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moonlight-prose · 2 months ago

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RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 07. BENEATH THE STAINS OF TIME

a/n: wow i stalled on writing this chapter until the last minute. i think i really just didn't want to put them through this, but also i love the angst so it's an internal war i fought with myself. this is the pinnacle of the entire series. the one thing i plotted when i first came up with the story. so grab your tissues, a blanket, and a comfort fic for afterwards. because i am sorry for what's about to happen.

summary: he never liked the variant from your universe; the be all end all hero. but in the depths of anger and pain, logan howlett is forced to make a choice his variant self once made. save your soul and the people you might harm...or save the you he loves.

word count: 9.5k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: DARK THEMES AHEAD BE WARNED, angst, pain, ptsd, talk of drowning, insanity, tw: torture, tw: blood, tw: death, grief, violence, wade wilson breaking the fourth wall, deadpool & wolverine energy, laura kinney has enetered the chat y'all, father daughter bonding, wade wilson's commentary, sacrifice, time.

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He couldn't breathe.

Logan had been underwater before, felt the press of the ocean against his chest and struggled for oxygen. Battling for breath, no matter how small. He understood what it felt like to drown—sink to the bottom and never get up. His adamantium skeleton had been the cause of him drowning far too many times in his life; until he'd grown accustomed to the sensation of fighting for air.

This felt magnified. As if he'd been at the bottom of the Atlantic—straight down the Mariana Trench—for centuries.

Was this how it felt to be buried alive? To find yourself in a grave six feet deep with no way of clawing to the surface.

He never thought he'd understand the sensation that kept him up at night; the prospect of death was too little a threat for him to actually worry about. Unimportant to a man who had spent two centuries of his life barely finding any meaning to it. After all, what was the fucking point when he wound up right back here. In the shallow end of his grave, waiting to lay down and exhale his final breath.

Time fell back into place the moment you left. Fortuna. Someone he never thought would find him here; now brought him to his knees with one simple act.

There was misery in love. He knew this the moment he fell in his own universe. He understood the cost of what might come from you using your powers without restrictions; what Charles told you. Yet he fell anyway. He allowed his heart to open up and give you leeway into the broken pieces of his mind—a part of himself he chose to ignore.

He should have fucking known better than to repeat history here.

He should have ignored the strings that bound his heart to yours and left you alone.

He should have, he should have, he should have...

But he didn't.

Now he bore the brunt of consequences he knew would one day show up.

Your apartment door slammed open, nearly getting torn off the hinges as a familiar echo of heavy boots thumped across the hardwood floor. He felt his spine tense where he still knelt—hands clutching the pieces of your shattered mug. Fortuna wouldn't be returning. He knew her tricks, knew her endgame, and coming back to the scene of disaster was never her forte.

The scent of vanilla and Ambrose filled his senses, stinging his nose, as a familiar dark browned girl rushed to his aid. A backpack hit the ground, sunglasses discarded on the counter, as his variant's daughter clutched his hands in hers. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. Not when he broke right there in a place that held such happiness.

She seemed to understand. Peeling the porcelain out of his palms and placing it back on the table; finding what other shards she could to put them all together. The silence felt safe. Familiar.

Logan found himself suddenly thankful for the variant that once existed in her world. She could see the cues before they even washed across his face; the bitter grief that her father once went through. He knew from when he met her in the Void, he couldn't be that person for her. But when she looked at him like that—a daughter willing to fight alongside her father—he hoped that maybe...he could.

"Althea called me," she said softly, hands wrapped around his wrists. "Whoever she is attacked Wade's place first."

His head rose, anger trickling in his chest as Laura's brown eyes mirrored his own. "She's..."

"I know," she muttered, pulling him to his feet. "Wade filled me in."

"Is he-"

"Takes a lot more than that to kill a Deadpool." She grimly kicked shattered glass to the side, shoving it to a corner as he staggered to his full height. He wore a neutral expression—somber even. But Laura could see the pain in his eyes; an exact replica of the older man she once clung to as a child—begging him to live for her sake. "He sounded pissed. Althea hung up before he could fill me in on the gory details."

"Fortuna," he sighed, eyes fixed on the demolished window. He'd have to help you fix it after all was said and done—after he apologized for dragging you into a mess that was never meant to touch you. "She found me."

Laura's nose scrunched, brows furrowed. "You're ex? I thought she could control time, not...multiverses."

"Charles's theory was that she wasn't exactly controlling time. More like what made up the universe as a whole."

She nodded. "Time included."

"Time included," he repeated. "I didn't think she'd...get this bad."

"You left her behind," she stated, rummaging in your fridge for something to drink. "I guess a part of me can understand her anger."

He knew she wasn't talking about him, but rather the man she once looked up to. Nonetheless the words still stung the same.

In a different world Logan could picture her here on nights not spent at the mansion studying and training. He could see you bonding with Laura—teaching her the history of the X-Men. Showing her the love of a mother she never had.

The image punched him in the chest until his breath became nonexistent and suddenly...he was drowning again. A choked noise echoed in the back of his throat. Laura's head snapped in his direction with concern etched across her face. Any other day he'd loathe that look, but tonight he couldn't dig his way out fast enough to care.

The soda can she tossed his way nearly smacked him in the head; effectively snapping him out of whatever fucking stupor his own mind was intent on trapping him in. He caught it, breath rushing back to his lungs, and gulped down the shitty sugary crap his own kid loved.

"That's fuckin' disgusting," he bit out, watching her smile into her own can.

"I like it."

He winced as the taste hit the back of his throat. "You're a kid. You'll grow out of it."

"You've said that before Dad. And I'm not a kid-" She tensed as the word left her mouth. The title that was never meant to fall upon his shoulders; never supposed to tie him to another person.

Something hesitant flashed in her eyes, mouth now a thin line as she waited for his inevitable reaction to her slip up. The words he uttered beside the fire no doubt on the tip of his tongue: Whoever you think I am...you got the wrong guy. But standing there, watching his kid hold hope in her eyes that he might say something different this time, made him finally understand what the fucking point was.

He didn't want to be the wrong guy.

He just wanted to be what she needed. What you needed.

"No," he sighed, lips curling into a smile that said enough. You can call me Dad. You can give me that responsibility and know I'll fight like hell to make sure I live up to his legacy. "I guess you're not."

They allowed the silence to sit in their chest for a brief moment. A moment of understanding passed in their grim smiles that held so much more. He'd tell it all to her one day. How he once longed for a life exactly like this, for a kid of his own. How he never believed himself worthy of the title Dad. How he'd lay down his entire being if she asked it of him.

Today though, they shed the titles of father and daughter and donned one they knew all too well. Wolverine. Ironic that the one thing he loathed would one day be given to a girl who wielded it with pride.

"What are you gonna do?" she asked, pushing off the counter and reaching for her bag.

"Find her."

"And when you do?"

His heart paused as the realization of what was to come began to reenter his mind. Fortuna had you captive, dangling you on a string in the hopes he would latch on to rescue the person who held his heart. Logan felt the urge to leap. Save you from the clutches of someone willing to kill you just to bring him unimaginable pain.

To get even for what he couldn't do that night.

But he also knew...Fortuna didn't deserve what happened. The humans destroyed what the X-Men built. They were the cause of everything that occurred since he left. He couldn't let their trauma bring down the woman he once loved. Even if she was so adamant on watching him give over his life for a version of her not yet broken by unimaginable pain.

"I don't fuckin' know," he admitted.

She took another sip, crushed the can in her palm and tossed it to the bin in the corner of your kitchen. "Wade's gonna want to speak to you. Find out what happened here."

He nodded. "You got everythin'?"

"I'm set."

"You know you don't have to do this kid. It's not your fight."

Her eyes narrowed, the firm set of her mouth so much like his own. She was a fucking mirror he never thought he'd have; showing him pieces of himself he once thought too ugly to be seen. Yet they were the reason she shined so bright. He could see the stubbornness ingrained into her very own DNA. A testament to his own unwillingness to let things go; to take on the battle for someone else as long as they didn't get hurt.

So much like him. So identical.

He felt a streak of fear run down his spine at that thought alone. She'd have to suffer for it. Just as he did. But goddammit if he wasn't going to do everything in his power to save her from the pain of bearing the title Wolverine.

"You love her," she stated plainly, as if nothing else mattered in this world but those three words. "Which means she's my family. We protect our own."

She didn't give him a chance to respond, scooping up her sunglasses and propping them on her nose with a huff. Maybe she didn't notice how he stood there, eyes wide as something pricked his heart. Maybe she ignored it for his sake—so uncomfortable with being vulnerable like him. But either way he couldn't deny the fact that stared right at him in big shiny letters.

She was his daughter. Through and through.

"She took my arms!" Wade's voice echoed down the hallway, giving Logan pause as Laura took the lead. "Do you know how petty that is? When I find that Scarlet Witch carbon copy I'm gonna shove my katana down her throat as I dance to dub-step-"

"Hi Wade," Laura said, cutting him off from what was about to be an impressive rant.

He spun, baby arms swinging limply at his side. "Oh good. The clone of the man I actually need. Tell me, did you find your father cause mommy has to speak to him."

Logan took that chance to follow her through the open door. His eyes took in the destruction of a once nice living room. Burn marks stretched from floor to ceiling in multiple places where Fortuna's whip had made contact. He spotted two limbs in a pile by the couch, blood pooling on the carpet as Wade steamed with enough fury to sharpen his senses.

She’d come here first looking for him. Which means she somehow knew exactly where to find him.

"Peanut!" he shouted, eyes narrowed and baby fists clenched. "Did you have a nice morning? Get some good head? Because I was attacked by the long lost daughter of Princess Diana."

Laura's head cocked to the side, brows furrowed. "Diana Prince."

"Whatever!"

"Wade." His greeting could have been better. Though he was never one for handing out sympathy to the nearest victim.

Wade ceremoniously collapsed to the floor on his back, thumping his head against the carpet as Logan stepped further into the room. The window was ripped clean out of the wall, glass scattered everywhere which showed how Fortuna found out about her variant self. Logan could practically see the fight happen in the present time.

It made his stomach sour—his heart a rapid beat against his chest.

"How long will it take for those to finish?" He gestured to the arms that currently pointed two middle fingers in his direction.

"Couple hours. Why do you ask? Want a handy?"

"Ew," Laura sighed. "I'm gonna find some food. Want anything?" When Logan shook his head, she quickly dipped back out into the hallway, leaving him to deal with the wallowing lump on the floor.

He sighed, stepped over Wade and grabbed him. "Alright c'mon."

"I'm half the man I used to be. Literally. She took the only good thing I had until Ness got back." The limp wave of small hands in his face had Logan cringing back.

"So she came here first then."

Wade barked out a laugh. "Oh you mean your ex? Sabrina the teenage BITCH!"

Logan huffed, dragged him to the couch that had long chunks ripped out of the fabric. "She's a lot older than you think mouth."

"Sorry my bad. We didn't exchange your preferred blowjob tips and trade secrets about you when she was cutting off my arms!" The roll of his eyes was involuntary, barely there, but Wade latched onto it like a dog with a bone. "Did you just-"

He turned his head, exasperation bleeding into the air. "Did he just roll his eyes at me?"

The room went still as the gears in Logan's head began to turn. The fear was now palpable enough for Wade to figure out exactly what was happening. He sat up straight, gaze latched onto the apartment across the street. The wall gaped like a wound, leaving a trail of ghastliness in its wake. Wade was surprised to see minimal bloodshed, merely the path of destruction left by a being with too much power, but the inkling of you in pain made his stomach churn.

The amount of information he extracted out of Fortuna was slim to none, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what she went after once she was done wreaking havoc in his home.

"Logan," he started, anger trickling into his heart. "Where is sweet angel?"

He sagged into the couch—grief cutting into his chest as images of your smiling face plagued his mind. No answer would have been good enough to explain what happened. His face stricken with despair—the way he clutched his hands into fists on his knees—told Wade everything he needed to know.

Fortuna wasn't here to only kill Logan. Why dismantle one life when she could bring an end to the memory of Logan Howlett in this universe too? She'd take all of them down with her if it meant enacting her revenge.

Starting with you.

"No," he breathed.

"I don't know where they would have-" He bit down on the inside of his cheek until copper burst on his tongue. "Where they'd be."

The longer he sat there, the more he felt himself sink into the despondent pit in his mind. Yet no matter how he struggled to claw at the ground, it continued to drag him in earnest. The sharp peal of laughter—of taunting words that set his teeth on edge—mimicked the sound of Fortuna.

He wanted to scream, but who would be there to listen? Who would be there to drag him from the darkness now that you were gone?

A bag was tossed to the couch, barely breaking through the murkiness in his own mind. Laura dragged the only working chair in the kitchen closer to the couch. The snap and hiss of a Coke being opened filled the dire silence. Giving Logan something to latch onto. He might tell her one day how being near her settled the raging storm in his head; the calm he could never quite acquire somehow flowing through her with ease.

He had people to help him find you; people who cared for your well being.

People who would die to bring you home.

There would be no end for them where you weren't safe. Where they didn't offer themselves up on your behalf. You were the best of them. It certainly wasn’t your fault you fell in love with a man too twisted and mangled by pain to offer you even the illusion of peace.

"I know someone who might be able to help," she said, chewing thoughtfully on a granola bar. "You may not like it."

Wade's sigh was deafening, his body flopping back onto the couch with a groan. "We are not dragging McAvoy into this. Not when Stewart is better drama wise."

She took another bite, distant gaze stuck to a busted picture frame of Wade and Vanessa on an anniversary of some sorts. Wade wore red, Vanessa wore black. They resembled a couple others might look up to. Logan used to stare at it often in his fitful nights of sleep. More so when you wandered into his life; thoughts of a future tantalizingly close to the tips of his fingers.

He wanted that with you. A life worth more than every battle he fought, every scar that didn't stick. All the fucked up things he did evaporated like steam floating off water the second he met your eyes.

You and your honey-like smile; your hand a soft yet sturdy grip in his.

"Is your universe similar to this one?" Laura inquired, back in the moment as her mind reeled with possibilities.

"Somewhat."

"In what way?"

"Places and people still exist. It's pieces of time that are different. History isn't the same here." He could recall you begging him to explain his past. What wars he fought in, what happened for him to get to this point. Yet whatever you recorded wouldn't match the history books housed in your library.

Laura nodded, downing the last of her soda. "So places. Anywhere special she might have gone that might mean something to you?"

His mind fell to the one place even he couldn’t approach. The space that housed so many memories—so much agony. But going back there would mean facing the other X-Men and Fortuna wasn't stupid enough to risk falling into that trap.

"The mansion is too risky."

He thought back to your shared room. The walls that once flickered blue with Fortuna's power as he held her through the nightmares. He thought of a small two story farmhouse that sat on the outskirts of the property line. A home Charles offered. One he intended to rebuild with the promise of holding onto a love so permanent.

His heart dropped, laying in the base of his stomach like a stone he never intended to swallow. "I know where they are."

Wade perked up, arms an inch longer than before. "Mind sharing with the class peanut?"

Logan couldn't hear him over the noise in his head; the knowledge that Fortuna would pull such a heinous act of revenge. Taking you to the place he promised her. It made for the perfect ending to her already tragic story. Logan wasn't sure if he wanted to rip his claws into the couch below, or charge out the door with no plan.

He settled for heading to the hall closet, yanking the door open with more force than intended. It slammed against the wall as he tugged free a black unlabeled duffle bag from the top shelf. After the battle to save Wade's universe, he didn't think he would need this old yellow suit anymore. At the time he was tempted to throw it out and forget it existed.

He eventually came to his senses.

Salvaging what he could and rebuilding small pieces in case the time came formed an amalgamation of what once resembled an X-Men suit. His fingers traced the silver X attached to the belt. The symbol that once held so much hope. Fortuna wore the same. A tie that kept them forever bound; forever each other's equal even in a different universe.

"You're going after her," Laura said.

"Of course he is." Wade stumbled to his feet. "We're finally getting that family road trip."

"Would now be the wrong time to say Avenger's Assemble? Or should we wait for the third act battle sequence?"

Logan felt the gaping maw of his heart grow the longer you were apart from him. An itch formed beneath his skin. The source was indeterminable but he knew what caused it to start. His entire being called out to you, begged you to survive until he managed to carry you to safety. Yet the biting horror of reality began to settle like a frozen chill in his veins.

What if he finally destroyed the only good thing about his life?

What if he was too late?

What if...you didn't survive?

You couldn't differentiate night from day anymore. After the first two hours, you were left with a stabbing pain in the side of your head—turning your vision blurry. After what felt like five or six (or perhaps eight) you gave up on trying to keep count. The veins were prominent against your hands as blood steadily dripped to the floor.

A pool of crimson agony that you could practically see yourself in.

If you opened your eyes, would you see the broken parts of a soul she seemed intent on dragging out? Would they match hers? The sound of her gravel lilted voice murmured in the corner of the room where she waited. A stoic figure of patience. Seeking penance for the harm caused to someone so innocent.

You both knew this was a fight meant for Logan. You knew only one of them walked away from whatever age old hatred still burned bright enough to burn the skin off your body.

That didn't stop you from wishing you could shoulder the burden for him. The words collateral damage didn't mean anything to you before. Merely things spouted to harm your already vulnerable and emotional state. But the longer you gave them time to sink in, the more you accepted her veracity. You would cease to exist one way or another come tomorrow morning.

This was the ugly undeniable truth.

The one thing Logan could not save you from.

"I know you're awake."

Fear curled around your heart like a fist as your eyes cracked open sluggishly—triggering a dull pain in your skull. The ability to speak was stripped from you after an hour of screaming. The hoarse echo of your voice sent a throbbing knife down your throat you chose to ignore.

So you stared at her; watched while she paced the floor in front of you—blue rolling off of her like waves from the ocean.

"He's gonna come for you," she muttered more to herself. "He'll show up."

You groaned and watched her stiffen—milky eyes flashing cerulean. The burn of the rope on your skin counteracted the searing ache in your torso. Her whip hung around her waist—coated in a dried layer of your blood. The sight sent bile up your throat even though your stomach remained empty. She stared at you as if you were someone else entirely; someone from a past life you'd never know about.

The need to inquire—to know more—began to build under your skin. But your body would no longer respond to what you wanted. The depletion of your energy affected more than your ability to speak; it tore at what little movement you had, ripping everything to shreds on the inside. You knew you looked half dead—felt like it too—but she could see the slight twitch of your mouth almost ready to open.

"Charles would have liked you," she revealed as if it were a small secret meant to be kept between the two of you. "He always had an affinity for those interested in mutant powers."

Sucking in a breath, you managed to force your voice to work. "I-I know the history."

"I bet you would." She glanced at the window where dusk crept into the late afternoon sky; brilliant hues of orange and red mimicking the pain in your body. "I didn't think I'd exist in this universe."

"You don't," you croaked. "I'm not a mutant."

