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megaderping · 7 months ago

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I feel like when people compare Akechi to Light Yagami, they fundamentally misunderstand his character. Their similarities really end at their designs, and Light is the kind of person Akechi would despise. Light Yagami lives a pretty privileged life at the start of Death Note. He has a stable home, with two parents and a sister who care about him. He's a successful student. There isn't really inherent tragedy to his life. The whole reason he starts using the Death Note is a mix of curiosity and a jaded worldview, and when it works it empowers him, very quickly goes to his head, as he believes he is one who can be a god of a "new world" once the shock of his initial kills wears off. While his first kill was to help someone, that altruism didn't last. He is in charge of his choices, while Ryuk mostly vibes and maybe eggs him on a little. Fundamentally, Light has something Akechi lacks: agency, and a comfortable life he took for granted. Meanwhile, Akechi is someone who lived on the bottom rung of Japanese society. His very existence is shameful there, between his mother being a sex worker, his status as an illegitimate/"throw away" child, and his mother's suicide. Years languishing in a foster system that is notoriously inhumane, in a country where 90% of the adoptions are grown men for inheritance and patriarchal reasons, while very few children in the system find permanent homes. When Akechi awakens his power, he approaches Shido not because he wants to kill people but for a stupid revenge plan cooked up by a traumatized child who's been nudged along by a malevolent god. He wants to build Shido up so that at the height of his power, he can expose him for the monster he really is, while another part of him genuinely wants to be useful to Shido, as Cogkechi later calls out. His feelings are a mess of contradictions, and so it's no surprise that Shido was able to mold him into his assassin at only 15 years old. It's also worth noting that Akechi only approaches Shido with his ability to cause psychotic breakdowns. Shido is the one who teaches and instructs him to do shutdowns. He's still complicit, very sunk cost with his revenge plan, but as I spoke of here, even if he wanted to quit, he couldn't alone. Shido's cleaner and control of the law and ability to effortlessly turn him in would render the Metaverse his only safe haven. I think people look at 11/20 Akechi and Akechi in the early parts of the engine room and assume that's just his "true self," when in reality it's another mask. Royal makes it very clear because in Rank 7, he outright warns Joker of what's to come via a pool metaphor and offers an out (though he's MUCH happier if you don't take it/stick to your principles), and in Rank 8, he goes on that big "I hate you" speech... while Sunset Bridge is playing. Y'know, the song that plays at the end of most confidants to reaffirm bonds. So when he smiles as he shoots what he assumes to be Joker, that doesn't mean he's genuinely happy. More likely, he's an emotional clusterfuck, given he also is disoriented enough to namedrop "Shido-san" over the phone, and in the subsequent meeting with Shido, tells him not to kill the Phantom Thieves and that Morgana is "just a cat." Yes, he says they'll make them fear for the rest of their lives, but remember, he's talking to Shido. The things he says are likely all incredibly calculated to sound appealing to Shido. And when you consider that he planned to utterly destroy Shido's reputation after the election, the "delay" makes even more sense.

Later, Akechi goes on about how the people he induced shutdowns on were deserving of their fates, but I don't think he believes it so much as it's the only way he could convince himself that it was worth it, and given how much society failed him, and given how many of the people he targeted were likely rivals/competitors or rich fucks, I think he'd be less inclined to assume good faith. Kunikazu Okumura was not an innocent little victim, after all. He was one of the people who requested breakdowns and shutdowns the most. I think Akechi enjoyed killing him not because of how it'd hurt Haru, but because of catharsis. Because Okumura is just as monstrous as Shido, so why should he feel remorse? However, I don't believe he feels the same about Wakaba, as when he discusses her with Shido, he mentions how her fate was because she refused to willingly work for him. It's another justification, but I personally think Wakaba's death was the most painful for him because he was effectively making Futaba just like him. That's why I think his reaction to Sae threatening Sojiro's custody was genuine. Anyway, evil grinning Akechi is just another mask, as I said. Keep in mind, this is someone who laments not meeting Joker years ago, someone who Morgana outright points out is lying about his hatred. And that's the thing. Light Yagami, while a really fascinating character, is not someone who had all this childhood suffering or lack of agency. He does not regret his actions in the slightest and goes down due to his own hubris in both the anime and the manga. While you can argue that Ryuk set him up by dropping the Death Note, Light was the one who picked it up and chose to use it. Any nudging from Ryuk didn't coerce Light into doing it because Light seized the opportunity. No, if Light Yagami is like anyone in Persona 5, it's Masayoshi Shido, not Goro Akechi. Both believe they are god/god's chosen, that they are the ones who will reshape the world to their ideals, and to be frank, both use and abuse women to serve their own purposes. Goro Akechi goes down sacrificing himself for the Thieves and pleading with them to stop his father and again in Maruki's reality when he refuses to let Joker accept a gilded prison of a world for his sake when he knows better than anyone what it's like to have no true freedom. If you max his confidant, you see him in the postcredits, leaving his survival entirely possible, and I think it works because at the end of the day, Akechi was meant to be a victim and a foil. Light is a villain protagonist and a cautionary tale. Though its his POV we follow, he isn't someone we're meant to root for, but I definitely don't think enjoying the character is a bad thing at all. He's really interesting! I just think that a lot of the Akechi and Light comparisons are surface level at best.

#goro akechi #persona 5 #p5r spoilers #character analysis #long post #death note spoilers

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year ago

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Simmer #4

CH4. 0800-Awkward | The Menu [4.3K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

Eddie’s van was cleaner than you expected and it smelled like mint gum and coffee. There were sheets of paper on the passenger seat he cleared for you with quick hands, boyish scrawls of ink noting down recipes and ingredients, a page of music in between.

Music blared from the radio when Eddie turned on the engine and he scowled at the noise, bashing the button to turn it off so you were both squished between awkward silence instead. You put your hands on your lap, sitting up too straight, throat tight.

The quiet enveloped you both.

“Where am I takin’ you?” Eddie asked gruffly once he turned out of the parking lot. The rain was still bouncing off the roads, the sky dark and angry, navy coloured clouds blocking out all the light. “You live near Robin, right?”

You nodded, pulling at your knuckles until you gave in and picked at a nail, nervousness clawing at you like a persistent puppy. The boy beside you made your stomach tumble, and you weren’t quite sure why yet. “Yeah, just off fourth and Maple,” you told him. “But you can drop me off at the pharmacy, it’s only, like, a ten minute walk from there.”

Eddie scoffed at your suggestion, like he’d do no such thing, but he didn’t say anything else. So you spoke instead, your heart in your dry mouth, watching the boy’s profile, wondering how someone so pretty could be so damn mad all the time. Was it just you?

“So, uh, is Wayne your dad?”

Eddie didn’t take his eyes off the road, he just stepped on the accelerator a little too hard when the lights changed from amber to green. When the engine stopped yelling, he answered. “He’s my uncle.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what else to say. Something told you that asking anything about Eddie’s father would result in a very quiet, very tense ride back to your apartment. “He’s real sweet— your uncle. He’s been super nice to me.”

“Wayne’s nice to everyone,” Eddie replied shortly and it hurt like a kick to the stomach.

The breath left you and you deflated, just a little. The skin around your thumb was becoming raw from your picking. You couldn’t help it, even if you muttered it as you looked out the window. “Clearly it’s not a family trait.”

