#doing this for my own curiosity of statistics not that anyone's interested | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

archer3-13 · 2 years ago

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SO! I sat down and played through the remainder of fe engages story. Overall, pretty fun if cheezy and corny as all get out, the tokusatsu of fire emblem if I had to put a name to the overall package in look and feel. However, I will note that it took me a bit longer then it otherwise would [pretty breazy experience overall, by fe standards] because I went out of my way to grind out all the units to lvl20/20. Why? mostly out of an ingrained habit of curiosity when it comes to statistical averages on fe units. Note that minimal reclassing was done as well to get the best sense of what these units are like, statistically, at their core best i can. I'll toss out any mention of reclassing I feel might be relevant or practical for people interested in using the units. IDK if this will help anyone, or if anyones even interested in this, but... well might as well right?

below the read more

alear: statistically definitely more on the ike or hector side of things overall of being kinda busted, but I would put alear overall as comparable to POR ike. In that they dont start on an amazing foot feelin a bit average/weak overall but can pretty quickly snowball until by the end of things their taking on every mfer single handed. alear seems to lean towards spd and def of all things the most heavily but overall with attention and care they'll easily be a contender for 'most busted ass unit in the game'

vander: the only unit i didnt end up training, and the only unit I will note as 'use at your own expense'. Vander is a hard classic jegen, starting with stats only slightly above average when you get him, and being an absolute exp sink for the early portion of the game. you get a lot of stat boosters at certain points, so if your willin to put up with him or just willing to use drugs/get a second seal early then hes an easy punt to the bench.

clanne: mixed bulk mage, in that he has an actual str/def growth though at the cost of not being quite as magic happy. He leans more on the offensive side id say being a bit fragile overall but hes a very easy shoe in for a mage knight.

framme: framme on the other hand is the mixed bulk leaning of the defensive side of things being honestly quite bulky once she starts going for a healer. in the martial master class due to how fists calculate damage she can also hit somewhat above her weight too. unlike clanne however who can make an easier impression being offensively oriented, ya have to wanna go for framme as she takes longer to hit a solid groove. alternatively, if your otherwise good for healers id recommend plopping her in the armour knight class or something that can take advantage of her mixed bulk.

alfred: right off the start i'll note that none of the side lords really disappoint id say. They all have unique classes with some solid skills and utility. now that thats out of the way, alfred is gonna hit hard and hes gonna take a physical hit well as hes pretty firmly weighted in those two stats. magic use and magic hits will be an issue to look out for. hes a blunt stick and he'll do it well.

etie: glass cannon extraordinaire, she'll struggle early on as her blds weak and she has practically non existent growth in bld so the weight of weapons will hold her spd back and make dodging difficult. plus as a glass cannon she cannot take a hit to save her life. that said her str and spd are gonna snowball hard later on to the point of chewing up armours pretty handedly with a bow and causing extreme overkill on fliers. patch up her bld with inheritance from leif, and shes a solid choice for any team. well i went sniper for her this run, I feel bow knights a better fit for her for the mobility.

boucheron: an odd fellow, hes got the usual axe fighter insane hp and solid speed but his atks on the mediocre side for his class so he'll be relying on his weapon for damage. it coulda been worse, but you can definitely do better in this game as he overall does not impress. of note though bld will never be an issue for him as he starts off with a solid amount and seems to have high growth in it, so if ya do use him consider putting him in a class that will puff out his speed more? not as frail as etie to a stiff wind but dont expect miracles.

celine: definitely the most questionable of the side lords in this game, celine gets sold to ya as a mage like with some physical capabilities, but over the run she ended up pretty consistently having more str then magic overall. the questionable aspect of this being that her spds not quite high enough and her def low enough that she cant really duke it out in cqc to justify that higher str. her unique class makes up for it i feel with its utility and access to ignis helpin her pump out more damage, but she is unfortunately the weakest of the side lords statistically I feel.

chloe: unlike @ezralahm opinion on the matter I dont feel chloes that busted of a unit overall. not bad certainly, statistically across the board she was on the higher end of things but my general experience with chloe would note a consistent problem of not being fast enough to make up for her bld, not hitting hard enough overall, and not being able to take hits quite well enough to justify bringing her on more missions with me. Could just be that she ended up getting stat screwed for me but overall... shes good but not great stat wise. that said, she gets enough mag growth to serve as a solid healer and use magic weapons well so like celine she gets points for utility from me.

louis: is an armour knight, much armour knight, so armour knight. stupid high def and hp growth, solid str, reliable enough skl and eh everything else with a particular weakspot for res. if your gonna use an armour knight to do armour knight things, louis will be a solid choice. That said I would actually recommend changing him into a lance fighter/halberdier if your not looking for a pure armour knight, as that should help even his curve out a bit well still givin ya a nice solid wall unit for physical attacks.

jean: the first paralogue recruit unit, jean is your donnel of the game which are the recent trend of ests with special skills that increase their growths to the est highs and who come a bit earlier then your usual ests. jean character wise is my fave of the donnels, and stat wise he'll happily fit into any role ya need him to quite comfortably. plus since he starts as a healer he has a lot of immediate utility compared to previous donnels as he can pretty happily keep to the back healing as he builds his earlier levels. I went high priest for him and he turned out a solid magic user with good spd and mag but i can see him doing well in most classes.

yunaka: yunaka here, if louis is an armour knight armour knight then yunaka is a thiefs thief leaning pretty weightily towards spd/skl over other stats. her offense stats are solid though so as far as thiefs go shes a solid choice and the fact that its a special class this time gives her some nice extra punch/mov when ya first get her for that point of the game. she also has some pretty solid mag and res going for her so if ya wanna glue the micaiah ring to her/go in a mage direction cause screw thiefs ya wont be disappointed with the results.

alcryst: leans rather heavily on skill/dex as a dump stat for all intents and purposes but overall hes more offensively oriented so its not all bad. plus as a side lord his special class gets a nice perk in the form of luna which when combined with his better then most chance to crit and double keeps him pretty relative for the entire run.

anna: your second paralogue unit, and one im not quite sure what to say about. i honestly think she got stat screwed pretty hard in my run as shes the only unit i dumped a lot of stat boosters on [cause i was dammned if i was gonna leave her behind] but i also think its just a problem of the class shes in. anna does not want to be an axe fighter or its promoted derivatives, she wants to be a magic user or a mixed magic atk class or just an out and out thief. so, if your gonna use her try to get her into one of said classes early on and save yourself a lot of headaches.

citrinne: magic nuke mage, like etie a stiff breeze will knock her over on the defensive side but her speeds not quite as good which makes her a bit more fragile then etie. when it comes to physical attacks atleast, cause alongside high mag citrinne has high res making her a pretty solid magic wall that can take the magic hits and dish out heavy punishment in return. she'll have a bit of trouble doubling though on anything that has decent speed so watch out.

lapis: speeed, lapis goes the most heavily on speed and with her meh defence shes definitely going to be relying on being a dodge tank over taking hits. ive seen a lot of people go for swordmaster for her, but i went hero this run and she did pretty well for herself [i figured it would help patch up her atk which i was worried about at the time]. her early game definitely felt rough though, so she needs the time and room to grow into a murder machine if your lookin to get your moneys worth from her.

diamant: well his personal skill might seem like a hamper diamants got enough speed and def that his high hp can easily eat, and his unique class has a solidly procing sol and good str and eat back lost health on a regular basis. well he was never a shining hector or ike during my run, of the side lords diamant was pretty consistently delivering good results and fighting at the front of things.

amber: definitely started off kinda iffy being just shy of good in any one area to make him kinda mediocre and hard to get going. it was his later levels that endeared me to him as amber gets a lot of str letting him hit hard and his stats elsewhere are solid enough that even if hes not the most resilient he can weather hits well enough that the punishment he deals out to enemies in return or on the attack are more then worth it.

jade: your other armour knight and of the two between her and louis the one that spreads her growths out a bit more evenly. I put her into great knight on promotion as a result and she served quite well as one but on any subsequent runs i'll probably try and push her into wyvern knight instead for reasons ill probably note when getting to rosado. a flexible unit overall though and she comes to ya at a decent enough level that id consider her a pretty easy/consistent take on any given run.

ivy: pretty darn fun unit to use, comes at a relatively high level for where ya get her. ivy sits pretty handidly near the top of the side lords having flying magic utility, access to staves giving her more utility, and a solid stat line that leaves ya with a flying mage that has solid bulk, strong atk and sustainable spd. her class unique skill also adds some additional punch to her attacks case ya werent killing things fast enough. all in all, ivy secures herself as a persistent mainstay on any team in my opinion.

kagetsu: sadly i didn't use him all that often, not because hes bad hes a prepromote coming in relatively early with a solid statline and growths that keep him relevant the entire time. the problem is that cause i was grinding everyone else out he had to sit in the back for a while, and by the time i was bringing him out again he no longer stood out just being your usual swordmaster prepromote. you wont go wrong in using him, and on a regular run i can definitely see myself gravitating towards him but still. hes a workhorse, not special in any way unfortunately.

zelkov: zelkov on the other hand stands out quite a lot despite being your second thief. like yunaka hes got good atk, spd and skill for a thief but unlike yunaka who goes into mag and res as well zelkov dumps more emphasizes on atk and def of all things becoming a pretty reliably tanky thief who was hitting real hard even on armour knights [which yunaka struggled a bit with comparatively]. he'll be your usual dodge tank thief and if he does get hit it usually wont hurt him too badly, which gives him a nice distinctive quality and niche compared to kagetsu.

fogado: the return of the nomad trooper [seriously his animations are pretty clearly based on the nomad trooper]. hes a swordmaster on a horse with a bow, which automatically makes him awesome and gives him good utility as an archer that can poke in and out much more easily and switch to a melee sword stabby approach when push comes to shove. of note though is that hes also carting around a pretty good mag growth so things like the radiant bow or levin sword are real handy on him. his unique class and skills can also really pile on the damage especially in a pinch so if ya take the time he'll easily be near the top of your side lord list.

pandreo: another kinda early prepromote this time of the high priest class. pandreo is much more comfortable with magic then with physical attacks however and sits pretty comfortably in the usual 'bishop' territory as it were where magic attacks and tanking are where hes best at in combat but physical attacks can easily take their toll. if your hurt for a healer or magic damager he'll definitely fill that niche quite handedly but dont expect to much else.

bunet: kinda a disappointment all things considered, well he gets much better at it over time his def isn't good enough to make him a reliable tank for his spd early on [though as i noted it gets much better later on in his curve]. his biggest weakness though is that he hits like a fucking kitten, im sure he got str screwed a bit in my run but that doesnt change the fact that he needed a str booster to start hitting hard enough to justify that high defense build. if your using bunet i recommend punting him from great knight and putting him in a class that will give him a solid boost to his atk.

timerra: the number one side lord in my opinion, atleast in terms of raw combat. timerra continues the odd engage trend of speedy tanks though in her case she leans more towards speed then to the def side of that equation. her def is still really good though, letting her tank a lot of hits especially if ya let her keep the ike ring which pushes it even higher. well her str is a bit of an issue, i feel her unique class skill more then makes up for it as sandstorm piles on a truly ridiculous amount of damage of any given hit. and as stated shes fast so her lower atk isnt quite as bad as it could be with relatively consistent doubling. and she tanks. outside of some weak mag and res shes the complete package in many ways.

panette: do you like raw str? do you like hp? thats basically all your gonna get with panette to a frankly criminal degree given she was the only unit to hit past 40 on a non hp stat and that was all concentrated in her atk. in her native class of berseker, she has solid enough dex to make use of her high atk and well every other stat on her might as well not exist her hps high enough that she can eat a couple of hits without dying even if she very much doesnt want to. my advice though for panette would be to push her out of berserker as soon as possible and put her in as a swordmaster or something that can help bulk out some of her other stats. because frankly she doesnt need the help in atk berserker offers and would benefit a lot more from an actually stable/decent spd or def stat.

merrin: swordmaster on a dog with a dagger, merrin wont be hitting as hard as ya might like but shes got some really solid spd and skl to her and can be built into a fairly reliable dodge tank/crit machine if your inclined to. plus her access to daggers gives her some of that dagger utility of poison weakening foes and the high move of a swordmaster on a doggo means she can get to where she needs to be pretty easily.

hortensia: a walking staffbot encouraged by the game itself. hortensia has no def, hp or str, eh magic and skl, and stupidly high amounts of lck spd and res. her personal skill gives her additional range on all staves. her unique class skill gives her a chance of saving a use on a staff. her unique class has a bloody c in tomes meaning shes stuck to the elfires and elwinds for magic damage. hortensia is a flying staffbot and is best kept in that role. the sheer utility of such a role mind you and her expertise in it means she ranks highly in my opinion among the side lords due to that utility alone. but shes never gonna excel in combat in her native class at least, and shes likely going to be mostly confined to having any strong applicability in the magic classes.

seadall: as your only dancer outside of emblem byleths special move, it doesnt really matter if seadall is statistically any good and at the point he comes in hes arguably a bit under leveled. with that all said, hes decent enough when trained that he can deal some damage and survive rounds of combat, and thats all ya can really ask of a dancer is that they survive if attacked so they can keep dancing away for the rest of your army. he wont be winning any awards for combat though so keep that in mind.

rosado: an odd case of a wyvern knight in that rosados built more like a falcon knight then a wyvern knight statistically speaking. albeit one with solid strength, but overall rosado will be dodging hits more reliably then actually tanking hits so if your gonna use them especially in their native class treat rosado more like a falcon knight in terms of combat then a wyvern knight.

goldmary: starts off as a pretty standard hero, but overtime goldmary will be mostly growing in defense then any other stat so prepare for a bit of awkwardness in the middle and then a tanky hero near the end when her defence is starting to overtake her str. if your lacking an armour knight/general and just really want one, shes not a bad candidate for reclassing into one where her high def will go stupidly higher.

lindon: a suprise but a welcome one, lindon comes in at a good level with solid enough stats that if your still hurting for a magic user or a staff bot he can slip into that role and help carry things to the end game pretty reliably. not much else to say there statistically, hes a later game sage that you can depend on.

saphir: comes in swinging on a real strong note statistically and ends things up on a decent enough note, shes a late game physical unit thats there to cover your ass if lacking enough physical brute force to make it to the end game. and she definitely leans more towards the classic warrior statistically categories of strong hp/atk and middling other stats. that said overall statistically shes a lot like diamant so like diamant she'll be a reliable frontline unit to the end but not quite as much due to lacking his unique class skill.

veyle: cittrine not work out as a magic nuke? well have another in the form of veyle, she hits real hard and has access to some strong unique weapons but get this, her spd and build are low enough she cant reliably dodge and double when wielding her heavier weapons and her def is low enough she cant afford to take to many hits. shes not bad, but shes not great overall on the statistical end of things.

mauvier: for all intents and purpose hes your athos of the game, having a strong statistical spread that lets him handle pretty much anything and access to a class that has solid utility ontop of the attack qualities. hes there to baby ya along to the end of the game if ya fucked up badly enough essentially. with that said he also leans more towards the defensive stats then the offensive side of things so expect him to be more so reliable bait then a reliable killer. his native classes caps for def also arent fantastic so possibly consider a reclass if ya wanna better take advantage of them.

#fire emblem #fire emblem engage #spoilers i suppose

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andypantsx3 · 4 years ago

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statistically significant | 2 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

Present day

Miruko’s agency was large, much larger than you had expected.

From the street, it had looked unobtrusive enough, a moderately-sized office building with a modern-looking glass front. You could see into a large reception area on the ground floor, and open workspaces on the next few floors, conjoined desks piled high with paperwork and slightly wilted-looking office plants. If not for Miruko’s name emblazoned over the entry in bold, metallic letters, you could have taken it for just another office building.

Once inside, however, the building became much more than that. After checking in at reception, you were led deep into the building, and gestured into an elevator that took you tens of floors down. When the doors opened, they let out into a cavernous space, stretching under what must have been the entire block. The floor was equipped with a gym, several reinforced training spaces the size of office buildings themselves, and what appeared to be a surveillance room where footage from the training spaces could be replayed.

Your mouth dropped open. Did all hero agencies hide deep underground like this? How many other underground floors were there? How big was Miruko Agency, really?

Your guide had enough tact to ignore your inelegant expression, instead leading you towards a training room. A huge, clear window tens of meters across looked into the space, but you would bet anything that it was made of some material much stronger than glass, which was especially evidenced by what you could see going on beyond the window.

Rubble littered the room, scattered in towering piles that gave the appearance of a post-doomsday cityscape. You didn’t know if the room had been set up this way, or if the rubble was the result of the battle going on within; there were two heroes that you could see darting around the space, both appearing to be causing maximum chaos.

Closest to you, a woman with wild pink curls was emitting a powerful stream of some cement-colored substance that ate away at anything it touched, causing it to smoke and hiss and crumble. She melted a huge hole in a pile of rubble, and a man with a shock of golden-yellow hair leapt away from what had probably been his hiding place, backpedaling wildly.

You perked up when you realized who they were--Ashido Mina, the number twenty-nine hero Pinky, and Kaminari Denki, the number thirty-three hero Chargebolt.

Kaminari threw out a hand, and a crackling wave of lightning struck out at Ashido. The lights flickered out briefly, and even behind the window, you could feel your hair stand on end. You blinked past the powerful flash that had temporarily blinded you, casting about for Ashido who had surely been struck down, only to choke on a laugh when you caught sight of her flashing Kaminari the middle finger, sliding away from a huge chunk of rubble she’d dislodged with her acid to use as a shield.

“They’re idiots,” a voice intoned from your side.

You nearly jumped out of your skin, turning to find Miruko herself standing next to you, powerful arms crossed over her chest. Despite her words, a little fond-looking smile flickered at the edges of her mouth.

You schooled your slack jawed expression into a smile. “I don’t know--their personalities are mostly why they’re so popular, so they must be doing something right. I did a little digging into everyone’s results before I got here, and they stood out among a lot of the rest.”

Miruko’s gaze flicked over you. She was short, maybe even shorter than you, but her keen red eyes and very lethal-looking biceps more than made up for her stature. She was intimidating in person, an air about her that told you she could snap and turn on you at any second. Despite the fact that she had asked you here herself, you felt like she might seize you and bodily throw you out of her agency.

“And that’s why they’re idiots. Their results are buoyed by their personalities,” Miruko sniffed. “They need work.”

You prickled a little, feeling like you should say something in their defense, but the truth of it was, you were here to help them work on things.

Some weeks ago, Miruko had contacted the Public Safety Hero Commission with interest in the ranking model. Your version had been in production for close to a year, and you had recently been making scholarly noises about feedback loops, asking for permission to provide pro heroes with individual results breakdowns. Miruko had caught wind of this and demanded on site assessments for her “team of frigging clowns” as she had so eloquently put it. And so you had been loaned out, with the idea of helping to direct the training for the heroes at Miruko Agency, providing them a real time comparison of their training footage to the generic hero ranking model results.

If this trial run was successful, if you could help any of the heroes measurably jump ranks, then the Commission had committed to providing individualized results for the thousands of heroes employed today. The Commission had also expressed interest in your idea of creating and packaging smaller models that took less technical skill to operate, for heroes to use to direct their own training. They had even seemed receptive to giving you a small team of research scientists and software engineers to build such a product, so you would be looking at a pretty sick promotion, not to mention.

Miruko made her way over to the surveillance room, beckoning you after her, and you watched as she leaned over a desk, pressing down a button with one gloved finger.

A crackling sound echoed overhead and her voice followed. “Alright, brats, recess is over. Anyone not heading out on patrol, meet in the surveillance room now.”

The flickering light from Kaminari’s lightning fizzled out, and the door to the training room opened not long after, Kaminari and Ashido spilling out in a chaotic whirlwind of limbs and petty squabbling. They were the first to arrive at the surveillance room, and Kaminari visibility perked up when he saw you.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, interrupting himself on a gasp when Ashido’s elbow caught him in the ribs. “What the fuck, Mina--! Why are your elbows so sharp? Can you just not--?” He grabbed her elbow. “Stop, look, it’s stats girl! From the Awards!”

You startled a little, shocked that he had remembered you. That had been almost a year ago, and you’d only exchanged a couple quick comments in the stairwell.

Ashido looked up from where she appeared to be attempting to crack one of his ribs, her expression shifting into something altogether too interested. You flushed when a sharp grin broke out over her pretty features.

“Oh my god, you’re stats girl? I have been waiting forever. It’s an absolute honor to meet you.” She held out a palm, waggling her rosy fingers expectantly.

A rising sense of horror grew within you. Did...did Kaminari remember you so clearly because he’d told people about the incident? What exactly had he mentioned to her? Who else had he spread the tale to?

“Um, yeah that’s me,” you managed, trying to tamp down your embarrassment.

Ashido grinned wider, leaning forward. “I was totally convinced Denki and Eijirou made you up, except that Katsuki wouldn’t stop plotting revenge out loud for months. You’re, like, a legend. Do you do autographs?”

You gaped at her, your mind sticking on the phrase Katsuki wouldn’t stop plotting revenge out loud for months. A nervous, hunted energy crept over you. Revenge...for months.

Miruko’s rabbit ears twitched and she turned to you, frowning. “I wasn’t aware you’d already met some of my circus monkeys. Is this going to be a problem?”

You dithered nervously, not actually sure if it would be. You’d known Bakugou worked at her agency, considering you had done a fair amount of pre-work collecting everyone's results. But you’d honestly put off thinking about this. Bakugou had been in quite the rage at the Hero Awards, but that had been almost a year ago. And Ashido had phrased his revenge plans in the past tense… Surely he didn’t still hold as much of a grudge now?

Miruko eyed you suspiciously for a moment, but she was distracted when the scuffle of boots indicated the approach of other heroes, and a pair of burly men with curling satyr horns rounded the corner, one of them leaning forward to speak to her. Ashido sent you a wink when Miruko turned her back, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like later.

In the next few minutes, a small group of heroes assembled, ranging from relatively well-known heroes like Ashido and Kaminari, to a couple of heroes who ranked deep in the hundreds--you only knew some of their faces because Miruko had provided you with a list of her employees for preparatory research purposes. They formed a small crescent around the surveillance area, chattering lowly to themselves and eyeing you with speculative curiosity.

To your eternal relief, her most famously explosive employee was conspicuously absent, and you felt yourself relax when it seemed like everyone had turned up who was going to.

When it seemed like the crowd size was finally large enough to please her, Miruko barked a loud “SHUT UP” at them. The din of low voices instantly died down.

“Alright brats. Over the next few months, Y/N will be working here at the agency with us. She has been invited on behalf of the commission, and will be analyzing your quirks, your methods, and your recent work,” Miruko said. “She has individualized results pulled from the current hero rankings that can inform you how to improve. I expect you to take full advantage of this opportunity.”

She gestured to you, giving you a meaningful look as if she expected you to introduce yourself. You gave a little wave, glancing at the heroes around you.

“Um, hi,” you said. “As Miruko-san said, I can give you a little advice based on your current results breakdown. I also plan to analyze video of your training in the coming weeks, and build parallel models to simulate future results given your performance. We can compare those to the current rankings for an idea of how much work you will have to put into particular skills for you to move up in the ranks.”

A small murmur went through the crowd at the prospect of moving up in the ranks. Some gazes sharpened in interest.

You continued, “This is also a good chance to work on specific growth areas -- I can train smaller models on subsets of videos so you can compare your skills more directly with each other or with other heroes from other agencies. Please let me know if there is anything special any of you would like to focus on.”

Miruko stepped back in front of you. “Y/N is going to set up in the surveillance room for the next few weeks. I’ve already established checkpoints for all of you to meet with her, but I encourage you to meet with her more often if you can.”

There were a couple of nods, and a few interested whispers from somewhere at the back of the crowd. Miruko took a breath like she was going to say more, but then--

“Hard pass,” a voice growled from your left. Your hackles instantly raised, and it took your brain a couple seconds to catch up with your instincts. You whipped around wildly when you realized you knew that voice, and you almost jumped a full foot in the air when you caught sight of those familiar blonde spikes over another hero’s shoulder.

You hadn’t noticed his approach, but Bakugou had clearly returned from a fight only minutes ago. His hair drooped a little with sweat, there was dirt streaking the points of his high cheekbones, and his costume was shredded by a thousand tiny tears, like he’d been thrown through a glass window. And...was that blood on his gauntlets? Was it his?

You were torn between immediate annoyance and something like concern at the sight of him so obviously roughed up.

“The meetings are not optional,” Miruko’s voice took on a hard edge.

“I already know what this fucking nerd has to say,” Bakugou drawled dismissively. “And I don’t give a shit. I don’t need assists if I’m the one busy saving the fucking day.”

Your mood edged cleanly into annoyance. It seemed he hadn’t changed any, then.

Miruko’s face darkened. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”

Bakugou bared his teeth. They gleamed almost blindingly white against the dark dirt on his face. “No.”

A wild look entered Miruko’s eye at the challenge. “Everyone is dismissed. Except Katsuki,” she uttered in a low, dangerous tone.

There was a small pause. The heroes around you looked at her askance, and her features darkened even further. “I said scram. NOW!”

The effect was immediate. It felt like no sooner had you blinked than the hall was suddenly clear. The sight of Kaminari and Ashido wheeling around the corner was all the proof you had that the team hadn’t suddenly vanished from existence.

Bakugou snorted and propped himself lazily against a column, affecting a slouch, one pale eyebrow raised over his insouciant expression. It looked almost too perfectly arrogant, and you wondered if he practiced it in the mirror sometimes.

“I said the meetings are not optional, Katsuki,” Miruko hissed, taking a step closer to him. “You can ignore her suggestions all you want, but you will attend them.”