Her lips curled, a small laugh exhaling from her mouth. "Yeah. I guess you're not. Maybe that's what he likes about you."

Logan's face seeped into the back of your mind; the tender smile he wore when you woke up together. The hope in his eyes that this might remain a consistent part of his life. That he may have lucked out on the prospect of getting to have you for as long as you chose to keep him.

Suddenly that part of your life felt a million miles away. Just barely out of reach, growing further in distance the harder you tried to capture it.

"I-I'm you," you mumbled, head tipping to the side. "That's why."

"No. You're not me." She regarded you with a look of pity, lips down turned in a mock pout. Ire burned in your chest with the embers of a flame lit by Logan. "You're weak."

You huffed, digging your nails into your palms to divert your attention from the pain. "I survived you."

The slap that whipped across your face was unexpected. You cried out—head falling back against the chair—as she stood over you. Power emanating from her stance. This wasn't someone to toy with. You could see how she craved to rip your tongue from your mouth; the need to silence her variant crawling beneath her skin.

But something held her back from approaching that final line.

Something scared her.

"You won't die if you do it," you wheezed, struggling to breath through a nose so clotted with dried blood. "That's not how this works."

She sneered. "And you're smart enough to know how all of this works."

"So it seems."

Her fingers gripped your wrist, nails boring into your already sliced open skin, as she leaned over you. "The Logan in this universe is dead." You stuttered out a halfhearted breath; body ringing with a plea to stop. To put an end to this fucking torture. "How did he die?"

You winced, leveling her glare with one of your own. "He sacrificed himself."

"You're fucking with me," she laughed, the sound shrill and hoarse.

Neither of you heard the creak behind her. You could barely register anything other than the rush of blood that pounded against your eardrums. She seemed to be enjoying how your body slowly deteriorated beneath the strain of the pain. Far too distracted to notice the person creeping into the house—sunglasses on her face—claws extended in a stance of defense.

"Who garnered enough fucking attention from Logan Howlett for him to sacrifice himself?" she jeered.

"His daughter."

Fortuna spun whip in hand, as a young woman stood mere feet away. Her head was cocked in interest as if she'd never quite seen two identical people in the same room. You knew her name the second your eyes locked on her form. The same dark hair, same grim tight lipped frown. The same silver claws and stubborn streak.

The sight of Laura Kinney took your breath away.

She stood before you every bit the girl that Logan made her out to be as he spoke about her in shared conversations at your kitchen table. You could see the mirror image of her father in each expression, each small twitch of her body that prepared to fight. And something flared to life in your chest.

You were angry that Fortuna was about to hurt her. Logan's daughter was ready to put her life on the line to rescue someone she'd never met before.

A missing detail which didn't appear to matter to her. Logan loved you. That was certainly enough for her.

Fortuna gaped at her—astounded by the familiar details and hints that Laura was indeed telling the truth. Not only had Logan Howlett died in this world, but he left behind a legacy that would live on for him. He saved the only important thing in his life so she could one day do the same for the version of her father who would stay.

"He's here isn't he?" she asked calmer than you expected. The whip snapped to the ground. You flinched at the sound. A fact that Laura clocked within seconds—her head tilted in your direction.

Though you couldn't see her eyes behind the pink sunglasses, you knew that fury burned in them as they would her father's.

"He sends his regards." Laura's fingers curled into fists.

"A child," she spit. "He sent a child to do his bidding?"

She shrugged, lips curling into a false grin. "Don't worry. I'm more than capable of killing you."

You felt pride flicker in your heart as Logan's cocksureness bled through her words. Where Laura went, Logan wasn't too far behind. You pulled at the restraints, the burn of ropes dragging along open wounds, but you refused to let Laura do this on her own. It seemed that the both of you had turned to the same page—her head nodding in your direction subtly.

"Well." Fortuna stepped forward, sapphire pouring off her body. "I suppose Logan's legacy won't last long in this universe."

Laura charged forward with a scream, claws slicing at Fortuna's middle only for the whip to wrap itself around her arm. With a shout, Fortuna flung her to the side—watching with an unhinged smile as Laura hit the wall hard enough to make you wince. You tugged at the rope—a hoarse cry ripping from your throat when a boot slammed into the legs of the chair.

"Don't tell me you're ready to leave," she shouted. "We were bonding."

"Fuck you," you snapped.

"Ouch." Her hand gripped your chin, lifting you to meet her expressionless eyes. "Is that the best you can do, human?"

"No," you gasped, hand scrambling for the knife at her thigh. "This is."

It embedded in her arm, slicing open skin as she shouted in rage, stumbling back into Laura's vicinity. Claws ripped through the back of her leg, cutting open her calf, as a familiar dark head of hair slid past her, crouching in front of your chair with a roar.

"You bitch!" Fortuna tossed the blade to the side, her hand forming around the open wound.

It clattered against the floor seconds before the door burst open—a man in red bursting through and flinging yet another baby knife towards Fortuna's healing body. She ducked, whip coiling like a snake in the air, slamming down with a crack. Wade shrieked, flipping to the side and ducking behind the broken couch as the familiar click of a bullet falling into the chamber resonated in the air.

"I'd say I'll put my hands up but you'd probably tie them together huh. You kinky minx!"

You winced through the grin, Laura's eyes tracked Fortuna's movements like a predator waiting when to strike. Whatever the plan was, Logan was sure to make sure someone was on you at all times. If only to get you out of the house and into the forest safely. From there it was quick to disappear.

Wade seemed to be the distraction in this case. Fitting.

His head peeked over the couch—the whip slicing over him with a sound that pierced through you. "You die tonight Deadpool."

"You don't want me. You want my buddy right outside this house." He stood, finger pulling the trigger quicker than you expected. Only for a silver and blue whip to slice through it—the fragmented pieces of a smoking bullet hitting the floor and rolling away.

"Surrender you walking condom."

"Pump the hate brakes Wanda Maximoff." Another bullet slid into place. "Peanut junior? Would you like to take it away?"

Launching herself into the air, Laura toppled Fortuna to the side with a scream, her claws slashing to get her pound of flesh. Wade laughed, striding towards you—boot effortlessly kicking his knife up and into his hand. You’d never wanted to hug the man more.

He winced at the sight of your puffy face; your right eye was nearly swollen shut from where Fortuna decided to land her hits. A pastime she seemed to enjoy, simply to hear you scream.

You wondered if you took off the mask, would you see Wade's face bleeding with rage. Or did he too wear an expression of pity.

"Logan's gonna kill her," he muttered, crouching in front of you and sliding the knife through the ropes with ease. "I've got ya sweet angel."

"W-Where is he?" You staggered to your feet, Wade's arm wrapped tightly around your waist to keep you upright. "He can't be here. She'll kill him Wade."

He clicked his tongue, leading you to the front steps, past where Laura was busy twisting Fortuna's whip around her own neck. "He knows what's at risk, angel. Believe me. I offered to be the noble sacrifice but I played that card when it came to saving this universe and there's no take backs."

"He's gonna die," you rasped, your knees buckling as he got you over the last step. "H-He can't die."

Wade gripped your arms, settling you to the ground with a grunt. "You forget who you're fucking sweet angel. He's the Wolverine."

"But she's-"

"A toxic ex who can't seem to take no for an answer. We've all got one of those."

You huffed. "She's more than an ex."

"I know." Pulling the gun free from his thigh, he made sure you were safe before stepping back to the front stoop. "But that doesn't mean this isn't a daytime soap opera." He turned to the treeline with a sigh. "You coming, your majesty or should I roll out the red carpet?"

A glimpse of the man in question stopped your heart, the breath catching in your throat, as Logan finally stepped forth. His suit was sewn with pieces of black leather (no doubt from Wade's leftover stash), a yellow X stretched across his chest now became the sole focus. Yet that isn’t what filled your body with warmth.

This time he wore the suit with pride. A glint of determination was in his eyes that once never used to exist. He stepped forward the X-Man this world needed; ready and willing to take on the legacy of a man he once loathed. You felt your heart twist violently at the sight—love pouring into your chest faster than you could stop it.

"Honey," he breathed, rushing over—hesitation and a storm of outrage clashing together in his hazel eyes.

"I'm okay."

He huffed through his nose, hands gathering you gently in his arms. "Don't bullshit me honey."

Wade's cough was exaggerated, his hands gesturing to the doorway. Laura's shouts and the crashing of furniture being demolished spilled through the broken windows—her rage matching her father's right down to the familiar lilt of her roar. She was a fighter. Just like the man who held you as if you were glass. Your pain, now a reflection in his eyes as he took in what Fortuna did to you.

"You can't kill her. She’s too powerful," you stated.

“You’re safe.” He didn’t seem to comprehend your words. Opting to press you close enough to feel his body heat sink into your frigid form. “That’s all that matters.”

Wade ducked down, pressing his face close to Logan's. "Yeah. I don't mean to interrupt your romantic hero kiss the girl moment. But what the fuck are we gonna do?"

"She can't keep going like this," Logan replied. "Eventually she's gonna have to tap out."

"Of course! Makes perfect sense. Mind elaborating for the audience honey badger?"

Logan sighed, his hand cupping your face with a pained noise in the back of his throat. "Her energy will run out. Same as Charles and...Jean. They couldn't keep up the fight forever."

"Okay but the whole freezing time business." He glanced to the side, shoulders lifting in a perfunctory shrug. "I know right, we really could have explained this earlier."

"Mutants are aware." Logan rose to his feet, leaving you to sit on the ground, your hand outstretched to keep him here. "We have to struggle but we can break free if she's weak enough."

"Wow." Wade sagged, a muffled groan coming through the mask. "That's just lazy writing."

You gripped Logan's hand, forcing him to step closer. "You're not going in there."

"Honey-"

"No." Gripping the stair railing, you struggled to your feet—eyes blazing with a headstrong fighting spirit Logan loved you for. "She'll kill you Logan. I can't lose you. I-I won’t."

His breath was heavy, hand curling around the back of your neck to press his forehead to yours. "You're not gonna lose me alright? Not today."

"Logan-"

Wade gripped your arm, drawing your gaze to him. "Don't worry sweet angel. He's got a bodyguard." You leveled him with a glare that would have sent him six feet under if his mutant power wasn't regeneration. "Have I ever mentioned that your eyes are the perfect shade of rage and violence. It's like a beautiful fucked lava lamp from the eighties."

You weren't sure if he was paying you a compliment or trying to lighten the mood. Logan sighed against your cheek, disappointment practically bleeding through his words.

"Seventies Wade."

"He would know. He's from 753 B.D." He turned. "Before Deadpool."

"A.D.," you spit, fighting the hint of a grin that threatened to bloom across your face.

"Not in this universe."

A shout tore through the small sliver of peace as Laura was thrown from the house, landing in a bloodied heap on the grass. Mere seconds passed before she was flipping to her feet again, claws extended and glasses forgotten about in the dirt. You wondered if the surge of warmth in your chest was pride or something else entirely.

Perhaps one day you'd get the chance to figure it out.

"Time to go do what heroes do," Wade said, nudging Logan as Fortuna floated through the open doorway, landing mere feet away from where you stood.

"Wolverine," she crooned, her boots a steady thump against the wooden porch. "Come to rescue the human I see."

Logan gripped your waist, moving you away from the house with quick steps. You clawed at his back to get him to stop. To keep him from leaving you behind. But Laura's hands on your shoulders forced you to remain calm—to remain on the edge of the property and watch as the man your heart screamed for walked away.

"Logan!" you shouted, fighting against the girl's hold, but the wasted energy was all for naught. There was no breaking away from a determined Wolverine.

He rejoined Wade with a darkened grimace. His claws ripping through the flesh of his knuckles as Wade pulled free the katanas strapped to his back. Your voice shouting his name set his entire body on edge; the urge to go to you, comfort the panic that filled your veins, nearly breaking his spirit.

But this was not your war and Logan would go down fighting before he let another person he loved fall into the hands of death.

"Alright," Wade grunted, cracking his neck. "Maximum effort."

Fortuna's whip snapped in the air, slicing a gaping hole in time as Logan and Wade charged. She leapt forward, boot pushing off the railing and toppling into them with a shout—a stolen knife carving into Logan's shoulder. He shoved her off, claws swiping for her neck, teeth bared in a snarl.

She ducked, foot slamming into Wade's stomach, rupturing the surrounding area with a blast that sent Logan sliding back into the dirt. He grunted, claws burying into the soil as Wade reached for his guns. A single katana forgotten on the ground.

"Pathetic," she sneered.

"Look who's talking McFly." Wade fired off three rounds, watching her roll to avoid the bullets, her hands crushing the dead grass beneath her.

She pointed to Wade. "You're first."

He laughed. "Bring it on you witch bitch."

Fortuna scoffed, glancing at Logan. "Does he ever shut the fuck up."

"Ha! Good luck with that. I can go on forever."

The whip unraveled from her wrist, rapidly slicing towards Wade—wrapping around his arm in a dramatic rendition of what already happened. This time he was prepared. Sprinting towards Logan, he rolled to the side as claws dragged down your arm. Opening a wound in her arm; blood pouring down her skin, dripping onto the grass.

“Fuck!” she snapped, knife lodging into Wade’s back as she leapt towards Logan.

His knee met her stomach, slamming her a few feet back until she landed on the ground. A groan reverberating in her chest.

Time flickered, punching them in the chest as they fought to move. Air rushed to his lungs as she stumbled to her feet—time falling back into place. Wade grabbed the second gun strapped to his thigh with a huff. The shot went off, the bullet finding its mark in Fortuna's wounded arm.

She screamed, falling to one knee—waves of blue pouring into the ground, forming a bubble of safety. She plucked at the fabrics of the universe, pulling them towards her as Wade pulled the trigger until the mag was empty. A pile of bullets by her body now trapped in light.

"Fuck!" Wade tossed his gun to the side.

Logan turned to see Laura holding you back, your face stricken in fear as you watched them battle it out. It was a struggle to have you here. To keep himself sane. He longed for you to be you close. What he wouldn’t give to take you away from all of this carnage. But you weren't safe as long as Fortuna was around.

She would always be a step behind, ready to chase him to the ends of this universe simply to watch him burn. He knew what he had to do. But the cost of making that choice weighed heavy on his chest—choking the very breath from his lungs. Wade could see it clear as day even as Fortuna began to build enough strength to keep herself going—to pull one final move.

With a shout, she swung her arms out, forcing enough energy their way to fling them into the air. Logan watched as spots began to form on his skin—time ripping away the very makeup of his DNA as she swung her whip in the air. It latched to his waist, dragging him forward until he was on his knees—body struggling to heal from something so unknown.

"Is she worth it?" she sneered, fingers curling into his hair to maneuver his head to keep his eyes on you. The struggle you put up to free yourself from Laura's grasp. "I'm going to kill her next Logan."

"No." He pushed against the vice of your whip, eyes latching onto the white streak hidden in your hair. A sign of what Fortuna had already started.

"I'll age her day by day, year by year, until she's dust."

"NO!"

She laughed, her lips brushing his cheek. "And you? You will have to live without her."

Tears stung his eyes when you finally managed to slip through Laura's hold, legs trembling as you forced your body to sprint his way. The sight of Logan's hair graying, wrinkles carving across his skin, brought you to the edge of your sanity. It ripped at your chest until blood poured from your heart. Staining the ground beneath you.

You couldn't lose him; you didn't know how to breathe without him. And you refused to watch him die from the sins of his past; actions he did not commit.

"Wait!" Laura shouted, running after you as Wade staggered to his feet.

"Angel!"

There was no thought process to your actions, no sense why you did what you did. All you could think about—all that filled your heart with dread—was the knowledge that Logan wouldn't survive this. He wouldn't be there to love you, give you the future you desperately ached for. He would never know you loved him.

That alone drove you forward with a pained cry.

Flinging yourself onto Fortuna, you sent the both of you flying a few feet away as Wade and Laura ran to rip her off you. But time stopped. Every sound stilled, and they were forced to stand and watch as Fortuna straddled your waist—her hands reaching for your throat.

"What do you have huh?" she snarled. "What the fuck do you have that I don't?"

"Please!" You punched her wherever you could reach, desperate to get her off of you. "He-"

"He what?"

"He wouldn't want you to do this Fortuna."

She laughed, manic enough to chill your heart with fear. "Who Logan? You think I fucking care? I would kill him in a-"

"CHARLES!" She froze, eyes flashing sapphire as her grip loosened. Giving you a chance to suck in air. "H-He loved you. Logan told me."

"Charles," she mumbled—a glimpse of your shared original color of her eyes coming through the expanse of white. "He's..."

"Dead." You gasped, turning to see three people you'd die for struggling against time—their bodies battling the power of someone far too corrupt. Someone who forgot where they came from; who their home was. "Your family...my family...they wouldn't want you to become this. P-Please. Charles, Jean, Storm. They didn’t want this for you."

She turned, gaze softening. "You would die for them."

Hot tears burned your frigid skin—falling down your temples and into your hair. "I would."

Stuttering out a breath, she fixed you with a gaze of someone you might have recognized in the mirror. A woman so broken by what time did to her. What the humans caused all because of her DNA. You wanted to promise that life might have turned out different if Logan stayed; that she would be safe. But even you knew it would be a lie.

There would be no saving her from the one thing that created her.

Time.

Leaning down, she pressed her forehead to yours—defeat curving around her shoulders, weighing heavy against her heart.

"Tell him I'm sorry," she murmured.

Pain detonated under your skin before you could open your mouth to respond, forcing your body to convulse in her tight grip. Scarred hands pressed tightly to your face, pinning you to the ground as her whip latched around your chest. Logan's roar became a distant buzzing sound that surrounded you as blue washed over your twisted bodies.

Her brows furrowed, eyes bleeding white as her iris began to form once more—the long lost color that matched your own gaze.

A mirror you wanted to shatter. Damn the bad luck that might befall you; this remained too agonizing to endure.

Her lips pressed to your ear, the pain ebbing from your veins with each pulsing wave. You clawed at her wrists, nails slicing through calloused skin as a scream erupted from the depths of your chest. Piercing the air and slamming directly into three chests.

People who were ripping at the ground to get to you—pulling their bodies across dirt as the curse of time began to lift from the air.

"Do better than me," she whispered, the hot drip of her tears mixing with your own.

Someone yanked her off of you, hurling her to the side with a familiar rumbled growl. You gasped for air, dragging your half limp body away from where Logan stood over her—claws a silver shine emanating with a promise.

"No!" Laura and Wade's hands clamped on your shoulders—keeping you at a safe enough distance. This time refusing to give you any leniency in your movements.

Logan lowered himself to one knee, chest heaving with stunted breaths as Fortuna lay before him—eyes wide with fear. He knew you were behind him. He could feel the burn of your gaze. But all the pain Fortuna caused began to splinter at what little mercy he might have held onto. Yet still the familiar fist of grief wrapped around his heart, reminding him of who Fortuna was.

The woman he once loved.

The woman he couldn't save.