“What?” Eddie’s voice was all surprise, even the van juddered as he pressed on the brakes a little too hard. You glanced over at him, chin ducked down, fingers torturing the ones on your other hand. Eddie was all raised brows and parted lips, an almost curl of amusement on them. “What did you say?”

It was a dare, a challenge. A ‘go on, say that again. Are you brave enough?’

You glared at him, just like he loved to do to you so often. “I said, clearly, it’s not a family trait.”

“What does that mean?” Eddie laughed, a rough bark that told you he didn’t actually find you funny at all.

You were a built up dam, spilling over the top with a new job, new friends, a new apartment in a new town. It was scary. It had been hard.

You burst.

“You’re so mean to me,” you told him hotly, “all the time! And then you apologise, only for it to last until the end of your shift. I know I’m not like, the best waitress— I mean, I’m hardly Nancy, but I’m trying! I— I haven’t done anything to you.” You sniffed, you wobbled. Tears threatened you both and your voice came out a little higher now. “Have I? If I have, I didn’t mean to.”

You dragged a hand over your face and when you looked back to the boy, Eddie looked horrified. He was pink in the face, eyes darting from you to the road and back again, his finger curling around the steering wheel with a white knuckle grip. He didn’t say anything.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you muttered to your lap and when Eddie slowed to the next stop sign, you flung a hand onto the door handle. “Just drop me here.”

The sound of the rain slapping the pavement only grew louder when you managed to open the door a crack and it seemed to spur Eddie into action. He leaned over you and grabbed at your hand, using it to pull the door shut again. It snapped back into place and Eddie was scowling when you swore at him in return. “Fucking Christ, woman,” he huffed. “I’m takin’ you home, alright? You’ll drown out there.”

“It’s a bit of rain, Eddie,” you snapped. “I lived in Chicago, I’ll survive some water.” Your ferocity was short lived, because you gave in with a huff, eyes watering once more as you pressed yourself against the seat and crossed your arms in defeat.

There was a voice in your head, someone from an old job, an old classmate in middle school, your mom. It didn’t matter who, they were all cruel. Cry baby, cry baby, cry baby.

“Can you just - fuck - can you just let me talk?”

You watched as Eddie licked his lips, maybe out of nerves and he gripped the steering wheel harder still. You thought he’d maybe yell at you, maybe he’d tell you exactly why he was so hot and cold with you, maybe he’d explain in detail why you’d managed to piss him off.

Instead, he asked, “why’d you leave Chicago?”

You stared at him. Was he joking? Was he playing some kind of weird joke? But Eddie waited, his face a pretty picture of sincerity and he glanced at you from the road as often as safety would let him.

“Uh, I didn’t like it,” you scrunched your face at the memory, nose wrinkling in distaste. “Too big, too loud. I don’t really—” you searched for the right word, one that wouldn’t make you sound weak and small. “I don’t enjoy big cities. They’re too much.”

Eddie nodded and suddenly, suddenly, you were having a conversation with him. “I get that. My mom moved to Philadelphia, I don’t see her much, but I used to visit when I was a kid. Hated that no matter what time of night it was, it was never quiet - or dark - fuckin’ lights everywhere.”

There was a silence before you pressed your lips together and hummed. “Yeah,” you agreed. “You could never see the stars in Chicago. I missed that.”

The rain was letting up now, nothing more than a horrible drizzle that you knew would still soak you to the bone, but it was quieter. Softer. The sky turned lilac, a hazy kind of purple blue as the sun tried to break through.

“Where did you grow up?” Eddie peered through his curls at you, his fingers unfurling from the death grip he had on the wheel. He turned down Main Street, one hand in his lap, his head leaning back against the chair. “I know it wasn’t here - would’ve remembered you.”

“Fortville,” you told him, wondering if you just kept talking, your heart would stop racing at what he’d just said to you. “With my parents. It was a tiny place, not much there, probably even smaller than Hawkins and we had chickens and a dog my mom rescued just before I was born. I liked it though, it was a nice place to grow up.”

“Why’d you leave?”

You shrugged, turned to look out the window at the spots of rain on the glass, the kaleidoscope of colours they made now the sun shone through them. “Dad left, found another family. Mom turned mean.” You didn’t elaborate more than that and Eddie noticed how your voice turned softer, even quieter.

“Fair enough,” Eddie answered and you couldn’t help but notice that when he wasn’t frowning, when the lines between his brows were gone, his eyes were the colour of dark chocolate, big and earnest looking. “I can, uh, relate. Kinda.”

A comfortable silence passed after that, one that came with the break of the clouds, dark shadows giving way to a late evening sunset, turning the wet sidewalks golden. You could feel Eddie stealing glances at you, quick flickers of his eyes that went from your face to where your fingers were picking at your nails on your lap.

“You haven’t— you haven’t done anything to me,” Eddie murmured. You looked up at the sound of his voice, nails forgotten about and you saw that flush on his cheeks rise over his nose, turning it pink. He licked his lips and you tracked the movement, feeling the nerves roll off of him and fill the space between you. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t, I didn’t mean to be… mean.”

Eddie parked the van and you blinked, not even realising that he’d stopped on your street. Your apartment building was just a little down the road, waiting.

“You lied to me when I came in that day,” you squinted at the boy, both of you cringing at the memory of Eddie pretending that he wasn’t who he was. That he wasn’t who you were looking for. “Why? Why did you do that?”

Eddie turned a deeper shade of pink, cheeks burning and he fumbled over his words before he swallowed harshly and turned towards you in his seat. He tugged at his curls, unsure what to do with his hands now he didn’t have the wheel to grip. “I’m, shit, I’m sorry ‘bout that. That was— that was just. Stupid.”

You nodded, looking at him with sad eyes that seemed to make his brow knit together in despair.

“I don’t, uh, I don’t do well with like, making friends?” Eddie offered an explanation that he didn’t seem to be able to admit easily. He cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to smile at you, tried to ease the feeling of guilt that was swarming him. “I get stuck in my ways, y’know? I just go to work, go home, go back to work— new things—” Eddie glanced over at you with those big eyes. “—new people, make me kinda, nervous. I guess.”

You let your gaze settle on his, watching as he took in a breath and blinked. He looked a little dizzy, his confession making the air a little lighter. But something else lingered. It felt like glitter, a sparkling, pretty thing that swirled in the front space of the van. It was hopeful.

“I get nervous too. Shy,” you admitted. You felt nervous now, tummy tumbling, a whole aviary loose inside. “About a lot of things.” About you, is what you didn’t say. “But I’m not a dick about it.”

Eddie snorted and the sound made your lip quirk up, an almost smile. Eddie nodded, like he was agreeing with your passive insult, his lips twisting as he looked you over once more. His gaze was warmer than you’d seen it before, no furrow between his brow to make you wonder if he was pissed at you. Now he just looked… interested.

“You’re right,” he announced. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I’ve been a dick. I’m sorry.”

“You said sorry earlier,” you reminded him. “With breakfast. But then you were a dick all over again. This hot and cold is making my head hurt.” You fiddled with the hem of your uniform dress, lifting powder blue away from your knee to pick at a loose thread.