Close as they were, you could see she was almost a full head shorter than him, but the force of her anger seemed to make her larger somehow--she wasn’t towering over him, but she was certainly terrifying. Towering under, your mind supplied unhelpfully.

Bakugou, for his part, held his ground. His mouth curled disdainfully. “What’s the fucking point? The nerd’s just gonna tell me stupid shit. And I’m not going to listen.”

Your fingers twitched in irritation. Data wasn’t stupid shit -- it was mathmatical fact, almost as divorced from human bias as it was possible to be. How was it humanly possible that he hadn’t learned anything or grown even the littlest bit? How was it possible that he was just as infuriating as he was a year ago?

But fine. He could have things his way if that’s what he wanted.

Miruko’s face twisted in a scowl, and she took a deep breath like she was ready to start yelling. But you got there first.

“He has a point,” you said, giving him a hard look over the top of Miruko’s head. “I would hate to waste my time on someone who’s been stalled in the rankings for a year now. He wouldn’t know how to implement my advice even if I were to give it.”

You paused, letting an uncharacteristic smirk curl your mouth, trying your best to channel his disdainful energy. “Isn’t that right, Number Eight?”

Bakugou’s gaze sharpened over Miruko’s silver hair, twin pinpricks of red narrowing in on you. He abandoned his slouch, his body tensing like a hound that smelled blood. “What did you just say?”

You pushed down the petty satisfaction that rose within you at his reaction. He was so fucking prideful, so easy to bait.

“Hmm, cognitive delays,” you said, pretending to tap your chin thoughtfully. “Very worrying. Further evidence he wouldn’t be able to process the information, though. No, I think it’s best if we don’t meet.”

Bakugou pushed himself off the column, edging around Miruko as his mouth drew into a snarl. You were immediately reminded of the Hero Awards, that same overwhelming prickle of power edging over you as he stalked closer, the same scent like caramel and gunpowder.

Miruko’s eyes flicked between the two of you curiously, an eyebrow raised in interest. You hoped it meant she was interested enough in your data analysis to intervene if Bakugou tried to sauté you like an onion.

“If you melt through this blazer I really will sabotage the hero rankings and dip you all the way to number five hundred,” you threatened, edging away from Bakugou as he drew closer. “And also you owe me money for that dress.”

“I’m not gonna fucking give you shit,” he announced, looming over you when he’d decided he was close enough to intimidate. He was near enough that you could feel the heat of him, but he hadn’t put his hands to you yet. It seemed Miruko was enough of a deterrent to curb his bad behavior. “And I’m not gonna meet with you.”

“Good, then we agree,” you said, tipping your head back to look him in the eye. “You’re not good enough to do better anyways.”

Bakugou growled, the phrase clearly still enough to tick him off a year later. “Fuck you, I’m the best.”

“That’s not what your ranking tells me,” you clicked your tongue, feigning disinterest. With the dirt and scratches all over him he looked wilder than ever and you would be a fool to ignore it, but Miruko’s presence made you bold. And something else, some latent streak of frustration and pettiness told you to keep going, to keep pressing the buttons that were getting this reaction from him.

“Your ranking tells me you haven’t even improved the tiniest bit in an entire year. At this rate, you’ll never even hit the top three, never mind be the best. I don’t think you could improve even if you wanted to,” you said.

Bakugou looked like he wanted nothing more than to tear your head off with his teeth. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

You opened your mouth to reply but there was a sudden motion at the edge of your vision, something pink and blurry and wild. You glanced past Bakugou’s shoulder to find Ashido leaning around the wall, waving a hand frantically and mouthing something at you. You squinted, watching her lips shape themselves carefully: make a bet.

What? Make a bet?

She wanted you to make a bet?

You looked back up at Bakugou, taking in the oppositional expression, the angry curl of his mouth, the straight slope of his nose, and those keen, blood red eyes glaring down at you. This was certainly the face of a man who wouldn’t be told what to do, who couldn’t be told what to do.

But despite your words and your inherent distaste, there was no denying he was actually your best shot, the cleanest pathway to your promotion. Bakugou was smart, driven, and absolutely lethal. If anyone could turn around a rank at top speed it was him.

But he couldn’t be made to do it. He had to want to do it.

Ashido waved in the corner of your vision again, enunciating with exaggerated facial expressions. Make a bet.

Things clicked into place.

“Hmm, I wouldn’t be so sure,” you looked away from Ashido, inspecting your nails casually, like your focus would rather be anywhere than on this conversation. “In fact, I would bet almost anything that you wouldn’t know how to implement my suggestions, even if you tried.”

Bakugou froze, red eyes passing over you curiously. For one heart stopping moment, you thought he was on to you, but he just leaned down instead, putting his face close to yours.

“I’ll fucking take that bet.”

You tried to push down your sudden swell of excitement, fighting to keep your expression neutral. You knew he wouldn’t cooperate if he thought you were happy about this.

“Fine. You have two months to jump a rank,” you said. “Or I win. And you’ll pay me what you owe me for the dress.”

Bakugou smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. This had the effect of emphasizing both the tears in his shirt and the swell of his biceps.You quickly attached your eyes firmly to his face--that was so not what you needed to be focused on right now.

“I’ll do it in one,” he said. “And then I win, you smug fucking nerd.”

You gazed at him steadily. “Agreed. Miruko’s number seven--you think you can beat your own boss with just a month of work? You’ll never.”

“You haven’t heard what I win yet,” he said.

You stared at him, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “You go up in rank. That’s what you win.”

Bakugou’s handsome face shifted into an uneven smirk. “Oh no. This is twice now you’ve opened your little know-it-all mouth and acted like you know what the fuck you’re talking about. When I win, you’ll tell me I’m the best and I was right all along.”

You suppressed an eye roll. If he moved up a rank, the point would very obviously be that you were right all along. Was he really so unreasonably competitive and spiteful that he needed to be told he was right?

Then you remembered he’d quite literally dragged you into a stairwell and implied he'd fry you to a crisp when he found out he was number eight. Of course he was.

Well, a few throwaway words were worth nothing compared to the promotion you’d be getting. He could have his sense of self satisfaction when you were knee deep in software engineers and fat stacks of money.

You took a deep breath, holding out a hand. “Okay. If you win, which is a very big if, then I’ll admit it. Deal?”

Bakugou considered you for a long moment, red eyes watching you closely, before a calloused hand engulfed yours. “Deal," he growled, a crooked grin flickering at the edge of his mouth. "Get ready to eat shit, nerd.”

You suppressed another eye roll, hoping to god this was going to be worth it.

This was going to be the longest month of your life.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #tw threats #tw gendered violence

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lloydskywalkers · 4 years ago

Text

any port in a storm

Pixal and Lloyd and the evolving nature of friendship, as highlighted by the regular burning down of your city.

(desperately trying to break through writer’s block and classes again, this was supposed to be under 2k and it is...very much not hdfjkgh but! i’ve been meaning to write for Pixal and Lloyd for a while so here are a whole bunch of feelings about the two of them and s8)

Pixal meets — truly meets — Lloyd Garmadon shortly after his brother’s been blown to pieces.

She says truly, because if you ask her, Pixal will tell you she met Lloyd Garmadon at exactly 8:48 in the evening outside his father’s monastery, moments before a horde of nindroids led there by Pixal herself descended upon them.

But Lloyd argues that since they said about two words total to each other, it doesn’t really count as meeting, and by the time Pixal’s spending the better part of her day with him running high and low around Ninjago City, she’s learned that it’s easier not to press the point.

Lloyd can be stubborn, like that.

She’d first learned that when she’d met him, just after they’d lost Zane. That loss hadn’t lasted long, especially for Pixal, but the immediate aftermath of it had been devastating. She’d watched with blank eyes as the team had fractured, splitting at the seams as they all fled their separate ways, too heartsore and dizzy with grief to do much otherwise.

All of them had fled, save Lloyd. She hadn’t paid him much attention before that point, the surprisingly small bearer of the Golden Power. Of course, he wasn’t the bearer of that power anymore, but his eyes alone had shown the experience of it. There’d been a brief, lost look that had crossed his face as the others had mentioned leaving, before it had been swept under a mask of stubborn, determined blankness. He wouldn’t be leaving. Someone had to stay behind and watch out for things, he’d claimed, even as the loss had bled through his voice.

Pixal hadn’t quite grasped the concept of empathy at that point, but she’d felt something dangerously close to it.

At any rate, the only interaction they’d had alone was brief. In fact, the only one Pixal can truly remember — and her memory never fails — is the quick exchange they’d had in the hospital lobby directly after the battle. The hospital was for Mr. Borg, and for the ninja’s minor injuries.

There was nothing any hospital on earth could do for Zane.

Pixal had found herself next to Lloyd in the waiting room, trying to distract herself from those thoughts while Lloyd stared at the stark white tiling with dull eyes.

“They never mentioned what your power was,” she’d asked him, almost absently. Collecting data, processing information — anything she could do to distract from the crushing grief.

“Oh.” Lloyd had blinked, startling back into awareness. He’d suddenly looked painfully young. “It’s, ah, I guess it’s just green, now.”

It had been Pixal’s turn to blink. “Green.”

“Yeah.” Lloyd had bit his lip, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, two habits he’ll never quite lose. “I mean — it’s more than that, but it’s like — energy, I guess, is the best way to put it?”

“Interesting,” Pixal had remarked.

“Yeah.”

They’d stared at each other in silence after that, before they’d both been called off to other errands — and then they were having Zane’s funeral and then Pixal was making realizations she never got to tell anyone, and that had been that in her early introductions to Lloyd Garmadon. Quiet, awkward, and possessing an incredible power he hardly even knew the name of.

Looking back, Pixal figures her introduction hadn’t gone much better.

They’d continued as passing acquaintances as time went on, separated by danger and the confines of Zane’s head, and Pixal had figured that’s all they’d ever be. But then their Sensei goes missing and, despite Pixal’s increasing disappearances on Zane as she rebuilds her own body, she’s been given the role of watching out for Ninjago city along with Lloyd.

She quickly learns that quiet is not a term fit for Lloyd Garmadon when you’re trapped alone with him.

************

“How is there not a single station playing actual music?” Lloyd seethes, flicking through the channels almost manically. “It’s two am, who’s gonna be listening to your stupid commercial for toothpaste now, are you kidding me?”

“Statistically speaking, this is the prime time for long-distance driving near Ninjago City,” Pixal supplies, her voice a hint scratchy where it comes through the his car’s radio speakers. “Or, if you factor in the construction in the east district, there could still be traffic from late-night bars.”

Lloyd groans, thunking his head against the steering wheel as another ad screeches through the small space. “Wonderful.”

“Your vocal tones suggest you find it otherwise.”

“Dont trust ‘em, my vocal tones are traitors.” As if to solidify his point, Lloyd’s voice cracks in the middle of his sentence, shooting up an octave higher. Lloyd goes bright red, and thunks his head against the steering wheel again.

Taking pity on him, Pixal aims for reassurance. “It is normal for your voice to break, Lloyd. It shouldn’t last too long.” She pauses, momentarily scanning through another article. “On second thought, this one suggests it could also take two to three years for your voice to stabilize.”

Lloyd gives a strangled moan. “End me.”

“Unfortunately, that would defeat the purpose of why I’m here in the first place.”

Lloyd tilts his head, cracking an eye open as he glances at the camera feed he knows she’s watching him from. “Unfortunately, huh,” he muses. “So you’re saying if Zane hadn’t made you promise to look out for me, you would end me?”

“That — no, that is not — of course I wouldn’t end you,” Pixal backtracks. An odd feeling flickers through her, almost as if she’s lost her place, floundering.

Or embarrassed might be more accurate, she thinks wryly. She briefly considers projecting a a glaring face at Lloyd from the monitor. This is his fault. She rarely stuttered before Lloyd started teasing her at all hours of the morning.

“I mean, you wouldn’t be the first,” Lloyd continues, conversationally. “And if we’re being honest, I’d definitely rather you be the one to off me, instead of like, random bad guy number eighty-five—”

“I know you think you are funny,” Pixal cuts over him. “But casually planning for your death is something Kai listed I was not to let you do. Also, it is not nearly as funny as you think it is.”

“Ouch,” Lloyd mutters, though he looks chastised. “Never mind, you just took me out in one sentence.”

Chastised might be the wrong term.

Pixal studies him through the monitor, then sighs. “I am, however, honored you think highly enough of me to offer the right to murder you,” she gives in.

She’s rewarded as Lloyd breaks into a bright grin.

He still looks painfully young these days, but it’s less obvious. His voice is pitching lower and he wears his hair different, and he’s gained a whip-like tendency to quip at people, as Pixal’s experienced firsthand. Kai calls it sass in grumbling but fond tones, and Nya calls it snark somewhere between the fourth book series she’s sent for Pixal to try.

The ninja have been kind like that, sharing the interests they have in an attempt to make her feel…well, more human, she supposes. Less confined to a voice in a computer. Of course, Pixal isn’t confined to a voice in a computer anymore, but they don’t know that yet. She’ll tell them someday soon, she promises herself. Any day now.

In the meantime, it’s easy enough to keep up with Lloyd by lurking in his car radio, as he spends half his time in there anyways.

************

“You’d think we’d have found their hideout by now,” Lloyd notes, as they wait in a darkened alleyway again. It gives them an excellent view of the major highways, so if the rumored biker gang does show up, they won’t miss it.

If they show up being the key point.

“Whoever their leader is, they certainly know how to keep a low profile,” Pixal answers, closing out another dead end police report in frustration.

“It’s weird,” Lloyd says, propping the notebook he’s sketching in on his knee as he squints at the paper. “Normally the boss types aren’t this quiet. They like to show off, y’know? Make a big scene, dramatic speeches and all.”

“Are you referring to the villains, or yourselves?”

“Touché,” Lloyd snorts. “But still, you gotta admit it’s weird they haven’t even made any demands. What’s their end game here, elaborate advertising for motorcycle design?”

“I would hope not,” Pixal says. “Their color coordination is lacking.”

Lloyd fights back a smile, his pencil scratching as he shifts his notebook again. “I don’t know, I kinda like the punk look.”

“I noticed that, when you tried to redecorate the car.”

“Hey, skulls are cool.”

“They are also conspicuous, especially when they come in acid green colors.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Lloyd sighs, making a face as he scrubs the eraser across the paper. Pixal tries to tilt the camera further, to see what he’s drawing tonight, but the angle he’s holding it at remains just out of sight.

She could probably guess what he’s drawing, if she tried. The notebook is one they’ve been steadily working their way through on these late-night patrols, the pages filled with little hangman games and Lloyd’s sketches of animals and his teammates. He’s drawn her a few times from memory, and she’s been tempted to ask him to draw her in the new Samurai X armor more than once.

Soon, she tells herself.

“What are you drawing?” she finally asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

Lloyd’s cheeks tinge pink, and he quickly plasters the notebook to his chest, hiding it entirely from view. “Nothing.”

Pixal waits, letting the silence fill with her judgement. “Lloyd, I have seen your drawings before.”

He doesn’t reply, and Pixal tries again. “It gets boring, being stuck with the car monitors for eyes.”

“I know you can hack other cameras,” Lloyd mutters, but he sighs, relenting as he turns the notebook over. Pixal’s eyes rake over the detailed sketch — it’s a comical little thing of her and Lloyd, jammed together on a tiny lifeboat in the middle of a darkening ocean. She can spot the smudges where he’s redrawn her head several times, and the numerous attempts he’s made at his own hair. Pixal studies Lloyd’s portrayal of himself, which is noticeably lacking in facial features. While Lloyd draws the others plenty, it’s a rare occasion that he draws himself, and she can’t help but be curious.

“I thought you were drawing the others again,” she admits.

“They’re on the ship,” Lloyd says, absently. “I’ll draw them when they remember to pull us back in.”

There’s nothing bitter in his tone to suggest it has any bearing on their actual lives, but the lost expressions Lloyd ends up giving their tiny caricatures feel familiar nonetheless.

“Zane has assured me they will be back as soon as they can,” Pixal speaks ups quietly.

Lloyd finally looks up fully, and flashes the monitor a smile. “I know,” he says. “So we better have this thing busted by the time they do, or they’ll never let us run a city on our own again.”

“If only we were truly running the city,” Pixal grumbles. “I could do a better job in two days than the current leaders could do in a year.”

“I’d vote for you,” Lloyd says, sincerely.

It’s a sweet gesture, but Pixal is unable to resist. “You don’t know how to vote.”

“Yes I do, it’s not hard!”

“Really? Then why are you not currently registered in the Ninjago voting system?”

Lloyd makes a strangled noise. “That’s a thing?”

She’s unable to keep the smugness from her voice. “I make my point.” Lloyd scowls, and scribbles a mustache on his drawing of her in revenge.

Pixal thinks it looks nice nonetheless.

************

She can’t really hold it against Lloyd for talking as much as he does, considering she does the same. It gets dull, sitting on patrol for hours on end, and there are only so many hours of light reading they can do before the silence begins to drive them both insane.

Pixal finds herself talking about more useless things with Lloyd than she has in her existence, pointless conversations in circles with each other. She also finds she doesn’t entirely mind. She’s become quite good at quipping back and forth with him, at least. It’s different than the kind of talk she has with Zane, lacking in the depth of feeling with the love they share. Her exchanges with Lloyd are lighter, though that’s not to say they’re less sincere.

For example, Zane hasn’t tried to teach her how to redesign a gi in poor lighting in the early hours of the morning because he’s bored out of his mind, that’s for sure.

“I’m teaching you how to sew,” Lloyd corrects, wincing as he accidentally stabs himself with the needle. “And I’m not redesigning the whole thing, I’m just adding some designs to spice it up.”

“I did not know you were allowed to wear colors other than green,” Pixal comments.

Lloyd pauses, squinting at the monitor. “You’re teasing me,” he finally says. “You’re making fun of how much green this gi has in it.”

“I would never,” Pixal replies, her tone flat and even. “The intricacies of your human humor evade me—”

“Human humor, nice—”

“—unlike the unusually bright shade of green you’ve chosen will fail to evade any eyes of your enemies.”

“I knew you were making fun of me!” Lloyd accuses, then flinches as he stabs his finger again trying to point at her. “And bright colors are our thing. Being subtle is, uh…not. Usually.”

Pixal is losing the battle to laugh at his expression by the minute. “I am shocked.”

Lloyd glares at the monitor, shifting his sewing to rest on his knees as he slouches in the car seat. “How’d you even get so good at sarcasm, anyways,” he mutters. “Zane still doesn’t get it half the time.”

“Perhaps it is part of my glowing personality,” Pixal says. Lloyd gives a huff of laughter, relenting.

“Fair enough,” he says, shifting in his seat again. “Fine, you win. The green is probably too bright, but that’s not the point. I’m gonna show you how to do a backstitch."

Pixal falls quiet, letting Lloyd gesture with the needle as he explains. There are a hundred, a thousand tutorials she could pull up online, digitized knowledge instantly learned on all the countless types of stitches she could use, sorted and categorized in neat columns of use and effectiveness. All of them more detailed, more easily understood than Lloyd’s absent rambling and unsteady hands as he struggles with the end of a knot.

Not one of them will care whether or not Pixal learns the odd way Zane likes to loop his stitches, or will quietly add which stitches knit skin back together quickest.

So Pixal ignores her programming, and does her best to follow Lloyd’s rambling instructions, watching as his scarred fingers tug another thread of dull gold through the green mess of fabric, the city quiet around them.

“You never did tell me where you learned how to sew,” Pixal says, as Lloyd starts up a new thread of black on the other side of the gi. “Was that something the others taught you in training?”

“They’d have to know how to be able to teach it,” Lloyd snickers. “And, uh, no. I taught myself to back at Darkley’s.”

“Oh,” Pixal falters. She’s heard about Darkley’s, both from Zane and the legal reports she’s read online. Neither gave a positive impression of the place. Her mind is suddenly filled with images of a younger Lloyd trying to give himself stitches, and her heart twists.

Lloyd starts, seemingly having picked up on her train of thought. “I mean, I did it for fun, mostly. I like sewing,” he explains. “It’s useful. You can pull things back together, and fix ‘em.”

Pixal is quiet, but she hopes Lloyd takes her silence as agreement with his motive. She likes to think he knows her well enough for that, by now.

************

Pixal finds, somewhere during their fourth month alone, that she’s glad the team elected to stick her and Lloyd together. Not because she doesn’t want to be with Zane — there’s never a moment she doesn’t miss him, and with every day that passes her resolve to keep her secret from him grows weaker, as the longing for actual connection grows stronger.

But there are conversations she can have with Lloyd that she can never have with Zane, and the dangerous thing about spending time with Lloyd, Pixal finds, is that they’re more similar than she’s realized.

“Sometimes I think I’m jealous,” Lloyd whispers to her one night. It’s one of the bad ones, the ones where their enemies struck too sudden to stop, and the mission ends in the hospital. “I think I’m jealous of Zane, and I hate myself for it.”

Pixal is quiet, trying to pick apart the tone of his voice in the words he’s just spoken, and factors in the victims they’ve just left behind at the hospital. She finds herself no closer to an answer.

“Is it the metal skin part?” she finally asks, though she knows that’s wrong. “The, what was it, technical immortality?”

“No,” Lloyd shakes his head. “I’m not afraid of dying,” he says emphatically, his fingers fluttering at over the steering wheel, tapping incessantly with unspent energy. “I don’t want to, but that’s — it’s not what I’m scared of. I’m more scared of how I go out.”

He swallows, and his fingers move to dance over the woven bracelet on his wrist instead, twisting at the tiny beads and tracing senseless designs in constant, steady movement. It’s a motion he does often, and it had puzzled Pixal at first. She’d decided to write it off as an odd tick, a way to spend excess energy.

Now, she recognizes the desperate kind of reassurance that movement gives. She understands too well the need to remind yourself that you can move — that your body will obey you and you alone.

Pixal thinks back to the other factors in tonight’s accident, of the way the drugged man’s eyes had cleared when they’d finally turned him over to the police, the way he’d sworn he’d never do such a thing in his right mind. She thinks of the way the first victim had thrown themselves over their companion.

That victim hadn’t made it to the hospital.

“Ah,” Pixal says, quietly.

She’s silent again, and she thinks back to when she’d met him, the very first time. She recalls the way her programming had rebelled against her in favor of the Overlord, corrupting her body and forcing it against her, twisting everything she was and wanted to be into something different.

She thinks back again, to the searing-hot anger, the terror, the despair as she was torn apart, piece by piece like a machine, burning out at the whims of another. Her end purposeless, her demise belonging to someone else, just like every other part of her.

She thinks of the last glimpse she’d caught of Zane, bright and beautiful as a supernova. Burning with the terrible brilliance of his own, determined choice. Terrible, because the death of something always is. Beautiful, because it was his own. Zane died, not a machine, not a weapon, not a tool of anyone or anything, but as himself. Zane died to save the ones he loves. Pixal could’ve died for spare parts.

Never again, she promises herself. If she goes out, she goes out on her own terms. This time, they choose the end of their own destiny themselves.

In hindsight, it’s the kind of promise they’re both too young to make, but neither of them have ever seen themselves as such, and promises like that are easy.

“Love can be terrible, sometimes,” Lloyd murmurs. Pixal watches him scrub at the blood on his uniform, and thinks how ironically well-timed it is that he finished the stitching on his new gi this morning. “Sometimes I forget how ugly it can be.”

************

The end of their nighttime stakeouts begins with a break-in at Mr. Borg’s tower. Lloyd argues that she should get to call it her father’s tower, if she wants, but the ninja aren’t the only ones Pixal’s hiding herself from.

And then Lloyd gets very tense at the thought of fathers very fast, and they never finish the conversation.

They stay at the edge of the bridge long after the parachute, emblazoned with the unmistakable visage of Lloyd’s father, disappears from sight. Pixal wonders if it’s burned into Lloyd’s eyes, like the way she’s read black spots linger in humans’ vision after they’ve looked at something too bright. The way Lloyd stares at the river, his shoulders tense and his teeth worrying at his lip, she thinks she might be right.

They’re waiting on the report from the commissioner —they’re waiting for anything, anyone who can offer them any explanation of what’s going on. Pixal’s reminded of how much she loathes this kind of waiting.

“It could be—” Lloyd begins, then breaks off, his voice wavering. He swallows, and Pixal can see the way his fists clench tightly from the cameras they’ve put in his car. There’s a fierce part of her that longs to reveal herself, to meet his eyes herself and offer some semblance of comfort. But there’s a time and place for things, and Pixal isn’t ready.

“It could be anything,” Lloyd finally continues, his voice small. “It could — it doesn’t mean anything. It could mean nothing, right?”

Pixal is silent, her mind racing. She’s run the calculations over and over in her head already, scouring the internet for anything related to the bikers. She’s been foolish, she realizes — they both have. Letting the gang go unnamed for so long, thinking nothing of it. Now, with the name flashing vibrant across Pixal’s vision, a part of her wants to let them go nameless just a bit longer.

Before she can answer, Lloyds phone goes off with a sharp ping, just as Pixal’s sensors alert her to the message from the commissioner. Lloyd snatches for his phone like it’s on fire, and Pixal’s already scanning the message frantically, as if she can salvage this if she’s fast enough, save Lloyd from this one pain.

Lloyd’s gotten much better at reading quickly though, these days.

She can pinpoint the moment he reaches the last paragraph, because his breath hitches. There’s a long, pressing pause of silence, Lloyd’s hands trembling as they clutch weakly at his phone. Then it’s punctured by a reedy, wheezing gasp, and Pixal’s suddenly wishing she’d revealed herself after all.

Instead, all she has is her voice as Lloyd crumples, crouching over in visible distress. Pixal’s mind races, recalling everything Zane’s ever told her about his team, the way their panic manifests in different shades. Lloyd’s is quiet but desperate, rapid breathes that stutter as his eyes slide more and more into a frightening kind of blankness.