"P-Please," she sighed, hand gripping onto his wrist, tugging his claws against her chest. "Before I hurt you Logan. Before I hurt her."

"I-" He squeezed his eyes shut to the sight of a you so broken—so defeated. "I'm sorry."

She grinned, eyes clear for the first time—weightless after such suffering. "It’s okay. I-I’ll get to see them again. Charles. Jean. Storm."

A sob wracked his body as he dragged her into his lap, hand cupping her face with the tenderness she deserved. "Tell them I'm sorry. Tell them..."

"I will," she murmured, allowing him the freedom to break the final vow of their love. "Till death huh baby?"

Your shouts of his name echoed in the background—Wade's voice mixing with Laura's—and suddenly Logan understood why he found himself here. Why he would stay.

They weren't just his family. They were pieces of his heart sliced open and bared to the ravages of the world. And he would be their protector. The one to meet what danger threatened them head on; willing to fight till his last breath.

He'd be the person he could never be for her.

"Of course," he sighed, tears streaking down his cheeks. "Till death."

"Love her," she breathed, cupping his cheek and forcing his claws to pierce her chest. He sliced through her with a choked shout, the warmth of her blood spilling over his hands. Tainting him further; breaking his already tormented heart. "Love her how you couldn't love me Logan."

"I will honey." Her eyes dragged to how you lay on the ground, Wade's body practically covering yours to keep you from getting any closer. "I promise."

Light flickered in her vision—white and blue and perfect—as Logan clutched her close. Sobbing over a woman he would forever hold the memory of. The last of his family that he couldn't save. Her lips curled into a smile—serenity glistening in her eyes—as a familiar voice echoed in her mind. Tugging her close into welcoming arms.

"Hello Fortuna."

She stuttered out what little breath remained in her chest, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Charles."

"I like it," a voice mumbled, breaking through the darkness that shrouded your body. "And not just cause Ness has one."

A girl hummed. "It's cool."

"Very superhero."

You groaned, body battling any slight movement as your eyes fluttered open with a wince. Light streamed through a grand window, the bed too soft to be yours, yet you knew who sat beside you. Even through the blurred haze of vision, Wade's face was unmistakable. Shifting, you felt everything in you lock up—a hoarse cry falling past your lips.

Hands pushed you back down, steadying you gently as you were finally able to see the other person sitting on a table, munching on some fries. She had a shake beside her—feet propped up on the back of Wade's chair. The sunglasses she lost in the dirt were back atop her head, keeping her hair back.

"Whoa there angel face." He fluffed the pillow violently, jolting you slightly. "You've got two broken ribs and a wound across your torso that would give me being ripped in half by Juggernaut a run for my money."

"W-Where's-"

"Shhh." He raised a crystal glass of water to your lips. "Nurse Wade is here to take care of you. Sorry I don't have the outfit. I couldn't get to a Spirit Halloween in time."

Laura snorted into her food. "It's July."

"That doesn't matter. Those stores are like herpes. You can't ever get rid of that fucker."

"Where's Logan," you said through a broken whisper.

The silence isn't what scared you. No, you'd been through too much to be scared by the threat of nothing but melancholy looks in favor of telling you the truth. You could handle the quiet. What sent terror into your heart was the fact that you knew before you even opened your eyes where he was. His warmth was nowhere to be found in this bedroom; it barely lingered on your own body.

The man who held your heart, who promised to always protect you, was gone.

"No," you breathed, tears welling up and once again blurring your vision.

"He didn't want to go," Laura interjected.

You blinked furiously to keep them at bay. "What do you mean?"

"Fortuna." She pointed to the window that overlooked an expanse of green.

With a pained gasp, you turned to see what she was directing you towards—eyes fixing on a clearly buried grave covered in fresh dirt. A shovel stood straight, plunged a foot into the ground—the handle covered in a stain of deep brown.

Laura exhaled heavily. "She's dead. Logan buried her after he...killed her."

The breath rushed from your lungs, anguish slicing through your heart. "He..."

Wade nodded, somber and horrifyingly quiet. "He wanted to stay sweet angel. We forced him to go."

"Why?" you exclaimed, your body trembling under the stress of waking up too soon. "If he wanted to stay-"

"He was broken. I thought when I found him it was bad. This was worse angel face." Wade gathered your hands in his, drawing you close with a sigh. "He needs to grieve her."

"But I love him," you whimpered, unashamed by how fast the tears were falling. Laura watched you with the eyes of her father—striking your heart in a way that split you in two. "I-I didn't get to tell him."

"He knew," she murmured softly. "Trust me."

Wade pressed a swift kiss to your hands. "He'll come home. I made him fucking promise to return to you. But right now he's gotta figure some shit out."

Laura slipped off the table, curled onto the end of the bed and handed you something folded and crumpled—streaked in stains of blood and ink that bled through the thin notebook paper. You took it with a shaky breath, cold hands closing around hers with a grim smile. Something to let her know that you were thankful for everything she did.

She wasn't your daughter. This you knew. But you wouldn't mind if she bestowed that title on you one day.

In fact...you hoped she would.

"He told me to give that to you," she said, eyes brighter than before.

You sucked in a painful breath, unfolding the letter with trembling hands. Seeing his handwriting was like a punch to your chest. The smudged words and crossed out lines as he attempted to explain himself in words for the first time. This wasn't his forte—you understood that—but the fact that he tried filled your chest with warmth.

Honey,

Don't hate Wade or even my kid for me not being there. Believe me I fuckin' wanted to. Almost ripped him to pieces when he told me I had to go for your sake. But they were right. You Fortuna was the only family I had left. I have to remember what loving her felt like. I need to let her go.

Wade and Laura are there to protect you, care for you like I can't right now. But I made a promise to you and her. So you can expect me back one day.

I care about you

I love you.

So much.

I'll love you till the end honey. Don't forget that.

-Logan

You clutched the paper to your chest, salt coating your taste buds as you sobbed for the man that you failed to protect. You would have died for him. He knew this. Perhaps that's why he left; to give you a chance to heal without him. To return as the Logan you met, not the one mangled by grief.

Laura moved closer, her hand shifting to clutch yours as tears glistened in her eyes. A solemn smile on her face. This is what Logan offered you. People who loved you; people who would die for you. Logan made sure that even in his absence you'd be safe—protected.

He gave you the one thing he couldn't keep for himself. The one aspect of his life he had to learn to accept.

Logan left you a family.

note: my brain is mush but i love you guys. it will get better i promise!

#logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #my writing

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avatarkv · 2 years ago

Text

IV ! Mom, am I still young? Can I dream for a few months more?

✎ Synopsis ! You've been thrusted to carry the burden of the eldest after his passing. ( First | Second | Third | Fourth | Fifth )

Content & warning Jake sully x Daughter!Reader, Sully kids x Sister!Reader Neytiri x Daughter!Reader. Mentions of death and violence! (wc; 4070)

Song: Class of 2013, Mitski.

A mother’s love is of all things.

“You start from here,” Her gentle hands moved across the cloth as she showed you how to make the first stitch, her voice encouraging as she patiently talked you through every step. You listened to her instructions, your tiny fingers following every gesture, but your mind drifted off to somewhere and Neytiri was well aware of that.

"Mama, how much longer will this take?" You whined, your lips pursed in a pout as you discarded the rag. It was taking far too long for your liking and you were more than ready to be finished, but your mother's stern gaze was enough to stay put.

“Until you finally get it.” She sighed, knowing well that you wanted nothing but to run to your father and Neteyam. Neytiri could see clearly that you wanted nothing more than to train with them, learning all that Jake had to teach, and while she was relieved that you were so eager, she couldn't help but feel a little left behind.

You furrowed your brow as you looked down at the mangled fabric in front of you, feeling frustration coursing through your veins. "I don't like sewing," You sighed quietly to yourself, trying to undo the mess of stitches and start again from scratch.

A mother’s love could be quite petulant. Neytiri could feel the insecurity settling at the pits of her stomach, thinking about how his mate was doing a much better job at parenting. She was never able to keep you in one place, always wriggling uneasily on your chair and asking for the time so you can go, so she was often left with no other choice than to give into your demands and watch as you ran away from her.

It was silly, you were just a child– what child wouldn't want to be outside where the world was theirs to explore?

With another sigh, Neytiri placed a hand to your shoulder in understandment. She gave you a gentle squeeze, “You know where your father is, go on.”

A mother’s love could be fiery– burning brightly like a wildfire in her heart. It was a force that drove her to do anything she could to ensure the wellbeing of her children, even if it meant making difficult decisions that brought pain to herself.

When you once came home, battered and bruised, of course she did not relent.

“What was the only thing I asked?” She carefully tended to your wounds, despite the frustrated tears streaming down your face. With a sigh of exhaustion, she reminded you in a rough whisper, “To be careful!”

“I don’t let you run off with your father and Neteyam for you to carelessly train yourself,” She continued to scold you, “Now look at you, do you know how long these bruises will heal?” you hung your head low in shame, not wanting to meet her angry gaze. You felt guilty for making her worry and were immediately overcome with remorse.

“For this, you are not allowed to train for two weeks,” She said sternly, “Not until these heal, you understand?”

“But mama,” You tried to change her mind, but the look she gave was enough to let you know that she wasn’t going to tolerate any argument on the matter. You begrudgingly nodded your head in agreement with a frown.

“I love you, ma’ite,” When you didn’t reply, her heart sank a little. She knew you would resent her for this while the duration of your punishment stretches on, but she was only looking out for you– besides, there was no way she was going to let you train all sore. You’d understand when you’re older.

Neytiri would do anything if it means everyone would be safe.

A mother’s love is of all things, but above all, the love she had rooted from no other else but her own children.

When you once came forward with a present, she was curious. It wasn’t like you didn’t lend any gifts at all, if anything, you were the most thoughtful with giving; always coming home with trinkets from your training, colorful beads from a lazy stroll, or even rocks with the weirdest of shapes. But you were most excited with this one, a smile growing every second as you waited for Neytiri to grab the wrapped box.

“What is this?” She had her eyebrow quirked up high in curiosity, a tiny smile fighting to stay suppressed.

“Open it, come on!” You squealed, trying hard not to open it yourself.

“You made this?” She said, looking at the well-made shawl– actually, it was messy. The stitches weren’t as straight and there were holes larger than the others, a few smaller, but the ornaments sewn between the threads were no doubt from you. To her, it was the most beautiful thing ever; it was from you.

“I did!” You beamed, chest puffing out proudly, “Well.. maybe I cheated a little. Grandmother helped me, but all the beads there are from me! See those?” You excitedly gestured to each and every trinket, going with great detail into how and where you got them. She asked questions along the way, marveling at how eager you were to tell her of your adventures.

While you were keen on your work, her eyes were only on you, listening intently.

“So.. do you like it?”

Neytiri burst into a fit of giggles as she embraced you tightly, her head resting against the little space on your neck. “I love it, Ma’ite– I love you.” she whispered softly.

You returned the hug, “Does this mean I’m done with sewing?”

“Don’t push it.”

It didn’t matter whether you were with Jake most of the time– she wanted to tell him how wrong he was to tell her you were a daddy’s girl. Neytiri received a shawl from you– a shawl. It’s safe to say that maybe you loved her a bit more than Jake.

While her love was indescribable, there were no exact words for her anguish too. When Neteyam died, it was nothing but loss. No mother should have to bury their child. It weighed heavily on her– so heavy, a piece of her died along with him. Neytiri felt it in every pore of her being, a dull ache that could never be filled no matter how much time passed.

Neteyam, her first born and first loss.

The same anguish was apparent on you too and she wasn’t blind to that fact.

You were carefully tending to the different herbs on the corner of your pod. You placed them in the mortar, crushing it with a pestle between your fingers and frowning with concentration. You had asked Neytiri if you could stay behind and help with chores and while she did need an extra pair of hands, it was also an excuse to get out from training for the day.

Neytiri knelt beside you, her grip on your hand preventing you from mashing the already mashed ingredients in the bowl. She looked into your eyes with genuine concern, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “What’s troubling you, ma’ite?” She asked softly. You sighed heavily in response while setting the bowl down slowly.

When you didn't answer, she asked again. “Neteyam?” Your breathing hitched and that was all the answer she needed.

“It’s been over a month already,” You started, unable to look at her, “I don’t wanna mourn anymore. I don’t wanna cry– Tuk, she,”

“I know. I heard.” You were struck with a wave of embarrassment as you abruptly turn to face her, realizing now that you weren't as silent as you had wished that night. You shook your head, trying to push down the shame.

“I’m the eldest now and she’s tougher than me, it’s really a slap on the face.”

Neytiri sits in front of you, taking both your hands in her own. She looks at you steadily with a piercing and gentle gaze, “Have you ever thought that maybe the reason why it isn’t letting you rest is because you haven’t mourned him properly?” Unable to process her words, you look up to her with a confused expression, beckoning her to continue. “All you have ever done is cry– blame yourself for what has happened. That is not mourning, you are simply wallowing in self-pity.”

“It’s not easy,” You quickly interject, shaking your head with a hint of frustration.

“And it’s not supposed to, but you’re here trying to stop yourself from feeling.” She soothes the skin of your hands with gentle rubs, trying to calm you down. “Have you ever visited him after what had happened?”

She was met with only silence and again, it was all the answer she needed. With a heavy sigh, Neytiri gently pulls you closer to her, “Ma’ite, maybe it’s time you talk to him. You aren’t letting his soul rest either,” She whispers, “You’re making him wait.”

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, burying your head into your mother's arms. Despite feeling a little embarrassed by the sudden display of emotion, you can't deny the comfort it brings. Neytiri holds onto you tightly, as if she too needed this moment just as much as you did.

After a few more minutes, she nudges you softly, “I’m going to get more herbs,” With another kiss to your temple, she squeezed your shoulders and stood up.

Neytiri’s words hit you hard– she was right. You have never put an effort to visit your brother, let alone talk to him. The realization was like a punch in the gut; while you were trying so hard to put as much space between you, Neteyam remained waiting.

You had to talk to him, had to tell him everything before your heart could hold no more. It didn’t matter if he was angry anymore, nor if he would have blamed you for what had happened. You missed your brother– missed him like a little kid.

You stood up, taking your woven satchel– but before you could take another step out the door, Jake enters with a disheveled Lo’ak behind; it was clear that he got into a fight, the bruises on his face and body was enough to tell. “What was the one thing I asked?” Jake asks, scanning the area to check if anyone had followed them, “The one thing!”

“Look, dad. Ao’nung was picking on Kiri,” Lo’ak defends himself, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “They called her a freak.”

“And you! Where were you? Weren’t you supposed to be training?” His tone is harsh and demanding, cutting off any chance to interject. Jake turns to you, livid, “I catch you over here slacking off while this knucklehead is giving them a passage to kick us off the island– Jesus Christ, you’re the eldest now!”

“I’m sorry, sir, this is my fault.” You replied, unable to meet his gaze. “I should’ve been keeping an eye on everyone.”

“Damn right. I catch a break for one second– one second!” He continued to berate and you could only hang your head low. “You’re supposed to be like Neteyam, but ever since we got here, all you’ve done is disappoint me. You disappoint me, __.”

“But I wasn’t just slacking, I was helping with–”

“I don’t wanna hear it.” He immediately turns back to Lo'ak. He badly wanted to come to your defense, but something about Jake's steely gaze made him think twice. His lips quiver as he struggles against the urge to speak, feeling frustrated. “Go apologize to Ao’nung.”

“It’s not fair, dad! They were–”

He quickly dismisses him like he did with you, “Go make peace. I don’t know how, just go.”

Lo’ak was the first to move, his footsteps heavy as he walked out. Before you followed, you glanced one last time at Jake, trying to look for any trace of remorse in his eyes. All you found was the same stoic expression. With a sigh, you trudged behind your brother.

Once you both were far enough from your Marui, you quickly grabbed Lo’ak’s wrist, stopping him from walking further. “Stay here,”

He gave you a perplexed look as you firmly held him, “I’m supposed to be making amends.”

“I’ll do it myself so for once, stay here and just do nothing.” Your mind was clouded, absolutely heavy from your father’s words. With another frustrated sigh, you let go of him. “What were you thinking?”

“What do you mean?” His tone was laced with a mixture of guilt and defiance, shoulders tense.

“You know damn well, Lo’ak.” The laugh that erupted from your mouth is menacing– mean. You grabbed his shoulders and spun him, forcing him to look at you. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He quickly shrugs your grasp away, his gaze downcast. Lo’ak couldn’t bear to even glance at you, not when you’re looking at him like that. It was so unlike you to be angry, usually you were the most patient– understanding. Right now, your eyes held nothing but exhaustion and it was like you were a different person yourself, morphing into someone he terribly misses.

God, he misses his brother. Now that he’s gone, things are a lot worse– he didn’t even know that it was possible to feel more alone. There was no one who’d put on an effort to cheer him up despite him royally fucking up, no one to mess with his hair, or to stand up for him. With Neteyam, he was sure he understood him so well– with Neteyam, he was still a child. Lo’ak swears he also died that night, heart buried along his back at home. His younger self has not stopped crying ever since, shouting at him, asking, “It’s our fault again, is it?”

“You would have done the same,” He tries to reply with the same fierceness, but his voice is breaking. “Maybe if you were there, you would have even thrown in a punch too–”

You spun him again irritatedly, “But I’m not like you. It’s different here, you understand?” Your voice was getting louder– growing absolutely desperate with every word. “You aren’t thinking!” That stunned the both of you and you couldn’t help but feel a nauseating deja-vu the moment it left your mouth. It was familiar, oh so familiar it hurt.

“What has gotten into you?” Before he could wait for a reply, you had already stormed off, leaving him right in the open.

It wasn’t hard to find Ao’nung, being the olo’eyktan’s son made him stand out easily. They were at the shore and unlike Lo’ak, you could see how they’ve gotten the end of the punches more badly. You tried not to visibly wince at the huge deep-purple bruise forming on his face and the others littered all over his body– yikes.

You knew he deserved this. Ao’nung wasn’t the kindest ever since you had seeked uturu so you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Despite this, he didn’t relent.

“I’ll forgive you once you are able to ride an Ilu,” he said, and his friends snickered from behind, “But you still can’t, right? What would father do if he hears that none of the Sullys’ had gone out to apologize.”

You clench your fists, digging your nails into your palms as they continue to ridicule you; you wanted to retaliate with the same harshness Lo’ak had, but you knew you had to keep composure. Oh Great Mother, the urge was strong. “All I have to do is ride an Ilu?”

“Don’t bother,.” He scoffed, harshly jabbing his fingers into your chest, “You’re funny if you think that I’ll ever save you again– it would be one less freak from the clan.” Everyone broke out into a fit of loud laughter, taking turns in mocking you.

“Consider us forgiven then.” You said firmly, pushing past them and marching towards the sea.

