed and honestly i wasn’t even thinking about writing at all.

after a little over a month i came back and i thought i was ready to start writing again but then i just got hit by a bunch of health issues back to back (hence all the doctor’s appointments i’ve mentioned). it’s all been really exhausting honestly and just pushed me deeper into a dark place that i’ve been trying to get out of for a while now. let’s not even talk about how fucked my adhd is right now😭

things have settled down now (hopefully!!!!), and i’ve been trying to get my motivation for writing back. things are still slow as i get back into the groove and i’ve been trying to not push myself to hard so i don’t get burnt out and i don’t get writer’s block.

so yeah😭…. to anyone wondering that’s why the salt under the sea has taken so long to come out, and why it still isn’t out yet. please be patient with me… i really am trying, i promise. and please remember that i am human and i am one person and i’m not just a writing machine for random stranger on tumblr’s enjoyment. i’ve been writing as much as i can when i can, but i’ve been busy and preoccupied these past couple months.

honestly… not sure if anyone is still hyped for the salt under the sea, but when i finish it i’m gonna post it anyways because i didn’t go through all of this for nothing LMAOO… i feel like majority of the hype for it has died down severely since it’s been like almost three months😭😭

if anyone has read this far i just want to say thank you for reading and understanding!! ♡♡ i’m really hoping that i’m able to write more and write more quickly for you guys… the wip page for the salt under the sea will be updated with a release date once i’m close to finishing it, so if anybody is still tuned it… stay tuned for that lmao…😭

i’ll be getting back to the salt under the sea tomorrow!!! my throat and back has just been killing me today…

#﹙📌﹚announcements ᵎᵎ #sorry again for such the long wait!!! （◞‸◟）#﹙✏️﹚ wip updates! ʅ（‾◡◝）ʃ #tpg series

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seraphinitegames · 3 months ago

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The Wayhaven Chronicles— Update 30/August/2024

So, I totally forgot it was a bank holiday on Monday here in the UK, lol!

But it did actually get me thinking about public holidays in Wayhaven. One of the main ones being ‘Rooting Day’—which is the day that the group of people who saw the potential of Wayhaven decided to turn it into the community it is today.

You’d think it being called ‘Rooting Day’ would mean they planted a tree or something to honour it, but no, they laid the first stone at the Cornerstones! I kind of liked the irony in that, hehe. Thankfully, they only developed on the buildings already there and didn’t cut into the nature surrounding the town.

Anyway, apart from me reminiscing about lore for Wayhaven I came it with sooo many years ago, I also got a ton of editing and rewrites done! Though I did at one point rewrite a whole scene for Adam/Ava’s romance…only to realise it was supposed to be for Nate/Nat’s, lol! That was painful to get rid of! But I love what came out of the bones of that scene and sprung to life on rewriting!

I want to do a couple more playthroughs, just to check the new stuff doesn’t bring up any weird bugs or complications, then I’ll be sending it over the editor, which means I’ll be starting the next chapter tomorrow!

One of my amazing patrons did suggest an elegant solution for my conundrum over the randomisation of the unit for the Chapter 3 scene—having the first playthrough be randomised and then having it as a choice for subsequent playthroughs. Really clever and perfect solution!

So, I worked really hard on finding out how this could be achieved! I know in Ren’Py you can use like a ‘global’ or ‘persistent’ variable, I think, to make that work, but I just can’t find anything for Choicescript that would achieve it except changing the ending stuff and setting variables there, which I don’t think would work when it comes to publishing. Which is a real shame, as I think that would have worked! If I can’t find anything after another search, then I’ll be seeing what readers favour, either choice or random for that still.

If anyone has anyone thoughts on coding for this though, I’d be very grateful to learn!

Next week will be social media days before diving into the next chapter!! Social media days will take a while as it’s the Character Q&A on Patreon throughout this whole month, which starts on Sunday. Got some interesting questions I’m excited to answer for that, hehe! ;D

Hope you all have the most amazing weekend! We’ll be offline as usual, so I’ll update you all again next week <3

#the wayhaven chronicles #interactive fiction #unit bravo #twc detective #romance #vampires #update #choice of games #hosted games #interactive novel #choicescript #twc book 4 #the wayhaven chronicles book 4 #lore #the world of wayhaven

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itcamefromthetoybox · 4 months ago

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Past His Prime

Hey there, hi there, ho there! I’m back. Ended up taking a break from the blog to finish moving and just never got around to it for a while. One of those, “oh yeah, I’ll work on that tomorrow” things where I kept meaning to but kept forgetting. But yes! I am back! And on my update schedule of “when I get to it.” But what exactly dragged me back? New toys from the upcoming “Transformers: One” movie! Today, we’re going to be looking at “Transformers: One Prime Changers Optimus Prime.” How does the latest version of the Autobot leader hold up? Is he a hit or miss? And is he worth the big price tag? Let’s dive in and answer those questions!