“I did, didn’t I?” The boy let his head fall back onto the window, a dull thud, curls sticking to the glass that was all fogged up from you both sitting talking. The setting sun made him golden, peach coloured cheeks and honey eyes, all bronze shadows and inky lines over his arms, peeking out from his T-shirt. “Was it good? Your breakfast?”

You rolled your eyes and Eddie grinned, truly, he beamed at you. It was a flirtatious thing, a pretty thing - it made your heart pick up and your breath catch in your throat because it was so fucking unexpected.

“Yes, it was good,” you murmured, back to shy, back to dipping your chin and not really being able to look him in the eye. “But that’s not the point.”

“You’re right,” he said again. The boy seemed so much more agreeable out of his chef whites, without the heat and the noise and the constant sizzle of the kitchen. “I really am sorry - I hate, fuck, I hate that I didn’t make you feel welcome. That was shitty of me.”

You sniffed, pulled the thread loose and watched baby blue spring and curl around your finger. “It was.”

Eddie looked hopeful when you finally found the courage to meet his gaze again. He gave you a slow shrug, a half smile that still didn’t look fully sure. But he tried anyway.. “Can we start again?” He moved, shifting closer to you, close enough that the stick shift was pressing against the slight pudge of his tummy and you could smell his cologne, could see the freckles on the bridge of his nose. He held out his hand for you, silver rings and all. “Hi, I’m Eddie.”

He waited with wide eyes for you to reach out too, to slip your hand into his and curl your fingers around his palm. He did the same, engulfing you. His hands were much warmer, wider, bigger. Calloused and with silver scars, no doubt from too sharp knives.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

—————

You burst through the kitchen doors just as you broke. A burn in the corner of your eyes, a hollow thud in your chest as the adrenaline of being yelled at surged through you. A family with too many kids to keep track of, a plate of fries on the floor before you could bring out every meal, a stressed out mother who took out her frustration on you and the fact you’d forgotten the soda one of the small boys was yelling about. She was sharp about it, loud enough for the other customers to hear and you watched as Robin frowned from the booth she was serving.

She grabbed your elbow as you passed, feet threatening to stumble with how quick you moved, cheeks hot, throat tight. “I’ll get it,” she whispered. “Take a minute.”

But you shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak before you could suck in a breath. “S’fine. It’s fine. I’ll fix it.”

So you let the kitchen door hit the wall as you almost ran in, eyes blinking back tears of embarrassment and the noise was enough for Eddie to look up from the grill where he was flipping burgers. He frowned at the sight of you, but this time, he looked concerned. You rushed past him to grab the glass of soda that was sitting forgotten on a tray - next to the extra basket of fries the woman had requested, fuck - and turned on your heel to go back out the way you came.

“Hey,” Eddie called after you, “what’s wrong?”

You brushed him away with a raised hand, the other holding the tray of missed items and you didn’t trust yourself to look back at the boy as you rushed back out the door. You sniffed and blinked before you put on a smile, approaching the woman who’d loudly berated you in front of the entire diner.

“I’m so sorry again,” you whispered as you placed the drink and fries on the messy table. One of the kids screamed and you flinched, trying your best to keep the smile on your face as the woman turned to you. “If there’s anything else I can get you, ju—”

“If there’s anything else I need, I’ll get it myself,” she scoffed meanly. Her voice was too sharp, still too loud, a biting thing that dug into your arm and wouldn’t let go. “You got a pretty face, honey, but that’s not gonna get you far. Can hear that empty space in that head from all the way over here.”

You blinked again, uncaring that a tear slipped out, a hot drip of water down one cheek. You kept smiling. In fact, you smiled all the way back into the kitchen before your breath stuttered and your face crumpled.

“Hey, hey, c’mon.” Eddie. At your side, a hand catching your elbow, fingertips grazing your skin like he was still too unsure to hold you fully. “C’mere. It’s fine.”

He led you through the kitchen, hand guiding you so your blurry eyes didn’t lead you into the corner of a station. There was something spicy cooking in a pan, garlic and chilli and soy that Argyle took over stirring as Eddie left it alone in favour of you. Jim must’ve heard the commotion in the dining room, ‘cause he made a rare appearance outside of his office, hand holding onto the door frame as he leaned out, frowning at what he saw.

“Chicago,” he called through the kitchen, voice booming over the radio, the sizzle of the grill, the drone of the vents. “You good? You wanna talk?”

You turned, bumping into Eddie’s side and shaking your head, all whilst trying to smile and appear like you were absolutely fine. Totally normal. Definitely not crying like a baby. You cringed, turning back around and ducking your chin to hide your glossy eyes, your wet cheeks.

“S’fine, Jim,” Eddie called back. “I’ve got her. Jus’ give us five minutes.”

“Munson, you got burgers on!” Your boss called back, you heard him sigh and Argyle told him that he’d manage.

“Five minutes!” Eddie said again, his voice sharper and louder than before and you were moving faster to the back door, bypassing the walk in altogether.

“If they burn, that’s too much money to get thrown in the trash, Eddie,” Hopper complained. “That’s prime fuckin’ beef from the Sinclairs, Eddie and I don’t got time to get Lucas back out for another delivery— hey! Are you listen—”

Eddie ushered you out of the fire exit, blue skies and too bright light making you squint, a rush of hot air that was heavier than the kitchen, muggy and smelling like cut grass and the smoke that came from the vent on the wall. The door snapped shut before Jim could finish talking.

The silence was a warm thing, cloying like the summer afternoon, the edge of a heatwave, the steam from the kitchen that lingered in the small alleyway out back. You brought the heels of your palms to your eyes, pushing there meanly as you sniffed a little wetly and tried to stop your bottom lip from trembling. If you faced the crumbling wall, maybe you could pretend Eddie wasn’t there, watching you.

“Hey, c’mon.”

You groaned.

“C’mon,” Eddie coaxed again, his hand pulling at your wrist, urging you to stop hiding. “You gotta stop letting customers get you all upset like this. ‘Specially the ones that are utter assholes.”

“You heard her?” You asked weakly, embarrassment crawling up your neck. You knew he would’ve, shit, Wayne probably heard it all the way down the street. Of course Eddie heard it from the kitchen. “God, that’s so—” you let out a small groan of anger, a soft wail that was tinged with a little shame.

“No, no, stop that,” Eddie frowned as you buried your face in your hands once more. He got you by your shoulders, palms and fingers curling over the bone there, impossibly wide, engulfing. You turned soft for him, letting him manhandle you until you were facing him, brows crinkled, your cheeks warm. “She was a bitch. You’re okay, it’s alright.”

You sucked in another breath, one of those awful ones that hitched and made your throat close up a little. It was hard to look into Eddie’s eyes. They were big and warm and earnest, crazily so, the colour of burnt honey and he was painfully close. The alleyway pushed you both together, space limited between the walls, the empty pallets, the stacked up crates.

“She was out of order, yeah?” Eddie continued softly, his thumb pushing softly into the meat of your shoulder, drawing circles through your uniform. “You didn’t do anything wrong. We’re all just human here, Chicago. It’s fine.”

You nodded, numb. Tears still stained your hot cheeks, salt gathering in the corners of your mouth and you felt embarrassed at the reaction, the white hot rush of anxiety that gripped the back of your neck as soon as someone raised their voice at you. You blinked again, feeling heavy, another fresh wave of tears making your vision turn into kaleidoscopes. You scrunched your face, annoyed with yourself, head tilting back to the strip of blue sky you could see between the buildings roofs.