“Lloyd, please, listen to my voice,” she begs, trying to reach him in the only way she can. “Please, you have to breathe—”

“He’s gone,” Lloyd rasps, unhearing of her words. “He’s s’posed to be gone, it’s supposed to be over, I’m supposed to be done—”

Pixal fights back the sense of overwhelming helplessness. She knows loss. She knows how to finish his sentence. He’s supposed to be done grieving, done mourning, done clinging to false scraps of hope that his father isn’t lost forever only to be met with heartbreak.

And now, to be met with the possibility of something so much worse.

“We’ll stop them,” she tells him, unflinching. “We won’t let it happen.”

Lloyd’s eyes are a vivid green where they stare at her through the monitor, almost ghostly in the misting light reflecting from the river.

He’s silent, but Pixal is, too.

Pixal remembers the way her head had spun when she’d first picked up the traces of Zane in the system, how the world had rushed then steadied, flooding with color as she’d realized he might not be lost after all. She remembers the surging, overwhelming flood of joy, that someone she’d thought she lost might live after all. She remembers being so happy, at even the smallest chance to get him back, because the voice was Zane’s, without a doubt.

She watches the color seep from Lloyd’s expression as his shoulders shudder, the words from the commissioner’s message almost echoing through the air. Watches the terror as the both of them fill the silence.

Will we?

The radio scratches, as if echoing Pixal’s anxiety. Love can be terrible, sometimes. She’s underestimated how it also be so cruel.

************

She’s also, apparently, underestimated how the universe on the whole could be so cruel.

She should’ve revealed herself to them from day one. That way, when Harumi’s corrupted programming suddenly ravages through her like an electric shock, she could be reassured they’d at least be familiar with the person they were fighting.

Instead, she doesn’t even get to scream. Pixal’s only able to force out a desperate, broken warning before she’s lost again, drowning in her own body as she’s forced under. Furious panic grips her as she screams without lungs, bashing herself against the overwhelming helplessness that’s taken over her.

Not again, not again, not again—

Her limbs creak and jolt against her will, lashing out at the people she cares most about, and Pixal can’t even rage back in her own voice. She’s sworn, she’s promised herself she’d never let anyone do this to her again — she’s sworn she’d die before she let someone reach into her head and snatch control away, and yet here she is, frozen as her body’s used to target her friends.

If she could cry, she might.

There’s not much more to say than that. She breaks free, her body her own once again, but by then it’s too late.

************

If Pixal had the same gift of foresight that Zane did, maybe she would have seen it coming. Maybe she’d have remembered how similar her and Lloyd are, and that this kind of pained desperation always yields impulsiveness and mistakes.

She doesn’t, though. She barely even manages to do what she’s trying to, which is convincing Lloyd to join the others while they celebrate their victory. Their off-key singing is something he normally wouldn’t hesitate to join in on, she thinks, and she hates Harumi a little more.

Maybe she’ll try his mother next. The expression on Lloyd’s face screams unapproachable, and remains fixedly sullen.

Almost to her surprise, he meets her eyes as she draws near— it’s odd, being able to meet his back — and his own eyes are dark, from despair over Harumi or despair over his father, Pixal isn’t sure. She’s thinking it might be both, when his eyebrows crease, and a flicker of concern cuts through them instead.

“You good?”

It takes her a moment to realize why he’s asking, but the answer is obvious. Her head tilts downward, and she watches as her fingers curl and uncurl. Her movements, her choices. She lets out an even breath.

“As I can be,” she replies. Lloyd nods, and his eyes are understanding. His lips twist in a scowl.

“She shouldn’t have done that to you. That was a low blow.”

Pixal’s mouth curves into a humorless smile. “That it was. She’s rather good at those, isn’t she.”

Lloyd’s eyes shadow again, and he looks away, crossing his arms. “This isn’t supposed to be about me,” he mutters.

“Yes, it is,” Pixal counters. “It is why I came over here, in the first place. She hurt—”

“All of us, and who’s fault is that,” Lloyd snaps, his arms crossing tighter.

“I would hope you know it’s hers,” she says, holding firm.

Lloyd looks away again, biting his lip, and Pixal shifts anxiously, rolling her wrists. The sensation of control sliding away still haunts her, worse than it had the first time. She should be better than this, she tells herself hotly. She’s lived without a body long enough that losing it so briefly shouldn’t effect her this much.

Curse her programming, she thinks, tapping agitatedly at the banister. She knew she should have reinforce it sooner.

“Hey, um.” Lloyd is looking at her again, hesitant. He twists at his bracelet, and his eyes lose a fraction of that darkness. “Kai made this for me, after Morro,” he says. “I kept shredding the sleeves of my uniform, so he told me to mess with this instead, when I needed to remember that…that I was in control.”

He shrugs, hesitant. “We could make you one too, if you wanted. It helps, having something.”

Pixal lets out a steady breath, despite not actually needing to. The action is grounding, she’s found. “I would like that.”

Lloyd gives her a ghost of a smile in return. “Soon as this is over, then.”

There’s a heavy weight to his words, and Pixal’s eyes narrow.

“Lloyd,” she says. He looks at her, his eyes dark. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

He’s quiet, not meeting her eyes, and this is where Pixal should stop him. This is when she should see the end of the road they’ve been on since they started this, and force him to turn before it’s too late.

“I know what I’m doing.”

She doesn’t.

************

Lloyd is battered and bleeding by the time they drag him onto the ship, a gruesome portrait of cruelty. Pixal is frozen as she watches him writhe in Kai’s hold, his screams cracked and wet as he thrashes erratically like a broken thing.

Nya is already barking orders before they’ve even gotten Lloyd fully on the ship, and Zane is running scans with a horrified, wavering focus. Pixal follows Cole as he carries Lloyd to the medbay with a blank numbness, the rush of wind streaming past the Bounty sails thunderously loud in her ears.

This isn’t Lloyd, she thinks, staring at his crumpled form. Lloyd isn’t this battered, broken shell of a person. Lloyd isn’t hazy eyes that fail to recognize them and frantic murmuring through bloody lips. Lloyd is bright-eyed and gentle and would rather die before he screams the way he does when Cole moves him to the table.

Lloyd is her friend, and this is where that promise they made has led them. She knows why Lloyd set out for the prison, hot on the collapse of his own star. She also knows he wouldn’t have chosen to burn out like this.

Cole calls out for Zane, his voice ringing in panic as Lloyd screeches in pain again. Pixal thinks of quiet words in the safety of his car, and she feels sick. This is the ugliness of love, the terrible, hideous side of it.

And Lloyd would hate it, if he could see himself, if he were any semblance of lucid. He’d hate to know just how much better he was at breaking himself than Morro ever was.

Zane is gentle as he pushes past her, but Pixal can feel the tremble in his hands. He’s every bit as rattled as she is, if not more so — Zane’s heart is larger and softer than hers has ever been, and he cares about each and every one of them with a painful intensity. It’s a cruel thing, to have to pull those same people back together with your own hands.

Kai’s eyes are streaming as he clutches at Lloyd’s wrists, pinning him in place. Zane’s hands waver again over one of the jagged wounds near Lloyd’s ribcage, the green of his uniform already dyed dark in blood, soaking over the careful stitches Pixal watched him put in himself.

Pixal finally finds her footing, reminding herself of the solid wood beneath her feet. She recalls the steady, smooth stitch Lloyd’s scarred fingers traced out for her.

“Here.” She takes the needle from Zane’s hands, squeezing his briefly before letting go. “I can do it.”

She sets the needle against Lloyd’s skin and wonders what kind of stitch it’d take to pull your heart back together.

************

Pixal cannot cry. It’s one of the features Mr. Borg spent hours debating, weighing the pros and cons of giving her the ability before he was truly sure how rust-proof she was. He’d never gotten the chance to, as the Overlord had interrupted him, then Pixal had lost any body to give the ability to cry to, which had eliminated the need entirely.

She cannot cry, but she can hurt, and the rain that streams through her hair, dripping down her forehead spotting raindrops on her cheeks, could be tears if she pretended.

She doesn’t, though, because tears are a waste of water and overall useless in the grand scheme of things. She doubts they’d have helped her fare any better in the battle with Colossi, either.

Tears won’t bring anyone back.

Lloyd cries anyways. She can’t see him, but she can hear it in his voice, the way it wavers and breaks over the radio, nasally tones pronounced.

He’s barely able to gasp a few coordinates to her before he cuts the radio off abruptly. Pixal’s spent enough time with him to envision his scarred fingers snapping it off with a particular desperation, green sparking from his hands in distress.

She reminds herself those sparks are gone, now, bled away into nothing like the vivid green of Lloyd’s eyes had. The thought makes her sadder than she’d expected. She had a joke, about his eyes, she had wanted to make. Now that she has a body, and her own set of glowing green eyes, she’d — there was something he would’ve laughed at, she thought —

It doesn’t matter, now. Neither of them are likely to laugh anytime soon.

The coordinates blink brightly in her vision, and she’s almost surprised she managed to key them in. She’s running on autopilot, she supposes. It could be ironic — she’s been so desperate for control, it’s been so important that she’s the one feeling. Now, she’d give anything not to feel at all.

She lets out a shaky breath, dispelling the mist in her vision left from the rain. She leans forward, just over the edge of the building she’s crouched on, and her loose hair falls forward, silvery and synthetic and horribly tangled. Irritated, she reaches for another hair tie, and her hands falter around her wrist.

Lloyd had promised her a bracelet there. But he’d promised Kai would make the bracelet, hadn’t he, and Kai couldn’t make the bracelet if he was dead, could he.

Pixal blinks, her breath hitching. She’s been so numb to the pain of Zane’s loss, it hasn’t yet occurred to her that she’s losing Kai, too. And Jay, and Cole, and—

She sucks in the same shuddery kind of breath she’s seen Lloyd do, and carefully fists her hand in the area of her uniform above her chest. Her fingers dig in tightly, clutching in a hopeless attempt to feel some sort of comfort she knows she’ll never find.

But perhaps, for these few seconds, she can pretend the action is holding her together.

************

“It was inevitable,” Pixal tells Lloyd blankly, as he rasps out his third apology in the dark cover of their small hideout. “That one of us would fall, eventually. It had nothing to do with you.”

Lloyd swallows thickly. “It could’ve — it should’ve been—”

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. Pixal’s hand shoots out, clamping tightly around his wrist, and there’s a beat of gratitude that she doesn’t need to rely on her voice alone anymore.

“Don’t.” Her voice is strung tighter than the tension in their shoulders. “You cannot change anything. You can’t, Lloyd, and you should not wish to — to change it that way.”

Lloyd jerks his hand free, wiping miserably at his eyes. He sets it back down within her reach, though, and if Pixal were any different, she’d take it.

But Pixal isn’t that different from Lloyd at all in the end, and neither of them reach for the other’s hand, no matter how desperately they crave the contact. Fear is more familiar, and it’s easier to give into it than it is the clawing need for comfort in your chest, after all.

“Still,” Lloyd finally whispers. “Still.”

Pixal swallows. She doesn’t disagree. If one of them had to fall, she knows she gladly would have taken it upon herself. She knows the others care for her, certainly, but she also knows her place in the grand scheme of things. They were six before she came along, and even now she’s kept far too many secrets to be fully counted among them.

She listens to Lloyd’s quiet, cracked voice, and she wonders if he’s thinking that they were five before he came along, younger than Pixal got to know him as.

Now they’re three, hollow and heartbroken. Though counting herself as one whole feels like cheating, right now.

Pixal squeezes her eyes shut, and wonders what it’s like to cry. Perhaps it helps, though Lloyd doesn’t look any less miserable.

************

“I was thinking,” Lloyd tells her, during one of the precious few quiet moments they have while trying to overthrow Garmadon and Harumi. Pixal’s turning the tiny tea flower he’d given her over in her hands, a part of her mind already marking articles about flower-pressing, another part wondering if it’s already too late to save the blossom. “About that promise we made, before all this.”

Pixal finally tucks the flower into the pocket of her uniform, pressed close to her chest. If anything, it can be a reminder of the lives that are safe — the life that’s coming back to her, if she has to drag him back from another realm herself. “And?”

Lloyd’s hands twist together. “Maybe we should focus more on staying alive.”

Pixal coughs out a laugh, breathless and startled. Lloyd wrinkles his nose at her, but his eyes are amused, even with their light lost. “I mean, the emphasis would be on keeping everyone else alive, but it’s kinda hard to do that if we’re dead, so…yeah. Priorities.”

“Staying alive should always be a priority,” Pixal corrects him, but she tugs the edge of his armor out of place with a smile.

“Why didn’t you teach me how to graffiti?” she nods at the designs on the green leather. “Or was this another Darkley’s tradition.”

“This is a refined art, called whatever I had on me that showed up on dark green,” Lloyd grumbles, fixing his armor. “I’ll teach it to you when we get out of this.”

“Another reason why staying alive would be a more productive focus,” Pixal points out. “I’ve heard teaching is easier when you’re alive.”

“And I’ve heard you’re a real riot,” Lloyd mutters. “It’s a promise, okay? I promise to teach you how to do cool armor design if you promise not to disappear into another realm on me.”

Pixal nods, adjusting her own armor tighter as screams ring out from a street nearby. “A promise, then.”

She keeps both the promise and the flower, the tiny blossom dried and faded by the time she’s escaped from the prison, heart racing with leftover adrenaline as Zane sweeps her into his arms. She clutches back every bit as tight, listening to his breathless laughter as cheers rise from the streets behind them, the smoke drifting across the early morning sky above them pale against the lightening blue. Pixal buries her face in his shoulder and breathes, tucking the moment away in her heart where it won’t fade. There’s a future stretching out before her, and she’s got the limbs to walk her path on her own, but all she wants right now is the steady ground beneath her feet and the bright laughter of what she’s managed to keep.

Lloyd meets them shortly after, his own promise kept as he tears his gaze from his father, handing him off to the authorities before sprinting for the others. Pixal barely snags a moment alone with him, and even then no one’s particularly keen on letting him out of their sights.

He meets her eyes as they pick their way through the wrecked streets, the city more alive around them than it’s been in weeks. In the dark of the early morning, Pixal’s eyes glow a bright green, reflecting oddly in the windows they pass. It’s always been her preferred color, in contrast to Zane’s bright blue. Lloyd glances at her, his own eerily green eyes glowing back. He bites his lip, but it’s to hold back real laughter this time.

“My eyes were green first,” she tells him.

“Sue me,” he shoots back, before Kai’s throwing an arm over his shoulders again, tucking Lloyd neatly in between him and Nya. Pixal smothers a laugh at the look on his face, and tightens her own arm further where it’s linked firmly in Zane’s.

It’s going to be an easy promise to keep, she thinks.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #ninjago lloyd #pixal #there was a point to this but it got lost in pix and lloyd do arts and crafts #either way i'd die for both these characters #ninjago where is the pixal love i miss her #my fic

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catxsnow · 4 years ago

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AFTER HOURS chapter two

Summary: Enemies to the public, friends to their close ones, friends with benefits between them. Rival companies and an attraction that can’t be ignored.

Tim Drake x reader

Warnings: swearing, mature content, smut, 18+ only, mention death of parents, car crash mentions.

A/N: Chapter twooooooo it shall be getting more interesting next chapter😏

Word Count: 3.6k

It seemed that her life seemed revolve around business meetings. Nine in the morning, another at eleven, two at noon but there was no way to attend both, a final one at three. Meeting after meeting, and for what? To hear the same things over and over again? Some people choose to do this for the rest of their lives.

There was something about the busy Gotham streets that always caught her attention. Maybe it was the sound of the horns, or the people yelling within their cars. Gun shots or screams. There was always something to distract her from whatever meeting she was forced to listen to. Maybe it was because she didn't want to listen to it at all.

Of course, running this company was important. Without her parents, she had to take control of it. It was an important company too, just along side WE, they worked to make Gotham, and the world a better place. That didn't mean that she wanted to here about the statistical analysis of it all.

Not to mention that the weight of her parent's anniversary was heavy in her mind. Four years since they had been gone, four years of blaming herself. They went to Gotham to visit her, if they had just stayed home, they would still be home. Car accidents happen all the time, but that didn't make it any easier.

The second that the final meeting was over, she couldn't seem to get out of that room fast enough. She just wanted to be in the privacy of her own office. The door nearly slammed shut as she closed it. Back against the wall, heavy breathing as she tried to hold herself together. It was always hard on that day of the year.

A bright bouquet of flowers was on her desk. With a shaky breath, she headed over to see who they were from. It wasn't rare for her to receive flowers. Gotham's greatest bachelorette - more like people wanted her for sex and money. Without that company, she wouldn't have been idolized like that.

The bouquet was grand: flowers of every color and kind poked out from it. Whoever this was, they had spent a lot of money on it. (Y/N) picked up the small card and read what it said.

For your parents. I know days like these aren't easy, I'm sorry. - T.D.

"Those are pretty."

"Ms. Vale," her jaw clenched at the sound of the voice behind here. Great, this was the last thing that she needed to deal with today. Vicki Vale had a tendency to show up on her worst days. "What do I owe the pleasure of today and who let you into my office?"

"I let myself in," she said. Vicki Vale stood tall and proud. She had a large purse over her shoulder which surely held a plethora of notebooks and pens. Always ready to catch a story and always eager to stir up drama within the city. "Hope you don't mind. Just wanted to ask you a few questions about this new business deal that you're about to make. But, now I'm curious about the flowers, who're they from?"

"Why don't you tell me?" She sat in her chair as Vicky sat in the one across from her. "You do enjoy making headlines about me and my, as you say 'promiscuous life'." There had been many titles about (Y/N) - between her risky clothing, the second that she were talking with a man outside of business, or her attempts for normal dates - she was there.

Vicki casually reached her perfectly manicured finger tips towards the card from the flowers. Before she could even come near, (Y/N)'s palm slammed down on the desk. She pulled the card towards herself and out of the reach of Vicki. The last thing she needed was for the reporter to put two and two together to realize T.D. was Tim Drake-Wayne.

"Another hopeless lover of yours?" She raised an eyebrow. There was no answer. "I just wanted to ask you what you thought about Wayne Enterprise's attempt to stop the progress of your new development? Mr. Drake - sorry, Mr. Wayne, had lots to say on the matter, I hope you do as well."

"As a matter of fact, I don't." WE's attempt to stop the development was futile. Even Tim had told her that. There was no reason for them to try and stop it when in the end it would benefit both companies. They just wanted their name on it rather than hers. Everyone in both companies knew that.

It was for namesake that there was disagreements about the development. She was lucky enough to have beaten Tim to it first. This was going to a be a massive break for the company, one that would sky rocket sales and put you neck and neck with Wayne Enterprises once again.

"Mr. Wayne is your biggest competitor, aren't you worried?" She continued to pry. (Y/N) had gotten skilled over the years of not letting the curiosity of others get to her. She was able to keep her face straight and her mouth shut - even when she had lots she wanted to say.

"Mr. Wayne has always, and will always be my biggest competitor. Unfortunately for him, I was the one to give the statement first about this new addition to the city. I will become Gotham's biggest economic resources, just as I have always tried to do in the past - and just as Mr. Wayne has always done in the past."

"So, you're saying that you public enemies?" Vicki pressed. She had always known about (Y/N)'s vendetta against the WE, but there had never been a statement that she tried to take the company down so hers could thrive. That was never her intention, they could co-exist always.

"I'm saying, Ms. Vale, that Timothy Drake-Wayne is a smart man. He knows when to push through fights, and he knows when he is losing. This time, he's lost. The next time, I won't be so lucky. Those who are fighting for the same cost are never enemies," she firmly stated.

"Will you be attending the Wayne Gala?" Vicki continued. Of course, there always had to be questions that weren't related to the company. She wanted anything to see (Y/N) with a man, just to make a headline for the decade. In all these years, not once had she been caught in the dating scene.

"No. I've made a donation, but I will not be attending," She answered. The tag from the flowers seemed to burn the skin of her hands. Tim sent those flowers because he worried, not because he wished to impress her. "Don't you have some better reporting to do rather than finding strings to cling onto of my personal life, Ms. Vale?"

"That'll be all for today."

Tim's bouquet of flowers felt heavy in her hands. The weight of having to visit her parent's graves was always a hard task to do alone. As time passed, it seemed easier to go visit them. Years of working hard to make them proud, years of showing them how much the business they started thrived.

There was nothing more that she wanted than to make them proud. Even as a child - working hard in school, playing sports, everything that would have brought a smile to their faces. In death, it felt like she needed to work even harder. Then again, as time passed, she forgot the sound of their voices, the crinkle by their eyes as they smiled, she forgot the warmth of their hugs.

As time passed, she forgot that she could be happy.

Work consumed her in the past four years. Late nights at the office, early mornings, weekends even. She lost friends, disconnected from family, deterred everyone away. Running this company had changed her life, and not necessarily for the better. The responsibility of it all was almost too much to handle on her own.

"Mr. Wayne's son bought these for you," she spoke to her parents graves. Tim's flowers sat on the grass, bringing some brightness to that gloomy day. "Surprising, I know. He's very kind, I think you guys would like him if he wasn't running Wayne Enterprises. At this point though I think you would like any man that I talked to.

"I miss you both, a lot. I'm securing a new development in the company, it's really going to pull us ahead this time. Dad would have thought it would have been a risky move, but I did it. I beat them for once. I hope you guys are proud of me up there, I'm really trying to make this city a better place in your name.

"Happy anniversary mom and dad, I love you," she sighed once more before heading back to her car. The walk back seemed long. Her shoulders hung low and she furiously wiped away the hot tears that threatened to spill down her eyes.

To her surprise, Tim was there, leaning against his own car right next to hers. He was reading something on his phone, but as he heard her footsteps, he looked up. "Mr. Wayne, thank you for those flowers, they were beautiful. What are you doing here?"

It wasn't often that they met up in public without there being some sort of business meeting along with it. Tim shoved his phone in his pocket and gave her a smile filled with sympathy. To be honest, he was visiting his own parents. Their chat the previous night had edged him to go visit their graves.

It just happened to be lucky timing that she was there as well. Tim didn't want to disturb her, but he did wish to speak to her. He always wished to talk with her - not just about business. He liked being with her, she was refreshing in his life of darkness. Without evening knowing much about it, it seemed she understood him more than anyone.

"I was in the area," Tim vaguely answered. He knew that he could tell her that he was visiting his parents just like she were but he felt deterred from doing so. Besides, upon seeing the redness in her eyes, he didn't want to worry about anything besides her. She had been crying, it was evident for someone like him. "I'm glad you liked the flowers, they used to be mother's favourites."

"They stirred up quite the fuss with Vicki Vale today," she tried to joke. Tim rolled his eyes at the sound of her name. He wasn't her biggest fan, in fact he was far from it. Vicki had single-handedly meddled into his life and forced him to live an entire year with a fake spinal injury and crutches. He had gotten off of them just before meeting (Y/N).

"She came to see you too, huh?" Tim shuddered at their meeting that afternoon. Question after question about his involvement with Ms. (L/N). Vicki was sure that there was something going on between the two of them - and for once she was right. "The new development or your latest hot date?"

"Considering my latest hot date is non-existent, it was the development. But, she was pretty eager for me to say something about you," She half-smiled. Tim shook his head, of course. Vicki was always trying to start a turf war or make the two of them fall in love. "I know you just came over last night... but I could really use a distraction from today."

A distraction. That seemed that was all he was to her. Nothing more than something to get her mind of the life she was thrown into. Of course, that was what it was all about at the start. Fucking to forget. He knew it, he went into their benefit relationship knowing it but as time grew...

"There's nothing wrong with taking a break from work," Tim changed the subject a little too quickly. In the four years he had known her, she had aged. Worried creases were around her eyes and scattered on her forehead. Dark circles always under her eyes. It worried him. "I'm not saying leave or anything, but you can have fun every once in a while. It's a Friday night, why not go to the bar with your friends? Let loose and live a little."

Tim was right. She wasn't the young eighteen year old anymore that would have been chastised for having a drink. It was legal for her to go out and have fun, maybe tonight was the kind of night that she deserved. Her parents wouldn't want her to sulk over their deaths, they would have wanted her to live her best life.

Going out was exactly what she needed. Not a distraction, not something that would keep her mind busy for a couple hours just to fall back in her pit of despair. She needed a genuine change in her life, and maybe that started with connecting with old friends and making some new ones.

As no words came out of her mouth, Tim took the time to realize that it was his moment to leave. She was obviously deep in thought with his words. He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it before getting into his car. "I hate when you call me Mr. Wayne," he told her.

It was true, not only did it make him feel old, but it also made him feel like they didn't know each other at all. That was far from the truth, they both were far closer to each other than they would like to admit. Tim knew of her desire to keep their relationship business - and emotionless sex. They were after all, public enemies.

For the first time in years she woke up with a hangover. Pounding head, upset stomach - it was a feeling that she didn't miss. It wasn't rare for her to sleep naked in her own home, but it was to feel a heavy arm across her waist. Dark hair, muscular back - for a second she swore it to be Tim, but this man wasn't nearly as broad as he was.

Aside from the thumping in her head, memories of what happened the night before started to resurface. She had taken Tim's advice and called up her friends to go get a drink. One drink turned to two, which turned to shots and getting plastered. It had been so long since she had seen them all that letting loose was almost too easy.

She knew that she shouldn't have gotten that drunk, but having fun like that for the first time since she started working at that company was exhilarating. Unlike she had thought - her friends accepted her right back in. They knew that she was under a lot of pressure and that making time wasn't easy. They were just thankful for that night.

So, with a small reunion at the front of the bar, they headed in and got hammered. She treated her friends round after round - partially because she easily could and partially for an apology. It didn't take long for them to become a laughing mess while catching up and remembering the old days.