He called for you to stay back, but you couldn’t just stop now– not when you have already mounted your ilu. The salty ocean air filled your lungs as you surveyed the horizon, the waves crashed on the rocks and it was evident that the water was fiercer. It should’ve been enough sign for you to pocket your pride and relent.

As you made the bond, you embraced the creature, trying to steady your breathing. “Just this once, please? Please, please. Save me from embarrassment.”

It was a foolish decision to act out of spite, especially after you had been trying for well over a month with no success. You knew there was little chance that this time would be any different, but the impulse drove you forward and you just couldn't let go. As the ilu surged ahead with reckless abandon, you held on more desperately than before.

You were struggling to keep the creature in check. The strong waves made it even more challenging to stay on top of the situation, but you pushed ahead determinedly with an iron grip that was sure to leave your hands sore. Suddenly, your hard work seemed to pay off as the ilu started slowing down under your control, enough that you could relax a little.

As you emerged from the water, you couldn’t help the shout escaping your throat as the other’s stood ready near their own ilus. Whether the smirk from Ao’nung’s face was of disbelief or if he had been genuinely impressed didn’t matter to you, all you could feel was a surge of pride burning through your skin. You flipped him off, peppering your ilu with much deserved kisses.

“Come on, let’s go further,” You talked to her, encouraging her to keep moving forward, where she replied with an eager yip.

You were absolutely thrilled– it had been a grueling month and the anticipation was nearly too much to bear. The thought of finally riding an ilu was almost too exciting for words. Although you preferred the forest, you’d be a big fat liar if you denied the beauty of Awa’atlu. You’ve been dying to explore– you felt like a kid again.

As you continued to ride forward, with not a thought in mind, you would not have expected to be found so easily.

It was almost night time and everyone was getting ready for dinner inside. Jake waited at the entrance of the Marui, sharpening his dagger as he waited for you. He glanced around impatiently as he tried to ignore the spiraling uneasiness in his stomach.

“It’s getting cold, ma Jake.” Neytiri called for him, rubbing his back soothingly. “Wait for her inside, she’s probably on her way home.” She had noticed how anxious he was growing as the sun started to set and the dark night began to creep closer. It was even more obvious when he hadn't moved from his spot in front for hours already, frown deepening.

“I failed as a father, Neytiri,” His voice emerged from his throat, strained and raw. He had done all he could, but it seemed that his luck had truly run out. Now that he faced the truth of his failures, he was filled with bitter regret and a deep sadness for what could have been– of what he had to lose. “I look at them and I feel like I’ve already lost everyone.”

Neytiri kneeled beside him, curling her arms around him in a comforting embrace. “You only did what you thought was best,” she whispered softly.

“And yet, I managed to make things worse.”

“Just talk to them, ma Jake,” She gave him a stern look, squeezing his shoulders, “It hasn’t been easy for them either.”

“I know that, but–” The crackling of the line made Jake wince, but he could make out his daughter's voice beneath the static from the other line, and the urgency in your voice made his body jolt– a familiar dread that brought him back to that fateful night when you desperately called out for Neteyam.

“Can someone hear me?”

The searing heat was unbearable, even when you were surrounded by nothing but water, it scorched your skin the same. The village was rising from the ashes of an unforgiving fire, the island surrounded by familiar ships. Your eyes mirrored the flames that engulfed the area and you were unable to look away— unable to move.

Your fingers frantically felt for the device tucked on your ear, pressing on its button, hoping someone would answer– pride be damned, you even hope that it would be your father.

He stood up, instinctively grabbing the gun from his side, “__? What’s wrong, baby girl? Talk to me.”

“Dad, Sir, a village!” Your voice nearly drowned out, inaudible from the deafening sound of waves thrashing towards you and your ilu. You were holding onto her for dear life as the salty water stung at your eyes, blurring your vision, “A village is on fire!”

“What? Where are you?”

Neytiri stood sharply beside him, her eyes wide with fear as she desperately tried to hear your voice from the intercom. “Jake, what’s happening? Where is she?”

“I don’t know– I don’t know! I rode my Ilu too far. Dad, there are ships! Sky-people ships, plenty!” You spoke rapidly, your words tumbling out of your mouth faster and faster as the panic built up inside of you. You were becoming increasingly anxious, with every passing second more fearful than the last. “They’re here sir, they found us.”

Jake’s heart plummeted there and then.

“They’re hurting them– they have them at gunpoint, what do I do?” You continued to hurriedly talk, explaining the severity of the situation. It was nauseatingly terrifying, a sickening sensation that had taken root in his stomach and clouded his mind with nothing but overwhelming fear. “I– I have to do something, anything! Please, tell me what to do.”

“Listen to me, listen to Sempu alright?” His voice is gravelly, like he hasn't been able to catch a breath in what feels like days. Jake was desperate as he wanted to tell you this wasn’t about you proving yourself anymore, acting on behalf of your brother’s loss. This was solely about him wanting his sweet daughter back, safe and sound. “Don’t look at them, for the love of– please, get out of there now.”

“But dad, I–”

“I need you back here, please baby girl, please.”

However, you and him did not stand on the same ground, hearts paced on different pages. All you saw were the people; their safety and well-being had to come first and foremost. You had to save them, had to do something to avert the danger. They were innocent and above all, helpless.

To Jake, all he could think was of you, his sweet daughter, caught in a wildfire.

“This is an order, __. Turn back now,” It was the only thing he could do, instill authority in hopes it would make you deter. “I’ll alert Tonowari of the situation. It’s not a good idea to barge into face-first and vulnerable, you hear me? What are you gonna do with all their guns and people? Turn back. Now.”

And it worked. Only now were you able to let out the breath you kept for so long, finally averting your gaze and looking down in shame. “I hear you, sir, I’m,” With one last look, you gulped. “I’m heading back.”

“Good. Don’t let them see you.”

As you reconnected with the Ilu, you pleaded it to take the lead and guide them both back home. You could feel her emotions racing through your veins, her fear undeniable as she witnessed others of her kind slaughtered mercilessly by the shoreline. The bond between you was overwhelming and unsteady, so much that it almost took all your energy just to keep yourself from dissociating from her.

Before you could submerge below the safety of the waters again, your ilu begins to bellow loudly in distress. Its body thrashes around, making it hard for you to hold on. “Mawey, mawey!”

More static could be heard from Jake’s intercom, the noise turning more and more deafening. He tried to make out anything from the sound, but all he could hear was white noise. You called out for him one last time, before the pager turned off.

“Jake, please, where’s my daughter?”

When Neytiri lost her eldest, she didn’t think she’d lose another one so soon.

☆ mauve here! this was such a pain in the ass to finish, so hopefully i did this chapter justice !!!! i would love to interact w everyone here, so please don't hesitate to drop by my asks! i also accept requests <3 i would very much appreciate it. lots of love!

Tags: @eywas-heir @aonungsmate @cappsikle @dearstell @minkyungseokie @wwwellacom @aleracrovn @fangzyz @bobojojoba69 @alohastitch0626 @gcldtom @dumb-fawkin-bitch @navs-bhat @jo1818 @ladylovegood-69 @kahlowy @neteyamforlife @mochiivqi @heart-an0n @strnqer @abbersreads @historygeekqueen

#mauve writes ☆#family angst #sully family x sister!reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #neteyam x sister!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader #tuk x sister!reader #angst #avatar #avatar 2009 #avatar the way of water #neteyam brainrot #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #jake sully #reader!sully

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starwarsmum · 4 months ago

Text

So after I couldn't find that fic, I decided I was gonna write my own version of it, because the idea was wonderful and I, apparently, actually cannot live without this fic existing.

Lost in Paris

Summary:

Damian has had enough of being treated like a child, or worse, as a bomb waiting to explode and kill those closest. After a conversation with Bruce about doing some vigilante work solo goes south, he comes to the conclusion that he is better off leaving home.

Little do his family know, he doesn't intend to return.

* * *

HEAVILY inspired by a fic that was deleted recently. Obviously it has my own take and writing, but I can't add the fic as an inspiration as it's not here anymore. Rated teen for language

Notes:

Heyo, so after I wrote the one shot, I became consumed with writing my own take on the fic that got away. So here's the first chapter of that.

All six have been written, but I need to take some time to read it through, make any edits, and make sure it makes sense! There is limited French throughout the fic, I'll be providing translations in the end notes.

Hope you all enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Jason

“…as though you can stop me, Father.”

Red Hood paused as Demon Spawn’s clipped voice echoed from further in the batcave. The loudest silence Red Hood had heard in quite a while followed it and he slowed down to eavesdrop.

“Tt, when will you admit that it is time I set out alone, to attempt my own vigilantism? I am a child no longer and refuse to be treated as such.” Robin sounded haughty and angry, a not unusual combination.

“I didn't say you couldn't become your own vigilante, Robin. I merely said that you would need a new mantle. Robin is Batman's sidekick, he does not stand alone. If you are ready to pass it down, I’m sure someone else will take it up. Someone always does.”

Red Hood winced at Bruce's words. Sure, all of them had held the title of Robin at one point or other, but the Fourth Robin was the most adamant that it was rightfully his, as the only blood son of Batman. And that was saying something, given Red Hood's little nickname for Red Robin and the hatred he had harbored after he found out he had been replaced. He held still as Robin drew back his hood and removed the mask.

“Father, I am Robin, it is my identity and I do not have to discard it if I do not wish to - which I do not. But if you will not give me the freedom to work without you, then I will not stay. I understand that you did not choose me, that I was thrust upon you by Mother but I have been here for 8 years now. Why do you not trust me to wear the mantle with honour?”

“You know why, Robin,” Batman growled, and there was warning in his voice. Damian clearly heard it too as his shoulders began to tense, though he said nothing. After a moment's pause, Batman continued. “You are still too angry, and you need supervision to ensure you keep to our ideals.”

“Your ideals, Father,” Damian said, his voice soft. He sounded more weary than angry and he waved Batman off as the cowled man loosed a growl. “It is of little importance. We are clearly at an impasse and nothing shall be gained by having this argument with you again. I shall be gone by morning.”

The sharp clicks of Damian's shoes were the only sound in the batcave and Red Hood counted his blessings that he hadn't been part of that conversation. Sure, Demon Spawn wound him up, but he wouldn't have thought he'd regress to his League days. Hell, some days Hood thought that he was more likely to snap than the youngest in their crew.

He slid casually into the main cave at that point, not even pretending not to have overheard the entire thing. It seemed that Batman wasn't in the mood to chat so he made himself scarce, going up to see Alfred and maybe he could scrounge some food from the kitchen. He didn't realise that this was a point in time that he would wish he could turn back to, many times over the coming years.

_ _ _

3 weeks later, and the cave was a riot of noise, voices echoing harshly. Jason hadn't suited up yet, but that didn't stop him from dropping casually into one of the chairs around their planning table so he could work out what the problem was. When the noise just continued, even increasing if that were possible, Jason let loose a shrill whistle to get everyone's attention.

“Thank you, god you lot are ridiculously loud tonight. We having trouble deciding who we're supposed to take down? Oh, hey Dick, undercover mission over with already?” He nodded at his older brother but he only got a curt ‘hi’ back. That made him sit up straighter; Dick was sunshine incarnate, but when he got angry, he got angry. God help the soul he aimed his rage towards. “Oh, shit, do we have, like, an actual problem? Did a rogue escape or something?”

“No, Jay, we're missing a team member,” Tim said sharply from the batcomputer. Jason did a quick look around but there were several of the family absent so he turned around, concerned. Tim sighed, “Robin, Robin is missing, Jason. He's been gone for several weeks and we can't find him anywhere.”

“Wait, weeks?” Jason sat up straighter, glancing towards Bruce - a look that was caught by Dick and immediately acted upon.

“What did you do, Bruce? Wait, forget that, what did Bruce do, Jay-bird?” As Jason recounted what he'd heard, Dick grew angrier and angrier, until he was agitatedly bouncing on his toes and glaring at Bruce. “So your son tells you he's gonna leave and you, what, just pretend it's not happening? For 3 weeks?!”

“Damian can take care of himself, Dick. If it wasn't true, he wouldn't have taken himself out of the role. He said he wanted to spread his wings, which of you hasn't wanted that?”

“You accused him of being one bad day away from murdering his enemies!” Dick shouted, exasperated. “And when has any of us completely cut off the whole family? Even Alfred hasn't heard from him. Has Jon? And where are Titus, and Alfred the cat? If he was coming back, he wouldn't have disrupted them!”

“You are reading too much into this and it is a waste of time. He will come home when he realises he was wrong and that's the end of it. Can we now focus on patrol?” There were noises of dissent and Tim continued to type furiously but they began gearing up. Dick shot another glare at the Bat and declared that this would be his last patrol with them if Damian didn't get in touch before the next one.

_ _ _

Jason was sitting in Dick’s apartment, watching with concern as the man paced relentlessly. It had been a month since his last family patrol and he was no closer to finding out where Damian had gone. He had League training so when he wanted to vanish, he could make a damn good go of it. Unfortunately, that left them with nothing but dead ends.

“What did Jon say?” Dick growled into his phone, muttering what Jason was pretty sure were curses in Romani. “Well, where does he think he went? I don't know, Tim, that's why I've been coming to the computer geniuses! Babs says she hasn't had any luck with known aliases and I know you haven't either. I'm at a loss, Jay hasn't had any success with his contacts and he hasn't reached out to me.”

Jason listened in silence and Dick devolved into a rant about how Bruce didn't value Damian enough and treated them all relatively poorly. He heard a short reply from the Replacement and could almost imagine the little twerp with a hand wrapped around a jumbo mug of coffee as he hunched over the keyboards. He thought back to how tired Damian had sounded during the argument with Bruce and frowned. Surely Damian would pop up again one day soon, there wasn't far an 18 year old with none of the family money could go.

Tim had hacked the bank records for Damian's private account and there had been a withdrawal for a decent sum on that first day, but nothing since. And the idea of Demon Spawn getting a job with none of the references from Gotham was laughable. But after the first month had passed with no contact, they had to admit that there was less and less chance of him coming home.

5 years later

Jason stood in the watchtower, staring at the screen in front of him. He had been doing his usual rounds, checking for chatter in some of the less underground communities to see if any of Damian's aliases had surfaced. When that had hit its usual dead ends, he decided to review Robin's original profile, to see if there was something they had missed in their initial sweep for potential allies and safe zones.

Jason had never been particularly adept at navigating the system for files and didn't want to pull up the wrong Robin file so he typed in ‘Damian Wayne' and saw the file. But, curiously, there had been another, newer reference to the name. Had one of the other heroes done a search on him recently?

He clicked the link and was flooded with a metric shit-ton of information spanning the past 5 years. There were credit searches, a courthouse request, hospital records, all in French and linked to a couple of addresses in Paris. He hesitated another minute before deciding to download the information onto an external drive and then scrubbing evidence of his search. Whilst he wasn't Babs or Tim competent, anyone doing a cursory look would see nothing amiss. And there were very few people searching for Damian these days.

It was a few hours later that he made it back to his favourite safe house to finally review the information he had garnered. He was nervous as he connected the drive to a device, wondering if he finally had a lead that would give them back their brother. He scanned the most recent entry and saw an address linked to a recent credit card application. His brow furrowed but the ID used certainly looked like an older Damian.

He jumped up, too jittery to read through the entire pack of information. He'd always been more of a ‘do now, think later’ kind of guy. He could catch a Zeta tube back up to the watchtower and then get into Paris immediately. He checked the route from the Paris tube to the address before grabbing his civilian leather jacket and a domino mask.

The time difference between New Jersey and Paris was distinct. What had been a brisk but clear December afternoon there was a wet and dreary evening here. The drizzle had started not long after he had arrived and looked to worsen in the near future. He was watching the tall apartment building, hoping to spot his brother before he made an approach but with no success.

After twenty minutes, the heavens opened, forcing his hand. He could either stay where he was, getting more and more drenched, and risk getting sick, or bite the bullet and knock on the door. With a steadying breath, he slouched across the street and raised his fist to the door.

“Attendez, s’il vous plait,” came a feminine voice, and Jason panicked. That definitely wasn't his brother’s voice, had he made a mistake? Perhaps someone else had the unfortunate luck of having his brother's name, his age. He hesitated a fraction longer and the door cracked open, a shorter French woman looking up at him quizzically. “Oui?”

“Uh, pardonnez-moi, I, uh, shit,” he fumbled for the words not knowing how to phrase it. Her brow furrowed further and he felt the panic mounting. “Is, uh, is Damian here? Damian Wayne?”

“Un moment, monsieur,” she said, eyes narrowing slightly as she took in his features. The door snapped shut and he heard a muffled conversation, the light voice of the woman and a deep masculine voice that made Jason tense up in anticipation. The adrenaline thrummed in his veins as the door opened again and the small woman reappeared.

“Please, monsieur, come in,” she said politely, opening the door wide. Jason heard another door in the apartment close softly. The room was spacious and sparsely decorated, a three seater and two seater sofa selection which she gestured towards him to sit down on. “You speak English, non? I speak it too, so we can converse in that, if it is easier for you.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks, mademoiselle.” Jason’s eyes darted around nervously, taking in as much as he could. “Listen, I'm sorry for just showing up here, I just- I've been looking for my brother for years and I found something that said he was living here and I-”

“Monsieur, please, moins vite, slower, I cannot comprend- understand if you speak that fast,” she said, in a soothing manner. She had leaned towards him, frowning but not so much that he worried about being thrown out. He took a deep breath and gave her a shaky smile in apology. “Merci, now, you said the word ‘brother’, that means frere, non? Why are you looking for him now?” After all this time was implied, but not said outright so he wasn't sure if that was what she meant.

“Sorry, my brother, Damian, left home several years ago, he got in a fight with our dad. We thought he was cooling off at first, maybe spending time with a friend,” Jason said, taking care not to speak too quickly. “He was 18, you know? He was allowed to have a little time to himself. We've all chafed against the old man at one point or another- I mean,” he corrected, seeing her confusion, “we've all fought with Bruce at different times. We thought he was gonna cool off and come home, but he never did. And we couldn't find him, we tried, we were so sure we would manage but then days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into yea-”

“I understand,” she cut in softly, placing a hand on the back of his. He took a shuddering breath and realised he was close to tears, rambling in his nerves. She was about to say something else when a door opened and a tall, familiar man stepped into view. He had filled out some, his limbs no longer holding the gangliness of youth but firm and solid. His hair was still jet black and ruffled looking and his eyes the same piercing green.

“Damian,” Jason choked out, shooting up and launching towards the man. He looked even more uncannily like Bruce, the same jawline, similar builds, but he had a softer edge. He caught hold of Jason, gripping the back of his jacket tightly as the larger man shook slightly. “God, I can't believe it's really you.”

“It is me, Todd,” Damian replied, releasing himself from the embrace. They looked each other in the eye, Jason's still with that edge of pit madness but Damian - Damian looked at peace. “I must admit, I did not anticipate you visiting so suddenly,” he added drily.