“God, I’m so fucking lame,” you groaned. “So stupid.”

You brought your chin back down to just catch the boy smiling, a dopey, soft thing that made you think he was gonna laugh at you. He did, but it wasn’t mean. In fact, Eddie’s laugh was a damn pretty thing. Scratchy and raspy and warm, enough to make you stop screwing your face up and blink at him.

“You’re not lame,” he told you firmly. He dropped his hands from your shoulders now that you weren’t intent on hiding. You found you missed the weight of them on you, a grounding feeling that helped the tears subside. “Or stupid. Shit, kid, you gotta stop being so hard on yourself.”

“I’m always forgetting stuff though,” you argued. The sun was a blazing thing above you both, hot on your head, your shoulders, the back of your neck. Your uniform itched under the heat and you were backing away into the shadows along the line of the diner wall. Eddie followed, shoulder to shoulder as he leaned against the brick, lounging enough to bring him to the same height as you. “I’m messing up orders and I keep walking into the same stupid table - even though it’s always there! I got a bruise on my hip the size of a fucking peach,” you grumbled unhappily.

Eddie snorted at hearing you swear, a cannonball of a word coming out of your sweet mouth, usually talking softly and shyly at him and customers. He knocked your shoulder with his and tutted. “You’re still new,” he shrugged when you scoffed. You’d been at the diner for almost two months. “Get out of here with that, you are. You’re in a new town and a new job. Give yourself a break.”

“I’m just— god.” You bit down on your bottom lip until it hurt. “I’m such a crybaby, I hate it. I must look like such a mess.” Your eyes felt sore, your cheeks puffy and warm, all too familiar and just as embarrassing as it was when you were ten, fifteen, twenty years old.

Eddie just shrugged, shoving his hands in the pockets of his chef whites. He looked at your face, just for a second, before ducking his chin and studying the concrete below his feet. “Nah,” he said quietly, “you look pretty like always.”

It was quiet for a second or two, the surprise on your face morphing into a crooked smile, a quirk of one corner of your lips at the boy’s words. You sniffed and laughed a little watery, a shy sounding thing that made Eddie blink at you. “You’re being nice to me,” you told him.

He grinned like he couldn’t help himself, a sharp, sudden thing that made his face look even prettier. Curls spilled from his poorly tied bun and his cheeks went rose coloured, more blush than flushed from the heat. He knitted his brows together in faux confusion, tried to act too cool, too blasé. “I am, aren’t I?” He huffed. “Weird.”

You shoved at him in jest, your hand on his shoulder and he barely even budged. But you felt a thrill in touching him, your hand just by the muscles in his arm, where you knew a tattoo lay, curling around a bicep that you couldn’t see under his uniform. It was easy to joke like this, to smile and wipe your eyes one last time when Eddie was playing nice.

You felt like a teen with a crush, that lovesick, giddy type of softness settling in your chest and it purred when you looked at the boy. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But Eddie got prettier when he smiled at you and when he reached out to straighten the pen that was about to call out of your chest pocket, you were done. A goner.

You wanted to ask if this made you friends.

Instead, you swallowed your embarrassment and hoped you hadn’t been staring. “Thank you,” you murmured shyly. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Eddie pulled open the fire exit and waited for you to enter first, holding open the door as the noise of the diner flooded back out to you. Kids yelling, the grill popping, the coffee machine whirring.

“Would you rather Jim gave you one of his famous three minute counselling sessions?” Eddie winced theatrically. “I haven’t had one myself, but rumour has it there’s a stress ball and some talk about toughening up and how the world just ain’t fair.”

You laughed, walking back into the kitchen with Eddie by your side. Your shoulder brushed against his arm and you shook your head, looking up at him with a heat in your cheeks you were sure he’d be able to notice. “No, m’glad it was you.”

You must’ve surprised the boy, because he blinked as he stopped at the grill. Argyle had flipped all the patties and left the spatula by the countertop but Eddie didn’t take his eyes off of you as he grasped it. You watched his brows lift a little, mouth parting before he closed it again and nodded, looking a little numb.

And then: “cool. Yeah, no, good. Come get me next time too.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #linecook!eddie

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 7 months ago

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1930 Ford Highboy Coupe

There’s always lots of detail work with any build and this ’30 Ford highboy coupe is no exception. Look closely and you will find Craftworks Fabrication handmade steel motor mounts. The license plate and valve covers were painted by Jeremy Seanor of Luckystrike Designs. He also painted all the accompanying engine and tranny parts. The powdercoat was handled by Pittsburgh Powder Coat while the chrome plating was conducted by Jon Wright’s Custom Chrome Plating.

The chassis is comprised of a Roadster Shop custom frame that was stepped, stretched, and features contoured ’32 Ford-style framerails. It was also then boxed, capped, and has hole punch flared front framehorns. From here the frame is outfitted with a Super Bell 4-inch drop, drilled and plated I-beam axle, low-profile monoleaf spring with Ridetech tubular shocks paired to custom-made drilled billet radius rods from Johnson’s Hot Rod Shop. Steering falls to the Flaming River box and a LimeWorks Hot Rod column topped with a four-spoke Billet Specialties Sprint Car–style leather-wrapped wheel. In back there’s a Currie 9-inch rearend outfitted with 3.70 gears, 31-spline axles, QA1 coilovers, a Pete & Jakes Panhard bar, and a parallel four-link setup. Braking is a combination of disc/drum front to rear. The forward braking dark gray–painted Wilwood Dynalite calipers are neatly hidden behind the Pete & Jakes finned backing plates. While in back the 9-inch is outfitted with 11-inch brakes, this time hidden beneath the SO-CAL Speed Shop finned drums all the while the chassis rides on a full set of 16-inch Dayton wire wheels wrapped with Coker/Excelsior rubber measuring 5.50R16 in front and 7.00R18 in the back.

All hot rods have something fun settled between the ’rails and beneath the hood (well if they have a hood). In the case of our ’30 Ford highboy coupe it sure appears to be a vintage Ford Y-block but after more than a cursory look we begin to see the telltale signs that there’s something more. Indeed, while it may look like a Ford it truly is a 376-inch LSX iron block, with aluminum heads and ARP studs, plus adapter-equipped small-block Ford (Windsor) valve covers all from Don Hardy Race Cars and then assembled by Talik and Marc Mullin. The intake is an Edelbrock LS dual quad with a pair of Thunder AVS EnduraShine carbs dressed in OTB air cleaners. Delivering the gas from the Tanks stainless reservoir is an Earl’s Performance billet fuel pump. More engine accessories include an MSD 6AL box to go along with the MSD billet Ford small-block distributor that functions through a timing cover adapter from Chevrolet Performance all the while using an MSD coil and Lokar vintage plug wires. Powermaster also supplied the alternator and starter, the battery is an XS Power AGM, and a Wegner Motorsports water pump is used as well as a Wegner front accessory drive unit. This 500-plus hp V-8 utilizes custom headers made at Craftworks Fabrication based on Ultimate Headers LS header flanges. The pseudo-Ford small-block is backed up to a TCI StreetFighter 700-R4 with a 2,800-stall speed converter operated by a Lokar shifter. The trans cooler comes by way of Derale Performance and moves the power through a 3-inch-diameter custom-made driveshaft.