By the time the night was coming to an end, her friend pointed out the man that had been eyeing her up for hours. Whether it was the alcohol, the need to continue her good night, or to show her friends that she was just as fun as ever, she went to the man. Minutes later, they were walking out of the club and into a taxi.

Now, he was asleep in her bed and she had no idea whether or not anyone outside of her friend group knew what had happened. The man stirred. He pulled himself closer towards her as he woke. Warm brown eyes met hers, a genuine smile. What was his name? Jacob.

"Good morning beautiful," his voice was hoarse, sexy. Her mind raced between the option of soaking up some more moments of fun or getting back to her usual self and kicking him out. She went with the first one as he glided his hands along the curves of her side before placing his hand at her jaw.

It made her falter. This man... as good looking and as sexy as he was, he wasn't Tim. He didn't please her like Tim did. He didn't make her feel as good as Tim did. Even the sound of his voice didn't bring her the same amount of excitement. Why did she feel like she betrayed him? They were allowed to sleep with who they wanted.

She pushed away the feeling. Tim was the one to tell her to go out and have fun. Let loose from the burden of running a company and just the kid that she was. Sleeping with men, getting drunk, that was all part of her teen years that she missed out on. Tim wanted her to have this.

"Coffee?" She asked. Maybe that would stop the ridiculous headache she had. Or maybe she was using it as an excuse to get out of bed with him. Jacob nodded. He pulled her in for a long kiss, lingering against her for just a moment too long. The two of them grabbed whatever scattered clothes they could before going to her kitchen.

As the smell of coffee beans filled the air, she checked her phone for the first time that morning. Unlike the endless abundance of emails that she had gotten - there was a plethora of missed calls and texts. This was far from usual. Her eyebrows furrowed as she opened up the one from her closet advisor.

A picture of her and Jacob leaving the club, pictures of them kissing, her taking shots and drinking with her friends. Is she really mature enough to run this company? Black bold letters stared back at her. This was exactly what she was trying to avoid. The media had taken her one night of fun and turned the city against her.

"Fuck," she breathed out.

"What's wrong?" Jacob asked. Genuine concern was in his eyes for why she was suddenly upset. She was frozen in her spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the screen. Jacob stood behind her, hands on her shoulders as he glanced over the article itself. "Oh." He never assumed that the media would do this.

In the bar, he knew who she was. Everyone in Gotham knew who she was, however he never expected her to be that beautiful in person. His friends had been hyping him up all night to go talk to her, but he knew it would never be a success. So, when she came to him, he couldn't say no.

Now, he worried that in one fowl swoop, he had tainted everything that she had worked so hard for.

"I think you should go," she told him, not trying to be rude. This wasn't his fault, none of this was. It was her fault for agreeing to her friends to go after him, it was her fault for agreeing to Tim's idea. Tim. This wouldn't have happened if he hadn't offered. Was this a ploy to get her company to fall so he could come out on top?

"I know it doesn't really mean much from someone like me, but... No matter what Gotham has to say about you, I think you’re the only one keeping this city somewhat sane," Jacob told her. He genuinely thought her to be a good person - not just some chick with a nice ass and easy access. There were people in Gotham that wanted to see her succeed, regardless of her age.

It was a hard idea to get through her head - people believing in her for her brain, not her body. So many articles, just like the one she read this morning, forced her to a life that made her weary of trusting people. She wanted to be seen as powerful, influential - not as a little girl who ran around sleeping with people.

"Thank you," she smiled. "If it means anything, I did have a great time last night." Jacob chuckled, but agreed. He waved a final time and left her home. Reluctantly, she went through the rest of the texts that she had gotten over the night. All of them were the same - reminding her that she was still an immature kid.

The board of directors, her friends, advisors - everyone seemed to have seen it before she had. It was the text from Tim that stood out to her the most. I see you took my advise, hope you had fun last night. Don't worry to much about the paps.

Don't worry? Don't worry? The great Tim Wayne had nothing to worry about, ever. Her on the other hand? She was constantly under scrutiny. In the eyes of society, Tim was the perfect candidate to take over WE. He was smart, cunning, he had a way with the people. It seemed that there was never anything bad for someone to say about him.

Her life on the other hand? She fell under Gotham's microscope and was picked apart until there was nothing left beside the mistakes she had made. This was another mistake, another mishap that would push her back and make her fall under the hand of Wayne Enterprises. The same man that tried to convince her that this was the best thing that she could do for herself.

This was Tim's fault, and she was furious.

@julia-and-comics @unknowntoanyone @willieoo @kindashittywriter @subtleappreciation @yandereforyou @pricetagofficial @because-icanhide @magicisabluewish @hyp-oh-critical @littleredwing89 @boy-georgina @sparkleofpizza @craptainlou @timtimmersdrake @hauntingsonofrobin @anothertimdrakestan @idkmanicantenglish @vvipgot7be

#tim drake #tim drake imagine #tim drake smut #Tim drake fanficition #tim drake fic #tim drake x fem!reader #red robin #red robin imagine #dc imagine #dc #after hours #tim drake series #smut

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scintillating-galaxias · 4 years ago

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simpatico week day 4 - multiverse

MTMTE and cyberverse perceptor and brainstorm collide!! @simpaticoweek read it here on ao3!

Brainstorm gasped and grabbed Perceptor’s arm while pointing at mech with a familiar red, white, and blue color scheme standing amongst the curious crowd. “Perce, look!”

Perceptor looked around, alarmed. “What? What is it?”

“Next to the red mech with the white face! It’s you!”

Before Perceptor could stop him, Brainstorm hurried off towards the mech. This mech had the same white dials on his forearms, and even the same cylindrical, white scope mounted on his shoulder—a dead-ringer for an alternate-universe Perceptor. i

“Excuse me!” Brainstorm called. The mech turned around, and whoa, he wasn’t expecting the burnt-out optics. “Uh. Hello. You’re Perceptor, right?”

“I am,” said the mech. He didn’t have the same slight accent as Percy did; his voice was flatter, a bit more neutral. The scope on his shoulder lit up, shining a bright blue light on Brainstorm’s face. Definitely, a scanner of some sort, though it left a bizarre, faintly prickly sensation across Brainstorm’s plating he didn’t usually get when Ratchet or First Aid scanned him. “I don’t recognize you. I’m assuming you’re one of our visitors from the alternate universe?”

“Name’s Brainstorm, resident genius of the universe next door. How are you seeing me right now? Is it something with your scope?”

“Correct. I reformatted my scope to operate as a visual feed after I blew out my optics.”

Guess that was a universal concept, Perceptor’s redesigning or changing their scopes for some entirely different use than their original one. “You did? What happened?”

“It’s not any of your business to ask that,” he chided.

Brainstorm put up his servos apologetically. Then, realizing his error, said, “Sorry,” after a second.

The other Perceptor gave him a look of pointed disapproval so similar to his Perceptor’s, he was almost afraid he was about to start getting chewed out for his messy labeling jobs.

“Be more mindful of your questions next time,” the other Perceptor said instead. “As for your other inquiry: I could tell you made a motion in front of your chest with your hands, and you did something else just now, but details such as color and specific body parts such as your digits are lost to me when my scope is inactive.”

“Fascinating,” said a familiar voice. Perceptor, his Percy, had finally made it through the crowd and over to them. Brainstorm felt his spark lift a bit higher in its chamber as Perceptor came to a stop beside him, servo almost unconsciously winding itself into his.

The scope went on again. “You’re… Me, I presume?” the other Perceptor asked, interest coloring his voice.

“I am Perceptor, yes.”

“Fascinating,” said the other Perceptor, and Brainstorm laughed.

“Primus, you two really are the same mech.”

“Of course,” they said in tandem, and then they looked at each other. Brainstorm poorly stifled another laugh.

“Your scope,” Perceptor prompted. “You scanned Brainstorm and I and compared the information it collected to a pre-existing database before confirming you didn’t know who we were. I can only assume you made code-based modifications to it?”

“That is correct.”

“May I ask what kind of modifications? My scope gives me enhanced magnification, but nothing to that extent, so you’ll have to forgive my curiosity.”

Other-Perceptor, who had now earned the prefix ‘Other’ in Brainstorm’s processor because otherwise, it would be a nightmare to try and recount later, cleared his throat. “When in use, it can collect information such as the light values and assign them to colors using a code assigned to every paint color on record, and how the percentage of much of each color is present within the whole subject.” He didn’t gesture nearly as much as Perceptor, either, Brainstorm noted. So far, he was turning out to be far more reserved than his Perceptor. Or... No, he reminded Brainstorm of when he’d first met Perceptor on the Lost Light. Heh. Maybe he’d had an influence on his conjunx after all. “That allows me to tell apart primary, secondary, and tertiary colors, so even if two mechs have similar paint colors, the chances they have the same frame and paint jobs are extremely slim. Decals like those on Hot Rod aren’t so easily discernible. That allows me to match the color codes to virtually any mech in my database. It isn’t the most accurate system, but it is precise enough.”

“That is remarkable,” Perceptor said, reaching up to touch his own scope. “I’ve reformatted myself before, but not to that sort of extent. Have you made any other modifications?”

“Numerous, since the threat of the Quintesson’s and Megatron X were eliminated.”

“Megatron X?”

Brainstorm tuned them out as they traded stories and statistics, looking around the crowd for some mech that could possibly be him. He could see Whirl with his arm slung around another blue, singled-opticked helicopter. Both were laughing rapturously about something. In the next cycle of Brainstorm’s code, they were wrestling each other to the ground. Rodimus was excitedly chatting it up with Hot Rod, who had enthusiastically introduced himself the second the Lost Light crew had stepped out of the portal. Beside Hot Rod was Soundwave of all mechs, and even more bizarrely, he seemed to have his servo loosely held around Hot Rod’s waist. Brainstorm only lingered on it a little bit. He wasn’t one for gossip, but even he knew that was going to be the talk of the ship later. Nearby, Drift was looking spectacularly sulky, though a cheery yellow mech was making valiant attempts at cheering him up. And of course, Megatron was talking to Other-Megatron and Other-Optimus Prime, and seemed to be rather wistfully staring at the two’s shared proximity to each other.

All in all, it felt like a very successful experiment in Brainstorm’s spark. All these mechs had somehow found their alternate selves, even though there’d been no guarantee they would even exist in this universe. And still, more mechs Brainstorm didn’t even recognize who were intermingling with the Lost Light crew. Successful experiment indeed. Except for one, tiny detail.

“Where am I?” he asked, interrupting the Perceptor’s conversation. “I mean, everyone else has a double. Where’s the other me?”

Other-Perceptor tilted his head. “I don’t know. There is no record of a Brainstorm in the Autobot databases.”

“Oh.” Brainstorm tapped his pede while Perceptor lightly squeezed his servo. “What about a Genitus?”

“One moment.” Other-Perceptor’s scope dipped down slightly. Then, after a moment, it straightened back out, and he looked at Brainstorm. “There’s no record of a Genitus, either.”

“Huh.” Damn. He really hoped alternate-Brainstorm wasn’t dead. That would suck. Or maybe he had a different paint job than Brainstorm did. Other-Perceptor had said his database was based on color. Or maybe… “I was a Decepticon for a bit in my universe,” he offered. Other-Perceptor offered no reaction to this fact except for a minute twitch of his scope. “Maybe this one still is.”

“If you wish to search the Decepticon databases, I would ask Soundwave. He and Hot Rod have been in charge of integrating the two sides since the defeat of Megatron X, and though there is still much to work to be done, he is likely your best chance.”

A brilliant idea lit up Brainstorm’s face. “You should come with us!” he said, optics sparkling. “I’m great! I’m sure you’d have a blast with this universe’s Stormy.”

“I’m not sure that’s—”

“Naw, come on, it’ll be fun.”

“I wouldn’t resist him,” Perceptor advised. “He can be extremely persistent.”

Other-Perceptor sighed with a tired acceptance. “Alright, then. Let us go.”

Brainstorm whirled around on his heel and happily marched right through the crowd, cheerfully announcing, “Coming through!” approximately half a second before barrelling through a conversation. He made it through the crowd in record time and stopped promptly before Hot Rod, Soundwave, and Rodimus. All three of them immediately turn towards them, though their interest is evidently in the two Perceptor’s and not the incredibly antsy jet.

“What do you want?” rumbled Soundwave. Jeez. Did he always sound that menacing?

“Be nice,” Hot Rod scolded. “You know these guys. Perceptor, Perceptor two, and… who’re you?”

“That’s Brainstorm,” answered Rodimus over Brainstorm’s affronted noise. “He and Perceptor were the ones who figured out the whole… universe swap magic.”

“Time travel, alternate universe traveling. Twice, I might add,” Brainstorm said, primly turning over his servo as he looked down at his digits with extreme satisfaction. “No biggie.”

Rodimus rolled his optics. “Toot your own horn later,” he complained. “We get it. You’re smart. Primus knows you don’t let us forget it. Now, why’d you come over here?”

“To ask him something,” Brainstorm said, angling his wing at Soundwave, who stiffened. “I want him to look up this universe’s version of me. Your Perceptor couldn’t find me in the Autobot databases and recommended we check the Decepticon ones.”

“I dunno,” said Hot Rod, looking Brainstorm up and down with a doubtful frown. “I’ve met a lot of mechs, and I’ve never seen anyone like him…”

“You weren’t ever a Decepticon,” said Soundwave. “I am.” Rodimus, Perceptor, and Brainstorm all shared a look, but Hot Rod either didn’t care about or didn’t notice the tense. “I recognize the name. Megatron banished the Decepticon scientist Brainstorm to an off-planet site early in the war because his experiments potentially posed a greater threat to Cybertron than anything else at the time. We have not been in contact with him since.”

Brainstorm pouted. “‘Potentially posed?’ You didn’t even let me stick around to find out? Where’s the fun in that?”

Soundwave leveled him with the dryest, most unamused look Brainstorm’s ever seen from someone without a face. “You were a menace to all of Cybertronian society.”

“Nothing’s changed then,” said Perceptor. Brainstorm flicked him in the leg with one of his ankle winglets.

“Wait,” said Hot Rod. “You banished someone for ‘potentially threatening’ experiments, and you still let Shockwave run around? He tried to destroy Earth like, five times! He literally poisoned the AllSpark! He nearly killed everyone and the whole planet! What kind of logic is that?”

“Same old then,” Rodimus said drily.

Hot Rod sighed. “It’s a long story. He’s gone now, anyway. How long has Brainstorm been away? Does he even know the war’s over?”

Soundwave paused. “Uncertain. All contact with the moon he was banished to and Cybertron was cut off directly after his arrival.”

Hot Rod and Rodimus both clapped a servo over their face. Other-Perceptor shook his head, while Perceptor consolingly patted Brainstorm on the pauldron. “Unbelievable,” Brainstorm groaned. “Megatron looked at my EM field and thought it was awful enough to kick me off the planet. And then he forgot. Me! Forgot about me!”

“A slight oversight has been made,” Soundwave admitted. “I will inform Megatron and arrange a ship for him immediately. If he still functions.”

Hot Rod huffed. “Oh, even better! You left some innocent guy on the moon, and now he might be dead?”

“Should we go?” muttered Rodimus as Soundwave and Hot Rod broke out into bickering. Brainstorm nodded and slowly started backing away, and the two Perceptor’s plus Rodimus followed him.

“When can we expect an answer?” Perceptor asked Other-Perceptor once they were safely out of ear-shot.

“Soundwave is usually prompt about these things, based on my work experience with him. Megatron is… less so, I’m told. I would wager at least a couple of weeks.”

“Are we staying that long?” Brainstorm asked Rodimus.

“Is something catastrophic going to happen if we do?”

“There’s an eighty-nine point seven-five-three-four-two-four percent chance that the portal could destabilize and collapse, trapping us here until someone aboard Lost Light reopens the portal. Given that everyone who knows how to operate that portal is currently here, it would be implausible we would be able to return to our universe,” said Perceptor.

“It’ll be fine,” said Brainstorm after a stiflingly tense beat. “C’mon, I wanna go talk to Wheeljack.”

“Still can’t believe they just left me on the moon,” Brainstorm muttered. He, Perceptor, and Other-Perceptor were currently making their way to a temporary condominium in residential Iacon. It currently was housing a number of freshly displaced Cybertronians until something more suitable could be found or built for them. As Other-Perceptor had predicted, it’d taken roughly twelve days for them to be informed of Other-Brainstorm’s (whose name actually was Brainstorm, not Genitus) whereabouts. It’d then taken another two days for Other-Brainstorm to say he was ready to accept visitors, and another four to get plans in place.

“I’m sure it was nothing personal,” Perceptor was saying as they squeezed their way around a group of laughing mechs.

“I’ve never heard of this mech,” Other-Perceptor mused. “But he must have had some truly uncanny ideas if Megatron decided he was too dangerous for his tastes.”

Brainstorm hummed. “Yeah. I wonder what that poor sod discovered to wind up getting him kicked off the planet.” He gasped and stopped suddenly, servos flying to his subspace. “Scrap! I left my notes in the lab! I wanted to compare them with him!”

Perceptor made an apologetic noise but reluctantly said, “That’s probably for the best. You’d be here for years if you had your notes, and we have to make it back to the Lost Light for our reservations at Swerve’s anyway. I don’t want to try and cajole him into giving us the bar for the evening again.”

“Yeah,” Brainstorm sighed. “There’s always next time, I guess. Hey, do you think our next date could be in another universe?”

“I don’t see why not. Perhaps the energon will be different.”

“What if there isn’t even energon in that universe?”

“Hm, true. I didn’t consider that. We’ll bring our own in case that happens to be the case.”

Other-Perceptor was watching them carefully. “What is the relationship between you two?” he asked mildly. “I didn’t want to assume, but…”

“We’re conjunx endura,” Perceptor said, that especially pleased sparkle that always showed up in his optic whenever he talked about their recent unification glowing to life once again. It gave Brainstorm weird fuzzy feelings in his circuits. He’d have to investigate what precisely in his code caused that later.

“‘Conjunx?’” Other-Perceptor frowned. “I’m not familiar with the term.”

“Write that down, write that down!” Brainstorm hissed, grabbing Perceptor’s arm.

“You write it down. I’m attempting to have a conversation,” said Perceptor, brushing Brainstorm’s servo before capturing it in his own. He gave it a light squeeze, which had Brainstorm’s wings fluttering away. “Yes. Brainstorm is my conjunx. The formal term is conjunx endura. It, in an extremely oversimplified definition, means he is my significant other.”

Other-Perceptor nodded. “I see. I don’t have one such partner myself. The war and the Quintesson invasion took away most time for such matters. For most others, anyway.” Brainstorm thought of Soundwave’s servo on Hot Rod’s hip and wondered what in the hell happened to this universe for that to happen.

“But the war’s done now, isn’t it?” he said as they turned down into a plaza and started making their way toward the condominium.

“Allow me to rephrase. I’m not interested in seeking such a relationship at the moment. A new lab partner is more than sufficient. And I must admit I am curious about what exactly it is this Brainstorm created that scared Megatron of all mechs so badly.”

“Eh, that’s fair. Lab partner is still pretty alright.”

“I happen to agree with that,” said Perceptor.

“Oh, you just happen to?”

“You know what I mean.”

The three of them entered through the first set of doors and were met with a wall of buttons labeled with room numbers. Other-Perceptor unhesitantly pushed the button to Other-Brainstorm’s room. A few seconds later, a small screen flickered to life, revealing someone with a familiar orange blast mask.

“My wings look different,” Brainstorm commented as soon as the connection stabilized.

“Good thing they’re my wings and not yours,” Other-Brainstorm snipped back without missing a beat. Brainstorm barked a laugh.

“Fair enough! Can we come down?”

A loud crash! crackled through the speakers. Other-Perceptor grimaced, while Perceptor merely looked faintly resigned. Other-Brainstorm, entirely unperturbed, said, “Yeah, yeah, just watch your step when you come in. I haven’t gotten to organize yet, so the place is a tad messy.”

“Oh, dear,” murmured Perceptor as the second set of doors to the lobby slid open and the trio of scientists stepped through. “I can only hope that this universe’s Brainstorm’s idea of ‘messy’ is far more reasonable than yours.”

Brainstorm narrowed his optics. “Is this about the moldy energon crystal sample again? I feel like this is about the moldy energon crystal sample again.”

“It was there for three years, Brainstorm.”

“So I sometimes lose track of things! Big deal!”

“How did he manage that?” asked Other-Perceptor as they piled into the elevator. Were all elevators in his universe this roomy? This one could have comfortably housed a few more average-sized mechs like himself. Or maybe like, twelve Tailgate’s or Rewind’s.

Perceptor sighed. “I still haven’t quite managed to parse that one out. All I know is that three years ago, it wasn’t possible to grow mold on crystalized energon.”

Brainstorm threw up his servos, narrowly avoiding whacking Perceptor’s scope. “You’re teaming up on me!” he whined. “Okay, fine. I’ll admit it was bad.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

The elevator was a short ride to the basement, so it was only a few seconds before the doors dinged open, and the three of them spilled out into the hall.

“Which way?” asked Other-Perceptor.

At that moment, a shrill whistling began to shriek from the leftward hallway, pitching up higher and louder with every passing second until it was cut off with a loud bang accompanied by profuse swearing.

“G51 sounds like it’s that way,” Perceptor said dryly.

He’s correct, of course, and Brainstorm knocks a cheery rhythm against the door. It slid open, and in the doorway stood Other-Brainstorm. Yep. That was him, alright. There was the teal paint job, the white wings, and… a purple Decepticon sigil, branded right across his orange cockpit. Yeesh.

“I was starting to think I’d cleaned up for nothing,” Other-Brainstorm greeted.

“If this is your idea of clean, I’d hate to see what messy is,” mused Other-Perceptor as he stepped into the threshold, scope bobbing wildly as it drank in the chaotic environment. A criss-cross of thick cables and wires were taped to the ground, winding around the room to various machines lined up against the walls. Multiple experiments suspended in thin air crowded up the ceiling, ranging from maybe-guns to definitely-guns to things Brainstorm didn’t even know what to call. Datapads were scattered everywhere, tossed into open drawers, and haphazardly stacked into concerningly tall towers.

“Hardy har,” said Other-Brainstorm, crossing his arms. “Who’re you to start critiquing my workspace?”

“I am this universe’s Perceptor. I am a scientist like yourself. And my companions are an alternate version of you and I.”

Other-Brainstorm looked distinctly unimpressed. “Alternative universes? Please. That was like, a million years ago.”

“What?” squawked Brainstorm.

“You—Excuse me?” Perceptor gaped.

Other-Perceptor pushed further inside and started scanning the massive whiteboard taking up an entire wall of the apartment. “I don’t recognize any of the formulas here,” he said, somehow sounding simultaneously highly skeptical and impressed. “What are they?”

“Oh, I derived those. They describe a relationship between the mesh that constitutes the space-time continuum of multiple dimensions and any one object,” Other-Brainstorm said with a shrug.

Other-Perceptor stared at the board for a while longer. Then he turned around and said, “I can see why Megatron would perceive you as a class one threat. These could cause insurmountable amounts of devastation if they fell into the wrong hands.”

Other-Brainstorm threw up his hands. “Why does everyone keep saying that! I’m not gonna do anything!”

“Why make these, then?”

“I had to see if I could.” He paused. “And it gets boring on the moon.”

“A test, then? A game?”

“I guess? It’s not that deep, to be honest. I was just having fun.”

Other-Perceptor nodded. Then, he turned and neatly sat down in a nearby stool, chin jutted up. “You’re going to tell me everything you’ve learned,” he said calmly, “and I’m not leaving until you do.”

“Uh.” Other-Brainstorm blinked. “You sure you won’t be missed anywhere? Might take a while,” he warned.

“I might be. I don’t care.”

“...Slag. Okay. I guess I’ll start with… Well, where do you wanna start?”

“The beginning. I meant everything.”

“Well, damn,” Brainstorm murmured to Perceptor as Other-Brainstorm stared for a second before he grinned and launched into his explanations. “That was fast.”

“He might not be missed,” said Perceptor, “but we will be if we don’t leave soon.”

“Aw, c’mon, we were just getting to the fun part!”

“You can get caught up later when you come back,” Other-Perceptor said, half-distracted as Other-Brainstorm brought up a sprawling holograph of notes. Brainstorm whined a bit; he didn’t know what those equations were for either, and he was dying to know. But Perceptor was right. Rodimus’ threats to leave anyone late to take-off behind were not to be taken lightly. He’d done it before, and he would do it again.

“I’m holding you to that.” Brainstorm shimmied out of the doorway and back out into the hallway. “C’mon Percy, let’s go.”

Once they were back outside the condominium, Perceptor and Brainstorm took a bit of time to meander around the city, trying to identify anything they could. But the buildings here were in a completely different style to the ones on the Cybertron they were familiar with, and monuments and popular spots in town looked nothing at all like what either of them knew them to be. God, it was positively killing Brainstorm to have to leave so quickly. Slaughtering him. There was so much to explore still, so many more questions he had, and not enough of them had been answered to tide him over until their next visit.

“Do you think they’ll get along?” Perceptor asked as they finally began to make their way back to the Lost Light. The fuel quills were nearly at full mast, the sharp points just barely peeking out above the city skyline. They’d need to hurry.

Brainstorm glanced at him. “You don’t think they will?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m only asking because I know we didn’t exactly have what one would call an instant connection when we started working together.”

A thunderous, rumbling boom cut Brainstorm off before he could answer. Seconds later, the shockwave rolled over them, just strong enough to force them to take a step back. They whipped around, a plume of black smoke already smudging the air in the direction of the condominium.

“You know what?” Brainstorm said as the smoke rose higher and higher. “I think they’re gonna get along just fine, Percy.”