Jason let out a short bark, shrugging even though all he felt was overwhelmed. “None of us expected you to keep using your actual name, Demon Spawn. God, we searched so hard, Dick was furious with B. I don't think he's spoken to him properly in years.”

Damian frowned but then the woman stood up and spoke softly in French to him. He rumbled something back and she nodded, patting Jason's arm as she passed him to go to another room. Damian indicated the sofas again and they sat down, a tense silence settling in the room. Having another person in the room had helped to ease some of the tension - Jason and Damian had never been close. But they were still brothers and Jason had been so angry with Bruce when he realised that Damian was gone.

The sound of a kettle filled the silence and the woman poked her head back around the door. She smiled at them both, a sunny, bright expression. “Pardon, would you like un thé ou un café, Jason? Or jus? We have orange or apple.”

“Uh, coffee's fine,” Jason muttered, trying to let the tension in his shoulders dissipate. He turned back to Damian after she bobbed her head once and vanished back through the door. “She, uh, she seems nice.”

“Marinette is a great many things,” Damian said, clearly amused. “Nice is the least of them, but I appreciate you saying so. We have been through much together, and she is very strong.”

“So are you…” Jason trailed off, not sure how to say it without offending someone. He waved his hands helplessly, hoping it conveyed his sentiment and Damian snorted. He was saved from answering by Marinette coming back into the room with a tea tray.

“I have sugar, lait, some macarons and cheese with crackers,” Marinette said lightly, placing the tray onto the coffee table and perching next to Damian. He reached a hand for her knee and she placed hers on top of his. Jason spied matching rings on their fingers and his eyes widened. Marinette noticed the direction of his look and gave another laugh, squeezing Damian's hand lovingly. “Oui, Damian and I are married. We have been for nearly two years.”

“Congratulations. I gotta admit, I didn't think you were ever going to settle down Demo- Damian,” he corrected, seeing Marinette's eyebrow rise. Damian nodded, glancing at his wife with a slightly chagrined look on his face.

“To be honest, the Demon Spawn you knew would never have deserved to marry Marinette,” he admitted, waving away her sudden frown. “Ma cherie, you know I speak the truth. I was a mess of a man when we met, I lashed out at everything and everyone.”

“Mon coeur, you were nothing of the sort,” Marinette reprimanded firmly. It sounded as though this was a well worn argument and Jason was almost envious of the evident love he could hear in her voice. Not that he thought Damian didn't deserve it, but he had often yearned for the kind of love that was pouring out of this petite French pixie. “Heureusement, you did not lash out at me too harshly, and accepted that you could not do this all alone.”

Jason was shocked - Damian had settled down. The pair had clearly grown together, matching each other in their differences. And Damian had changed, even more than he had begun to during his time in Wayne manor. He seemed more sure of himself, confident in an easy way. Jason cleared his throat again, drawing their attention back to him. “So, uh, if you got married, how…how much have you talked about your past, D?”

“Ah, I wondered if you would be concerned about that, Monsieur Hood,” Marinette said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She waved her hand as he tensed again. “Damian and I have no secrets. It is difficult, making a life together, without sharing such things. I understand the importance of keeping these things to myself. We are, comment dire, birds of a feather?”

Jason raised an eyebrow himself now but they were interrupted by a soft cry, coming from an adjacent room. He tensed but Marinette sighed and made to get up, before Damian shooed her into her seat, standing himself. He came back moments later, carrying what looked like a bundle of blankets that he cooed to in a mix of French and Arabic. Jason went rigid with disbelief as Damian settled himself back into his seat. A shock of dark hair peeked out of the blankets and Jason sucked in a sharp breath.

“Her name is Penélope Robyn Dupain-Cheng. Penny for short,” Marinette said, her voice soft and full of love. Jason's head whipped towards her and Damian chuckled.

“It seemed fitting, I had no need for the mantle and it connects me to my past without shackling me. Marinette understood better than I did that I did not want to lose who I had been.” Jason was stunned. Damian was speaking so nonchalantly about a moniker that he had almost killed for - what he had considered a birthright. His voice softened as he looked back up at his brother. “I am truly at peace, Todd. I let go of my anger before I married as it would have been unfair to Marinette if I had allowed it to continue consuming me.”

“How-how old is she?” Jason croaked, transfixed with his niece - his second, after Kor’i had given birth. He couldn't remember how old Mar’i had been when she was this size and the Tamaranean in her could have changed things.

“8 months,” Damian said softly, turning his gaze back to his daughter. “I would do anything for her, Todd. She will want for nothing as long as I can control it. She is loved, in ways I didn't know were possible.”

A silence stretched between the three adults and Jason took a sip from his now tepid coffee. His mind was reeling; he felt as though everything he had ever known about Damian was wrong and now he was meeting what was essentially a stranger. Penny had clearly drifted back to sleep and Damian stood to take her back to her room. Marinette cleared her throat as he left, making Jason shoot her a questioning look.

“I must ask you, are you here as a lookout? When should I expect your father,” she clipped the word out, thinly veiled rage coating it, “to descend upon my home? I must warn you, I will not allow him to harm Damian again.”

“They aren't,” he answered flatly. She looked at him again, surprised. “I told no-one of my suspicions, I came alone. Like I said, we've all fallen out with Bruce at one point or another and when Damian left…well, let's just say the team isn't running quite so smoothly any more.”

“I thought you were all ‘the world's greatest detectives’,” she replied sardonically, dropping her voice as she heard Damian returning. “If you are lying to me, I will not be contente, comprennez?”

“My love, please tell me you are not threatening our guest?” Damian rumbled, laughter barely concealed in his voice. “I apologise, Todd, she is protective of those in her care, a trait from her younger years.”

“Je suis toujours jeune, Damian,” Marinette said, a light growl lacing her words. He nodded sagely and Jason snorted. It was just so…domestic. If someone had told him 5 years ago that Damian, the little brother who threatened anyone who breathed near him, would be married, with a kid, he would have had them committed to Arkham. And yet…

“They all miss you, lil D,” Jason said softly, imitating Dick for a moment. “Tim was frantic when he couldn't trace where you went, he still gets upset when he thinks about how he failed you. And Dick - I mean, he loves you, you know that. If he could have ripped B to pieces without ruining Gotham, he would have. He has a kid himself you know,” he added, setting his cup down.

“But I didn't come here to ask you to come back. I can see you have a life here Dames, a good life. Christ, I didn't think it was possible for anyone to give up our particular lifestyle and settle down but you clearly did and it's obviously been the best thing to happen to you. I'm proud of you, for whatever that's worth. I just…I would like to be part of your life again, I want to get to know the you now. Don't get me wrong, you were a little beast before you left, but you're still family. And I don't have a whole lot of that left.”

“Well, it's not like we can just leave,” Marinette said, with humour. “Merde, maman et papa, they would kill me if I just disappeared with their only grandbaby.”

“And- am I welcome back?”

“D’accord, but I will ask that you only share the information with your father if he specifically asks about Damian. It is a talk we had as soon as we were expecting Penélope, he is not welcome to my family without begging Damian for forgiveness.” The steely note in Marinette's voice brooked no argument, and Jason had none to voice. Bruce was the reason Damian had left all those years ago and he was the one who asked least often about any updates.

“What about Dick? You know he would love to see you, if he hadn't been undercover when you left, he would have at least known where you went.” Damian nodded slowly at this, making Jason grin with relief. “Awesome. Wow, okay, that's great. Thank you, Marinette. I'll take down a number and we can coordinate a visit sometime? I doubt you want to come to Gotham,” Damian's eyes narrowed and he shook his head tightly,” so I'll have to get Dick here himself.”

As he stood to leave, Marinette and Damian also stood, the slight woman stepping forward first and pulling him down for une bise, kissing his cheek with warmth and familiarity. She stepped back and carried the tea tray through to the kitchen, giving the brothers some space. Damian clapped a hand onto Jason's shoulder and received a light punch in return. They exchanged numbers before Jason promised he would text as soon as he was home again, and then when he had spoken to Dick about coming back to visit.

As Jason stepped into the Paris zeta tube, he glanced back over his shoulder and smiled. Trust Damian to move to the city of love and figure all his shit out.

Notes:

So let me know what you think! I'm going to try and update once a week-ish, but may post chapters sooner if I'm ready.

French used:

Attendez, s'il vous plaît = wait please

Pardonnez-moi = pardon me

Un moment = one moment

Monsieur = sir

Mademoiselle = miss

Moins vite = slower/less fast

Contente = happy

Comprennez = understand

Je suis toujours jeune = I am still young

Merci = thank you

Un thé ou un café = a tea or coffee

Jus = juice

Lait = milk

Mon chéri/ma chérie = my darling

Mon coeur = my heart

Heureusement = fortunately

Comment dire = how to say

Merde = shit

Maman et papa = mum and dad

D'accord = alright

Une bise = Literally, a kiss, usually how they refer to the kiss on the cheek they give to say hello/goodbye

Most of the French throughout this fic is what I've learned through Duo, so if I offend some native speakers, I'm really very sorry! I have double checked it in Google for the most part, but I'm not sure that's better.

Chapter 2

#ao3 #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #daminette fanfic #damian x marinette #damianette #my writing #inspired by another fic #no possession this time!#6 chapters #1st chapter #no beta read #daminette

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felixcloud6288 · 29 days ago

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Dungeon Meshi Chapter 8

After the wild events involving Living Armor, we're getting something fairly normal this chapter.

This isn't an RPG. Fighting monsters doesn't give EXP to level up. It just wears you out. So it's worth avoiding any fights you can, especially against monsters you can't eat.

Throughout this chapter, I kept feeling like something was off about Marcille's appearance. Then I realized she changed her hair style. Now I don't know hair styles so I'm making a wild guess at some of these. I think the braid we can see from the front is a French Braid. She used to have two of these, but now she only has one on her right shoulder. Meanwhile, I think the braid behind her ear is called a Dutch Braid. She only has one on her left side. She also used to have a small bun above where she wrapped the rest of her hair into a ponytail, but she doesn't have that now. She also seems to discard the French braid partway through the chapter.

We've got some Senshi lore. He's been living in the dungeon long enough to have campsites on the third floor. He mentioned he hunts on the second and fourth floors. The second floor was a forest area with plants and wild game to hunt. I'm going to guess the fourth floor is that water level I mentioned seeing in chapter 2.

This is another chapter like chapter 5. We're not focusing on how to hunt and cook monsters. Instead we're focusing on how to use the mechanisms of the dungeon for cooking.

Personally, I think making your farm field into a golem is unnecessary if you have a normal above-ground field to work, but this situation is more of a "Take advantage of what you can" situation. Since the golems are made of dirt, why not try using them to grow vegetables.

Any magic researcher who would get upset about how Senshi is using the dirt golems needs to seriously broaden their horizons. Sometimes, Marcille's comments on the magic research field makes everyone in it come off as highly closed off from reality and fairly narrow-minded about the applications of magic.

Magic so far seems to be only a thing useful to adventurers. The average person probably doesn't care for magic at all because it doesn't actually benefit them in any way. Maybe if magic researchers learned about Senshi's antics, they might start to consider magic as a tool to benefit everyone.

How did Senshi put on that hat? Are the horns on his helmet removable?

Those golems attacked Senshi. So they probably don't recognize him as their master. I guess whoever actually builds the cores is the master, not whoever plants it.

It's the first instance of the legendary Senshi FLASH!!

Maybe if magical creatures were designed to do something other than attack people, it wouldn't be a crime to activate them. Marcille was willing to call Senshi out on how he's doing something illegal, but she didn't care to argue the point. And then he only reactivated the golems when she wasn't there so it's not like she actually witnessed Senshi illegally activate the golems.

This panel is annoying me. Get the water ready for what? And why do we need to plug the drain?

Did Senshi name the golems?

On that conversation about convenient vs easy. Let's look at the Merriam-Webster definitions for them.

Convenient: suited to personal comfort or to easy performance; suited to a particular situation; affording accommodation or advantage

Easy: causing or involving little difficulty or discomfort; requiring or indicating little effort, thought, or reflection

So I guess I could sum easy as "Not hard" while convenient is "helpful".

The golems being around is convenient because it gives Senshi an option to grow vegetables he otherwise wouldn't have. He doesn't need the golems, but it's convenient to have them since it lets him do things he otherwise couldn't.

Meanwhile, he thinks using magic for everything is easy because it doesn't take physical effort to cast a fire spell compared to actually starting a fire by hand.

His comparison is that its easier to buy vegetables from the store because you don't have to endure the work that's needed to actually grow the vegetables. Granted, I don't know how much work actually goes into learning magic or casting it so it could be possible he's ignoring the effort that goes into actually casting a fire spell.

I get where Senshi is coming from to a degree. We live in a world where technology makes things very easy for us and we tend to neglect useful skills because of that. Some people aren't competent with basic math because using a calculator is easier. And we have map applications on our phones to help guide us, but most of us probably couldn't read a map if we had to.

I get the feeling that Senshi does not plan on staying with the party beyond this adventure. Marcille's magic would be highly convenient for him but he wants to make sure he has and keeps the skills necessary to work without them.

I'd argue that Marcille is the true protagonist of this story. She's the only member of the team who is not ready for the difficult life the party is living. I don't know yet why she chose to be an adventurer, but I feel like she was enamored by the romance of adventure you'd read about in a story.

Her initial hostility to eating monsters included a shot of her reading the paper and calling people eating monsters fools. And she thinks eating monsters is what criminals with no other options do. If it were up to her, she'd get a meal at the tavern and stock up on travel rations instead of doing all this.

She's still insecure about her utility to the party. And Senshi pointing out how she's doing things because they're easy rather than convenient is getting to her a bit. She's good at magic, yes. And her magic can definitely help everyone out. But she doesn't actually have any practical skills that can help out on a regular adventure outside of fighting. And if she should ever not be able to cast magic, she won't be able to do anything on her own.

Marcille's face tells me we're better off not knowing what that last bit of a golem is. I'm gonna guess some sort of blood magic is involved.

The chapter ends on a nice note about the ecology of the dungeon. Everything plays a role in the environmental balance and over-hunting will disrupt that balance. It explains why he got on Marcille's case in chapter 2 when she planned on killing the whole field of man-eating plants. Destroying them would negatively impact whatever eats them and allow whatever the plants to feed on to grow out of control.

Despite what some people would argue, humans are part of nature as well and we have the power to help keep the environment stable. Senshi's closing remarks on the golems gives an example about how people in this world have helped keep the dungeon environment stable even if by accident.

The golems don't just serve as a hindrance to adventurers trying to get to the lower levels of the dungeon. They also serve as a hindrance to monsters trying to get to the upper levels of the dungeon. They are an artificial creation, but nature adapted around them and they have become a cornerstone creature in how the dungeon environment lives and thrives.

And Senshi himself has chosen to become part of the dungeon environment as well.

back

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi readthrough

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theglitchywriterboi · 6 months ago

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Drive

The first thing I took in was the pain in my right eye. It wouldn't open, but I expected as much.

I don't know who took me or why. We drove in silence. Looking around the car for an escape, I heard a familiar purr. I had ignored it because... It couldn't be that...

After a bit of looking silently, I spotted that the back window was ever so slightly open. I slowly scooted myself closer, doing my best to not make a sound.

Only my finger could fit through. But that'd be enough - I hoped. I stuck one in & began to use my limited strength to pull the window down. I had already tried to see if there were any buttons or cranks to assist my situation, but they were either taken out or covered up.

I had gotten it down far enough to reach my hand out when the driver finally took notice. I was surprised it took them so long - they were deep in conversation, but surely it couldn't have been that interesting to take as long as they did to notice?

The one in the passenger seat hopped in the back with me as the driver began to pull into what I presumed to be my second & final location. The passenger seat person grabbed me, yanking my hand out of the window, giving it a nasty bruise, before he reached for a cloth I could only assume was doused in chloroform or some other drug to put me out.

But before the cloth could reach me, a loud ear piercing hiiiissssssss came from the dashboard screen.

Both of our heads whipped in the direction of the sudden noise. On screen was - my cat. A virtual pet I've had since I was about 8 - having owned him for coming on 13 years. Taking care of him daily, even in high school when all my friends had long since discarded theirs due to the thought it was embarrassing to spend time with their childhood virtual pets. But I hadn't.

"What the fu-" The driver started, when my cat slashed at the screen. The passenger began to chuckle, before they heard the driver yell in agony. My cat slashed again. And again. Each time the driver screamed, blood began to splatter all over the car, but my cat kept going until their screams stopped.

My cat turned to the passenger. Wiser than their friend, they began to scramble out of the car. But just because they were wiser than their friend, doesn't mean they were at all wise. They had so long to run before my cat had turned his attention to them, but they never moved an inch until now. Too in shock to move I assume.

They had made it out of the car faster than I would've assumed. I watched as they ran, before I looked at the screen. My cat was gone?

Looking through the now open door, I saw the passenger yelp before crumpling to the ground. They hadn't gotten far,

They pulled out their phone, throwing it as far away from them as they could, frantically scooting away from it.

It was quiet for a moment. but that didn't last long. A blue cyan colored claw emerged from the phone. It moved & zapped wildly - it wasn't a large jump to assume it was made of electricity. Then a second came, quickly followed by a third & fourth.

The passenger let out a whimper.

My cats head emerged from the phone, made up from the same cyan electricity as its claws were. He bolted for the passenger.

I closed my eyes while it happened. I had a much better view of the passenger, and I didn't want to see... I didn't want to hear it either, but while I dug my fingers deep into my ears, the screams were still deafening.

After what felt like forever, the screaming stopped. I kept my eyes closed & ears plugged for an extra few seconds to be sure.

Before my was a mangled red mess. I quickly shut my eyes. I know these people were scum - they had kidnapped me. But I still felt sick to my stomach. I knew if I wanted to go home I'd have to open my eyes back up. But for now I tried to calm myself down in the peace of my closed eyes.

I felt a soft fuzzy body rub against my chin, before the phone fell into my lap.

It was time to get going now.

Story I posted on reddit for the prompt: "[WP] You have been kidnapped. The only one to have noticed and is coming to your rescue is the digital pet you've been taking care of since you were a small child."

#writeblr #writing #writer #writers #writing community #wip #wips #my wip #my wips #Short Story #My Short Story #Short Stories #My Writing

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honorhearted · 10 months ago

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@brooklynislandgirl | continued from (x)

In a way, Ben felt guilty for finding delight in the mundane again. Without Samuel, he didn't believe he was supposed to laugh, nor function, nor even be happy, and yet in many instances...he was. Perhaps this was why he was already a bit existential by his fourth cup of coffee, and he was already contemplating the meaning of love and personal relationships by the time their waitress stopped by with a judgmental look -- the kind that said are you still here? but with attempted politeness.

Fortunately, Ellie didn't seem bothered by his potential blunder. She raised her hands, possibly feigning nonchalance as she said, "See, that's the thing about secrets, isn't it? If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret any more."