Now, as of this article, the movie isn’t out yet, so I can’t spoil anything or say too much about the plot or characters, other than that the movie is about Orion Pax and D-16, the best friends who will become the heroic Optimus Prime and the evil Megatron. If you don’t know who those characters are, then I am very confused as to why you’re reading a review of Transformers toys. Are you that bored at work?

Now, what is a Prime Changer? Prime Changers, basically, are the main figures of the “Transformers: One” toyline. They’re simpler than the collector-aimed “Studio Series” line, and are the off the shelf figures for kids you’d think of when you think of Transformers. No fancy gimmicks, no overly complicated transformations, just a robot that turns into something and back again.

At first look, Prime Changer Optimus Prime looks great. He’s very colorful, blocky-looking, and seems to be exactly what you think of when you think of a young, pre-war Optimus. He has all the expected Optimus details, like the smoke stacks on his shoulders, the chest window, and the wheels on his legs. He’s supposed to capture the essence of Optimus Prime, and he does. Of course, these days, that means he also takes a massive amount of inspiration from the original, G1 Optimus Prime that’s been around since the 80’s and who gets a new figure every single year with no exception, so do keep that in mind. Now, when you get a closer look, flaws become apparent. The wheels in Prime’s shoulders are a different grey than the pant on him, so they stand out like a sore thumb, which takes away from the look. Hollow areas become more noticeable, and there’s nothing particularly new or interesting to compensate for those cosmetic letdowns.

Articulation-wise, Optimus is pretty decent. Very posable, lots of joints, just as you would expect. There’s nothing really shocking or dynamic here. Saying that a mainline Transformer is very posable is like saying ice is cold. Like, yeah, I would certainly hope so. If it wasn’t, I’d have some concerns. It’s important to note, though, that there are some limits on his poses. Optimus comes with a removable Matrix of Leadership that he can theoretically hold in his hands to recreate the classic “lighting our darkest hour” pose everyone does with the Matrix. The thing is, his big chest gets in the way of that, so he needs to hold the Matrix at about gut level. It looks a lot less impressive than you’d hope and a lot more like Optimus is rubbing it on his stomach for luck.

Speaking of his waist area, while he does have a waist joint, his crotch design actually limits how much the waist can rotate. And by “limits,” I mean he can barely rotate. It’s kinda a letdown, because the parts are there, but the toy itself stops you from using them.

So, this is a Transformer, so let’s talk about transforming. I hated this part. It wasn’t complicated, true. It was very straightforward, with a few extra steps like rotating the arms and opening the legs, and the process integrates Prime’s ax accessory into it, so that has a place to store, which is nice. The problem is that you gotta line up some tabs just so to make sure the whole thing pegs together right, and that was a living hell. I spent more time trying to get those tabs on his legs and the holes on his back lined up than I did on any other step of the transformation. It was frustrating as hell, and I really don’t wanna do that again. Also, part of the transformation is unfolding the truck grill from behind Prime’s chest. It’s a simple process with no extra steps, but if you have short nails, it’s gonna be more of a pain than it should be. Getting the axe into position for vehicle mode takes way too much fiddling and adjusting to be worthwhile. Transforming this guy was really annoying and not all that fun. As for getting him back to robot mode, that’s a damn chore. Prime’s back piece doesn’t like doing a lot of what it’s supposed to, and parts pop off constantly. Unless you’re very careful, expect Prime’s arms, chest, and back to pop off at least once during transforming, which especially sucks because reattaching the back is a pain. It took a while before I was able to transform him even once without any issues, and I remain convinced I just got lucky.

Of course, Optimus Prime turns into a truck. It’s basically an alien version of the truck he always turns into. If you’ve seen one G1 Optimus Prime truck mode, you have a solid idea of what this dude looks like. The truck mode doesn’t roll well at all. The back wheels just barely clear the legs to roll unencumbered, to the point that if you get a figure with the molding off by even a smidge, you’re outta luck.

Let’s talk accessories. Optimus comes with his axe, two smokestacks, and the Matrix of Leadership. The axe looks pretty good. Between the sculpting and color, it looks like a mechanical weapon charged with energy, and the sculpting and paint at the base make it look like the axe emerged from Prime’s palm.