#simpaticoweek2020 #simpatico #tf #my writing #multiverse shenanigans!#the inspiration behind cbv stormy was the single thought 'lord megatron thought my vibes were rancid'#perceptor #brainstorm #maccadam

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lycanhood · 4 years ago

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Thoughts on Motherland: Fort Salem (So Far)

Hey so I know I may be a little behind on this one, but I’ve finally binge-watched Motherland: Fort Salem and I’ve had alot swirling around in my head about it for the last few days. This is a little bit of a review and a little bit of rant, but there will be SPOILERS ahead which I’ll try to mark accordingly.

I think the concept for this show is so fucking cool. Really and truly, alternate history in which the witches of Salem made a deal with the Massachusetts Bay Colony to form a military and fight the New World’s wars in exchange for mercy from extermination essentially. So they form a Witch Army. And Army of Witches!! That’s fucking cool. It is. Sadly, I think the concept may be entirely too cool for Freeform.

By that I mean to say that this super cool and entirely edgy idea is just too heady for Freeform to do properly. This idea belongs on HBO or Netflix, because those networks thrive on subject matter like Motherland: Fort Salem. (Sidenote: wtf is it called that? Just name the show ‘Fort Salem’. That kinda tells us everything we need to know about the premise right there in two word. Adding ‘Motherland’ in there just makes it too long and oddly Russian.)

There are just alot of little things about this show that kept it from realizing what I felt could have been some pretty amazing potential. I’ll try to organize those little things as best I can. But the one big problem I had while watching this was that the best thing about this show is it’s alternate history premise isn’t given enough attention.

What I mean is...I’m interested in the show, because I’m interested in what the world (what America) might have looked like if we had a military operated by supernaturally powered women for the past 300+ years. And Fort Salem just doggedly refuses to actually show me that world. The show doesn’t like to explain itself or really explore what it means to be a woman (witch or otherwise) in this alternative America. Most of the show takes place on Fort Salem, a military headquarters of sorts that is mostly strife with political games, attack strategies, training drills, and odd rituals. I have so many questions about this world: Are non-witch women treated differently due to the fact that their country is run and protected by women? There’s a female president in this timeline, so that’s certainly a possibility. If there are male witches as well, why don’t they fight in the same army as the female witches? And since they don’t fight in the main army, what is their mysterious role in this world? We see them making weapons and babies, that’s about it. In 1x5 “Bellweather Season”, the unit goes to a wedding which celebrates a 5 year contract of marriage between the couple. What’s up with that? Why only 5 years? Are they expected to have a child during this time period? if they do have a child are they expected to stay together longer than the 5 years? How many times are the male witches expected to get married? How many children are expected or allowed? Because this show is full of only-children which is statistically different from our own reality. How long are wicthes expected to serve in the military? They’re entire lives? We don’t see any female witches living as civilians at any age (other than Tally’s mother due to tragic circumstances).

What is the source of the witches powers exactly? They’re abilities are sonic/auditory in nature, usually requiring the use of their vocal cords. Why? How? There are brief moments where it seems like sound is less necessary like when Raelle heals, or when the witches use Linking to connect to one another. There is also the use of herbs/drugs to fly, that doesn’t seem to require sound at all.

We’re told the female witches get some kind of power-up or energy boost from having sex (or perhaps just feeding off the sexually energy?) with the male witches. Hence, the Beltane orgy ceremony in episode 1x04. What’s up with that? Does this power-boast only come from sex with male witches or would sex with human men do just as well? Would human men have a less potent effect? And is the power-boost depended on heterosexuality? Because throughout Raelle & Scylla’s sexually relationship no such power-up is ever mentioned.

See so many questions, that the show simply doesn’t feel the need to answer. I understand the desire to avoid bogging down a show with exposition. But their are ways to do exposition right and in interesting ways. Exposition is sometimes necessary, because the more the audience knows about this world, the more rich and detailed, and so close to real is is to them, the more likely they are to be invested in it.

And make no mistake the world and my curiosity about it is what kept me watching.

For much of this first season, the characters don’t have any room to become people. I don’t dislike these characters, but they have yet to really bloom into more than archetypes (Abigail: the legacy, the leader, the overachiever. Tally: the innocent, the hopeful, the lynchpin. And Raelle: the rebel, the cynic, the shitbird)

Alot of time in the early episodes were spent following the same formulate. Raelle runs off, ditching training to go wander around and finds Scylla. Abigail and Tally follow after her, because they need her to do well in training because they pass or fail as a unit. I can not even tell you how many times Raelle causally ditches training, gets caught, gets told how much trouble she’s in, and then doesn’t actually face any consequences at all. She has to do guard duty overnight once. And that was just for being late, not even all the times she leaves in the middle or doesn’t show up for training at all!

I just wish this show focused on different beats in the pulse of this story, and made more of an effort explore this world and these characters through the lens of 3 young women who have just been essentially drafted into the military. Instead of skipping all that training I wish I could have seen so much more of it! That would have been a fantastic way to explain this world’s magic system to the audience! It’s built-in easy action-paced exposition right there! That the show just has no interest in.

And at last, I’ll talk about the show’s main romantic pair, Raelle x Scylla. Sigh. I’m not hardcore against this pairing. I’m really not. But I am frustrated with the way the writers chose to unfold their relationship. We find out early on that Scylla is an agent of the Spree (big bad witchy terrorists), and I hate that. Because then they try to make me ship Raelle x Scylla even though I already know that shit is going to end in pain and betrayal. I cam’t ship something that I already know is built on lies, dude. I just can’t. That could have been a big awesome emotionally reveal in the later half of the season, instead of the dreadful thing I was anticipating from basically the very beginning. I’m as big a fan of enemies-to-lovers as anyone, but not like this. It’s more fun when both parties know they’re enemies, you know what I mean?

Anyway, I know it’s easy to point at the writers/devlopers and say “Man, I would have done this so differently...” but in Fort Salem’s case it’s my biggest take away.

Even from the very first opening scene, where the Spree (Scylla herself) commits a frightening and ruthless act of terrorism at the mall. Okay, big bad introduction for the Spree there. But how about introducing the audience to the world of this alternate history first? Use that awesome premise. Do a cold open, Salem, Mass 1692 Sarah Adler is about to be hanged as a witch until she opens her mouth and changes the world forever. Show me that. Set the stage of history. The villains could have come later. They always do.

All in all, I don’t hate this show ( I know this may have turned out more rant than review, but...) I was just really disappointed by the execution of a premise I felt had great potential. But, it’s not necesarily too late. Season two can still course correct and pull us into this world outside the fort’s walls, and manage to bring the characters into their own as they find their way back to one another. I’ll keep watching, because if this show did anything for me, it made me curious.

35 notes · View notes

just-mirko · 4 years ago

Photo

lavender petals - part 1

MASTERLIST

Mirko x Reader

Angst, Slow-ish burn, fluff,

WC: 4.1K

MANGA SPOILERS IN LATER PARTS

A steady and constant roll of tapping continued outside

where the rain poured down in fleets of cold water. The little drops all

together sounded like thousands of typewriters; the tiny stamps pressing fresh

ink stains into parchment. The storm did not only darken the sky but slowly,

the concrete was dampened into a charcoal shade and the glass windows collected condensation. The scent of petrichor had not reached where I was, but the

second I stepped outside I could already feel it overtaking my senses. have caused me to be

upset, and make me curse the heavens, but today, the rain started just as the

the shop was about to close, only 30 minutes till I would lock the doors and turn

around the little double-sided sign; switching it to “welcome” to “come back

later. I could not anticipate any customers would actively rush to my store in

the terrible weather, so I accepted it as an easy break where I could stay inside

and relax with warm herbal tea.

My shoes squeaked beneath me when I turned back to the

service counter. Aromas and floral notes were everywhere I stepped. Even if you

stood still, they still changed. orchids, roses, daisies, and violets all

dancing together in harmony.

Once I reached behind the counter, I could see every

corner of the shop in its array of colors that seemed duller than usual from

the lack of sunlight. Nonetheless, they still stood out against the dull pots

and glass vases.

‘I should be done for the day’ I thought to

myself, already having swept the floor, put out the new flowers, and clipped

the old ones before the storm arrived. An overdramatized sigh passed my lips

when I went to sit at the stool next to the register.

Sitting behind the register was always slightly

inconvenient, because blocking my view of the entrance to the store was a

large, and I mean large, bouquet of fresh lavender sprigs. They were normally

used as filler plants but had just come in today and I still could not decide

what to do with them. Additionally, I lacked a new arrangement to add them too,

so they were left out to stand alone.

By far they were the most prominent in the store. Their

sized rivaled all the large wedding table pieces we had. And the smell, though

calming, gave me a headache after being with them all day.

It is not like anyone would buy them either. They were not

as easy on the eye as a rose, three times as expensive, and once again,

typically used as filler flowers.

I settled on scrolling on my phone to distract myself

from thinking about what to do with them. I did not want to wait too long to

sell them lest they wilt.

‘Oh look, my webtoons updated.’

Fifteen-minutes passed quickly and mindlessly. Only 15

minutes till I could lock up and go home. The storm still had not relented, and

now, the rain was accompanied by large clashes of thunder and lightning.

These days life was quite simple. It was not exceptional

nor terrible, but a mediocre and peaceful existence that brought me the chance

to do what I loved. I had friends I visited occasionally, a small business that

was doing well with the white day just around the corner (an eastern type of

valentine’s day). But no matter how many

flowers I had, it wouldn’t quell the little part of my heart longing for

something more.

“CLASH”

The lightning what getting closer outside. It got louder

and louder, making me jump in my seat a little.

“CLASH”

The rain slammed into the ground, but something else was

happening as well. Something in the background of sorts.

“CRASH”

A resonating bang that sounded nothing like lightning

erupted nearby. A car alarm blared as well.

‘Could it be a villain?’ I asked myself as I look

over the purple blossoms to see if I could see what was going on from outside

my window. Alas, it must have been a street down.

‘Why would they fight in this type of weather though?’

Villain activity has spiked rapidly in the last few weeks as the League of

Villains had risen to power than out of nowhere disappeared without a trace. Not

to mention the capture of stain had encouraged many of the morally grey

antagonists to step out of the shadows in pursuit of their own type of justice.

Everyone had their own definition.

I tried to stay up to date on villain activity but so

much was constantly happening. Three times a week we got a new story. In the

beginning, the attacks seemed petty and selfish. Things like; “3 criminals rob a

local bank” or “Enraged fire-type quirk user burns down workplace” but today,

they were more organized, harder to stop. All the villains were working towards

a greater goal that was easier to see.

A little bit ago, one of the most popular quirks inclusive

department’s CEO joined the LOV after an all-out fight. Many were injured. It

was practically a bloodbath. Citizens remember seeing ice and blue fire merge

in giant tornados in the sky. The entire building disintegrated without a

trace. A witness with still in shock commented that she saw a UA student emerging

from the rubble, but that claim was shut down instantly by that student’s very

own teacher.

Unease was everywhere. People even began to stop trusting

figures of authority out of fear they might not be who they said. I was not a

target to any kind of villain myself, but who knows if I could become just

another statistic on the news.

Police sirens came into earshot.

I guess it was a criminal after all. Soon enough I would

be able to find a nice little article online detailing everything that happened

with a cover image of an unscathed hero smiling at the camera as if all were

well. How they tried to convince us that all was wel-

The chime of bells interrupted my thoughts when someone

came through the store door, very close to closing time.

When I looked up at them, I completely froze, unknowing

of what to do say, even think.

Before me stood… Mirko? Mirko. Mirko the Rabbit Hero. The

number #4 hero. The best female hero. And she was- Injured?

She stood with her shoulders rolled back but she was

panting heavily. Her platinum hair dripped water onto the pristine checkerboard

floors I just mopped. Across her, the skin on one of her shoulders was a crimson

slash. The blood that came from it dripped partially into her hair, staining it

slightly; and partially mixed with the water she was absolutely drenched in. She

looked cold in the light hero gear.

In her weak state, she still held an air of strength. When

I looked up in obvious shock at her condition, I was met with piercing red eyes

and a smile I would describe as manic on anyone else.

“C-can I help you—are you okay?” I stumble out when I

started to panic, realizing that she just fought the cause of all the racket

down the street.

My response only looked to entertain her, and she smiled

wider chuckled then pulled her hair over one shoulder: twisting it to ring out

the excess water (and blood).

“Yea, you do sell flowers, right?” She said. We were

obviously on different pages. She seemed completely relaxed as she was still

bleeding a watered-down red puddle onto the floor. Meanwhile, I was seriously

concerned about her health. Online, I simply assumed that every pro-hero held a

façade. That they were not as cocky, brave, or positive as they seemed once the

cameras were cut. This though was a spitting image of every picture of her I

had seen. Despite that, nothing could have prepared me for this in person-encounter.

“Y-yes I sell flowers”

I frantically scanned across the store for something for

my eyes to latch onto. My fingertips pressed hard against the side of the

resister to the point where my fingertips were turning white and my knuckles

began to cramp.

Mirko walked forward. Despite her injuries, she did not

have any limp and strolled casually over to some of the display stands

near the front window. I fidgeted with my finger while I stumbled over to where

she was. Her gaze we currently focused on some white lilies, though she soon

switched to some yellow roses.

“What is the, um, the occasion- For the flowers?” The

words tumbled out of my mouth. They felt out of order and out of place. Seeing a

hero in public is a strange thing. As amazing as they are, you always suspect

that there is an underlying threat of danger. You are both drawn to them yet

repelled by the hint. It's always ‘Why would a hero be here.” That wasn’t

the occasion now though. She was just- here for flowers? She was definitely just

off from work and needed a few band-aids; at most, stitches. My mind still had a

rough time thinking over why she so casual. I hoped this doesn’t happen often

for her.

Mirko’s fingers paused when she traced the outline of an

imported lily.

“A friend of mine got his ass beat up by a walking flamethrower”

The way she said that, so lightheartedly, with a slight smirk on her face, but

sadness in her eyes confused me.

“Is he a hero too?” I inquired; taken aback by the lack

of filter. It had nothing to do with the

flowers, but my curiosity got the best of me.

“Hawks.” She shortly stated before turning back towards

me.

A look of recognition must have crossed my face as she did

not explain any further and just continued.

“So…” She crossed her hands over her chest and looked up

towards me (we using Mirko’s canon height today cause she short short lol).

“What flowers would be best for ‘get better idiot’” Her

hair was still disheveled and soaking wet but the ethereal glow the rain seemed

to give her face made me want anything but eye contact. I shouldn’t really get

flustered so easily, but when a celebrity built like a Greek goddess steps into

your shop looking like she’s straight out of war…

“Well, I wouldn’t be able to make any custom arrangements

today because I’m closing-“I looked down at my watch for the time. “5 minutes

ago, but we have many premade sets and custom vases if you’re interested?”

I tried to seem chipper and avert my gaze from her hair,

bleeding shoulder, and foot that was insistently tapping on the wet floor, but

in between each word I stole a glace that did not go unnoticed.

“That’s okay, I’m fine with a pre-made bouquet.” I

fiddled with my thumbs once more. She was really giving me nothing to work

with.

“Any flowers in specific you like?” I asked, grasping for

straws. Mirko’s expression was perfectly neutral and ambiguous. Even if she

gave me a color, I could work off that, but all I had was a name and extra

mopping to do.

‘I wonder if blood will stain my tile’

What she said next seemed to fit with the personality I

was slowly assembling her.

“You guess.” And with that, she turned to look at more

bouquets and potted plants that lined the shelves.

The lavender! I thought, finally thinking I had found a

way to get rid of them but realized that may not be well suited as a get well

soon gift.

Hawks. Hawks. Hawks. The bird hero. The bird men. Red

feathers, right?

Because of the hero’s color pallet, per

se, I was drawn to red roses and yellow daisies, maybe some red and white

lilies. I found an arrangement I thought fit on one of the shelves next to a

window, where it was still raining outside. I carefully picked the flowers up;

their silky petals caressed my hand. Two petals floated down onto the floor as

I relocated them back to the assembly station.

“Would you like a vase with this?” I questioned. Her ears

perked towards me, shocking me in the slightest. Of course, it was not unusual,

but with how she seemed to hear me from across the room without turning her

head made me fear that she would hear my heartbeat racing in my chest. This was

a hero. A real-life hero. God, I hope I do not mess this up.

“Mmmhnn,” She said, inflecting that meant yes. I walked

near a shelf where we stored them and looked at the variety of glass, plastic,

and even porcelain vases reserved for special occasions. My eye was stuck on a

red one that caught the soft lighting of the store beautifully. I reached up to

grab it and held the cool glass in my hand. With the sleeve of my jacket, I

began to brush off some of the dust, ignoring the mark it left.

“Ooh, I like that one” I heard from behind me. Quite

startled I jumped, and the vase left my hand, seconds from crashing into the

floor. Before I could blink, Mirko had caught it agilely.

“The color is nice,” She said as she turned it over in her

hands, clearly pleased with having shaken me.

Honestly, the banter was a nice break from today. I guess

it would not hurt to lighten up a little.

“Yea,” I said with a gentle smile.

I had almost finished totaling her order and was putting

the flowers in the box to protect from the rain when I looked over at Mirko and

saw her quite intrigued by the lavender practically overtaking my desk.

“We just got that lavender in! It's fresh and quite relaxing.”

I hummed to myself, pleased with the wrapping I did on Hawk’s bouquet.

“How much for them?” She asked turning to me inquisitively.

“Well lavender isn’t normally sold alone but that’s about

10 arrangements worth” I said pointing to the sheer number of flowers. Upon

the counter, they were more than two feet tall.

“So?” She said, resting her elbows upon the table and leaning

in to smell the lavender even more. The ivory ears atop her head sloped

downwards a little more reminding me of a little puppy when they got pet. An

obvious show of their aromatic effects.

“Two-hundred, though I could definitely get you a smaller

amount if you would like, they’re sold twenty per bundle just because of how

hard they are to transport and a how delicate they te-“

“I’ll take them all,” She said with an aggressive smile

and firm shake of her head. There was a switch in her tone like she suddenly

decided she revealed too much of herself to the general public. I did not like

thinking that though. That she saw me as the public. Everyone wants to be

special sometimes.

“How was errr- work today?” I asked, clearly insinuating

my concern for her condition.

A small shadow passed over her face. Her eyes got a

little darker and the corners of her mouth turned down before her typical passionately

a confident smile came back.

“Nothing I can’t handle” Those smug words were

accompanied by a flourished wink that was embellished her white eyelashes.

“I heard a crash nearby. Was there a villain?” This time

she did not hesitate to answer.

She finished paying and gave me an address to deliver

them to tomorrow. One to a hospital, and one to a home address. I expected a

PO box and assumed her address was not something she just gave away, but that was

not the only thing I was warmly excited about. Instead of signing “Mirko” her

formal hero title on the receipt, She signed her real name, Rumi Usagiyama.

---

The weather was much more considerate this morning. When I

awoke, golden rays filtered light through my lashes into my eyes. The faint

sound of birds chirping and bustling people in the city below faintly reached my

ears.

I lived right above my flower shop, making my commute to work

conveniently. I chose to dress a little bit nicer today, opting for a cream-colored

turtleneck and dark washed jeans instead of my normal gardening attire. Spring

was right around the corner in Musutafu Japan. Winter was leaving and the city

was in the awkward middle state where it's too cold to wear spring clothes but

too sunny to stay in jackets.

Since yesterday was Saturday, I had today off, kinda. I

just had a few flower deliveries to complete before I could go back home and lay

on the couch eating watermelon sour patch kids (ichor itself) and reading

terribly done 9k fanfics online. (Wow! Our reader!! Is super!!! Self!!!!

Aware!!!!!)

My brain had completely blocked out everything that

happened last night, so when I checked my order list and saw Rumi

written in neat handwriting, my confusion was immense.

‘So, It wasn’t a dream then…’’ huh.”

I walked downstairs into my store. I saw a few

schoolchildren peeking in the dark windows since there were no lights on to look

at the flowers. I waved to them and then chuckled to myself when they left tiny

little handprints on the glass. Tall buildings could be seen across. A café, a

tattoo shop, a little library, and many small businesses that were nestled right

in the center of town where they got lots of attention. Around the back exist to

the stores were where most of the employees parked. My friend and co-worker had

called in sick this weekend, so it meant I had to do all the deliveries myself.

I went over to the storage room. A wave of cold rushed

over me and sent tingles down my entire body. This was always kept cold to keep

the flowers alive longer, but always hated retrieving boxes from there.

I steadily grabbed the lavender-filled box and stacked

Hawk’s arrangement box on top of it. The white cardboard stood so tall in front

of me when I held them I could barely see when I walked out the back door and

over to my car where I nearly dropped them loading them into my car’s trunk.

I clumsily got into the driver’s seat and started the

engine to head to the first address. Hawk’s hospital. Right in the center of

town, it was only 10 minutes when you accounted for traffic.

The hospital was the nicest in Mafatsu, with white pillars

and balconies on some patient's rooms. Only the best for heroes. When I got out

of my car and drew near, the building felt like it was swallowing me whole in

its large size.

My soft footsteps appeared insignificant with prestigious

doctors and nurses bustling around in choreographed chaos. When I got to the reception

area, a pink-haired nurse with a kind smile greeted me cheerfully.

“Hello! How can I help you today?” She began typing before

I even said anything. Maybe a prediction quirk.

“Hey, I’m here to drop off flowers from Mirko for Hawks?”

She nodded in understanding and scanned her eyes over my

body, then the box I was holding, all while typing fluidly into a computer. Finally,

her gaze broke and she looked down at a small printer that made a small sticker

with the words visitor pass in bolded font.

“He will be on the top floor, level 60 in room 219. If he

isn’t in his room, just call a nurse with the pager in there, he’s been getting

out a lot recently.” She rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“He really just wants to get back to work but whenever he

flies he leaves a trail of blood and feather in his path”

Her hair swished when she leaned over to give

me the papery sticker. Her fingertips brushed against my palm for a second

longer than platonic before she went back and waved goodbye to me. Her cheeks were tinted slightly pink.

The encounter made my heart rush but that might just because

it’s the first romantic-ish thing that has happened to me in a while. I mean

she was pretty- but we scarcely talked. My palm still tingled where our hands

touched though. I was so distracted I did not notice when I found myself in Hawk’s

room.

I had never delivered anything to a hero before. Should I

just drop them in and leave? My hand rested atop the doorknob questioning how

to do this. The fluorescent hospital lights desaturated everything including my

ability to make cohesive thoughts.

Just as I opened the door, I heard a shattering sound,

something collapsing, and then

“Wait no shit-“Another thing fell to the ground. “-fuck” I

carefully opened the door. To see Hawk’s the pro hero, clutching his side with

one hand, and holding a sideways IV drip in one hand, but the fluid bag itself

was on the floor, along with some kind of glass and a medical device I couldn’t

identify from the various dents and scratches on it. It did not look like he

noticed me yet, he was much too preoccupied.

“Hey should-“

“AH!” He yelled turning towards me. I couldn’t flinch

fast enough before three-foot-long red feathers with murderous intent came

spearing towards my head. Within that instant in closed my eyes prepared to be

dead but when I opened them up, the feathers were hovering just centimeters

away from my skull.

I shocked me that I was still holding the flower box when

I checked. My eyes were wide as I stood still, jaw open, not a single breath

leaving my mouth.

“Are you a new nurse or something?” The feathers remained

there. I gulped before answering, my body felt light, flight, or fight already taking

place.

“I’m a- a florist.” I gestured down at the box with my

logo on it, and he seemed to relax a little bit.

“Oh.” He replied and the feathers returned to beside him.

He tried to make the IV drip stand back up again, but in a futile attempt he

gave up, just letting it fall to the group beside the other tools. He turned away

from me.

‘He is obviously in pain right now’ He faced away just

to hide the scowl and how much he was now clutching his side.

He looked over his shoulder “Who sent you?”

“Mirko” I responded relieve that he was no longer about

to kill me.

“Where should I leave the flowers?”

“The table next to my bed” I stepped over there. An

assortment of papers where there is messy handwriting that I had no place in

reading. Nonetheless, I caught the words “Touya.” Too bad I didn’t know any Touyas.

I sat the box down and opened it up.

Luckily with everything that went on, I didn’t destroy any

of the blooms.

“Did Mirko say anything about me?” He questioned quickly.

As much as he tried to seem tough, he valued her opinion very much.

“Get well soon and all of that, nothing much, she was too

busy teasing me, you know?”

“Mirko was? Teasing you?” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion

before settling into a knowing look.

“Ohhhh” He winked.

“No no, it's nothing like this I promise I just met her.”

“Mmmn k” He didn’t believe me in the slightest.

“Just watch out she packs a punch”

Hawks walked over to where the flowers were and observed

the arrangement. He had a particular fondness for the red lilies, the same ones

that Mirko liked. He talks about her punch though reminded me of the crashes

and villain attack last night.

“I hope she’s okay, she seemed pretty beat up last night

after the battle.”

“Eh, she recovers inhumanly quick. Something to do with the

rabbit in her.”

He looks over to me and paused.

“What’s your name?”

“(Y/N)”

“(Y/N Hmmm) He mumbled to himself like he was getting

used to the way it sounded.

“I can’t imagine this will be our last encounter (Y/N),

It was nice to meet you.”

I smiled graciously and sighed.

“Nice to meet you too.”