#Ford Highboy Coupe #Ford Highboy #Ford #car #cars #street rod #hot rod

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marlynnofmany · 13 days ago

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Clues

Even though it was mid-afternoon on our spaceship, the local time for this part of the planet was early morning. Zhee and I strolled over from the spaceport to the store where a package was waiting for pickup, expecting to arrive right when it opened, but nope: we were early. Most of the stores on this city street were still closed and dark, lit by the vivid pink sunrise and ignored by passing hovercars. Window cleaners soaped up the big front windows of our destination: a good-sized jewelry/accessory store.

The cleaners were a pair of Strongarms, which made this a fascinating career choice. I’d seen Mimi climb all over the engine parts on our ship. I knew his tentacles had good enough suction for this sort of thing. But these two were small and particularly athletic, and they had climbed to the top of the window, cleaning from the top down, erasing their suction cup marks as they went. If their cleaning tools had been the messy old-fashioned kind, there probably would have been too much dripping to make that possible, but these professionals were cleaning fast with nary a slip.

Zhee didn’t care. “How inconsiderate of the proprietor to not be here early to meet us,” he said with an irritated click of his pincher arms. The pink sunrise reflected off his purple exoskeleton, making him more colorful than usual. He probably would have been proud of that if he wasn’t busy being annoyed. “Waiting here is boring. Let’s see if that shop has anything worth looking at.” He flicked an antenna at the storefront two doors over, which had just turned on its light.

“Sure,” I agreed, “We can at least look through the window if they’re not open yet.”

Zhee grumbled something that made me suspect he might badger them into letting us in even if they weren’t.

Luckily I didn’t have to talk him out of being rude; the store was open after all. It was a little shop full of miscellaneous knickknacks and multi-species food items. Plenty of things to look at. The Frillian shopkeep was delighted to sell us both snacks: gummy intestine candy for Zhee (ew) and mixed nuts for me. I’d had that brand before, and was sure that it didn’t hold anything alien that would give me unexpected allergies.

(I haven’t been allergic to any food yet that was rated for human consumption, but I wasn’t about to take chances.)

I also picked up a packet of the heat stickers that Paint and the others liked, since they were on sale and the shopkeep was excited about this new item.

“Do you get a lot of Heatseekers here?” I asked.

“Oh no, but these have many uses,” she told me, typing in the price. “Other species like to be warm as well, especially if they are headed in a cold direction. And my cousin uses them to warm food! I expect these will be very popular.”

“I expect so,” I agreed.

Zhee was at the door, looking toward the other shop, and he made a little “aha” noise. I finished my purchase, thanked the shopkeep, then joined him in heading back toward the place we’d meant to visit.

I carried my purchases in a nifty Waterwill bag; the shopkeep hadn’t been as excited about that as the heat stickers, so maybe they were old hat here. But I still found the concept of hard water fascinating. It occurred to me that the waterbag and the heat stickers could probably make an awful lot of steam together, especially if handled improperly. I’d be back on the ship soon, though, and the bag could melt into regular water safely in the sink.

The window cleaners were just packing up as we arrived, and the angle of the sun made their work shine. Not a suction cup mark to be seen. I gave them a polite nod while Zhee tried the doors. Still locked, but lights were on inside, as well as the morning sun. Someone moved near the counter. When Zhee rapped on the door and waved a pincher, they hurried forward. It looked like another Mesmer.

The door opened. “Are you the couriers?” snapped a blue-white bug man who was slightly shorter than Zhee. I was a terrible judge of Mesmer ages, but he sounded older. He spoke directly to Zhee.

“Yes,” Zhee said. “From the good ship Slap the Stars.”

“Great. Come with me.” He ushered us inside and re-locked the door, not so much as batting an antenna at our excellent ship name. No sense of fun, this guy.

As we walked between the aisles of shiny merchandise — bracelets and bangles and exoskeleton accents — distant shouting filtered through the closed door in the back. Somebody sounded mad.

“Wait here,” said the Mesmer, gesturing toward the front counter. Then he disappeared into the back room.

Somebody was definitely mad. When the door opened, I caught something about professionalism, in a tone that suggested this was a boss dressing down employees.

A glance at Zhee told me he had no idea either.

When the Mesmer came back — who never did introduce himself, I realized — he was carrying a high-end stasis case for shipping, and he walked quickly. I still caught a few words that sounded like a demand for someone to fess up.

“Everything okay back there?” I asked.

He ignored me. “This must arrive in pristine condition,” he told Zhee, setting the case on the counter.

“Of course,” Zhee said.

I had the tablet for him to sign for the pickup, and I held it out wordlessly. The guy snatched it out of my hands, holding it with one pincher arm and typing with the little wrist fingers on his other. His antennae were scowling.

Zhee gestured to the back room. “Is someone being disappointing?”

“Yes!” he snapped. “One of the night workers has been coming out to the storefront, and leaving display items on the floor! And they refuse to admit who!” He shove the tablet back at me, waving at one of the aisles. Now that he mentioned it, there was an empty display case at the top, with the glass door swung wide.

“Foolish thing to do,” Zhee said.

“Extremely! There is no reason for it, and we are going to find out who!”

Since he was ranting at Zhee and not me, I stepped over to where I could see better. A half-dozen glittery arm cuffs were arranged in a circle on the floor. Weird.

He kept going. “I’m sure it was a human, because of those filthy little marks they leave on everything they touch. The only reason we employ them in the crafting sector is because all the items are cleaned before they’re presented to paying customers. The only one who works up front is under strict orders to wear gloves at all times. But now one of them is sneaking out here and fondling the merchandise! And leaving it on the floor!”

I took a closer look at the door to the display case. Yeah, those looked like human fingerprints, lit up guiltily by the morning sun.

Zhee asked, “Any clues about which human it is?”

“No. I’m not even ruling out the one with the gloves, because this behavior makes no sense, and gloves can be taken off. I swear, I’m this close to firing the lot of them.”

I walked back over to join them. “You know every human’s fingerprint is different, right?”

They both looked at me in silence, which was answer enough.

I said, “If you have your employees all leave prints on something else, you should be able to just match them up.”

The shopkeep’s antennae and mandibles flared into a complicated shape. “WHAT.”

“Sure.” I looked at my own fingers. “Mine are a kind of oval loop, though some people have perfect spirals or a gentle wave.”

He clacked both pinchers. “And you would be able to say which one matches those marks?”

“I should be,” I said, hurrying back over for a closer look. “At the very least, I can narrow it down for you. These are nice and clear. We just need to get a clean set from everybody else that’s not smudged.”

“Yes.” He looked around the storefront full of shiny, valuable things. He frowned. “We’ll have to let them touch something.”

I looked too. “Oh! What about the window?”

He stared at it for a moment. “Acceptable.”

Zhee was skeptical. “Will the culprit deliberately smear their marks?”

“Then that will be a sign of guilt,” the shopkeep hissed.

“What if there are multiple smudges from clumsiness? You might want to prepare for more than one round of dirtying your window.”

He hissed again. “I will make them do it right the first time.”

I had an idea. “What if you told them they were touching the window for a different reason?”