Ben snorted, a faint smile tipping the corner of his mouth. "So you got me on a technicality," he agreed, idly brushing his thumb over the small, distracting divot on his coffee mug. "I suppose it'd rob you of your oh-so-alluring mystery -- and heaven forbid we ever do that." Picking up a discarded straw wrapper, he started folding it up between his fingers. "I, for one, am grateful you didn't say you'd have to k.ill me for asking. Don't let this suave exterior fool you: I am not immune to the calls of my local l.ibrary, so if you had me taken out, I'd be literally unable to check-out the new releases this month. And then I'd have to come back and haunt you."

Ellie took a sip from her own mug, appearing as if she were garnering her resolve. To his surprise, she confessed, "I suppose I'd not tell them about any doubts I might have about them or me. No one really likes to hear that kind of thing and well, I guess if I eventually have one, I'd be very careful about trying to keep one."

Ben hummed, for once finding himself without words. If Ellie was implying what he thought she was, then he found it rather surprising -- not to mention, unbelievable -- that she'd never maintained an actual relationship. She was intelligent, charming, and strikingly beautiful, and he very much enjoyed her company. Surely, plenty of others had noticed the same?

"And are these 'not-lovers' insane, or is there something you have yet to tell me? Like, what's the secret here?" Appraising her with a lopsided smile, he prodded, "Do you turn into a pumpkin if you're not home by midnight?"

All at once, Ellie reversed the question. "Your turn, T.allmadge. Are you the kind of guy who acts on his immediate emotions, or do you wait for facts or a first move before acting?"

Ben scoffed, taking the opportunity to flick his straw wrapper. It flew upwards and knocked Ellie in the chin, then skittered forlornly onto the floor like a small, crumpled tumbleweed. With his physical deflection no longer in place, he twined his hands and shrugged, flashing what he hoped to be an appeasing smile. "Isn't it obvious?" he asked. "When we first met, you asked me out for coffee and I leapt at the opportunity, regardless of whether or not you were an axe m.urderer. I'd say I'm pretty impulsive." Ducking his gaze, his smile grew warmer, though with a visible hint of shyness. "I don't know...I honestly can't say I've ever really thought about it before. Did you miss my whole joke about the l.ibrary? If it wasn't apparent, I don't exactly have dating on the nightly docket."

#brooklynislandgirl #as simple as it gets #v: modern au #// no need for an icon unless you want to!#i just tend to put one in the first post for the aestheticTM lol

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bcbdrums · 1 year ago

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Grasping for the Wind

A/N: Oh good heavens, it's a Soul Eater fanfic. Multi-chap, this is just the prologue. More info on AO3/FFn. Anime based, canon compliant, it's about Stein. It's good I promise.

Inspired by this fanart.

Read on: AO3 FFn

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

Prologue

"I screwed up."

Stein looked at the sterile cart with its neat, tidy rows of instruments and sutures. And for the first time in his life, taking one of the delicate tools in his hand didn't cause his heart to race with excitement.

"I couldn't guard because if I did, Soul would get hurt. And I couldn't attack, because the black blood would harden against them. I was going to run away but...he backed me against the wall. The doors wouldn't open. I..."

"Maka."

"I never should have gone in there! I screwed up!"

"It will be okay, Maka. Once we get back to the DWMA, Stein will patch up Soul. Isn't that right, Stein?"

Stein's fingers tightened on the forceps until his knuckles were white even through his latex glove.

"I screwed up."

"What?" Naigus said, and Stein remembered he wasn't alone.

"Nothing. Sorry," he said, bringing his attention back to the present as the weapon acted as nurse.

He watched as she gently and deftly washed away the seemingly endless red stains, revealing pale skin and torn flesh underneath. Some required a little more effort where the blood had dried, but too much of it was still fresh. He had already administered drugs to help the blood to clot, which he was grateful for the patient's sake had taken quick effect.

He adjusted his gloves as Naigus discarded the third blood-soaked cloth and moistened a fourth. The sight of the injuries as they were being revealed would usually inspire him and drive his curiosity, but this time they only caused him to grimace.

"Surprised to see you scrubbed up," Naigus said, glancing up at him from her task.

"Yes, well. He probably wouldn't want to see his blood all over my clothes afterward."

'He would probably reject my operating, too.'

"Do you mind if I ask...what happened out there?" Naigus said as she dropped yet another blood-soaked cloth in the hazardous waste bin.

Stein wished for a cigarette as he stared at the blood seeping slowly from countless lacerations, some long and some short, but all of them deep. They began neatly just below the collarbone and ended jaggedly below the navel, the entire torso having fallen victim and appearing now as a mutilated mess. There was hardly any white of skin to be seen, the wounds were that dreadful, and Stein grit his teeth as he forced his gaze upward from the red of the bloodied flesh to the red of Spirit's hair, and the pained expression on the face of his unconscious, former partner.

"You heard me," he replied. "I screwed up."

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lilywily143 · 2 years ago

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Murder Drones Theory Number 2

The First Theory

I think I have a better idea for how Uzi's flesh form could have happened and the program Absolute Solver. I think her mom was a prototype for a Murder Drone but didn't work and was discarded; sent to the planet so she would be killed by the better ones later one as a fitting punishment. A defective murder drone killed by perfect ones? How perfect~

I am not observant or the best at hearing, but I now know about Cyn, this fourth drone member. Thank you "things you may have missed" videos. So Uzi's mom probably isn't her unless she changed her name to distant herself from the Murderers. But I won't go that far.

But I feel like her being a beta drone with Tessa's attempt to make a drone more human-like by using animal flesh instead of using human bodies. But when that didn't work, Uzi's mom was discarded but survived without the humans knowing. How would they find out? It's not like she'd contact them.

I feel like this is how she may know about the program, Absolute Solver and what can be made by it. She had drawings of creatures Uzi accidentally made when she used too much of the program. She may have known when trying to practice being a murderer and maybe use the creatures for killing...?

I feel like that's also why the joke with 'the cool S' fits. That's a human classic graphic, so a beta drone made by Tessa and around her may have known about a lot of human things.

And small thing, I do like how too much Absolute Solver can really change a drone. Doll may be an exception, but she only used it for attacking. Not like Uzi who used it to hold a flashlight constantly or J who had no control of the program fixing her body in the first place, that was pure program which is why she didn't have a humanoid shape like Uzi with her control still there.

So that's my idea. This next bit is basically fan-fiction but it's a nice read, I hope.

Uzi's mom was a beta murder drone with more flesh that Tessa tried to make so Nori wouldn't be so closely regarded as a drone and have her represent the hate to drones more. Nori learns about tactics the humans wanted the murder drones to use on normal drones during her time with humans.

But she doesn't work. So she's sent to the planet as the defiant drone she is. So when the better drones are sent, she can be killed off by them for a perfect punishment.

When the new squad is made, the flesh is lessened by a lot. The leftover parts that Nori also had was the human hair and a tongue with a realistic saliva but with the healing addition that Nori doesn't have [otherwise Uzi would have that trait if slightly, maybe].

Whether Khan really knows about Nori's state or not may be talked about in new episodes. But I feel like he knows it [if it's true]. He is terrified of the murder drones because he know how absolutely nothing they are to Nori. She was a beta who couldn't hurt anyone, but these 'better' versions of his wife are so much more violent.

And Uzi now has some features of her mother and when Khan finds out, he may get scared again of Uzi's safety. If a 'weaker' murder drone could be killed by the most recent murder drones, then a kid who doesn't even have all the parts of the murderer since he helped build her with parts like his normal self definitely won't be safe if the drones turn on her.

At least that's what he'll think, Uzi knew how to go against V.

#LilyWily Post #murder drones theory rants #Murder Drones #body horror #Murder Drones Spoilers #murder drones episode 4 #Nori Doorman #Absolute Solver #Uzi Doorman #Khan Doorman #Doorman Family

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hekateinhell · 2 years ago

Note

TW: suicide mention below

One extra thought on the Devil's Plaything AU that wouldn't fit in the replies. What if Lestat ran away from home with his boyfriend Nicki to the US, but lost him after he just disappeared in a suspected suicide, and that's why he becomes so obsessed with finding Louis again after their encounter since they look so alike and Lestat is losing his mind with grief.

When Armand finds Lestat he is in this extremely rough,lost, impulsive and self-destructive place and being with Armand helps give him some focus and structure again and helps him refocus on his goals (not to say that it's the healthiest thing all the time). For extra drama, what if it turns out that Nicki answered one of Armand's calls for those no longer interested in continuing with life one night.

What if that's an additional reason Armand feels so much towards Lestat when they first meet, he'd first seen Lestat through the eyes of someone who loved him during the very same act that practically ruined Lestat's life and sent him off the rails. So he feels extra responsibility to make things right and make Lestat happy, though as we see with Daniel he doesn't always know how best to moderate that with the health and wellbeing of his human lovers/pets.

Then of course there is the drama of what happens if Lestat finds out. Maybe Armand kept something he found in Nicki's pocket that was a gift from Lestat, and Lestat finds it and puts 2 and 2 together.

It's all getting very soap opera, this is what happens when I think about these guys first thing in the morning haha

Part I of the mortal!Lestat/Armand AU is here, for context.

Besides myself at you for introducing this much angst into the AU... Like, of course, that's what initially caught his eye when he saw Louis.

Suppose Lestat even managed to snap a photo of Louis in the bar where they met and he's so blindly fixated on tracking him down that he's taking out a page in the newspapers (it was the '70s, people got away with a lot back then), phoning in radio stations during the "missing connection" segments, the whole nine—he's totally losing it. He's in a new country and the only person he had left in the world to rely on is dead and gone.

So Armand is in his flop post-Louis phase, aimlessly prowling around when he happens to see a discarded newspaper on a park bench one night and randomly picks it up to see Louis's photograph alongside Lestat's contact information. How could Louis be so careless? Why was a mortal seeking out one of their kind? Did he have any idea the nature of the creature he sought? And Lestat... the name of the beautiful, golden-haired young man that had all but glowed like the long-forgotten warm summer sunshine in the dark, tortured mind of his victim a couple weeks prior. Could it be?

Of course, Armand needs to gather himself and it takes him approximately three days and nights to do so. He wakes up on the fourth night, having decided to let things lie, and perhaps move on to another city, when he hears Lestat's voice for the first time coming through the radio of a car stopped at a red light. Doesn't realize it's the same person from the paper until he gives his name and it matches the one Armand read... it's such a unique name too, it can only be him. And his heavily accented voice is so young and pleading and desperate.

He's begging someone, anyone to reach out to him if they know the person he's describing.

So someone, anyone does.

It's not hard for Armand to track Lestat down to his crappy little studio apartment where he's drinking heavily and enters through Lestat's open kitchen window like the wraith from the netherworld that he is.

Lestat promptly has one of those cartoon moments where he holds up the liquor bottle and considers that perhaps he's had a little too much to drink. That passes quickly and he's understandably terrified; Armand is more viciously curious and not caring at all about the shock to a human being that revealing himself as a fucking vampire would trigger. He's thinking he'd figure out how a mortal had been allowed to survive an encounter with Louis (and furthermore, run his mouth about it). And he's also more than a little angry and resentful at having had all his repressed memories of Marius come bubbling to the surface ever since he saw Lestat in Nicki's final moments.

But then he takes in Lestat's appearance and it's a knife through the heart and suddenly, without Lestat ever knowing it, Armand's at his complete and utter mercy by virtue of Lestat looking like the veritable son of Marius. Armand thought he was prepared but to see it right in front of him... He frantically catalogs Lestat's features and pries through the turmoil and confusion in his mind to see into his soul, and instantly decides he wants this human for himself.

Lestat's in a proper state though; this isn't Daniel looking for a fun story and being charmed by a gentleman vampire to be eased into accepting the supernatural as part of the reality. This was feral Armand climbing through a six-story window and standing over Lestat like the Angel of Death. It's nothing a simple illusion can't fix (Armand doesn't want him hysterical) and within moments Lestat's docile and sweet and silent while Armand recalibrates, tucking Lestat's curls behind his ears and cleaning him up on autopilot.

It's terrifying—the fierce and abrupt protective instinct that over takes him—knowing right then and there this one would be different than all the other pets.

He talks to Lestat softly, as though he were soothing an infant, as he gradually lessens the illusion bit-by-bit. Tells him Louis is no ordinary man, reminds Lestat that he put out a call for "somebody, anybody" and Armand's answered it. No need to think any further on Louis, however, he's lost to himself. Armand's here, and he wants him. Says he'll give Lestat everything he's ever wanted in this life and more—he's already looked into his heart and seen his wildest hopes and dreams, and he'll give him whatever he desires but Lestat has to do something for him first.

At this point, Lestat's come back into himself and sobered up as much as he's going to under the circumstances, and he's convinced the devil himself has come to offer him a deal.

"And what could you possibly want?" Lestat counters, because he's got a touch of attitude even when talking to the devil. And Armand offers, "You will be my teacher in this new era. You will teach me the ways of the century. You will belong to me. Then you have my word that I will grant you whatever your heart has ever desired, tenfold."

Lestat can't resist, "And if I refuse?" That's when Armand smiles his beautiful, fanged smile and shakes his head, saying, "We both know that you won't."

Then everything I mentioned in Part I takes place, etc etc. It's fairly smooth sailing, like I said—they have no reason to argue. I love what you said in the comments of the other post about Lestat having his own aspirations and ambitions separate from Armand, because yes he would! He's not simply living in Armand's world and going along with his whims, it's a mutual intertwining.

Daniel was all swept up in wanting to be a vampire and wanting a vampire, human life in itself held no interest to him.

Canon!Lestat loved humanity. When Magus told him to ask for the Dark Gift, he said 'no' repeatedly. So yes, I think in this AU, he would definitely insist that Armand provide X in exchange for Y, Armand would love the challenge and enjoy seeing him happy and satisfied with mortal pleasures and achievements.

Like an indulgent owner giving their most favorite cat a treat.

Now for that final nugget of drama you mentioned... let's presume Armand took a ring off Nicki that caught his eye that fateful night. A ring that Lestat had given him, and something Armand had kept with his few trinkets in his coffin until he'd made a permanent home with Lestat on their West Coast island. Armand hadn't realized the significance of it, hadn't counted on Lestat recognizing it since his memories pre-Armand were largely muddled due to his lifestyle and gorging on vamp blood nightly, and so he was careless in placing it in the jewelry box in the massive bedroom they shared for a few hour precious every night.

Understandably, Lestat falls to pieces at the realization and the horror of it all, full on existential crisis a la TVL, everything. This would their first real fight, in which Lestat calls Armand all kinds of names like "you monstrous, repulsive, demon from hell!" and at least several others. Armand breaks down and cries and tells Lestat that at least Nicki died a quick, merciful, painless death; by far the kindest option from anything he would have done to himself. Lestat cusses him out yet again and insists that he doesn't believe him, so Armand offers to let him see it in his blood if it would bring him any closure (Armand doesn't know that much about humans, remember... this is hardly the best idea).

Lestat accepts Armand's offer and is horrified to see in stark clarity Nicki's final moments, and also overwhelmed by the outpour of love he feels from Armand and Armand's own pain underlying it all. He pulls off and falls into a fitful sleep before waking up the next day close to dusk. Yet Armand is nowhere to be found. He's never missed a night with Lestat since he'd climbed through that window in the old apartment and it never occurred to him that Armand just wouldn't appear one day. Every single one of his childhood abandonment issues comes surging to the surface, compounded with the renewed grief of losing Nicki.

By the second night and no sign of Armand, Lestat's pacing the mansion and the beach outside their front door, screaming Armand's name at the top of his lungs like a crazy person, willing him to appear like the apparition that he is.

And he does, silent and repentant. Lestat's not sure that he forgives him yet, that he can forgive him, but nonetheless he clings to him and bends down to bury his face against the cold, dead skin of Armand's throat and swears up and down that he does. Tries to say something about predestiny, that he always knew deep down Nicki wasn't going to be okay, so on.

Eventually, he believes it (because what choice does he have?) and life goes on (for now).

#i spent today's writing time on this I HAVE THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS ABOUT THEM OKAY #i apologize for typos because it is once again past my bedtime rip #you ask and hekate answers #vc #armand/lestat #armand #lestat de lioncourt #devil's minion au #fic: devil's playmate

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y-make-art · 2 years ago

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After playing Rayman Revolution and reading a bit mi head started thinking about Jano and his cave and his mini versions of him and I came to the theory that Jano isn't as bad as is depicted In the lore.

Lemme ramble bout this a bit ok? And I'm just taking Rayman 2 in consideration cuz I think he has been misinterpreted in other games (RO manual and Rayman GBA, idk any other) but let's all agree he's still a nightmare and the first one or a powerful one cuz it has sense to him being a type of guardian (idk I'm trying, bear with me).

First point, he waves at Rayman when he's arriving, an evil guy would do that? Prob but he looks cute.

Second point, he gives Rayman an elixir for Clark if he proves himself to be worthy (crossing the cave and rejecting the gold), a bad guy wouldn't do that even of you win in his own game.

Third point, he worries about Rayman spilling the elixir and tells him to guard it carefully, he's worried about the one in need of it (he knows is for Clark, he reads minds)

Fourth point, Clark knows so much about him like- about the elixir and the cave's name. Seems like there's only few ppl aware of this info and Clark is one of them, either it is bc he's one of the first creatures or bc he personally knows the guardian, meaning Jano is social in some way.

And my favorite, the fifth point. His mini janos drop useful items when Rayman defeats them, it's understandable in the cave cuz he was testing Rayman, but in the sanctuary of stone and fire?? He sent a mini him with a plum. Yeah theres plum trees in the zone but none of them have the plum-sprout-thing so I like to think he was like "hey, let me help you but be worthy of my help" or smthing like that.

Also I love the fact that in the cave the item guarded is an orb, a reflective made out of crystal (prob) object guarded by many small minijanos but in the sactuary is a plum guarded by a larger and healthier minijano. Like if the orb was making them many but weaker and the plum being nothing special was keeping the nigtmare as one.

I'm trailing off, so yeah Jano is helpful but he's putting challenges to get his help and I friking hope him as well as many other discarded creatures from the games make their return oh gosh we need a new game.

But that's just a theory, A GAME THEOR-

#It's 3am I can't sleep #rayman #rayman 2 #Rayman jano #rambling #I have more theories regarding rayman games #Specially R2 cuz is my fav game and the loooooore duuuuude

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commehter · 2 years ago

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Two - Gravity Falls Fanfic

Rating: Teen Genre: Slice of Life Pairings: Filbrick Pines/Ma Pines Characters: Filbrick, Ma, Shermie Summary: It's a sweltering summer day in 1952. Spending it in a hospital waiting room with a bored nine-year-old was not ideal, but at least it was something he had been expecting. What came after the waiting was done? That was another matter.