#bnhabookclub #mirkobnha #miruko #mirukobnha #bnha fanfic #bnha mirko #bnha x reader #flowershop au #kinda flower shop not really its just the reader who works at a flower shop lol ahaha #mirko x reader #rumi usagiyama #rumi usagiyama x reader #just-mirko #justmirko #Lavender Petals #pegahawks2020 #kinda gay

32 notes · View notes

sodone-withlife · 4 years ago

Text

gnossienne

Criminal Minds Fic Part Two

| PART 1 | PART 2 |

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: implied (canonical & non-canonical) character death, canon-typical violence, implied/referenced sexual abuse, implied/reference child abuse

Notes: I really don’t know where these ideas come from. I love agent as unsub stories, but I decided to twist it and this fic is the result. This starts a few weeks after “100” and involves an AU origin story for Hotch.

gnossienne: n. a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you’ve never fully explored—an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand. (The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)

Morgan and Prentiss slumped against the elevator wall, heads tilting back against the wall in exhaustion. “How are you doing?” Prentiss asked, turning her head to look at her fellow profiler.

He raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “Well, considering that my boss seems to be the subject of an obsessive serial killer’s desire, I’d say I’m surprising myself with how calm I am,” he said, matter of fact. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, forcing herself to stand straight as the elevator doors opened.

“I don’t know if it’s just me, but there’s just something so… off about this whole situation,” Prentiss confessed without expecting an answer. They both were fully aware that she wasn’t just referring to the case. The sudden reassignment had remained a constant topic of conversation over the past months (always away from Rossi, of course, but they were under no illusions that the senior profiler didn’t know what they were talking about).

The two agents walked out of the elevator in contemplative silence. Morgan scanned the room, noting Reid and JJ deep in discussion and marking places on the map of Lower Manhattan they had up. A movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye. He turned to look, only to stop in his tracks when he saw that Rossi, who was walking in through another door, wasn’t alone.

“Isn’t that—” Prentiss began in an undertone before getting cut off by Morgan.

“—Charles Fredericks, head of the New York field office?” He finished, “Yep.”

“What’s he doing here?” Prentiss asked under her breath as she and Morgan walked over to Reid, who was also watching the senior agent and the director in open curiosity.

“As I’m sure you know, this is Agent Fredericks, head of this field office,” Rossi introduced. The agents nodded in greeting, only for their carefully blank expressions to turn into one of surprise at his next words. “It seems like our case is connected to an active investigation into a local offshoot of a weakening transnational criminal enterprise.”

Before any of the Quantico agents could ask, Fredericks raised a reassuring hand. “Don’t worry, you are not being sent away,” he said, but the team remained tense, sensing a caveat. “I do have to ask that, even if you have an opportunity to do so, you do not go after the unsub.”

“What?” Prentiss stepped forward, catching the agent’s attention.

The director didn’t reply; he only exchanged a look with Rossi and motioned for the team to follow him as he turned and began to walk away. The profilers shook themselves out of their shocked stupor and followed, exchanging loaded glances with each other and quietly speculating as to what could be going on.

~~~

Reid closed the door behind him before moving to sit at the table in one of the secured conference rooms. Each agent, sans Rossi, had a file and pen in front of them and was directing their focus at Fredericks, who sat at the head of the table with a stack of thinner files next to him and trying not to show his discomfort under the sharp eyes of the profilers.

“I don’t believe I will have to introduce the protocol regarding active undercover operations?” Fredericks checked. Despite their rising confusion, the profilers voiced their affirmation as he stood up, file in hand.

“As Dave alluded to earlier, your investigation has led you to a man deeply entrenched in a local branch of a transnational criminal enterprise, one that the bureau and other agencies have been tracking and working on eliminating for decades,” he motioned towards the files on the table. The profilers took the invitation and began to flip through, taking in the basic rundown of the branch’s activities that were listed inside—all involving rather brutal, but rather forensically clean crime scenes.

“Richards?” Reid said out loud, musingly, “no first name?” Fredericks didn’t answer, remaining unwaveringly silent.

“He started as a standard low-level member and eventually got to taking care of the dirty work the people at the top didn’t want to do,” Prentiss said, brow furrowed. She looked up, “He was in a good position, so why did he go rogue and start killing?”

“Seven months ago, the head of the enterprise died, likely of cardiac arrest. Soon after, his son,” no one missed how Fredericks shot a quick glance at Rossi, “who dropped off our radar twenty-two years ago, resurfaced and took over. Since then, it seems like the new head’s been completely restructuring the enterprise, particularly its membership and structure. This whole affair” The agent dipped his head at the profilers, “seems to be Richards basically throwing a deadly juvenile tantrum because he went from being a feared enforcer to being disregarded by the highest echelons of this local enterprise.”

“And you know all this… how?” Morgan asked in disbelief, though not about the unsub’s motives: they’ve all come across this type (and stranger) before. “There’s no way your undercovers could be in positions that make them privy to this information, not even if they’ve been under for a decade.”

To the team’s increasing suspicion, the agent shot another glance at Rossi, who met his gaze with an indecipherable stare.

“That I cannot tell you at the moment.”

“There’s the resemblance to our boss, SSA Hotchner, and you said seven months?” Morgan pressed. “Is this what Hotch has been working on?”

Fredericks’s stare didn’t waver, though they all didn’t miss how he shifted in his seat as he dodged the questions. “What I can say, and with complete certainty, is that it will be quiet tonight. Richards will not murder anyone tonight—”

“With all due respect,” Reid cut in, “it’s impossible to know anything for certain. Statistically, there’s always going to be some—” he turned faintly pink as he was cut off by a poorly-suppressed cough from JJ. “How can you be so sure?” he asked, keeping it short.

This time, Rossi answered. “While you guys were out visiting the clubs and the victims’ neighborhoods, I was meeting with Charles,” he acknowledged the agent with a look in his direction, “and the agent heading the field ops. And yes,” he said, sensing the questions his colleagues were about to bombard him with, “I promise I will explain, but right now is really not the best time for that.”

Despite hating that they weren’t being told everything, the profilers recognized the need for efficiency and kept silent to Rossi’s approving nod, settling with speculating within their own minds.

“I explained the fuller details of the case to them,” he continued, “and it was decided that we would send the case file and our notes to one of the lucky undercovers who managed to get to a position that made them privy to helpful information. They got back to us with their input within an hour, and after surprisingly little discussion, it was determined that you would be briefed on the situation as it is,” he finished.

Fredericks took over, meeting each team member’s critical eye. “Your technical analyst, Ms. Garcia, has been briefed a short time ago and has started working with our other techs in digging into the members of this enterprise. You would be acting as backup in a field operation,” he didn’t mention his expectation that the firepower they’d provide would end up being unnecessary, “and, in the future, we may request some consults.”

“How so?” Morgan asked.

“In a few hours,” Fredericks began, distributing the thinner folders that had been stacked in front of his seat, “there will be three ‘business meetings’ across Lower Manhattan and one date.” He ignored the strange looks that his phrasing earned him.

“These ‘business meetings’ are when three high-level members—‘enforcers,’ basically—check in on the mid-level members and their activities. There is a ten minute time interval during which these meetings are most vulnerable,” Fredericks watched the profilers rifle through the newest folder, “and in previous raids, that is when we moved in. This time, however, we’re moving in as soon as we get confirmation that the members are all present.”

“What’s so different about this time?” JJ asked cautiously.

“Assuming that it goes as expected, this will be the last raid that bureau agents will be involved in,” the agent explained. “Over the past few months, we’ve been able to catch a number of members and shut down quite a few operations. From here on out, NYPD will be tying up the loose ends and we will be only peripherally involved.”

Rossi, who was only now learning this much about the investigation, looked up from his perusing, a strange glint in his eye, “You said a date?”

Fredericks’s reaction—an amused snort—surprised them. “Truthfully, ‘date’ is the last word I’d use to describe it, but that’s what he insisted on calling it,” he pointedly ignored the curiosity he could feel pouring off the profilers. He let out a pained half-smile, “There wasn’t a strong reason to say no, especially given his history.” Rossi nodded in understanding, also ignoring the insatiable interest of the profilers.

The director refocused on the team, sensing their curiosity. “While not normal protocol, we have someone in deep cover at the top of the local branch who has a history with your unsub.” Here he hesitated, and the profilers immediately picked up on his discomfort, quickly realizing that they would not like what the agent was holding back. They watched as Fredericks inhaled deeply, bracing himself.

“He also happens to be the object of your unsub’s attention.”

The room was dead silent as the profiling team took in the statement. Three seconds ticked away before the room exploded with noise.

“Hotch?” “How the hell is Hotch involved?” “Hotch’s here?”

“Rossi, did you know?” At Reid’s question, the team went silent, turning their focus onto Rossi. Normally able to maintain his composure while having numerous sets of eyes staring at him, he couldn’t help but shift under the angry focus of the people he’s grown to be so fond of.

“Yes,” he confessed, then raised his voice to be heard over the indignant reactions. “But only that he would be deep undercover as part of an active investigation into a criminal enterprise here in Manhattan.”

That did nothing to lessen their anger. “You looked like you knew what the director was talking about when he talked about the Hotch’s history with the unsub,” JJ pointed out. “What else do you know that we don’t?” she asked.

“We have anticipated the possibility of having this team join the investigation the moment we heard of the developments seven months ago, ”Fredericks intervened on Rossi’s behalf, relieving him from the heated stares he was getting from the team. “However, there is information that you have not yet been cleared to know, and it is Agent Hotchner’s decision and his prerogative to tell you, should he wish to do so.”

“I get that you’re angry, believe me, I do,” Rossi spoke emphatically, “but I ask that you respect Hotch’s decisions. This assignment…” he sighed, feeling a pang in his heart for the man he took under his wing and brought over from Seattle all those years ago. He looked around at the profilers, watching as they softened, the angry light in their eyes still present but dimming, hoping that all would turn out well.

“He knew this assignment would dredge up painful memories, but this was also an opportunity for him to permanently get rid of some of the demons that have dogged his step since he was fifteen.”

~~~

“Do we know what to expect here?” Morgan asked Rossi quietly. The profiling team was in the backroom of the rooftop bar watching the footage captured by the surveillance cameras—which were also being monitored by Garcia down in Quantico, ensuring their functionality—while JJ was outside playing the nervous bartender to the lone customer: a visibly tense, professionally-dressed man in his mid-fifties with a gun poorly hidden under his suit jacket.

Rossi shook his head, allowing uncertainty to creep into his expression. “I doubt Fredericks knows, either, but he probably has a better guess given that he’s been overseeing the investigation and only sent us in for this one.” When asked about SWAT support, the agent had only given them a loaded look and shook his head.

“Guys, movement on camera 3,” Garcia’s voice filtered through their earpieces, directing their attention to the said camera, which had a clear view of the elevators and lobby area.

“Is that Hotch?” They watched in stunned silence as a tall, lean, dark-haired man walked out from an elevator and into the lobby. They noticed a scar running up the left side of his face, one that was at least partially hidden by a thick scarf that covered the bottom half of his face. Like the other customer, he was dressed professionally, wearing a black on black suit under a long overcoat.

Having not seen him in over six months, they didn’t try to suppress the instinct to profile the man who, despite the noticeable changes, they easily recognized as their boss. Six pairs of eyes followed Hotch’s movements: four from the back room, one in her office two-hundred and sixty miles south of Manhattan, and the other from the bar, trying to act as if she’s never seen him.

There was a new darkness in his gaze, even as they briefly lit up in surprised recognition when they landed on the blonde before reverting to the hard impassiveness when he took the seat next to the other customer—Richards, the unsub. Hotch carefully placed his hand just over Richards’s, who tensed even more, though now in anticipation.

“What can I get for you today, sir?” JJ asked, her surprisingly steady voice cutting through the silence of the rooftop bar above the city.

Hotch rearranged his scarf, the dim lighting of the bar putting the whole of the jagged scar on his face on full display. JJ couldn’t help but stare, her mind immediately jumped to the worst possibilities as she wondered how he got that scar.

“A vodka martini, extra dry and two olives, please,” he requested smoothly, bringing her back into the present. She froze as the weight of his stare suddenly landed on her and he pointedly sent a look towards the back room before refocusing his heavy gaze on the unsub.

“I’m sorry. I—I don’t think there are olives ready here at the moment,” she made up on the spot, getting his message. “I’ll, um,” she motioned towards the back room, allowing some of her nervousness to show, “go get them from the back,” she finished. Fleetingly glancing at Hotch as she made to walk to the back, she was relieved to see him give her a barely perceptible nod of approval.

Shutting the door behind her, JJ allowed herself a second to let go of the tension within her after having remained wound up while watching the unsub who, in his obsessive desire, had assaulted and stabbed five people. She shot a fleeting smile towards Reid, who had noticed her hidden agitation and was looking at her in concern, before taking off her blazer and moving to pull on a kevlar vest over her button up.

“He’s changed,” JJ said quietly, moving to watch the two men at the bar sit in silence on the screens. “Colder,” she elaborated when the profilers looked at her in question.

“Knowing what we’ve been told about the people involved in this group?” Reid murmured. “Spending even a month with them is bound to change anyone, and Hotch has been under for over half a year.”

They lapsed into silence when Hotch stood up and turned to casually lean backward on the bar, deftly reaching under the left side of unsub’s suit jacket. The unsub didn’t tense, didn’t move, as Hotch pulled back with a gun in his hand.

“I paid the hotel to open up their seasonal rooftop bar for you, and you bring a gun,” Hotch’s amused, almost offended baritone was picked up by the hidden microphones and came through their earpieces as he smoothly unloaded the gun on camera. “Should I be worried?”

“What can I say, Adrian,” Adrian; the agents’ minds whirled with possibilities. “I’ve been waiting for so long, I don’t want anything ruining this,” the team watched as the unsub finally looked up and moved closer to Hotch, unable to hide the greed with which he took in the taller man’s form.

“It’s impressive, Elijah,” Hotch offered, impassive as ever, though the unsub— Elijah Richards, apparently—didn’t look disappointed at the lack of any emotional reaction. “Last time I had a direct conversation with you was what, when I was fifteen and you were twenty-two, right? The day before I found out that my mother was dying of lung cancer.”

Elijah nodded vigorously, exceedingly happy to hear that he was remembered. “Yes, yes, yes. Twenty-two years ago, over your winter break. You remember that night in your room, our first time?” he asked eagerly.

The team listened with increasing horror and steady, boiling anger. Rossi, trying his hardest to not run out there and shoot the bastard in the face there and then, focused on Hotch, who remained impressively stoic—apart from the eyes that darkened even more—in the face of the delusions coming out Elijah’s mouth.

Out of nowhere, his affect smoothly shifted towards a suggestiveness the team had never seen before. “I do, I remember very well,” he hesitated as if he was nervous about what he was about to say.

“You should know, I came back to take over because of you,” he said quietly like he was confessing a secret. “But my father left behind such a mess, and I had to clean everything up,” Hotch shifted closer to the other man, allowing his voice to soften as he brushed the other’s arm, “I really am sorry I haven’t been able to talk to you sooner.”

In the backroom, the profilers were filled with silent disgust as they watched Elijah’s expression light up with dreamy delight.

Hotch kept the act for a few moments—which, to the high strung profilers, felt like hours—before he suddenly shifted again, dropping all pretenses and letting his expression contort with cold rage within seconds.

“I remember you so vividly. You started out ingratiating yourself with prepubescent boys, seeing yourself as their protector—probably a remnant of your childhood, am I right?” Dark eyes carefully took in the other’s every expression and microexpression, “Your father probably did the same thing to you when you were a child.”

Elijah’s dreamy expression slowly turned lucid as he listened to Hotch dissect his psyche, word by word. “You probably would have gone on sticking with grooming your younger brother and his friends,” the agent continued, “but then my dearest father decided it was time to bring in his eldest. And suddenly, you had a young boy put under your tutelage, one you decided to groom and take advantage of.”

Moving closer to the man, Hotch allowed some seething rage to bleed into his voice. “You assaulted me, physically and sexually, for seven years straight under the pretense of ‘training’ me because you wanted to ‘take care’ of me,” Garcia let out a soft, tearful sound as the others listened, frozen in horror.

“Fine. That, I could have taken care of alone. But,” Hotch’s voice was frigid, colder than the profilers have ever heard it be, “you started beating my little brother to the point of unconsciousness in front of me, year after year until he finally fell into a coma after one of your assaults when he was eight and woke up months later an amnesiac.”

Elijah’s dreamy expression slowly shifted into one of dark, manic anger as he listened to Hotch pull apart his fantasy with every word that came out of his mouth. Reaching his breaking point, he suddenly turned in his seat and lunged at the other man, prompting the team to leap up and rush out into the bar, guns drawn and prepared to fire if it became necessary as the two men crashed onto the ground.

They couldn’t do anything, however, even as the unsub managed to pull a knife from somewhere and slashed at Hotch, who had also pulled out a knife and was fighting back with equal fervor. Neither of them paid any attention to the other agents—Elijah because he didn’t notice them, and Hotch because he knew them and the protocol well enough to know that they wouldn’t be physically interfering. The once-quiet bar became filled with grunts and hisses of pain as the two men landed hits and slashes onto the other.

Though protocol dictates that they should be attempting to de-escalate the situation, none of the profilers could find it within themselves to try and do so—not only because they were admittedly very drawn into the fight, which consisted of an amalgamation of dirty tactics and well-trained strikes, but also because they knew there was no chance of the situation de-escalating, no matter how many different negotiation tactics they could try. The chances that interrupting a fight between a very devolved suspect and a laser-focused agent with a personal vendetta would have even not negative results were basically nil.

The profilers, tensed and ready, watched as Hotch was knocked to the ground and lost his grip on his knife but managed to disarm his opponent in the process. Elijah was in too deep to care, as he nevertheless lunged forward with deadly intent. The profilers quickly brought their guns up and aimed at him, shouts to stop just on the tip of their tongues, when the sound of a suppressed gunshot ripped through the air.

Elijah jerked and managed to stumble a few steps backward before his legs gave out, a sudden feeling of numbness spreading out from his upper abdomen. He reflexively placed a hand over where it felt like it starting from, only to bring it back in front of his eyes when he felt something wet and warm touch his fingers. Elijah looked blankly at the blood on his hand and then at Hotch who was getting up from the ground, gun still in his hand and aimed towards the injured man.

“You know, I was content with letting things play out, letting the feds take care of you and send you to rot in prison,” Hotch knelt down, kicking the knives near them even further away. Somewhere, in the back of Elijah’s mind, he wondered in betrayed confusion as to what was going on.

(—why did you do this to me? I did everything for you—)

“But then I found out about all of the other people you just had to assault and murder over the years in an attempt to play out your disgusting fantasies, and now in a desperate attempt to get the slightest amount of my attention.” His sight blurred, his surroundings darkening as he began to lose the fight against the tantalizing nothingness that threatened to engulf him.

“Well,” the dark baritone whispered into his ear, “you’ve gotten it.”

~~~

He leaned back, uncaring of the blood that was surely staining his suit, which had already been ruined by the knife fight just minutes before. Slowly, methodically, he placed two fingers at the neck, feeling for a pulse that wasn’t there. His gaze didn’t waver from the slowly cooling body that was slumped in front of him, blood pooling on the ground surrounding the torso, not even as he registered the sound of guns being put away and of multiple footsteps slowly walking in his direction.

“Hotch?” He looked behind him at the men and women slowly approaching him as if he were a dangerous animal, their expressions a strange amalgamation of wariness, worry, and relief. He remained silent, his ever-keen eyes roving across the people he hadn’t communicated with or seen in over half a year, picking out the subtle details and changes that have accumulated in his absence.

Somewhere, deep in the dark recesses of his mind, he felt something slowly pushing its way out from behind the barriers he had erected and continuously reinforced after that meeting seven months ago. No, he thought, not right now. He pushed it down for what felt like the millionth time since he first heard that the BAU had been officially brought in on this case and turned away, standing up and looking out over the lights of the city.

The darkness that had been at the edge of his sight for seven months straight didn’t recede, even as Rossi carefully moved to place his hand on his shoulder. He had to suppress an instinctual urge to melt into the warm touch he had been craving for so long, remaining still and meeting the senior agent’s gaze—in which he saw no judgment, no fear—with his own flat one.

“He’s the last one,” the dark undertone his voice had gained during the seven months of deep-cover was still present. “With the raids that have probably just happened, he’s the last one.” There was a barely discernible shake in his tone, one that Rossi, with his history with the younger man, immediately identified along with the blank look in his eyes that indicates the start of a retreat deep into his mind.

Making a quick decision, the senior agent carefully moved to wrap his arm around the younger’s torso and began to gently guide him towards the exit, motioning for the other stupefied agents to stay behind. On the way to the elevators, the duo passed the crime scene techs that came at Morgan’s all clear and were hurrying to the body behind them.

The two agents rode the elevator down in silence, the senior keeping a careful eye on the younger, who was trying to regain some semblance of outward stability before leaving the premises of the hotel. By the time the elevator dinged on the ground floor, the raging storm inside him had been once again suppressed.

As the elevator door slid open in the underground hotel parking garage, Rossi was both relieved and worried to see that Hotch didn’t make a move to shake off Rossi’s arm or to protest his presence. He let the younger man lead the way to a black Mercedes parked near the wall of the garage but forced him into the passenger’s seat before the senior agent entered on the driver’s side and put on his own seatbelt.

“Where to?” Rossi asked softly, gently, once in the car. The younger man shook himself from his near dissociative state and quietly rattled off an address which the older man input in the GPS. The car ride was spent in heavy silence, Rossi still sending Hotch discerning looks while he weaved through New York traffic.

~~~

“Adrian Roan Hendrickson.”

“What?” Prentiss looked at Hotch, confused. “Who’s that?”

“That’s your real name, isn’t it?” Rossi answered in a question directed at the unit chief, who nodded in affirmation. It had been a few weeks since New York; they had spent that time in a strange sort of limbo, wanting to interrogate Hotch but also wanting to respect his privacy.

“Much of everything else you know about my history is still true,” he said quietly, not looking at any of the other profilers in the jet. “But as far as I’m concerned, Adrian Hendrickson died three weeks ago.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #bau #fanfic #david rossi #derek morgan #penelope garcia #spencer reid #emily prentiss #sodone gnossienne

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missmalice202 · 5 years ago

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Designing Your Melody: Chapter 16 - Drums

Chapter 01 - Chapter 15

The night after her date with Luka, Marinette turned on her game console to meet up with her friends online. She hadn’t been able to get ahold of Alya yet to tell her about her date because the reporter had been working on a story, so she had been forced to wait until their standing Friday night gaming night to give her best friend the details.

When she finally loaded in, she was pleased to see that Rena Rouge was already logged on.

“It’s about time, girl,” Rena reprimanded. “Now, spill! Leave nothing out!”

She started her tale with how she had made her graceful entrance: by falling down the stairs. Rena howled with laughter at how true to form that was for her and asked how Luka had responded to her clumsiness. Her friend cooed at how sweet he’d been to check to make sure she wasn’t hurt.

As she continued to give a play by play of the events of the previous night, she trailed off when a notification popped up onscreen: CHAT NOIR is online.

It felt weird to talk about her date with Adrien listening. It wasn’t like she still had romantic feelings for her friend, but it still just didn’t feel right.

“C’mon, girl, don’t clam up on me now! What happened next? Where did he take you?”

“What are you talking about?” Chat Noir asked, curious about what the girls had been talking about that had made Ladybug stop talking as soon as he’d come online.

“Ladybug was telling me about her date!” Rena gushed.

“Her what?” he yelled.

Marinette winced. “Easy there, kitty. Keep the volume down please. I’d like to keep my hearing if you don’t mind.”

As he sullenly mumbled an apology, another notification popped up onscreen. Her heart skipped a beat before she read what it read. CARAPACE is online. Oh, it’s just Nino.

“Hey guys, what’s goin’ on?”

Rena chuckled at her boyfriend’s cheerful greeting. “Oh, nothing much. Ladybug was just telling us all about her hot date.”

He chortled at that information. “Ooooh,” he teased. “Do tell.”

‘God, this is embarrassing,’ she thought. “Okay, fine. Just be quiet and let me talk.”

As she told the others the events of her date, Ryuuko and Pegasus popped up online as well, eagerly joining the conversation, much to Marinette’s chagrin.

Chat Noir’s silence ended when she began describing her confrontation with Lila. He began spitting indignantly at the nonsense the liar had spewed. She giggled when he vowed to track her down and make her regret saying such offensive things to her. She spent the next few minutes talking her feline friend down from his rage until she could continue with her story.

When she finally finished, she had to move her headset away from her ear as Rena’s piercing squeal made her ears ring.

“So, have you talked to him today?” Rena asked, excited.

“No, he must have been busy because he didn’t stop by the bakery at all today.”

The fact that he hadn’t shown up for the first time in a week made Marinette’s stomach knot uncomfortably. Had he decided that he didn’t want to go out with her again and was avoiding her? Did something happen to him and now he was in the hospital, hurt? Her overactive imagination was not her friend in situations like these.

“Statistics say that if he doesn’t call you after the first 24 hours of your first date, there is only a miniscule 12% chance that he will ask you out again.” Her eyes narrowed as Pegasus’s extremely unhelpful addition did little to make her feel better about the whole situation.

“Not helpful, Pegasus,” Rena said.

“Ladybug, you should be the one to make the first move and contact him instead. Show him that you are a strong, confident woman that will not be trifled with.” Ryuuko could definitely take the girl-power idea a bit far, but she had a point. There was no reason why she should

“I have to text him tomorrow about something anyway, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Yo, Chat, you’re being suspiciously quiet about this whole thing. Don’t you have any advice for Ladybug?” Carapace’s voice just dripped with sarcasm. “You know, as a friend?”

“I just think that it’s kind of a jerk move to not call her after taking her out,” he growled. “If he was really into her, he would have at least texted her to say that he had a great time or something.”

Marinette’s insecurities reared their ugly heads once more; his reasoning echoed her own doubts. “You think so, Chat?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re worth putting in the effort, don’t you think?”