Both sets of bug eye turned toward me. “Such as?”

I fished the pack of heat stickers out of my bag. “Do you think they know what these are?”

The shopkeep leaned his head forward. “What are they?”

“Heat stickers. But! We could pretend they’re lie detectors.”

We could, and we did. It was a silly way to get fingerprints, but I’d read about fictional detectives who’d gone to more elaborate lengths to solve a mystery than this. And it might even work.

The big front windows had a row of shelves under them that meant our suspects would have to lean forward slightly in order to whisper their statements of innocence. They would need to press their hands against the window for balance.

I let Zhee pretend to be the visiting expert while I stuck heat stickers to the window. He did a good job of acting mysterious and aloof while he explained things to the gaggle of employees that the other Mesmer herded out.

As promised, only some were humans. The others were Strongarms with a couple Waterwills. No Heatseekers ready to ask awkward questions about the suspiciously familiar looking “lie detectors made for banks.”

(They had to be mounted somewhere stable, you see, and the suspect had to be close enough to breathe on them. They were normally warm, and would change colors and turn cold when they detected lies. Totally believable.)

Really, it didn’t matter if they believed it or not. They all lined up, looking baffled, and did as their two hissing bosses commanded. The Mesmer from the back room, a large green-and-brown lady who would have been great at hide and seek in the forests of my home, told the humans to go first.

Then when they had all left prints on the window, she told the rest not to bother. While they looked even more confused, she waved me forward with the door to the display case. It had detached neatly, perfect for carrying around and comparing fingerprints.

I held it by the corners and took a close look at the first set. “Not this one,” I announced. “Too triangular.”

Behind me, a human woman asked incredulously, “Are you checking fingerprints?”

“Yup!” I told her, moving on to the next.

The other humans had a variety of reactions to that. An older guy laughed, a younger woman was worried that her hands might be dirty with crafting materials, and others made indistinct noises. Some of the non-human employees asked for an explanation of what was happening.

I kept up my sleuthing, hoping that the prints were all as different as the first couple. I didn’t want to look like I didn’t actually know what I was doing.

“OH MY GOD,” a guy burst out. “It was a marriage proposal, okay? I thought Sierra would be the one to find it.”

I turned around at that, and found one of the humans spilling the beans.

“I’m sorry I didn’t just ask you,” he said to the woman next to him. “I wanted it to be special, like the rock circles we used to leave each other under the tree. I put a note at the top of the earring display, because it looks like a tree.”

I looked at the display he pointed at. I couldn’t see a note from here, but it was distinctly tree-shaped.

The two Mesmer bosses loomed over the guy. “This was courtship?” asked the tall one. “Not a deliberate effort to let our valuables get stepped on or stolen?”

“No!” the guy said. “I’d never do that! I really thought she’d be the only one to see it in the morning, and she’d just put them back and find my note.”

The woman, Sierra, shook her head. “I got moved to the adhesives section. I haven’t been over here all week.”

The man put his hands over his face while the bosses conferred.

“If you promise to never tamper with the displays again, you may keep your job,” the tall one told him.

“I’ll never do it again,” he said. “I don’t have to — I think?” That last was aimed at Sierra.

Her answer was a dramatic kiss that made the rest of the humans applaud and the Mesmers step back in distaste.

“If you are quite done eating each other’s faces,” said the smaller Mesmer, “You are both assigned to cleaning the window and the display of all traces of human filth. Do not leave more.”

“Yes sir,” they chorused.

The other humans gave them congratulatory pats on the back, and exclamations of relief that the whole mess was over. The non-humans seemed mostly relieved. A couple still looked confused, but clearly didn’t want to ask for details.

I handed over the display case door, then peeled a heat sticker off the window. “Guess we won’t need these anymore.”

Everybody went back to what they were supposed to be doing. The night shift got their things together to go home, while the day shift took over the crafting section and opened the store for business. More lights came on. Someone unlocked the front door. Zhee convinced the bosses to reimburse us for the heat stickers. That was nice; I still had more in the pack. And these would be warm for a while still.

I peeled off the last one and decided against putting them in the waterbag. No good making the thing evaporate on the way back to the ship. Instead, I stuck a finger between each and got a fistful of stickers held by their edges. My hand was only a little hot, and it would be a short walk. Speaking of which…

“Let’s go,” Zhee said, pincher arms full of the shipping case.

I opened the door and held it while he passed. Taking up my position at the window was the happy couple, equipped with their own window-cleaning supplies. Luckily they wouldn’t have to reach as far up as the Strongarms had.

They were talking quietly about finding new jobs where they could have the same sleep schedule. And hopefully bosses that didn’t mind a fingerprint or two.

I smiled and let the door shut, leaving fingerprints only on the handle.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

#my writing #The Token Human #I'm making progress on the second novel btw #not exactly fast progress #because of ~current events~#but progress nonetheless #in case anyone was wondering #anyways on to the usual tags:#haso #hfy #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #eiad #writeblr

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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"A company in France has developed genetically-enhanced houseplants that remove 30 times more indoor air pollutants than your normal ficus.

Paint, treated wood, household cleaners, insulation, unseen mold—there is a shopping list of things that can fill the air you breathe in your home with VOCs or volatile organic compounds. These include formaldehyde and other airborne substances that can cause inflammation and irritation in the body.

The best way to tackle this little-discussed private health problem is by keeping good outdoor airflow into your living spaces, but in the dog days of summer or the depths of a Maine winter, that might not be possible.

Houseplants can remove these pollutants from the air, and so the company Neoplants decided to make simple alterations to these species’ genetic makeup to supercharge this cleaning ability.

In particular, houseplants’ natural ability to absorb pollutants like formaldehyde relies on them storing them as toxins to be excreted later.

French scientists and Neoplants’ co-founders Lionel Mora and Patrick Torbey engineered a houseplant to convert them instead to plant matter. They also took aim at the natural microbiome of houseplants to enhance their ability to absorb and process VOCs as well.

The company’s first offering—the Neo P1—is a Devil’s ivy plant that sits on a custom-designed tall stand that both maximizes its air-cleaning properties and allows it to be watered far less often.

Initial testing, conducted by the Ecole Mines-Telecom of Lille University, shows that if you do choose to shell out the $179 for the Neo P1, it’s as if you were buying 30 houseplants. Of course, if you went for the budget route of 30 houseplants, you’d have to water them all.

The founders pointed out in an interview done with Forbes last year that once they settled on the species and fixed the winning genetic phenotype, the next part of the process was just raising plants, the same activity done in every nursery and florist in every town in Europe."

Deliveries for the P1 are estimated for August 2024.

-via Good News Network, November 6, 2023

Note: I'm not a plant biologist, but if this works the way the company's white paper says it does, holy genetic engineering, Batman.

(Would love to hear thoughts from anyone who is a plant biologist or other relevant field!)