A stubborn tough New Jersey native, Filbrick wasn't too creative. Having twins was not his plan, so he just shrugged and named both Stan. - A Tale of Two Stans

~.~.~.~.~

Chapter 1: Not His Plan

Glass Shard Beach, NJ June 01, 1952

Filbrick Pines watches as his son Sherman flips through the same magazine for the fourth time. The nine-year-old's head is resting heavily against his fist and his eyes are half-lidded in boredom, but he isn't making a fuss and Filbrick is contemplating on what might be an appropriate reward for the (considering the circumstances) good behavior. And, perhaps, he is only actually looking for a way to stave off his own boredom; the two of them have been trapped in this muggy hospital waiting room for hours, after all.

Sherman sighs loudly before tossing the magazine onto the low table in front of them. "I almos' wish I was at school, instead," the boy grouses, "At leas' the air conditioner works there." He then proceeds to make a show of pulling his sweat-dampened t-shirt away from his chest.

"Boy," Filbrick says, his tone warning enough that nothing further is needed.

"Sorry, Dad," the child immediately responds, "It's jus' so hot! ...and I'm bored."

Filbrick sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose. He can't argue on either count. The pawnshop owner himself has not only discarded his suit jacket, but also rolled up his sleeves, loosened his tie, and even gone so far as to undo the first three buttons of his shirt. 'And still sweating like a pig,' he thinks despairingly. And, to top it off, there really is little to nothing to occupy themselves with in the room.

He stares down at Sherman long enough that the child starts to squirm under his gaze. "We'll stop for ice cream on our way home," Filbrick finally decides.

Sherman brightens immediately at the thought. "Really?" he asks, bouncing slightly in his chair.

"Hmm," Filbrick returns, the barest hint of a smile hidden beneath his mustache, "if you keep on your best manners while we wait to meet your brother."

"Yes, sir!" the boy chirps before he blinks and adds, "I thought Mom said I was getting a baby sister?"

The man shrugs. "Your mother says a lot of things."

"Yeah..." Sherman stretches the word out as he eyes his father carefully, "but normally you jus' agree with her."

A surprised snort of laughter escapes him before before he can stop it, followed by a chuckle. "Come here, you scamp." Sherman grins widely before abandoning his own chair for his father's knee. "Firstly," Filbrick begins after the boy is settled, "I 'normally just agree' with your mother because it's too much work to argue with her. And if you tell her I said that, you can kiss your allowance goodbye for a month." Sherman nods quickly, pressing a finger to his grinning lips. "And second... Your mother and I don't know if the baby will be a boy or girl, just that they're coming. We find out today."

"Oh..." the boy thinks for a second and then suggests, "Maybe I'll get both! A baby brother and a baby sister!"

"Twins?" Filbrick manages as he tries to stifle further laughter, "Don't let your mother know you're wishing that on her, knucklehead. She wouldn't appreciate the thought of having to deliver two babies instead of one."

"Why?"

"Oh... Well..."

Both of the Pines males are distracted from their conversation when a new sound is added to the background noise: namely, a very loud, high-pitched crying.

"Mister Filbrick Pines?" a harried nurse inquires as she sticks her head through the doorway.

"That's me," Filbrick responds as he quickly rises from his seat and deposits Sherman in his place, "Did something happen?"

"I'm terribly sorry, Mister Pines," the nurse rushes to explain while entering the room properly, revealing the squalling newborn she's holding, "This isn't normal procedure, but it's Sunday and we're running on a skeleton crew and I really do need to be getting back to help the doctor with the rest of the delivery. Here, this is your son. Careful, now! Support his head. We just weren't expecting two!"

Before he has had time to truly process what is happening, the nurse has successfully transferred the crying babe into Filbrick's arms and is scurrying back the way she came.

'Two?' he thinks faintly, 'We're not prepared for twins! Oh God, what if the nurse is wrong and there's more than just two?'

"Wow, he's really loud! Are all babies like this? Does this mean my baby sister is next?"

The words jolt Filbrick from his worries and back to the present. "Hmph. We'll see." The man finally tears his gaze away from the door the nurse had disappeared through and redirects it to the screaming bundle in his arms.

A grimace of disgust takes over his face. The boy is still covered in the gore of childbirth. 'They didn't even bother to clean him up before dragging him all through the hospital?' He teases a corner of the blanket free and uses it to wipe away some of the blood (and other fluids he doesn't want to think about) from his son's face.

With the loosening of the fabric, it isn't long before the wailing child works one of his arms free. "Hush now. You're safe," Filbrick mutters to the upset child while gently prying away the fingers clutching his shirt. He does his best to ignore the smeared handprint left behind. The shirt was already ruined, anyway. Probably.

Heedless of the piercing wails, Sherman edges closer to look at the baby. "Why's he so angry?"

"He's probably more scared than angry, Sherman. This is all new to him."

"Oh," Sherman gazes up at his father, "You should sing."

Filbrick blinks and then turns to look at the nine-year-old. "Excuse me?"

"You should sing," the boy repeats with a nod, "When I get scared, Mom sings, and then I feel better."

"Boy, I do not sing." Sherman looks like he might try to press the idea so Filbrick adds, "Believe me, if you'd ever heard me attempt to do so, you'd be grateful for that fact."

Sherman frowns for a moment, and then, "If you don't sing... Should I sing?"

Filbrick shrugs, bouncing his newborn son in his arms with the motion. "Not sure it'll help, but you can try."

~.~.~.~.~

You can read the rest of the story on AO3.

6 Chapters

10K Words

Completed 07/10/2016

Happy reading!

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bobelblogger · 7 months ago

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Discarded

Raiders of the Lost Realm Part B

No chance, if she got one or two it wouldn't be enough, by the third or fourth they'd have her in the crosshairs, no where to run, ten rounds in each mag, Most effective at a closer range.

A ploy came to mind, wether triggered by the pistol emblem or its name, Gottvia, a landed lady who as penance for a scandal was paraded naked atop a horse around the countryside with only her hair to shield her body instead of whipping or branding, convinced the courts it was a crime to harm such a magnificent creation.

L.C took inspiration from her, quickly undoing her braid and slipping out of her top, removed her shoes and took off her socks.

Stood up slowly and called out "I know where the Obelisk Key is, I'll show you if they go free first."

L.C raised her hands even with her head as a whole line of glinting muzzles tracked her movement.

Her glorious tan DDs bouncing in sync with swaying hips as her brown hair flowed down her middle and sides.

Thoran and Probsta both on their knees were held by a soldier with the CO standing between them, his eyes hidden behind red tint sunshades.

"I'll lead you there, you don't need them." So saying through clenched teeth, hands raised.

"Alright, you have a deal." He turned ordering them to lower weapons. Yet fingered his machete hilt.

L.C was sweating bullets closing the distance to fifteen yards as the hot tarmac baked her feet and the setting sun behind blazed her back and butt.

The lustful eyes of twenty men stared at her majestic glossy athletic body.

In that moment the shoelace holding the triggers of her guns between her armpits was tongued a rapid burst hit four in one go. The second burst hit the one holding the two as the rest regained their wits Probsta fell flat and rolled away as Thoran wrested the firearm of his captor and mowed down six more.

L.C sprinted at the CO who drew his weapon to slash Thoran, taking the empty pistol and whipped him in the throat. An audible crunch when it hit made her sure she'd broken it, his swipe faltered and cut Thoran's flight jacket sleeve through to his shoulder, shouting out in pain he stumbled spraying bullets hitting nearby canisters labeled Gift leaking the contents.

The last swipe L.C dodged as he went down, propping him up for cover while dragging the body through the captive pens L.C shot every latch off letting a stampede of fleeing jungle folk cover them as they climbed aboard Probsta's Lyun Aeroship. Her remaining pistols magazine were two bullets and empty and the extra mags were on her gun belt with her discarded clothes, but she had the Mercs machete, Probsta had a rifle as did Thoran, putting on the sunshades in a fashion pose pistols crossed over her breasts.

The machine spurred and piffed, bullets wizzed by the spinning props as labored engines roared like mighty beasts waking rang in her ears.

Thoran gave L.C his flight jacket and climbed the ladder up into the ballast regulation compartment.

Lifting off as the ground fell away and just cleared the edge of the bases fence, the sun began going down beyond the furthest hills as evening settled in.

"We're overweight, we must gain height!" Turning around "drop spare fuel." Thoran reported.

"A slight increase in altitude, we need to lose anything--oopsy turned on the gamaphone." Probsta said.

L.C opened the gull wing hatch as a blacklisted symphony issued from the horn.

She pitched four fuel barrels out into the sky, suddenly the craft lurched left and she was hurled out the hatch by sheer luck she grasped for the last cable mooring line with her hands, holding on for life and limb screaming as the tallest trees scraped L.Cs soles they soared higher.

She tried climbing but her sweat slicked body couldn't move, up above she saw Thoran try to reach the cable halfway on the skids but was unable to, he ducked in and came back with a parachute in hand, gesturing a toss she nodded and with a light throw she caught it.

L.Cs toes clamped so tightly on the mooring ballast they cramped as her free hand tried to put the chute on.

"I've been good, I'll make an offering." It seemed the wrong deity heard her plea.

Dragged through a swarm of bugs, gross stinky guts filled glow bugs, spitting and wiping her face had barely breathed when she was pecked by a bird, then another then more and more until she pulled the chute cord tugging brutishly on her chest as she floated gingerly downwind.

"I'm never flying again, you fuckers hear me? L.C hollered at the skies, "Eat flowers and shit fertilizer you fucks!"

Far far in the distance the music from the Aeroship disappearing into the trees gave her a heading to follow.

------

The right shitty part was she would have to go on foot, before long the chute snagged some branches as she dangled trying to unhook the harness.

Every single thing about this mission was bizarre and gross and whacked on so many levels it was comical to L.C.

Once she wasted enough time swinging to no effect, a drop to ground of uncertain texture below began to climb.

The cords dug her hands as she pulled herself higher then grabbed for a branch and hand over handed to a noch then hit the buckle release and nearly fell out the tree.

Something was watching her through eyes that shone white and glowed, it's silhouette form hunched with a long tail.

"My domain you have disturbed and intruded on, what is your offering to stay my fangs, nude lady?" It insisted.

"I'm not here on purpose damnit, leave me be and I'll leave your domain, I'm trying to get someplace else."

It moved from tree limb to tree limb like a wisp of mist, L.C rifled through the jacket for any trinkets or tools or crucially a fucking knife, just a photograph of some bimbo naked in a pond curled up like a little bitch.

"I asked the nude lady a question, if places were reversed I would answer less a bad outcome be delivered."

"Take the jacket and let me leave unmolested, do we have a deal?" L.C removed her only covering holding it out.

"Nude lady looks quite fetching, leave it on the branch, use the vine to descend tree." It indicated with its eyes.

'Fuck this shit, fuck this prick, just grab the vine to the ground and Amelia's your aunt get to the Doc.'

Making the jump quickly wrapped the jacket around the vine and slid down until the sloshy murk met her feet, made for the light fading through the trees, "Game on bitch." She mocked.

"I'll rip that thing from your quivering corpse when I get my fangs on you!" Not far behind the voice shrieked.

She had no alternative, as only a person running for their life could L.C hauled ass like it was on fire, spidered up a rooty rock ridge which went awry after she reached a handhold and wretched her wrist on it. "Fathersucker!"

L.C didn't hear any snaps of twigs or rustle of leaves afterward and that spooked her more, looking back swore she glimpsed a faint twinkle of white that disappeared.

Checking her jacket pockets once more in a mad hope for a fucking lighter or a fucking knife.

As her legs ached and lungs heaved, before her a long ravine just beyond with a sullen orange and black stripe skinned bra band and loin clothed silver white haired female sitting crossed legged on the only tree trunk over the consuming abyss, a flute lay on her lap, moreover her big ears took form like a bat or bear, a white tip tail whipped around behind her in a blur of movements.

L.C made a step and a half forward with trepidation and watched the hybrid lick her lips and yawn up to the sky.

"Ah Muna, up earlier than normal, maybe she's feeling month pains as well, we all get them, a curse forced upon us."

"I've wondered what it would be like, such a tranquil place to live and have a life, only take food and my instrument."

"How lonely must she be, only meet Solas on passing days, they part and wait until they meet once more."

The last thing L.C wanted was to set this chick off until she found out if she was alone, talk is worth life.

"Do you like the top or bottom, it makes no difference to my sisters, they've taken their fill on this day." The alurring minx asked and stated.

L.C shrugged.

Taking her silence as submission, uncrossed her legs while swapping the flute to her left hand, sniffing the air.

"I'm partial to being the rider rather than the ridden myself, taking in the smells and sounds as a sensual snack."

As she spoke an odor began to tickle L.C's nose as her senses grew sluggish and her thoughts muddled.

"My mate would blindfold me to seek him by ear playing his flute, sometimes only by nose and his aroma." She began to fidget more and her eyes widened, her tail flared as she stood up and took two steps forward also.

"You want to hear a song about lovemaking." Brought the flute to her lips began playing and seductively swaying.

L.C shook her head and turned away so as to non verbally answer, honestly the tune sounded pretty but she really didn't have time for this and really why would she with an injury and no compass or map to find the way.

"Not very conversational, well in any event you don't have much in the way of looks unlike me, still you'll suffice."

"Why does everything inhabiting this overgrown zoo want to fight or fuck me, let me pass," She tiredly voiced.

"You come where the wild live you come to get wild." She tossed the flute and adjusted her bra band.

"No, I won't let this be over, you want to pass this ravine and I want a wrestling match, savvy?"

L.C's gut grumbled rubbing her wrist which had swollen in size, the options fewer so took a fencing stance.

"They call me Smallfang, what is your go by tall, tan, tited interloper." She stated giddily smirking. "L.C." she replied.

Right as they locked limbs a slithering feeling went up her spine and overcame her senses as the world darkened.

Awake to find herself on the tarmac at sunset amid her own heartbeat and sounds of muttered insults. Before she could move they had her by the arms as she knelt nude among the toadskin camo clad company, trousers and skivys pulled from the waist down, hard cocks of varying sizes and shades met her eye level, dirt marred her tits and face, her plan had seemly failed, they had her and no one was coming, the circle parted to allow the CO through, his head shaved into a stubble cut drew attention to the left ear which seemed partly bitten off, red tint sunshades covered his eyes and brows leaving a crooked nose thick mustache and wide toothy smile to convey his smug asshole expression.

"We want you to star in a short film, title pending all you need to do is obey commands and you'll still draw breath."

A reel cinematic camera and tripod was brought out with the scene set she knew what they wanted.

Fed her lines L.C reluctantly gave a show finger tracing her tatas and biting her lip with a purr swaying and turning her head as each made use of her mouth while her hands juggled balls while more jerked off into her hair across her back and ass while the orally pleased spilt over her chin and boobs as she licked and suckled, hummed and swallowed, the bitter taste made her sick as it seemed to go on and on with more pushing her onto all fours she felt her whole being ache with shame and deep inside a caged whorish lust was let loose, the whole company rigorously reamed her anus and vale with untempered vigor, she only came once and it was from the rearward attentions of a very husky merc that held her ears, rubbing them simultaneously with his long thrusts timed to her own, wailing moans of abject defeat and fulfillment undulating from her throat like roars.

Long after two reels worth of footage was left to lay languidly leaking love liquid as each dropped a coin by her prone form, she wasn't returned her clothing or footwear, they each held a piece of it, returned to her feet and hared her spanked tush into the bush amid a choir of jeers and taunts, a trail of muddled viscous goo left behind.

As L.C came to from the dream or vision or reality ripped a huge fart as Kittycat sat atop her bent over her vale.

"Yuck nasty cur, right in my mouth!" Smallfang sputtered and recoiled from L.C as she yelped in disgust.

Taking hold of and locked the stunned femme feline in a choke began massaging her ears with a steady rhythm.

"Yeah well trick or treat smell my queef." She mocked and tightened her legs in a vice of horny heat.

Struggle as she may L.C could tell the catress was getting weaker from the smell the pressure on her throat and the endogenous rubbing between her ears. "Say auntie." She squeezed " Say it, say your beaten."

"Mmmm never....rather....die....oh white....tiger....forgive....me....au....aun....auntie." tapped her palm on L.C's knee, submitting.

The sphere in the sky bled, or scientifically turned sanguine as it climbed higher up, Smallfang sat up and purred.

"Now, lead me to the site of my choice then go your own way." L.C stood over her and sternly intoned, letting her stiff Thoran's jacket who crossed the ravine and led her into the blood moonlit jungle.

------

Once Smallfang located the wrecked craft, L.C inspected the pilot compartment that separated from the main body and nearly deflated aerobag by a wide stretch, the seat still had its chute most likely they rode it down, A cluster of red dots on the headrest and panel alarmed her; 'who's blood was it, where were they, what could she do?'

Yowling had her turn around a split second later to more noises filling the breeze as yet more denizens of this perilous ponderous place made themselves known, Smallfang a did a somersault off her rocky perch and landed on fours then scurried inside, sniffing the chair led L.C to the chartbox a map wasn't in it but a stack of aerial photos were, denoting targets of priority in G bombing runs, along with two codebooks written in Trishian script.

Curious but realizing her time was running out stuffed the books in into her jacket and followed her catracker on the trail of smells, for what seemed a brief eternity until they heard gunfire and flashes in the night.

"It is here we must part ways, I can say it's been fascinating." Smallfang bowed and sprinted off back into the dark.

Within closer view the moon's glow cast her shadow in the line of sight from the force she judged was her own.

Elephants, monkeys, raptors and bears lay dead near circled colonial corpsmen and six dozerollers, upon which the red with purple clawed banner blew in the wind, the Doctor sat amid and without her helmet for the first time L.C noticed the burn across her forehead down her cheek on the left side.

"Crafton, you're extremely late, I though you dead, have you got the tablet halve in your possession?"The Doc ordered.

The homing function on the android should've activated and brought the item. "Its with the android" L.C admitted.

From the dark a feminine form with torn flight gear stumbled into the clearing as from another direction the hunched hairy form of Beth-Butha-Betha and the limp body of the Jace unit and with her the tablet,

"Just hold it, don't shoot her she's friendly,

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massivecore13 · 1 year ago

Note

How sweet it is the hesitation of an unintentional victim crossing the hideout of a predator. Beyond finds himself sneering as he slowly climbs the bed in two careful strides; the mattress willingly accepts the weight of the owner with not a single creaking, so unless you wouldn't follow the scene you couldn't register the boy's movements.

B settles down in a crouch, the plants of his feet free of the constriction of shoes ─ when he discarded them a few feets halfway between the end of the bed and the dresser, no one can tell.

He observes Saturn peeking inside the refrigerator cautiously as if a monster could get out of it… But it doesn't. Of course, it doesn't.

The monster is right there on the loose.

"You're welcome. Finally, you show a sign of gratitude!" B shows a toothy grin in response before falling flat on the mattress, reaching out for something hidden between the legs of the frame and the wall.