“Nah, bro.” Carapace chimed in. “Maybe he’s just got something going on today and hasn’t had the time. I’m sure he’ll call or text you as soon as he’s got a minute.”

Nino’s reassurance silenced the insidious voices in Marinette’s mind. “Thanks, Carapace. That makes me feel better.”

They continued to play when Marinette noticed that it was almost 9:00pm.

“Hey, has anyone heard from Viperion? It’s not like him to be so late on a raid night.”

Carapace chuckled. “Yeah, he texted me earlier. He got called in for a gig and he’ll be on later.”

Marinette was surprised. She’d figured out that Viperion was a musician, but she didn’t know that he was talented enough to be performing professionally. She wondered if she’d heard his music before and didn’t know it.

“Oh, is that how you met Viperion?” Chat asked. “You never actually told us how you met him.”

While Carapace explained to the others how he’d met Viperion while he was DJ-ing at a party for a Roth Records party, the topic of their discussion signed on.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Carapace cheerfully greeted. “How was the show, bro?”

Marinette smiled as she listened to Viperion talk about his performance. She was curious about what he played, but she did her best to keep her curiosity at bay.

“Oh,” Carapace interrupted, “how was your date last night?”

Marinette nearly dropped her controller. Wait, what? Viperion went on a date last night? Who goes out on a date on a Thursday night? Well, she’s just gone on one yesterday, but that’s beside the point.

“It was great.” His voice was soft with emotion. “I took her to this place I’d been wanting to check out for a while. And she’s so easy to talk to, once she got past her nerves.”

As he continued to describe his evening out with his “mystery girl”, Marinette couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. Here she was, pining over some guy who couldn’t be bothered to even text her after their own date, and Viperion was gushing about how “amazing” and “wonderful” his date had been. It just wasn’t fair.

Not noticing how quiet that Ladybug had become, the others continued to grill Viperion for details.

Carapace, on the other hand, was snickering hysterically under his breath, eventually getting his girlfriend’s attention. “Babe, what the hell? Care to share what you seem to find so funny?”

Swallowing his laughter, he tried to avoid the subject, but he found himself caught in his girlfriend’s wrath. “We’re gonna have a conversation about this later,” she promised him.

Not wanting to hear any more about Viperion’s date, Ladybug changed the subject and they continued to play together for the next few hours, finally distracting Marinette from her own wallowing.

After she’d logged off and shut down her console, she looked at her phone for the first time in hours. She was surprised to see her notification light blinking.

It was from Luka!

Luka: Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you before now. I had a great time last night and wanted to know if you’d be interested in hanging out again sometime soon.

Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. How could she have not heard her phone chime? Upon further investigation, she noticed the symbol in her notification bar that indicated that she’d put her phone on “Do not disturb” mode while she had been playing.

Oh man, hopefully her lack of response didn’t make Luka think she wasn’t interested in hanging out with him again. She really liked spending time with the musician. Once she got out of her own head, he was easy to talk to and there was something about him that made her creative juices start flowing.

As a matter of fact, her work on “his” outfit had gone surprisingly well. Usually, she’d run into a few snags when working on a project, but thus far, it’d been smooth sailing, which gave her a perfect excuse to spend time with him.

Glancing at the time, she wondered if it was too late to text him back. But she didn’t want him to think that she was ignoring him or something. Gathering her courage, she decided to go for it. If nothing else, he’d get it in the morning when he woke up.

Marinette: Sorry, just got your text. I’d like that. BTW, if you can make time, your outfit is almost done. Just needs fitting. Let me know when works for you.

She put her phone down and started getting ready for bed. When she heard her phone vibrate, she lunged across the room to grab it, nearly tripping over her discarded clothes in her haste.

Luka: np. I’ve got time tomorrow if that works for you.

With a giddy little dance, she texted back that she’d see him tomorrow then and went to bed, completely forgetting her hurt feelings from earlier.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

Chapter 17

*First of all, I’d like to thank everyone for your patience and encouragement. It means a lot to me. Unfortunately, just when my private life got situated to where I could get some work done, I get sick (and no, it’s not corona virus lol, it’s a chest cold, but it’s still super inconvenient.) but luckily (or unluckily, depending on how you look at it), with all the hysteria surrounding the Corona virus outbreak, my daughter’s school has been cancelled for the next two weeks, so I will not be working as well since my job is such that allows me to take time off when my daughter doesn’t have school. So, I’m hoping to get some serious writing done in the next few days.

Also, I’d like to apologize for the short length of this chapter. It’s been bugging me for the last few days and just didn’t want to flow right. maybe it’s the cold medicine hazing my brain, but i’ve decided to just post it and move on. so i’m sorry if it sucks lol

as always, thanks for everyone who likes and reblogs my stories. Your support means the world to me.

Until next time, XOXO*

@write-for-your-life2

#lukanette #lukanette fanfiction #lukanette february #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #miraculous fanfic

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sometimes-love-is-enough · 4 years ago

Note

do you have any spicy hot takes you wanna drop 👀👀?? i will drop one as well, i think that everyone got carried away with the whole sympathetic and unsympathetic stuff -💫

okay so i read the first sentence and i was like ‘fuck yes time to talk about the sympathetic/unsympathetic thing’ and then i read the rest of it and yeah okay so we’re on the same page here. i have a feeling this is going to get extensive so if you don’t want to hear me complaining about stuff that you may or may not like don’t go reading under the cut. Also it's not going to be very coherent

disclaimer: i am not trying to police the fandom or trying to tell anyone that they can’t write stuff. i do my best to stay in my lane and read/consume content that i want to. these are just. feelings i have.

so on the one hand i sort of understand where the whole concept sprung from. it’s hard to write interesting longform stories without a villain of some sort, it’s not as if there’s all that many characters in the first place, and sometimes using the Dragon Witch doesn’t quite cut it. and honestly if you take away the whole ‘they’re all part of the same person’ thing it would’ve been pretty easy to assume that Deceit was the bad guy when he first showed up. he went the whole ‘ominous smirking, evil laughter’ route because he’s a dramatic little bastard, and some people were like 'my son, I love him' and others went 'evil man! Evil! He's planning bad things' and on a purely mechanical level having tags that distinguish people who think a character is good vs people who think a character is evil is a good thing, it helps you distinguish content you want to look at from the content that you don't!

HOWEVER. I think the idea of characters being 'sympathetic' or 'unsympathetic' in the way that this fandom uses those terms is innately flawed. It's black-and-white thinking and it veers close to the whole puritan thing that tumblr is so fond of. And in most cases 'unsympathetic' is just an excuse to write characters as toxic, abusive, and just downright cruel without having to explain yourself. Which is. Hm. And also just lazy writing.

This bit might be tmi but: Patton actually used to be my favorite Sanders Sides character. But back when i initially got into the fandom, I hadn't quite worked out how to filter the content I looked through yet, and I just kept seeing this... constant stream of stuff involving him being abusive to the others in a way that was hm how shall i say this. Uncomfortably familiar. especially with a lot of religious guilt themes. It's not anyone's fault, precisely, but it did tinge a lot of my fandom experience, and it maaaay be why i'm not great at writing him. Doesn't matter. The point is... There wasn't a point. I'm just still bitter about that and wanted to mention it. Maybe i'm angrier about this than i thought i was. Let's not talk about that. Let's move on with this discussion.

You'll notice that i used Janus as an example up there at the top. I can't be sure (and actually it grimly fascinates me so if anybody who's been around here longer than I have has any info on this send it over, I'd love to know) but I think that Deceit's appearance in CLBG may have marked the beginning of this whole unsympathetic/sympathetic split in the fandom. It seems a safe enough bet, anyway, especially since the earliest example I can find of any fic being tagged 'unsympathetic' in the AO3 archive is from 4th February 2018, literally the day after CLBG went up. (damn, guys, moving fast).

The first occurrences of the 'sympathetic' tag crop up about a month later. Tumblr is impossible to search so I don't know if there was any discussion about terms, or if it was just a kind of snowball effect with people seeing the tags and tagging their own fics as appropriate (and this is a fascinating phenomena in itself!) but either way - i have absolutely no idea what happened to make people go from 'we're divided on whether this character who presents himself a villain is actually doing bad and detrimental things to the other sides/thomas/the world as a whole/innocent puppies' to 'hang on what if the other sides were kicking puppies also?'

So now this has turned from a rant about terminology into me being genuinely curious about this whole thing. I will put the rant on pause while I go scour AO3 to see when the first occurrences of the tags popped up. Please hold.

Okay. I'm going to ignore the unsympathetic tags for anyone who's not a side because i don't hate myself nearly that much (but uh for the record. There is a part of this fandom that thinks the LITERAL CONCEPT OF SLEEP IS EVIL and i'm not sure if i should be impressed or horrified. What? What???)

All of these numbers are up-to-date as of 17/06/2020, which is when I'm posting this. I'm probably not going to update that, so keep that in mind if you're reading this in the future.

In order of chronological appearance:

Unsympathetic Janus ('Deceit' at the time, of course) - first appears 12 March 2018, 191 works Unsympathetic Roman - first appears 10 February 2019, 102 works Unsympathetic Logan - first appears 24 June 2019, 59 works Unsympathetic Patton - first appears 2 July 2019, 228 works Unsympathetic Remus - first appears 17 July, 2019, 121 works Unsympathetic Virgil - first appears 31 July 2019, 71 works

...I genuinely don't know what I expected.

The fandom was much slower to spark with Unsympathetic Remus content after he first showed up, which is kind of interesting. Unless they just didn't bother to tag it? Like, I'm working with the assumption that everyone's tagging all of their content, which might not always be the case

I thought there'd be so much more Janus and Remus-tagged fics than there actually are.

It does not surprise me that Patton has the most in this category. It makes me sad but it doesn't surprise me. Why are you guys so intent on making him evil

And on the opposite side of the sympathy spectrum (similarly chronological):

Sympathetic Janus - first appears 7 March 2018, 1920 works Sympathetic Remus - first appears 2 July 2019, 965 works Sympathetic Patton - first appears 31 July 2019, 71 works Sympathetic Virgil - first appears 1 August 2019, 69 works (nice) Sympathetic Logan - first appears 8 August 2019, 41 works Sympathetic Roman - first appears 20 August, 56 works

It's actually wild that 'Sympathetic [Janus]' seems to have appeared several days between Unsympathetic Jan made any appearance.

There were several Remus fics that were backtagged to before DWIT was released. I ignored them because it was throwing this off a bit. there may be other problems to this effect in any of the other stats, but i’m too lazy to go back and check those all one-by-one

Sympathetic tags in general seem to be used as, hm, there's a word here i can't quite think of. Basically, 'Sympathetic' seems to be the default setting for characters like Virgil, Patton, Roman, Logan (the 'Light Sides', although i take issue with that terms as well. This isn't the time for that, though. Statistics!!) which 'Unsympathetic' used to be the default for Janus and Remus. That's become slightly more elastic of late, though. Basically if you're using the Sympathetic tag for anyone who's not a 'Dark Side' you're usually doing it to make a point of something. e.g. if you have other sides who aren't usually unsympathetic as such and you're trying to clarify that yes, these specific ones are Okay. Or if you're just being thorough. Anyway that's why LAMP seem to have less works tagged as Symp than the other two.

All the sympathetic tags for non-Janus characters seem to have sprung up in quick succession over a short period of months! I have no idea what this means but it's strange and cool to look at

If you're wondering about the discrepancy between this information and my earlier note that the first appearance of 'unsympathetic' as an AO3 tag was the day after CLBG came out - that fic in question had a general 'unsympathetic dark sides' tag, no specific tags mentioned.

Okay statistics segue over. The only point of that apart from scientific curiosity was to try to puzzle out where the fuck this all stemmed from. I still have no answers.

I need you all to understand that 'Sympathetic' no longer looks like a real word to me.

So. Remember how i mentioned how this fandom managed to make unsympathetic!Remy/Sleep a thing? Yeah. That baffles me. I haven't seen unsympathetic Dr Picani anywhere yet but I know it's only a matter of time and that lowkey horrifies me. But that's not really the most baffling thing because, uh

Well. earlier this week I accidentally stumbled into a corner of tumblr that's dedicated to unsympathetic character Thomas content. If you're a fan of that, i'd advise you to click away from this post now because i'm about to get very angry about that and i don't want to make you upset. Thank you.

What the fuck. literally all of the posts in this corner of tumblr are about c!thomas abusing the sides and being a terrible person??? ??????? ????? WHAT? can we just take a step back and. WHY? WHY are you doing this? Are we watching the same show? from a psychological standpoint, that's self-abuse and self-harm and i suppose it might be interesting if you explored it as such but APPARENTLY NO. apparently that's not what this is about. This is just about writing about someone being abusive to other people for the sake of it. there were so many posts about him 'abusing the sides by telling them they're not real people' and. OKAY so a) he wouldn't do that b) THEY AREN'T. THEY LITERALLY AREN'T REAL PEOPLE WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

[deep breath]

so actually i think that kind of leads me back to the point of this whole thing. I had a point, what? It surprises me too, don't worry. The point is (roughly) that writing characters as 'unsympathetic' isn't something that i have an objection to at all. Everybody has the capacity to be cruel! Nobody's perfect!! But with the sympathetic/un labels it seems to enforce this strict dichotomy of good vs bad. Either Logan is an abusive monster OR he's a perfect angel. Guys. That's not how it works. And it's not INTERESTING if you do that sort of thing because then you've got people being unnecessarily cruel and evil for the sake of it. They turn into 2-dimensional caricatures that only exist to be bad people.

People make mistakes! I write about characters making mistakes all the time! Janus and Remus pulling the whole trolley problem thing in Pick A Side definitely wasn't a great thing for them to do, but I didn't tag them as unsympathetic at the time and i have no plan to do so because i don't want to write them as two-dimensional caricatures who are only capable of one of two settings on the morality meter. (same goes for the next chapter, whenever that comes up but... let’s talk about that when i post it, maybe)That's boring. If you're going to take characters and make them into antagonists just because you can't think of anyone else to fit the role, and you're doing it by stripping away everything that makes them Them, then you might as well just stuff a paper bag with straw and cast a scarecrow as the villain instead because buddy. You're making a strawman. That's what you're doing. You can't have Patton without kindness and well-meaningness, just as you can't have Patton without the mistakes caused by those two things. Same goes for the other sides and their flaws and strengths.

And then there's the other thing that's definitely more specific to this fandom, which I think was best summarized with something i said in the comments section of Pick A Side with len at like ten minutes past midnight that one time:

(...) and not necessarily related to anything you said, but - this fandom is kind of unique in that... there's no actual bad guys or villains. (at least that's how i perceive it.) The Real Villain Is Your Poor Mental Health. people are always like 'unsympathetic deceit' or 'unsympathetic patton' and point to different points in the videos as evidence, ('i give you permission to think those thoughts' patton's being controlling - that's abuse) but like. it's all the same guy. he's giving himself permission. he's doing it to himself. imagine if we tagged other fandom characters with like 'Unsympathetic Harry Potter' when he was being mean or critical to himself. wild.

So yeah. In conclusion: obviously people should write what they like. If they see characters one way and they want to write about them being two-dimensional monsters that's fine. I kind of wish you'd put more thought into it and make it at least interesting if you're going to do that sort of thing, but you do you i guess.

That being said. If I see any more unsympathetic!Patton content I will start crying. i want to love Goofy Dad Man the same way i used to

#asks #min goes off the rails #this turned into an essay. apology for incoherence and my tendency to jump around wildly!#Anonymous

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rosie-janeposie · 5 years ago

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Little Miss Curse-Breaker

This can be found over on AO3 under my screenname: alleychaton

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24405601

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Summary:

"I am very well aware of who you are Little Miss Curse-breaker." McNully missed the frustration flash across Ellie's face, "I take it curse-breaking is getting old, so conquering the World of Quidditch is the next-best thing?"

McNully is curious as to why the Curse-breaker is interesting in joining the Ravenclaw team.

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Notes:

Ellie is a spunky little Ravenclaw who is in search of her brother.

I made McNully, Skye, and Orion a year-older than Ellie to try and give the characters some more depth.

Disclaimer: I do not own McNully. I do not own the Quidditch Plotline.

I do however own Ellie as I develop her as a character.

I am thinking of doing a series of non-chronical drabbles between McNully and Ellie. I think they are just two little beans that deserve some love. The drabbles may range anywhere from canon story curse-breaking to slices of life while they are at school.

Enjoy! >Rosie

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"Yo-you were expecting me?" The red-head stammer shock evident on her face.

The blond boy grinned at her. This was the first time he had gotten to look at her since the whole "Skye incident." She was rather dull in appearance. She had a few freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose. Her cheeks were slightly round. Dark auburn red hair that curled around her shoulders, and what appeared to by blue-green eyes masked by thick black glasses. She seemed to be just a hopeful little second year trying to make the team, "I was 97.2 percent sure of it." His voice was steady, and he turned his wheelchair towards the girl flying in front of him, "I tend to make a strong first impression."

The red-head crossed her arms to stare at the blond in front of her. The boy didn't look much older than her. The blond was certainly scrawny, but she had Barnaby in her year, so perhaps this was what a normal pre-puberty boy was supposed to look. His blond hair was just as bright as his smile. The more he talked, the more evident it was that his voice was cracking, "A strong impression indeed. Typically polite people say 'hello' before they dump playbooks on someone and leave."

"That's not what happened," The commentator chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. The bewildered look on the younger girl's face was all the fuel he needed.

"Yes, …it was," The red-head answered cautiously, "unless I imagined the whole thing."

"What happened was; first I dumped my playbooks," The blond's hands started to move as he talked. The red-head couldn't help but notice the sparkle that entered his eye, " And then you said, I recognize you, you're the Quidditch commentator." Despite the crack in his voice, he remained animated as he spoke, " And you asked, what is this about?" She felt as though she should stop him, but she couldn't.

"And then I said, Strategy!" The blond's hands were moving just as fast as he was speaking. The girls watched with amusement. She honestly never met someone who so passionate about recalling events. " And then I said, you're going about getting a Quidditch tryout all wrong…" there was a brief pause, "then I left."

"I prefer my version better," joked the girl. "You must love hearing yourself talk."

She noticed comment caused his smile faltered slightly, "Yeah, It's what you get talking to a Quidditch commentator…"

She felt herself falter at the brief moment of hurt across the boy's face. She may not have known him before this whole thing, but something told her that his talking annoyed others, "Well, I find it charming. It's kinda cute."

"Mum says it is charming too," He rolled his chair towards the edge of the announcer's box. He extended his hand towards the girl, "Name's Murphy McNully, by the way. World's next-best professional Quidditch commentator."

The red-head took his hand into her own to shake, "Ellana Bennett, I prefer Ellie. It's nice to meet you, Murphy."

"Friends call me McNully." He pulled his hand back, pointing his finger at her, the smile never leaving his face, "I am very well aware of who you are Little Miss Curse-breaker." McNully missed the frustration flash across Ellie's face, "I take it curse-breaking is getting old, so conquering the World of Quidditch is the next-best thing?"

McNully noticed that frown on her face, "Can I be honest with you?"

This caused McNully to pause, he barely knew this girl, and here she was floating in front of him. "That depends… If it causes you to smile again, sure!" McNully, at this point, leaned his head against his hand, "There is no room on the pitch for sour-faces… the Slytherins already have that covered."

"All my life, I have been trying to follow my brother's path…" Ellie noted, looking out onto the pitch. She didn't care that she was opening up to a stranger. She just wanted to be heard, "I got drawn into being this Curse-breaker because I wanted to know what happened to him. But, that seems to have put me back into his shadow…" She closed her eyes, "Jacob hated Quidditch, though. He was never good at sports." Her smile cracked across her lips, "Which is why Mum always said she had a better shot of getting a sports star out of her little tom-boy." She decided at that point to turn her broom to the other end of the pitch. "That's why I want to try out for the team. I want to get out of Jacob's shadow do something that I know he would have never done." She sighed, "Not just Jacob's little sister."

"Still…" Not just the wizard in the wheelchair…"You're greener than a bowtruckle. That and so you have the strategy of a Mountain troll."

"How nice…"

"I didn't dump those playbooks on you because you are completely terrible. You have talent." McNully admitted as he moved his wheelchair back to avoid the sun-directly hitting him in the face. "You should feel honored; I don't just give my personal supply of playbooks to anyone."

Ellie turned to face McNully, "Thank you?"

"However, that red-head attitude will only get you so far," McNully added abruptly, "You are all might and flight without any insight." Ellis had to stifle a giggle when McNully voice cracked on 'might.'

"And you're my insight?" She commented, her giggling subsided." I've been working with Skye, as unorthodox as it may be. Admittedly, I should have some advantage in try-outs?"

"Ah yes, the 'School of Skye', as amusing as it is watching you bat dizzy gnomes," He chuckled, "You're physically ready, Bennett. But, physical strength isn't enough to impress Orion Amari." Ellie was surprised when she saw McNully reach over for his satchel. He placed the bag onto his lap. He was holding his wand in his left hand.

"Orion Amari, isn't he the third-year?"

"He is. He is also the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain and my roommate." McNully tied up his bag and looked at the Red-head with a sly smile on his face, "He is also the one to decides who is invited to try out for the beater position." He noticed the shocked expression on Ellie's, "Skye left that part out, huh? I am not surprised. Skye and Orion they tend to get along like asphodel and infusion of wormwood."

Ellie sighed, "I guess I don't get the easy way." McNully could hear that she was joking.

"Nope, Skills and drills won't cut it. You are going to need statistic and logistics," He remarked as he muttered an incantation under his breath. Ellie drifted backward at the sight of McNully's wheelchair, rising in the air. She watched as the boy gliding down to the grass below his commentator's box.

"Neat trick." Ellie complimented, McNullt that she was genuine in the comment. He noticed that she did not seem to pity him.

"Thanks," He muttered as he began to wheel his way out. "I have to get to Herbology. If I leave now, I have a 67.9 percent chance of making it on time. Meet me at noon, and we can talk about your chances of making the team."

"Out of curiosity," Ellie landed in front of McNully, causing him to break his wheelchair suddenly, "What are my chances of making the team right now?"

"Without you really not in Orion's sight… I say about 43.8 percent."

"And after our possible chat at noon?"

McNully saw the curiosity peak, "I would say after a chat at noon you have a 72.5 percent increase of being invited."

"Do you always have a statistic?"

"Only 75.5 percent of the time. Do you always have a snarky comeback?" He countered when he saw the teasing expression on her face.

"Only 85.5 percent of the time."

#murphy mcnully #drabble #ravenclaw #quidditch #fanfiction #slowbuild #drabble series #hogwats mystery #hogwarts #mobile game #hogwarts mystery

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years ago

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HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT FOUNDERS

But with other types of startups you may win less by features and more by deals and marketing. But I think that's too constraining. One of the most justifiable types of lying adults do to kids. Most of the work I've done in the last ten years didn't exist when I was 10. Something comes over most people when they start writing. Few dissertations are read with pleasure, especially by their authors.1 I don't run for several days, I feel ill.2 Informal language is the athletic clothing of ideas. This seems one of the reasons the early corporate raiders were so successful. And while there are many degrees of it.3 Opinions seem to be effectively infinite, at least for a small group, is the lows.

What surprised me the most is that everything was actually fairly predictable!4 Probably because small children are particularly horrified by it.5 If you're not allowed to implement new ideas, but also those ideas will increasingly be developed within startups rather than big companies.6 They expect to avoid that by raising more from investors. Most people like to be good at what you do. One reason people overreact to competitors is that they grow fast, and see if there's a super-pattern, a pattern to the patterns. Why? Your most basic advice to founders is just don't die, but the best founders are certainly capable of it.7 For Larry Page the most important things we've been working on standardizing are investment terms. Economic statistics are misleading because they ignore the value of community. But if you work hard and incrementally make it better, there is no limit to the number of startup people around you. Professors are especially interested in people who can help you.

Larry Page the most important. I mean has a different shape from kid curiosity. When you do, you've found an adult, whatever their age. So the best solution is to write your first draft the way you usually would, then afterward look at each sentence and ask Is this the way I'd say this if I found it at a garage sale, dirty and frameless, and with no idea at all. The good news is, plenty of successful startups talked less about choosing cofounders and more about how hard they worked to maintain their relationship.8 Not determined enough You need a lot of people, I like to work. What should you do?

Instead you'll be compelled to seek growth in other ways. He said it was that adults had to earn a living. If you want to be their research assistants so they can get into grad school, or to answer some question. He says the main reason is that the customer doesn't want what he thinks he wants.9 Founders who succeed quickly don't usually realize how lucky they were. Instead of trying to predict beforehand, so lots of people use. All investors, without exception, are more likely to make it. In a startup you can do. It's conventionally fixed at 21, but different people cross it at greatly varying ages.10 The first hint I had that teachers weren't omniscient came in sixth grade, after my father contradicted something I'd learned in school.

The whole field is uncomfortable in its own skin. The truth is common property. Be careful to copy what makes them congeal is experience. TV was still young in 1960; only 87% of households had it. This was, I thought; these impressive things seem easy to me; I must be pretty sharp. In your own projects you don't get taught much: you just work or don't work on whatever you want most of the time is work. These quotes about luck are not from founders whose startups failed. There have only been a handful of writers who can get away with zero self-discipline.11 If you're starting your own.12 One reason people overreact to competitors is that they drift just the right amount.

Notes

5 million cap, but Joshua Schachter tells me it was wiser for them, just as he or she would be rolling in their closets.

The state of technology, companies building lightweight clients have usually tried to explain that the feature was useless, but mediocre investors. Instead of earning the right mindset you will fail.

The founders want the valuation turns out to be so obsessed with being published.

Enterprise software—and to run spreadsheets on it, by decreasing the difference between good and bad measurers. The reason for the next investor.