#plant biology #superplant #pollution #indoor plants #plantblr #house plants #plantlife #hope posting #solarpunk #small business #genetic engineering #genetics #molecular biology #microbiome #respiratory health #france #ivy

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mizgnomer · 7 months ago

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Behind the Scenes of The 60th Anniversary Specials - Part One

From Doctor Who Magazine 599:

DWM sits down with David Tennant on the set of The Giggle to talk retro chic, running, and roundels DWM: Hello David. How are you enjoying your new ship? David: It's an incredible bit of engineering. It looks very impressive in real-life, but when you see it on camera, it's just got such a depth and a scale and a scope to it. It looks posh. DWM: Does the white colour scheme thrill the 12-year-old in you? David: Oh it's very retro. It goes right back to the original design. And then just blows it up times 20. This is the TARDIS as you would have known it... If you watched the show in 1963, and then watched this, you'd be in no doubt about what you're looking at. DWM: There's a bit of your old TARDIS in there as well... David: The crackle is definitely reminiscent of that. But it's a lot cleaner.

The 60th Anniversary Specials each have their own tag, but the #whoBts60th tag is for general photos and behind the scenes information that span multiple episodes. The full episode list is [ here ]

#david tennant #catherine tate #doctor who #rtdedit #doctor who 60th anniversary #dw 60th #I do love the new TARDIS #I loved David's old one too for sure #but this one is awesomely gorgeous #whoBts60th #whoBts #stuff i posted

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wellworth · 1 year ago

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Injector Pro Clean Diesel Fuel Injector Cleaner

Injector pro clean is a concentrated, one-tank clean-up product that will reduce smoke, improve performance, and reduce emissions. cleans intake manifolds, injectors, combustion chambers, turbochargers, and coolers, restoring lost performance. use injector pro clean annually or whenever deposit-related performance issues are suspected. available in sizes to treat small and commercial vehicles or bulk tanks.

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rad-roche · 1 year ago

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heard rumblings of an oblivion remake. i'm not sure if that's actually substantiated, but if it is it'll be interesting to see what they do with it. part of oblivion's charm, i think, it just how busted and of its time it is. it's got that 360 near-launch look to it, that 7th gen bloomy, saturated haze, like somebody at bethesda is spit-polishing your camera in real time to keep your focus off the fact that the engine is spewing black smoke. the score is lush and soft and sweeping. oblivion has, for lack of a better term, a kind of mucilaginous quality to it, i think, but i assume part of that is the positive memories i ascribe to it through nostalgia. oblivion is bright, and dense, but there's enough in it for you to stick your hands in and gouge out something interesting yourself. if you make it cleaner, better, if you wipe the vaseline off the lens, i wonder what's left? i can't argue that they shouldn't improve things like stability, or the ai, or increase the amount of voice actors from 2 to 3, but i hope the likelihood of a quest npc saying ᶠᵃʳᵉʷᵉˡˡᵎ and then pinging straight through the wall, never to be seen again and ruining a quest you'll do 80 hours from now, is at least there. i'm looking forward to it, in any case

#tes oblivion #very fond of that era visually. yes even the brown sludge era. and the ubisoft blue tint era #i've still to play starfield and i will and from what i've heard it's actually pretty polished?#oblivion with polish.... could you imagine #heard dishonored 3 also................ mixed feelings...............#text post #anybody who's played oblivion for any length of time knows THE specific farewell i mean

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thisismeracing · 9 months ago

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King of my heart | MS47 | Part. 24 (ending)

― Pairing: Mick Schumacher x hamilton!reader ― Word count: 1.2k ― Warnings: none I guess. ― Summary: Mick Schumacher rode a lousy wave for quite some time, so when the sky gets cleaner and the sun brighter he just knows something terrible may be in store for him. Whereas y/n was just so magnetic, and the possibilities of life with her seemed better than anything his mind could ever create, that’s why, for the first time in forever, he threw caution carelessly through the window, hoping to get to the finish line before it catches up on him.

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part. 23 | series masterlist

Mick paced around the room again, and for the looks of it, it wouldn’t take him long to dig a hole in the exact spot his racing boots were hitting.

“We don’t have much time, Mick, you gotta get ready,” Gary, his engineer, knocked on the door, opening it just enough to look at the German.

“Where’s Yn?”

“You mean Yn Hamilton?” he asked, just to make sure and Mick tried to keep his eyes from rolling, too stressed to answer properly, but too polite to give a rude answer to Gannon who was friendly most of the time. The engineer took on the driver's silence, and tried, “I think she’s with Lewis. Want me to get her?”

“Get who?” just from Yn’s voice Mick could guess she was smiling. That bright and big smile he loved so much. The only smile that would be able to calm his racing heart.

Gary waved to Yn opening the door wider for her, he motioned ‘5 minutes’ to Mick and left the lovers alone giving them as much privacy as a small driver’s room could.

“Hey, mouse, what's the matter?” she walked inside and towards him, tipping her face up so their lips could meet in a quick peck.

Mick, however, had other plans.

His hands found purchase on her waist, bringing her body impossibly closer, and his tongue took advantage of the surprised gasp she let out to sneak inside her mouth, tasting her sweetness. Yn grasped his blonde locks between her fingers, and corresponded the kiss as much as she could, feeling how nervous he was.

When the air made itself scarce, the driver hid his face in the crook of her neck.

“I’m nervous, what if I fuck it up? What if I crash? What if the car is shitty? What if–” Mick started, voice trembling, finally letting his walls down, and showing someone how vulnerable he was feeling.

Sure they had this conversation before, and sure Mick Schumacher knew he was a great racing driver, but he was also a human being and, of course, he had his own insecurities and doubts.

Yn held his face between her hands, leveling it with her own, and looking him in the eyes. His big blue orbs looked at her with adoration and fear all mixed in one, and she smiled sympathetically.

“Close your eyes,” she commanded in a soft tone and he obeyed. “Hear this rustling of people walking around from one side of the other working non-stop?” Mick nods keeping his eyes shut, they’re chest to chest so listening to her soothing voice and feeling her breath evens his. “They’ve been working for a while now so everything is perfect for their number one driver. They’re not sure if the car will beat that Red Bull witchcraft, but they’re doing their best, and they counting on you to do your best as well. It doesn’t matter if this combo doesn’t get you a podium today, there’s always next Sunday. They got the will to make it happen, and they got the driver to do so too. Leave the past in the past, get in that car, and do what you love doing, do what you know you can do, and also what you don’t know you can do yet. We’ll be here watching, rooting, working, and praying.”

Her comforting words and soft tone made Mick lean even more on her touch. He smiled, nodded, and kissed her forehead.

“Where–”

“Here,” she was quick to answer, already knowing he was going to ask from where she would watch the race. Lewis was racing as well, and before Sunday rolled around Yn was asked this question by a lot of people, her brother included. “I’ll watch it from here, you may see me cheering when Lew overtakes others, but I’ll be here rooting for you too. And I don’t care about the outcome, you’re my number one.” She whispered the last part and Mick smiled, kissing her yet again.

“I love you.”

“I love you,” she echoed back, lacing her hands around his large shoulders and enjoying his warmth. “You’re also looking hot as fuck in this new racing suit, please tell me you can sneak one in your bag tonight.”

Mick laughed and nibbled on her neck just enough to make her whine, but before he could give Hamilton a witty answer, there was a knock on the door.

“Go out there and kick ass,” she kissed his chin, and smiled, turning to the door.

And that was exactly what Mick did. He turned the first race of the season into a show. His show. Everyone watched on the edge of their seats as time after time he overtook cars and climbed up to the podium. A fight for the podium went on on the last turn – Lewis, Mick, and Max were fighting for first place, and in the last seconds the Schumacher overtook his future-in-law, hatching the first place and surprising everyone.