"Uhm, I had a feeling I didn't put it back in the fridge…" He ignores Saturn's question while rummaging for a little longer at the quest of an unknown something ─ turns out, it is an already open jar of jam.

"What is the history of having a fridge?" Backup scoops up a generous amount of jam between two fingers and brings it to his mouth. Thick drops fall in the path from the jar to his hungry lips, but he doesn't seem to notice. "First of all, your fridge your rules. Keep it always in mind, Sat."

A statement that is just the premise of the madness coming after.

"First scenario. Preserve your batteries and emergency candles. Power-outage essentials last longer when stored in the freezer. Since what happens nowadays ─ I mean, a chemical fire in the kitchen, Sat, one never knows what disaster these kids can cause! So, see, it's useful."

Fingers scratch the end of the jar in a huff; damn, it was the last one of his personal provisions.

"Second scenario. Your Tweety Bird dies, but you might not want to bury it out of sentimentality or grief. So you go for DIY cryptotherapy and store the small deceased animals on the ice."

If you ask his humble opinion, it is a quite romantic way to preserve your loved ones always close to you. Fresh and clean.

"Third scenario. We all hate taking out the garbage, don't you agree? You can put it in the freezer to prevent it from attracting flies and cockroaches. Surprise-surprise, the cold temperatures firm up any liquid so you can dispose of your lovely trash cleanly later."

B pauses and stares at S with wide-open eyes, eagerly waiting for a comeback to his apparent nonsense.

"Now, do you think you can come up with a fourth scenario combining the three examples I gave you?"

❛ why is it whenever we see each other, you’re covered in blood? ❜

Saturn is no stranger to pain. Being one of the more reserved higher rankings had its perks, but it also had, what at least felt like, even more adversities. He had always been a quieter child, making him a quick target. The quiet child was also known to have a bit of a snarky wit, which unfortunately can make the angry bulls go blind.

An altercation broke out during physical education. A point lost by his own hand earns a berating and swift kick to the gut by Hazardous. What Saturn spits back is what then upgrades it to a kick to the face.

Curly brunet hair messily shadows his face as he stares down at his feet while walking back inside. One wrist is held to his nose while his other arm supports his gut from a slouched stature. His only goal now is to get from here back to his room where he can lay down.

“Why is it whenever we see each other, you’re covered in blood?”

Mother of fuck.

“Not now.”

#saturnscholar #; ic #; where is the freezer now?#( sorry for the wait >_<“”“#( I am also sorry for saturn bc apparently today B is in teaching mood #( one day I'll pay for all the bullshits I let him say I know loool

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izbelross · 2 years ago

Text

Por la vida que soy libre

Chapter: Prologue

Total chapters: 10

Pairing: Matt Murdock x black widow! reader x Frank Castle soulmate au!

A/N: ¡Hola, Isabel aquí! I finally got the ovaries to actually write something and not only that but post it :D I really hope you enjoy this and that at least I don't unalive myself under the pressure of wanting to keep writing, I will love to know what you think tho and English is not my first language so please excuse the mistakes I could have made.

This work will be a multichapter one. It wont be longer than 10 chapters. I hope.

Warnings: angst ( i think all of my works have angst fuck) / fluff and fluff / enemies to friends to lovers (kinda) / violence, torture ( not that graphic) / character death / happy ending / drama

Summary: everyone is born with a soulmate (a/n: wouldn't that be mental?) Soulmates can hear their thoughts since childhood, some others up until they're older. This connection only becomes stable when soulmates meet, but as it can be nourished to bloom into something solid it can also be stopped. Soulmates come with a free choice, you don't die without them, you can learn to live with the one of your choice, free will no matter what. Although those who chose their destined ones can coincide in one thing: "You could never regret it".

But when you are raised like a puppet of violence, your free will in every aspect of your life seems to have never existed. Along with your chance of meeting the ones destined for you.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·

When you were little, you remembered every time your mom and dad will cackle out of nowhere or share secret looks when you where excited. Sometimes they would stare at each other with a certain glint right before they attacked you with kisses or loving hugs.

They had a connection you could almost touch if you but tried to reach it and it was so, so magical to witness.

As a five year old it was your first contact with the "weird" things of this planet. Your mom told you about this magic, with the simplicity of those who have time to explain it in the years to come and along your dad, they really thought they had enough time to tell you all about soulmates.

Turns out the clock was already ticking against them.

It happened at your childhood during a Christmas morning. The tree was incredible big for your little stature and the fairy lights that were around your living room made it seem like you where in a kingdom of princesses and knights in golden armour.

The king and the queen were watching you, their little princess, swelling of childlike happiness with every present you opened.

At the fourth discarded wrapping the lights of your home went out, making you cry and your mom to pick you up while your father made the first mistake of the night. He opened the curtain just to take a little peek. What you remember after that where just glimpses of what could have been or could have not.

Glass shattering, your mom screaming, white blinding lights, one more enraged scream and then... then nothing.

When you woke up you where surrounded by other girls, some a little older than you.

You cried, cried so hard until your throat was raw and this time there where no warm arms to pick you up or soft voices with loving looks. You were alone and confused and so tired.

Without your parents suspecting it your future was settled and every thought of a soulmate wouldn't be touched up until you arrived at your new jail. And even then, there was no much to hope from it.

/////////////uwu///////////

With the passing years and as you became a Widow you tried to find yourself in the middle of women who were trained for the same as you: lying, killing, surviving. Hating.

You didn't let your ward down during the missions and the only kind of friendship you knew was the weird interactions you had with Natasha and Yelena –who seemed to sometimes hate their guts out– you could catalogue them as family and as the only ones who shared their memories with you and you with them. So, you decided that, yes, you could do it, you could trust them.

First it was Nat, the oldest of the three. She told you about a woman's voice speaking in her mind. At the beginning she thought was going crazy. Nat didn't even know if she should trust her or not and decided to confide in you.

This voice belonged to a beautiful name. "You don't get it dipshits, her voice is so soothing and calm and oh, so relaxing, she appeases me and is so gentle and lulling" she told you, Yelena and you shared a look. "You just said the same thing six times Natalia" when she didn't reply to the absurd name you always called her when she was being a pain in the ass, Yelena and you knew that Yes, indeed, she is fucked.

At first, this voice thought that Nat was joking with her when she told her that she never heard such a thing as a soulmate before. To say that the girls voice was confused and hurt was an understatement, but she was patient and alongside her — even though was harder— Natasha learned from her too.

You and Yelena really thought that Nat was going crazy.

"I tell you Romanoff, every day you worry me a little more." You said, teasing and concern stressing in your voice. "First it was you blaming me for your lost set of pocket knives from El Cairo and now this... how did you described it? Honey like, softly woman voice?"

"Do not forget the "Heavenly and sexy like" Yelena joined your teasing.

Even if you two enjoyed the talks, something that was the only normality you ever lived, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was indeed not normal for someone to hear out of the blue a voice.

"Perhaps, she is starting to develop the first symptoms." Natasha looked at both of you unamused. She let you two talk and bicker, she knew by experience that with her talking it would only get worse.

"Ah, yes. A very sad illness if may I say so, many people in here seem to have it." you added, Yelena send you a very much sad puppy eyes kinda look.

"You two are insufferable." the red head said while rolling her eyes and getting ready for the last chores of the day: moping the bathroom floor.

"When are you gonna tell the Master about it anyways?" asked Yelena while trying to squish the mop with her bare hands.

It was a simple question. Every decision you all made, without doubt, had to be supervised by the Master of the place. Your mentor. It was a conditioned thinking that you all learned since childhood and now even now almost in adulthood you had to make sure to let her know every little aspect. The Master had a schedule for your health status: the food you ate, the time of training, sleeping, practice, hell even the period and bath. You all learned that it really wasn't necessary to let your Master know when and where, but you had to if you didn't want to get punished for your lack of communication.

That's why even if you all had to obey and inform everything Natasha felt, this was hers, it was her voice, it was her friend. Her soulmate. No one in the jail seem to know about soulmates, not Yelena or you, not her other fellow widows. And Natasha wanted to keep it that way.

"I will not."

The conversation died there and for at least two weeks Nat kept talking with her soulmate and she told you and Yelena that it was warmer inside her, in her chest, that her mind wasn't clouded as before. And it was beautiful, a beautiful sight seeing Nat brighten after a tough mission.

You and your blonde sister agreed that whatever kind of madness was in Nat's head it was a beautiful sight to witness.

The third month though, everything went to shit. Natasha was going to have her birthday, and like every year, with every birthday between you three, you managed to get new weaponry for each other. Something that had relevance from your missions. Nat was supposedly turning seventeen, a year away from the graduation and she was scared. You all were.

As you were changing in your room from your last mission –with Nat's birthday present hidden in your stuff– Yelena burst in the four simple walls that was your bedroom, door slamming so hard against the grey concrete that it almost tore apart the door handle. You were about to scream some obscenity to her but the terrified look on her eyes stopped you.

"Natasha is on the med bay." That was enough for you two to run directly to see her. Your own tiredness didn't matter as well as your injuries, all of it was now in second place.

As you approached, the screams and pledges of Natasha promising, no, swearing death to all those who dare touch her became more and more loud.

"Romanoff!" If Nat was enraged, she became livid at the sight of Yelena bursting into the room only to be stopped by electro shocks directly on her head.

"Let her fucking go!" you got into action before Yelena's unconscious body touched the ground and managed to knock at least three of the massive guards that were trying to retain you and take Yelena.

The room became chaos between Natasha screams and your grunts of pain with every punch that got to you. But the fight was lost when a lighting pierced your skull and your body was immobilised as well.

They managed to tie Nat and they hoisted your body to a table seemingly like you sister's.

"The soulmates are something dangerous that cannot be taken to consideration." Your Master spoke. From you peripheral Nat was struggling against the restraints, but the sedative they gave her was already making effect. "You are made for the greatness of our nation and nothing more. You belong to us. Your mind. Your thoughts. Your emotions. Your death."

Your clothes were discarded and substituted by a hospital gown. The cold warmed your bones and drops of sweat formed in your forehead. She knows about soulmates, she knows about Nat's Soulmate.

You wondered what was Natasha thinking, what was her soulmate listening to, telling her. Was she saying goodbye? Was she trying to calm her down?

"We are going to fix you. We will make you to perfection. Our perfect girls." from the corner of your eye you watched as the Master was looking at Yelena. "Today is the day you will graduate from being apprentice and you will become Masters. You will become Black Widows."

Your Master looked around and you let out an strangled sound. Your very soul was screaming and in the bottom of your mind something deep and cold was pushing.

You barely felt the pinching on your left arm and the mask with sedative covering your nose and mouth. The heaviness in your lungs didn't help with tears that ran freely across your cheeks and the wailings of Yelena were thrumming around your mind.

A black tunnel started to form in your eyes and the voices got muffled. Again that pushing feeling pulled from some corner deep inside your mind, like screaming, pleading.

Before you lost consciousness you could swear that they were voices screaming around you in agony.

/////////////uwu////////////

Matt knew that his soulmate was out there, and like him was waiting.

When his father explained to him the concept of someone else being able to hear his thoughts, it frightened him. It felt wrong, him as a child couldn't really comprehend why will someone be okay with that? It was a total injustice! Not that child Matt knew very well about justice to talk about it, but the idea was totally mental.

His father just laughed at him with a bloody nose and hissing at every pad Matt gave him with the cotton ball.

After he lost his eyesight he became wary of the world. He became angry with his father for his choices and when he lost his father, he became angry with himself. With the men that killed his dad. With the world.

The idea of a soulmate didn't even crossed his mind. Not when he became an orphan and not when he started the training with Stick. He was angry and tired as hell. He didn't really give a shit for something he couldn't fully understand.

But his world started changing through a lot of suffering and consideration, some broken bones and bleeding noses and the nagging memory of his father taking the choice he believed in at the end, the justice is blind after all. And like that, slowly, it changed. First with his objectives in life.

His bitterness for the last years morphed with the more he became more like himself. With the freedom he found alongside the hearing, the new kind of sight he had, the enhanced abilities he got. And then came the voice of a man asking him nicely to shut the fuck up so I can get some sleep.

At that time he had already met Foggy and their shared dreams to become avocados at law made the friendship blossom. Matt didn't even need to hear his heartbeat to know the passion Foggy carried with him. The rightness he was unconsciously searching for.

One of those study nights until three in the morning the voice of a very tired and annoyed man came into his mind and he was so startled that he took a swing with his cane hitting Foggy on the temple and crashing the only lamp they could afford against the window.

"Matt! What the actual fuck!" Groaned Foggy while checking for no signs of blood in his head.

"I heard a man's voice just..."

"Really dear Matty, shut up or I'll do something that most likely will keep ya awake for the entire fucking year."

"Did you hear...!"

"Matt, that's your soulmate!"

"My WHAT?" now, even if Matt knew about this specific detail of life, he never really acknowledged it will happen to him one day. The poor guy was between confessing his sins and making more along the way to heaven, adding a little bit of semester finals and probably in search of a lawyer firm in which he could associate alongside Foggs. All of that barely surviving with almost six cups of coffee a day, and the stress that comes with being him.

"I did warn ya, boy."

To say Matt wasn't in the verge of a mental breakdown after hearing "Everybody" from Backstreet boys on repeat for a month on his head was like telling someone that indeed you don't need lungs to breath while running. His soulmate was a son of a bitch, and he would gladly trade him for whomever wanted to trade someone like the little bitch that now lived rent free on his mind.

It was hard to keep his mind in blank for the time that came knowing Frank. He was a difficult man, with a big purpose in his life. He had interests that where not at all like the ones Matt would suspect his soulmate to have. They were more like each others pain in the ass and they were fine with that.

After all, soulmates can choose who to spend their lives with.

When they talked it was almost to make the other mad, to get a reaction, and it was always out of the blue. Then they would start to bicker without end until one decided that was enough and cut the connection. Matt had to accept that Frank had some charisma behind all of that "glass half empty" thinking and even if he suppressed his emotions he could hint that the times they argued for useless shit like songs the other didn't like or dreams the other had and were bizarre and Matt would tell him that he was an hypocrite, after all "You dream with fucking jello guns that beg you to eat them Frank!" "Well yeah, but my mind doesn't dream with having to choose between a red or pink tie when I am fucking blind, boy!" Where conversations Frank needed to ground him in the reality, that outside of whatever fucking thing he was living, there was some other reality where he could get a future.

It wasn't like they didn't care for each other. It was like they were more soulmates that supported each other and at the same time hated each others guts out but in a friendly manner.

Now for Frank Castle, life was never really easy. He might have been part of the marines and tried to get along with his destined one. But every little thing from of the idealised future he made before shutting his mind off of Matt was heaven compared with what he had to endure from the moment he accepted that everything good would likely be taken from him.

And it all started with his family.

Matt knew of Maria. He would never admit that he was a little bit jealous, but Frank was happy. So, so happy that even Matt started to live his day to day with ease. The conversations had to stop, for the well being of both of them. And they agreed to close the soulmate bound for a time.

They both became invested in their own world, their own goals and achievements. And it wasn't until one December that something made their almost perfect worlds crumble.

It was cold and both of them in their respective places where enjoying a different type of Holidays. Matt was surely coming back from a party where Foggy had told him that he really shouldn't have drank that much but Matt being the stubborn little puppy he was just kept on doing that very thing until Foggy had to drag him back to their shared room.

"You're sush a nice frend Fogs, like you and... yeah..." giggly Matt talked and an amused Foggy listened. "Yeah, I know I'm a great catch Murdock just please, don't puke all over me"

There was really no other problem at hand than the feeling that something was wrong. A so common insistence in the back of Matt's mind that it was weird when he didn't have that permanent shape hunting him. That's the first reason why he didn't notice at first.

The fear was barely kept but it wasn't what got him to wake up from a drunken state. The agonising pain that came after was what took him from the very real moment in his room, laying on the couch.

He swore for a moment he wasn't in his place anymore, his eyes weren't looking at the end of the open living room where he slept but at a messy bloodied room with bodies scattered all around and the smell of black powder. Someone was screaming, begging and Matt knew it was Franks', this wasn't a dream. The emotion was so strong that his mind took him away from his reality, dragging his subconscious to the moment in Frank's life that will shape his entire world from then on.

The moment lasted two minutes before Frank mind shut him out.

Then, hell broke loose.

Months and months after were a chaos for Matt and Frank, between the pain and the unconscious rejection.

The future that Frank had built with Maria became a beautiful dream, a dream he started forgetting the moment his children took their last breath, the moment his wife, his Maria closed her eyes to never open them again. They would never return to him and in his pain, even if Matt would never blame him, he cut the soulmate connection for good.

Matthew Murdock became a hollow of himself, both for the pain that caused the lost of Frank and his own grieving. He got stuck as well in his nightmare when all he could do was remember those times where Frank was a friend on his day to day, when he gave him for granted. Now that was all he could do. Remember.

He went so deep on his own grieve that the hunt for the right people became his exit. The only way he could feel that after all, he could change the world even if it was in the most minimal way. Fisk was one of those.

Destiny has a variety of funny was of showing you the amount of choices you have. All the options can be display in front of you and its up to you if you want to see them, each one of them, or only one or two. But there are always options. Always.

That's why is so curious when Frank and Matt, even after years of being unable to talk to each other, suddenly didn't recognise themselves, not even in front of each other. With an almost kicked to death Matt sitting on front of a furious Frank.

Indeed, destiny has a very curious way of showing the path, for it wasn't at that moment when they figured out they were each others soulmates. Not even when they knew each others names or what they did for a living. Even if that part of their lives was the most important for both of them.

It actually was time after, when their worlds came crashing down for a second time, unbeknownst to them, a third soulmate that hadn't make an act of presence until a very much similar pain got them off guard.

/////////////////////// uwu /////////////////////////////

Now here's a very important detail about soulmates.

As you can see, Matt and Frank minds connection only came up years after they turned 18, Natasha's was there even before turning 17. This all is very confusing sometimes. But the connection is still there, you can feel it, sense it when you meet someone or... you can ignore it even if that One is standing in front of you kissing the breath out your lungs. This is because the soul is not ready.

One can love with all his heart, can be there for you or care for everyone else in a very selfish way. But that doesn't mean the person is ready to meet the One. Sometimes, the time is not right. And that's okay. Because having the chance to choose is what really matters. The fact that you are free to fall in love with someone without really caring if they were made for you or not.

This is a fact that many ignore, that every romantic wants to put aside and say you can't possibly love anybody else but your soulmates. And that's why Matt and Frank where so fucking weirded out and almost had a heart attack when it was your mind opening up to them, begging with your subconsciousness to the ones made for you for help.

Having gone through a very similar scenery, Matt left everything he was doing, a fucking interrogation for god's sake, and ran like never in his life, screaming in his head at Frank.

Murdock! Are you okay?

Frank! What's going on?

They asked at the same time.

Wait...

Hang on...

IT'S NOT YOU?!

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