It fits over Prime’s hand, with a peg inside the base that Prime holds onto, The problem here is that once Prime has it, he doesn’t wanna drop it. It’s a snug fit. Too snug. The way Prime’s hands are attached to his wrists means that you need to be careful taking the axe out of his hand, or else the hand will pop off. I find that pressing against where his hand connects to his wrist helps hold the hand in place while I pull the axe off.

Prime’s smokestacks are meh. They can be removed from his shoulders to be held as a pair of pistols that are blatantly just smokestacks in his hands. When you transform Prime, they will want to come right out of there, so keep an eye on them.

The Matrix, though, is awful. Just, really awful. It looks and feels cheap, which is a shame considering it’s the damn Matrix of Leadership. It’s also inconsistent about staying in Prime’s chest. Sometimes, it fits pretty well. Sometimes, it feels a bit loose. But the thing I really hate about it is that its plastic and design are definitely cheap. This became clear to me the first time I transformed Prime. When transforming Prime, the instructions say you can leave the Matrix in his chest, because its storage spot is a peg on the back of his truck grill.

The instructions are a sheet of lies. The Matrix takes up just enough space where it will get knocked out when transforming Prime, or , worse, it’ll break. The first time I transformed this figure, before I even took pictures, one of the handles on the Matrix snapped off.

This actually revealed how cheap it was to me. See, the break was a clean break. TOO clean. It seems like the handles of the Matrix are actually separate parts that were glued onto the Matrix, and that glue’s not exactly the stuff of legends. When I looked at the break, I also noticed that it looks like the Matrix itself is actually painted over blue plastic, the same kind Prime’s axe is made of. The Matrix is very small, and the plastic is very thin, so any amount of force on it’s going to break it. Hell, the plastic is so weak and cheap that when the handle broke off, I didn’t even notice. I didn’t feel any resistance or indicator it was in the way of the transformation. It was there, and then it broke. As easy as I breathe with as little notice. If you wanna keep it safe, just take it out and set it aside, only to be used for poses.

And now, of course, the main issues I have with this figure. I know plastic’s gotten more expensive, so toy companies are cutting costs. I get that. But by God, this figure feels cheap. The plastic feels so cheap to the touch that it’s the first thing my wife commented on when she touched Prime. When you start looking him over in your hands, you notice how hollow the toy is. He LOOKS very solid and bulky, like Optimus should. This makes how light he is feel surprising, and how hollow he is feel like a letdown. Some parts, like his chest plate are thin enough that I can see the shadow of my hand on the other side. Also, he’s just so damn small, He’s frustratingly short. I’m gonna sound like an old man here, but I remember when a $20 Transformer had some size and heft to him. This Prime’s smaller than the $10 ones I had as a kid and still do have. Between the cheap plastic, the parts popping off, how hollow and short Prime is, and how easily the Matrix broke, the whole toy just feels super cheap.

“Transformers: One Prime Changer Optimus Prime” is available at mass retail for a starting price of $20 and is aimed at ages 6 and up. Would I recommend him? Absolutely not. This is really not a good toy. The plastic feels cheap to the touch, the transformation’s a pain, parts pop off way too easily, his guns are literally just his smokestacks held at a different angle, the Matrix is small, thin, and breaks easily, his waist is impeded by his own body, and he’s just so damn short. I can’t in good consciousness tell people to spend $20 on something so damn small that doesn’t even bring anything new to the table and, if anything, is a significant downgrade from what’s come before. Like, I compared this to older figures I have. It’s literally more money for less toy. This figure was such a letdown that it made me not want to get the other Prime Changer figures. I was actually turned off from an entire series of figures because of how annoying and disappointing this one toy was. He looks good from a distance, but then you get him in your hands and all the flaws, big and small, come shining through. Definitely pass on this one. I know, I sound like an old man. “Things were so much better when I was a kid.” Well, I handed this figure and some of my older ones to my wife, someone with very little interest in Transformers, who didn’t grow up with the figures or shows and has no problem telling me when she thinks I’m completely wrong or being that old guy. She actually agreed with me completely. Compared to the older toys, this one’s really not good. It’s more money for a toy that is significantly smaller and of lower quality. I know this is what’s out there, and this is all kids and collectors have on the market, but that doesn’t mean you should throw money at something that’s clearly not good. You want a great Optimus toy? Go on eBay. There’s plenty of fantastic old Primes from past movies and shows there for decent prices that WON’T break in two seconds and actually have some size to them. Next time, who knows what we’ll be looking at! Hopefully something I don’t feel an immense case of Buyer’s Remorse over. This is JS signing off and wishing you Happy Toy Hunting!

#transformers #transformers one #optimus prime #orion pax #transformers toys #toy #toys #review #toy review #action figure #action figures

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