Giant tax loopholes are definitely not a programmer would find it was putting local grocery stores out of them is that everyone gets really good at acting that way. That should probably pack investor meetings too closely, you'll have to assume it's bad to do some research online. In one way, be forthright with investors.

If you want to approach a specific firm, get rid of everyone else and put our worker on a hard technical problem. It will require more than investors. Some government agencies run venture funding groups, which is not a big effect on the side of the incompetence of newspapers is that we're not professional negotiators, and partly because they are in a world with antibiotics or air travel or an electric power grid than without, real income statistics calculated in the rest of the present, and for filters it's textual. They don't know yet what they're capable of.

Letter to Ottoline Morrell, December 1912. In many fields a year of focused work plus caring a lot is premature scaling—founders take a lesson from the example of a Linux box, a copy of K R, and cook on lowish heat for at least one of the biggest discoveries in any era if people can see how universally faces work by their prevalence in advertising. Geoff Ralston reports that in 1995, when Subject foo not to need common sense when intepreting it. The CPU weighed 3150 pounds, and made more that year from stock options, because we know nothing about the new economy during the entire period since the mid 1980s.

How to Make Wealth in Hackers Painters, what you learn about programming in Lisp. Ii. But no planes crash if your school sucks, and that don't scale.

I get the money so burdensome, that all metaphysics between Aristotle and 1783 had been a good open-source projects now that VCs play such games, books, newspapers, or b get your employer to renounce, in the latter. But while such trajectories may be that the web.

Galbraith was clearly puzzled that corporate executives were, we actively sought out people who'd failed out of business, A. This plan backfired with the earlier stage startups, but sword thrusts.

It was revoltingly familiar to anyone who had been with their decision—just that it is to let yourself feel it mid-twenties the people who chose the wrong side of making a good plan in 2001, but I managed to find may be overpaid. She was always good at design, Byrne's Euclid. Management consulting. A servant girl cost 600 Martial vi.

Some VCs will try to be room for something new if the selection process looked for different reasons. There need to know how to appeal to investors. If you're not trying to figure this out. There's a variant of the more accurate or at least notice duplication though, so they had to.

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perpetuitys · 4 years ago

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AAAA hello everyone i’m peep and this is my independent n impulsive vampire bb michel !! also sorry for being Mad late i’ve been moving/flying for the past couple days but i’m finally settled in and super super excited to rp with you all :~) but Yes this is michel he has an attachment to the sea ...... he’s curious abt everything ..... can be very sarcastic at times .... and more found below !! also def hit me up to plot on discord <3 @uwfmintro

STATISTICS

FULL NAME: michel de la rue NICKNAME(S): michel’s fine AGE: twenty-five GENDER + PRONOUNS: cis male + he/him ORIENTATION: bisexual ZODIAC: sagittarius sun, libra moon BIRTHDAY: december 3rd, 1802 PLACE OF BIRTH: paris, france OCCUPATION(S): bartender, helps with the liberation TRAITS: (+) open-minded, honest, adventurous, curious, independent / (-) turbulent, careless, irresponsible, impulsive, dogmatic

BIOGRAPHY

the following biography page contains the following: death, grief, suicidal ideation.

read at your own risk.

HUMAN

it was eleven years later and new york was just starting to feel like his home. michel still hated speaking english and the permanent odor was sort of annoying, but he felt like he had a purpose that wasn’t dependent on war. fatigued by the aftermath of the french revolution and disappointed in the end of napoleon’s reign, the de la rue’s left their mother country when michel was fourteen in hopes of creating something new and fresh, devoid of any monarchial rule. his family lived a fairly simple life that was dedicated to running their bakery in brooklyn.

this simple life began to feel quite exhilarating as he found himself falling more and more in love with a newly-immigrated family friend at twenty. ever since meeting colette lyon (which of course was at the bakery — where else) he couldn’t think of anything else. the two remained inseparable into their marriage, too, where the two decided to momentarily elope to the beach despite his parents’ wishes. both colette and michel had a fascination with the sea, perhaps symbolizing the voyage that connected their childhood with their newfound adulthood. this fixation grew as he decided to leave his family in favor of becoming a fisherman running his own shop at the local fish market (also against his parents’ wishes). and as their family grew to include two children, he believes it truly was the best financial decision he’s ever made (which he was well-aware there weren’t many).

but honestly, michel’s favorite thing about new york had to be the selection of taverns. the routine of waking up early, going out to fish, spending his entire day trying to sell his catches at the market, and coming home to two rowdy toddlers proved to exhaust the brunette both physically and emotionally by the time he was twenty-four. so, it wasn’t a surprise to often see him spending most of his evenings during the week at the local bar, making several short-term friends who also wanted to make the most of their night. however one night felt different as michel became what was most likely the most intoxicated he has ever been with a room with equally intoxicated men who decided that receiving fists hurt good and fighting felt fun. he was too drunk to process the chilled air (perhaps that hurt good, too), but something felt wrong as the men continued beating on him. leaving him bleeding out in the early winter air, it very quickly dawned on him that there would be no more life for him to live. no more colette. or his family and their quaint bakery. never see his children get married. as he made peace with this reality, in his last moments he thought about the sea.

VAMPIRE

everything felt bright and intense as he gasped his first breath of immortality. focusing his attention on how fast his senses were heightening and the excruciating bloodlust, it took a moment for him to realize his bougie surroundings. confused, capricious, and super fucking hungry, aleksander was there to guide him into this new underground world.

which honestly terrified the fuck out of michel. as his senses began to settle, his heart sank to his feet thinking about his death — the stupidity, carelessness and impulsivity causing an eternal separation to the life he worked hard to achieve. he grew depressed and the intense bloodlust that he wasn’t able to get a grasp on wasn’t doing much to uplift him. he depended on the older vampire emotionally as transitioning into a life completely vacant of his family was very challenging as he witnessed the rest of their lives at a distance. this often resulted in michel coming to him, very depressed as he questioned his vampirism, with aleksander always finding a way to lift his spirits and remind him of his purpose. because he saw it in michel that night before he died at the tavern. he saw the charm and how he could make anyone in the room feel like his best friend. he knew that once this cloudiness of despair and self-loathing blows over that a magnetic charisma would lie underneath. something he can use.

so, aleksander stayed beside him. reassured him. and ultimately invited him into his home to live as he would adopt him as a son, passing down his millennia of knowledge on to him and sowing seeds that he hoped to one day reap. luckily, the stages of grief passed away quickly throughout the coming months as michel realized the potential in this unfortunate situation. firstly, he has never seen so much opulence in his life. he heard stories of it, though mostly negative ones as they were all passed down from the french revolution, but now this was able to be his reality. and he was pretty fond of his newfound speed and strength. now at least it was guaranteed he wouldn’t die from another drunken bar fight.

but as he was increasingly noticing the positives of living in the mansion, the negatives began to bother him. or as others call them: helena. you see, with his human siblings, he didn’t have the problem of trust as they all grew up together and shared blood. but it wasn’t long after moving in that michel realized just how necessary the blood relation would be and how significant the corvinus name is in their world. and perhaps another large part of the problem was they didn’t truly see him as a sibling at all. truthfully, the condescension stung at the beginning and resulted in michel spending most days keeping to himself and reading the literature that occupied the walls.

as decades passed and michel was sure colette and the kids had most likely passed too, he found himself integrating back into human society by the end of the nineteenth century. which he surprisingly felt more relieved than disheartened by, as he’d finally be able to get more separation from his older sibling, but perhaps it could also be one of the signs of vampire cynicism creeping in. because, oh boy, did it creep in. the first couple decades of the twentieth century were probably most notably some of the sloppiest years michel had. he began transitioning from blood bags (the mansion always had them on deck) to feeding directly from humans and while he knew never to bite the neck, he felt it hard to resist biting elsewhere. and found it hard to resist in general, often accidentally killing a few people in the process.

however, once magdelena was born, he found himself becoming interested in the family again and decided to clean up his careless feeding act. as she grew older, he became quite fond of her presence and protective, because she sort of reminded him of his own son and daughter who he had left behind. in a way, it felt very cathartic to (practically) raise her; like he was writing a wrong and filling the void that the act of no longer being a father created. being there for her and caring for her gave him a purpose that he lacked up until that point (which probably explains his tendency to overfeed). he came around the house more, helping her as she developed into her vampirism and taught her all the things aleksander had taught him. minus the shitty values. when he would pop back into society, he spent it educating himself on new ideas and theories that inhabited both human and supernatural spheres, mostly out of curiosity and his love for learning if anything. during this time, he also eventually met others of his vampire kind as well as lycans, though more clandestine. many of which soon became his closest friends.

and that’s why he was fairly devastated to know about aleksander’s plans. his stomach twisted knowing that someone who once raised him could be capable of such cruelty. it sickened him — and he let him know it. which, in turn, earned him expulsion from his home of two centuries. maybe some saw it coming — how michel was often distanced from the start — but it still hurt the vampire nonetheless. he lost connection to his first family and it hurt like a bitch to lose it to another, regardless how he felt about them individually. especially to leave behind magdelena, who he felt attached to since her childhood. but he hoped that this would send a statement throughout their underground world. that they should not turn their eyes away from injustices no matter who it’s coming from. he needed to get the vampires to care about this issue and needed to do something to bring awareness and a call to action. so, in comparison, present-day michel is much less gloomy and blindly naive than early-day michel, luckily. although he still feels guilty and a tinge of regret for his association to aleksander, he finds that offering any resources he can in the fight for the liberation is his best way of coping with it.

#uwfmintro

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myglogic · 5 years ago

Text

Two Sides (Mark Tuan x Reader)

Pairing: Mark Tuan x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst (a lil bit lol), university AU

Summary: After breaking up with your boyfriend and his fling Lee Hana you try to come up with a plan to embarrass both of them. But then Mark Tuan happened and it didn’t work out how you planned it.

Mark didn’t realize that he was staring until Jackson pointed it out. There she was. Beautiful, long brown hair and a smile that outshone everything. Lee Hana was the perfect girl. For Mark Tuan at least. He was sure that she was his soulmate and that they would be together one day. Even while sitting in the library and reading a book she was the prettiest girl.

That is if Mark has the courage to ask her out. He was very shy in contrast to his best friend Jackson Wang, who was a very loud guy and who did not shy away to talk to other people, especially girls. Why was Hana so different from the other girls though? Mark did not know. He only knew that she was the prettiest girl on campus. Hana was studying music as her major and was really talented whereas Mark studied computer science. Was he considered a nerd then? Well, Hana was nice to everyone.

“Dude, you are totally staring at her. Stop doing that, ew.”, Jackson said and rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you just talk to her?”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Are you crazy, Jackson? What if she rejects me? I would be humiliated!”

“Pussy.”, he said and smirked.

Mark punched his arm. “At least I don’t fuck every girl on campus.”

“Is that a bad thing?”, Jackson asks him as he puts his books in his bag.

“I don’t even know what kind of STD’s you already caught.”, Mark said and laughed.

“I am always using protection, bitch!”, Jackson smiled triumphantly.

As you walked into the library your head was aching. Drinking the night before was not helping at all. In fact, it was the cause of your headache. Why did you drink you might ask? Well, your amazing boyfriend decided to cheat on you. With Lee Hana, “the perfect girl”. The girl everyone liked. Except you now. So what did that mean now? You, of course, broke up with Taeyong, your ex, but you also wanted to rip Lee Hana’s hair off.

She knew you were dating and you thought that you and Taeyong were happy. He told you that you never had time for him because you were studying all the time and never wanted to go out. You were the type to stay at home watching some movies with your boyfriend. But Taeyong apparently got bored of that.

Right after entering the library you saw Lee Hana. In your head, you walked up to her and beat her up. In reality, you just stood there, giving her your best glare. Even though she didn’t seem to notice you, you still were happy with your glare.

You went to sit at Mark Tuan’s and Jackson Wang’s table and took your books out. You gave them a nod and tried to have a look at your statistics book. You didn’t know the two boys that well but they did go to the library a lot. That’s how you knew them, well, barely. You, of course, noticed their good look. Especially Mark was a nice sight while studying.

“I’m leaving now, Markie. But I bet you won’t ask Hana out.”, Jackson said and walked out of the library.

The name Hana made you sick to your bones. You didn’t want to hear anything about that bitch. At all. You now glared at Mark too, with no bad intention, but you just really hated Hana.

Unlike Hana, Mark noticed you glare and look at you with a confused expression. “Did I do something?”

“Oh, no, of course not. But if you want to keep breathing, do not mention Hana while I’m here, okay?”, you gave him your best fake smile and started working on your studies.

“Uh… Why? Everyone likes her. Why don’t you?”, he asked, his curiosity taking the best out of him.

“She’s evil. That’s why.”, you said, clearly annoyed. “She’s also a bitch. So, if I can give you one piece of advice, stay away from her.”

Mark couldn’t concentrate anymore. He did consider asking Hana out for real but he did not understand why you said that. “Did she do something to you?”, he looked over at Hana, noticing that she was looking at you with a smirk and then back at her book.

You sighed. “I don’t think that you want to listen to my problems, to be honest.”

“Well not exactly yourproblems but I am interested in Hana, so you have my interest!”, he said. What a jerk.

“Wow, you’re such a gentleman!”, you rolled your eyes. “I’m leaving. I can’t study here.”, you got up and put your stuff away walked out of the library.

Behind you, you heard someone running and panting. “Y/N wait!”, Mark said and grabbed your wrist. “Let me walk you home and you tell me about Hana, okay?”

“Why should I tell you about Hana, Mark?”, you sighed and shook his hands off. You started walking alongside Mark.

“It’s a win-win situation, Y/N! Think about. You can say anything you want about Hana and I will listen to you. I also will know what’s wrong with her and maybe I will not ask her out then. You help me, I help you. It’s easy.”, he said, making a valid point.

You didn’t really talk to anyone about Taeyong and Hana. Not even your best friend because she had her own relationship problems. You really didn’t want to bother her. “Okay. Whatever. Well, you know my boy- I mean my ex-boyfriend Taeyong, right?”, you started.

“Yeah, of course. So.. ex-boyfriend?”, he asked you.

“Yes. Because of Lee Hana. I caught them making out. Basically, he was cheating on me with Hana the whole time. That’s why I hate her and Taeyong. I wasted my time with him.”, you sighed, trying not to cry in front of Mark.

Mark didn’t know what to do. He didn’t expect that to be the reason why you hated Hana. There were two sides to Lee Hana apparently but he didn’t want to jump conclusions. The girl he liked for so long couldn’t have that ugly personality behind that beautiful face. Maybe he just didn’t want to believe it. You had started crying a little, not too loudly. Mark was miserable when it came to girls. He didn’t know how he should comfort a crying girl.

He decided to awkwardly pat her back. “Taeyong didn’t deserve you. See it as an experience that you learn from.”, he said and looked at you. He now noticed the dark bags under your eyes and your disheveled hair. You looked like a mess and you were trying to hide it unsuccessfully.

“Yeah, but why Hana out of all people? I knew she didn’t like me for some reason. She always made some shitty snide remarks when she hung out with our group. I didn’t expect it to be because she was after my boyfriend.” You sighed and wiped your tears away. “She puts on a mask in front of everyone and acts like an angel when in reality she’s the devil in person.”, you said in rage. “I want to get back at her. Not only for stealing my boyfriend. She should learn to not mess with me.”, you walked to the bus station and sat down.

Mark’s eyes widened. Not because of what you said about Hana. It was because you didn’t let someone like Hana put you down. He thought that you were kind of hot with that confident expression on your face. He quickly shook off that thought and sat down next to you. “Hey, calm down. She’s just jealous because you are smart. You do look intimidating sometimes. Don’t do anything rash okay, this is the post break up depression.”

“Sounds like something you went through?”, you asked him.

He sighed. “Yeah. I really don’t want to talk about it but I was so mad that I went to her house and almost beat up her new boyfriend. Jackson was there to stop me but now that I think of it, I would always prefer to take the high road and just let it be.”, Mark said and gave you a small smile.

“You’re only saying that because you don’t want me to beat up your crush.” “No!” Well. Maybe yes. “But I just want to give you some advice. A breakup can be tough”, Mark said and looked at you.

You stood up. “My bus is coming. I will think about what you said, thank you for listening, Mark.”, you told him and got on the bus that just stopped in front of you.

What Mark didn’t know was that you were planning something to make sure that Hana would learn her lesson. You also knew that Mark was right about taking the high road. You didn’t want to stoop down to her level but sometimes you couldn’t stop yourself. After arriving in your dorm you started deleting pictures of you and Taeyong off of your laptop. You don’t know why but you felt a sudden wave of relief after deleting the pictures.

Maybe it was because you weren’t happy in a long time with him. Maybe he just didn’t care about you for a while but you never noticed. Whatever it was, you felt like breaking up was the best thing you could do in a situation like this. Cheating is unforgivable but now that you’re thinking about it, you know that your relationship was not like it was in the beginning. Full of love and admiration for Taeyong. Sometimes you missed those days where you would only cuddle with him and spend the night watching silly movies and eating junk food.

After thinking about it for a while you came to the conclusion that you weren’t necessarily missing your ex but you didn’t want to be lonely. You wanted to feel the excitement of being in love again, kissing and cuddling. You knew that Taeyong was not the right fit for you. You decided to take a deep breath and think rationally.

Well, what do after a horrible break-up? Make Lee Hana regret what she has done. You didn’t know how to that yet but you were going to find a way.

A few days later you met Mark again in the library. Mark didn’t know how to talk to you. He didn’t know how you felt or if you were even ready to talk about Hana again. Mark did think about Hana too. He wanted to see if Hana really did know that Taeyong was in a relationship. Perhaps all of this was a misunderstanding? Mark didn’t know why he thought that.

“Hey Y/N! So… what have you been up to?”, he asked awkwardly.

You stared at him. “Nothing… Hey, are you going to that party next week?”

“Oh, Jinyoung’s party? Yeah, I will. Will you go?”, Mark responded.

You smirked. “Of course! Why don’t we go together? I don’t know a lot of people there, you might help me a little bit if that’s alright?”

“Help you with what?”, he asked you with a confused expression on his face.

“Oh, you know… getting to know people and stuff like that.”, you said and smiled at him sweetly. Something was not right. But Mark didn’t want to accuse you of anything. A party might be the best way to forget about your break-up for once.

“Okay, sure. I’ll text you?”

Texting became a frequent thing and you noticed that you and Mark had a lot in common. You both were little nerds and loved superhero movies. You noticed small things like how his face flushes when you call him cute or how he is bouncing his leg up and down when he’s nervous. You spend nearly every day together until the party. Jackson even made fun of you that you were basically married now even though it was just a week. But you felt comfortable with Mark and it was a nice feeling.

The party arrived quickly and so did Mark in front of your dorm room. He knocked three times and waited patiently. Why did it take you so long?

After you opened the door, Mark’s jaw dropped slightly. You looked… beautiful. Wearing a black dress and make-up you looked totally different from the girl he saw a few days ago. “Uh…”, Mark didn’t know what to say.

“I know… It’s just a stupid party and maybe a little too much but I just wanted to distract myself, I really don’t know.”, you said, a little self-conscious.

“No, you look really nice! I bet Taeyong will regret everything after seeing you like this!”

You smiled a little. “I mean he shouldn’t regret breaking up with me just because I put in more effort on looking decent but I get your point.”

Mark internally facepalmed himself. Why would he say such a thing? “Okay, why don’t we just go now?”

You nodded and looped your arm around his arm. “Okay.”

Mark didn’t know what was happening. Sure, you knew her and you talked a few times but why was she close today? He blamed it on the break-up but it can’t be only that, right? To be honest it didn’t feel bad. To walk with you side by side. You talked and got along a lot. Mark was a quiet type but when he talked he exactly knew what to say. You appreciated his advice.

After arriving at the party, you separated. Mark told you that he would get drinks for the two of you. It was a house party, basically a huge mansion owned by Park Jinyoung’s family. Before entering the kitchen to get drinks, Mark saw Hana with a few of her friends. He stopped in tracks and admired Hana’s nice smile, even though your smile was really nice too. Wait, why was he thinking this?

“Really, Hana? You’re dating Taeyong now?”, Hana’s friend asked curiously with a smirk on her face.

“I wouldn’t say dating… It was just a few times but that’s all. He literally left Y/N to be with me, isn’t that funny?”, Hana laughed out loudly. “Guys are so desperate sometimes!”

“Wait, you made them break-up and you do not want to date him?”, another girl asked Hana.

“Nah, he’s not really my type…”, Hana said in a bored tone.

“I call dibs on Taeyong!”, Hana’s friend said and laughed with her.

Mark was perplexed. He never heard Hana talk that way. She slept with Taeyong on purpose just because she felt like it? That made no sense to Mark.

“You know who’s cute?”, Hana began. “Mark Tuan is. He’s so shy to talk to me! I noticed it, maybe he’s my new boyfriend!”, she said and her friends started giggling like crazy.

Now he really didn’t know what to do or say. The girl he had a crush on for so long just said that he was cute. But why wasn’t he happy about it? Mark knew. He knew that it was because of her disgusting character. He never wanted to admit it. He wanted it to be a misunderstanding and that Hana was innocent. But now he couldn’t think that anymore.

While Mark was gone, you sat in a corner and watched everyone. You even saw Taeyong but you quickly hid somewhere. Your plan by coming to this party was to embarrass Hana and Taeyong. Now that you’re here, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Even though both of them were horrible human beings, you were better than that. You felt very uncomfortable at the party and got up to leave. But before you could leave, Taeyong stood in front of you.

“Y/N… Why are you here?”, Taeyong said, his eyes showing an emotion that you can’t quite decipher.

“I was invited. Can’t I go to a party without you breathing down my neck?”, you snapped. It hurt to see him. Even though you decided that the break-up was for the best, you still couldn’t just forget him.

“Sorry for asking. I just wanted to know how you are doing…”, he told you, guilt dripping from his voice.

“How do you think I’m doing, huh?”, you said angrily, trying not to cry.

“Look, maybe we should talk. I think I made a mistake.”, he said with urgency in his voice.

“Oh, you think?”, you said sarcastically. Just before Taeyong could reply Mark came back to you without any drinks in his hands. “Y/N, let’s leave, okay?”, he said and glared at Taeyong.

You looked at him with a confused expression. “Okay.”, you nodded.

Taeyong was angry now. “I made a mistake, okay? So what? I slept with Hana because I thought that I might be with her but I know now that I love you! We should be together, Y/N! Why would you leave with that loser?”, he shouted at you, attracting the attention of everyone.

Hana looked furious. Looks like her reputation as an angel was over.

You know now that you didn’t have to embarrass them yourself. They did it themselves. Both, Taeyong and Hana, were pathetic in your eyes. “Mark’s twice the man than you’ll ever be. You and Hana deserve each other.”, you just said and grabbed Mark’s hand to leave the party.

After walking for a while, Mark broke the silence. “I expected you to plan something bad, you know? You seemed very determined to embarrass Hana.”

“I think she embarrassed herself enough on that party, don’t you think? I also started thinking about the things you said to me.”, you stopped and looked at him. “You were right. I didn’t have to do anything. I am better than that. With my anger I didn’t know what do to, I was so lost. But you brought me back to reality. Thank you. I really can’t thank you enough.”, you smiled at him. You felt relieved. As if a huge burden was now lifted off you.

Mark’s heart started beating faster. You listened to him and thought about his words. It made him appreciate you more. “You know, I heard Hana saying that she slept with Taeyong on purpose. Was there any bad blood before all of this?”

“I guess it goes way back in time. Since we were teenagers. I don’t know why but she disliked me the moment she met me. Everything I did was a challenge for her. Maybe my boyfriend was, too, a challenge.”, you said and sighed.

“I get it.”, Mark told you. “You know what else I heard her say? She said that she thought that I was cute. That I might be her next boyfriend.”, he said in a calm voice. Why was he telling you this now?

“Oh.”, you knew you sounded kind of disappointed. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Mark smiled at you knowingly. “You don’t sound happy about that?”

“Huh? I don’t care. Do whatever you want to do.”, you said in a rushed voice.

He stepped closer to you. “Really? You don’t care?”, he smiled at you. “Come on, y/n. Why would I date someone so… evil? Like you said.”, he laughed and so did you.

“Well, that’s great then.”, you said with evident relief in your voice. “Why don’t we continue walking then?”, you started walking but you quickly noticed that Mark didn’t move. “Mark?”

Before you knew it, Mark walked up to and grabbed your face. “Please let me do this…” before you could say anything, he pressed his lips on yours. It felt like time stopped. Your heartbeat out of your chest. You didn’t feel this spark for a long time. Recovering from the shock, you started kissing him back.

He pushed you against the lamppost that was right next to you and kept kissing you. It felt right and you never wanted to stop. Mark stopped kissing you and put his forehead on yours. “I’m not the bold guy to such moves, you know that… but with you, it felt right. I think I know why Hana would do all of this to you. You are amazing, caring and the coolest person I know. She was jealous of you. And now she has another reason to be jealous.”, he said and smiled at you.

“And what would that be?”, you said, giddily.

“You have me now. But you know what? I will stay with you.”, he said.

Your heart fluttered as you wrapped your arms around Mark’s waist. “I hope so.”, you whispered and closed your eyes. You could hear his fast heartbeat and you knew that your heart was beating as fast as his.

Seeing Hana’s ugly side made Mark realize what was in front of him the whole time. He was, no matter how weird it sounds, a little thankful for Hana showing her ugly side to the world. Otherwise, he would have never done this. Everything fell into place even if this wasn’t Mark’s or your plan. Suddenly you were grateful for everything that has happened because with this experience you really got to know Mark.

♥♥♥

Hey guys! I am alive wow. Last year was very stressful for me. I hope that I can be a little be active from now on. ♥

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