The camera panned on Yn watching the race from the Porsche’s garage, and the way she smiled and cheered when Mick got his first win of the season on the first race of the season during his first year with a team that was racing for the first time. It was a first, and how sweet it tasted for everyone. Even for Lewis, who ended up getting second place, but celebrated as if that was his win too.

The team ran for the celebration, and Mick went straight for Yn once the car was parked and the helmet was off. There wasn’t much thinking into it, he just saw her there crying and smiling wearing his team’s merch, his number on her body, his initial dangling from a chain around her neck, Mick couldn’t do anything but kiss her lips in front of the cameras. The cheers and flashes faded during the seconds their lips were sealed, he hugged her close, before jumping on top of the crew. Lewis walked to his sister after the congrats from his own team, he hugged her and they smiled as brightly as ever.

After the podium celebration and interviews, Mick walked back to his garage finding Yn and Lewis there. They were side by side talking, both smiling, and Mick couldn’t help but remember the first time he saw Yn. That day she was talking with Lewis too, it was also the beginning of the season, and now, just like before Mick felt like he could stare at her forever. Yn looked stunning wearing Porsche’s shirt and baggy jeans, the colors of the shirt creating the perfect contrast with her black skin. Her curls were tied on top of her head after the long day. She was stunning, and now he was the one walking into the room, walking to her, his girlfriend.

His heart was doing somersaults inside his chest.

After so many days of worrying and agonizing about the future, he was here with a seat on a great team. After so many days of fear about his relationship, Yn was here, as sure as ever about their commitment. After so many times unsure of the future, Mick was happy with the unknown, happy to discover it with Yn, happy to build his own legacy, happy to experience life to the fullest, and even happier to rule the kingdom of Yn’s heart because he knew damn well she was the queen of his heart, body, and soul.

She was the one he had been waiting for.

“There he is,” Yn said taking Mick from his thoughts and walking towards him again. “My number one,” she whispered hugging him, “the king of my heart.”

And nothing ever felt as right as being in her arms.

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, honeybees! I hope you guys liked this. I know it's been a while since I last updated, but it's finally here, and I'm happy to end (or give a pause to it, considering I won't stop thinking about mickyn in the context of komh) this journey. Thank you so much to each and every one of you who liked, reblogged, commented, sent asks, and gave me the motivation needed to get this together. This wouldn't be possible without you, thank you! <3 I hope to see you guys in a new series soon. Meanwhile, make sure to tune in to my account and read all the new blurbs and pieces coming. I may post a bonus piece (or rather a smau epilogue) hihi.

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#komh #ms47 #millie writes #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x black!reader #hamilton!reader #f1 fluff #f1 fanfic #f1 x black!reader #f1 fandom #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #mick schumacher #formula one fanfic

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traveler-at-heart · 11 months ago

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Finding Home - Part 3

Summary: This is a series imagining what it was life for Natasha after joining S.H.I.E.L.D.

Warnings: Violence, injuries.

Part 1, Part 2

There were only five people in the room.

“Jericho missiles” Fury says as soon as the door is shut. Clint looks at you, alarmed.

“What are those?” Natasha says and Maria turns to the screen.

“Developed by Tony Stark. Selects a target, at a certain height it splits into 16 smaller missiles to have a cleaner impact. The shockwave is also more devastating”

There’s footage of tests conducted in military facilities playing on the screen.

“Obadiah Stane sold five of these to the Ten Rings. Stark was able to destroy them all. Or so he thought” Fury pushes three identical folders in the direction of Clint, Natasha and you.

“There are still two” Clint confirms after skimming through the file.

“At an abandoned factory, close to the Canadian border” Natasha reads out loud, going through all the information at record speed.

“So on a scale of one to ten, how heavily guarded are these bad boys?” you ask Fury.

“They have grenades up their asses”

“So, like a seven”

“Not funny, Agent” he warns, but you turn to Natasha, who let out a small chuckle.

“She thinks it is”

“It will get old really fast. Trust me” the man says and she rolls her eyes. “You leave tomorrow, before the Ten Rings decide it’s time to light up the sky in an American city”

“Let’s go over strategy today. Natasha’s suit and weapons should be ready” Maria proposes.

“I’m looking at the Widow Bites” you interrupt.

“Farley said that if you messed with his tech again he’d quit” Fury reminds you.

“Good riddance. He’s an idiot and she’s not going on a mission with faulty equipment”

“Fine. Hill” Fury nods in confirmation and they leave the room.

“What was that?” Natasha turns to you, but you shrug your shoulders, projecting the map of the factory and reading the file.

“Oh, now you’re modest about it?” Clint teases. “Y/N here is an MIT graduate. Mechanical Engineering, top of the class”

“It was a small class”

“If she wasn’t an agent she’d be running the design department. Made my arrows ten times lighter and faster. Deadly too”

“That’s enough. I just want to make sure Nat has the best equipment” you wave dismissively, still looking at the map.

It’s an important mission, yes. But your priority is Natasha.

—

“Fucking Farley” you mutter for the tenth time, making Clint chuckle.

As suspected, the Widow Bites have a short range and the voltage isn’t enough to incapacitate enemies, so you’ll be fixing that as everyone else discusses the plan.

“Y/N is coming in first. Once she disables the security, Romanoff and I will go set the explosives for the missiles” Clint says, going over the map of the warehouse.

“I’m not leaving her alone” Natasha says and while you keep your eyes on the Widow bites, correcting the wiring, you smile.

“It’s fine, Nat. It’s my area of expertise. I’ll hack their systems, keep an eye out and will join you once the explosives are set” you look up, nodding her way. Maria walks in, looking over your shoulder. “Tell Fury he needs to kick fuckface Farley to the curve”

“Noted, Brains. Which one of you will be Brawn?” Maria turns, smiling teasingly at Natasha and Clint.

“I’m Beauty” Clint says, turning to Natasha. “Romanoff?”

“Sorry to break it to you, but Natasha is all three” you say, removing the magnifying glasses and stretching your back. “Is it dinner time yet?”

“Our order should be ready. I’ll pick it up” Natasha offers, taking the car keys.

“Don’t forget about the…”

“Extra rice, yes” she rolls her eyes and Clints follows right behind, ready to take a break.

Maria sits right next to you, and you don’t need to turn around to know she’s staring.

“Yes, Hill?”

“So when are you asking her out?”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, come on” she pushes your chair and you roll away, annoyed. “You compliment her, she knows about your special order, the pining and the heart eyes”

“I’m one of the few people who treat her like a human being. That’s all” you say, hoping it’s the end of the conversation. Maria throws you a paper ball, just like in your academy days and you snort. “Ass. Yes, I like her. But she’s barely had a life. I can’t ask her out and make it awkward. Natasha needs to live and experience things and once she knows what she wants… maybe I’ll do something about my feelings. Until then…” you point at your friend, and she nods, motioning as if her lips are sealed.

You just hope your feelings for Natasha won’t get in the way of this mission.

—

The air is colder than you anticipated.

“Good to go?” Clint says, looking over his shoulder. You try your comms and go over the equipment. Once you nod, he lowers the jet, counting down to prepare you for the fall.

“Be careful” Natasha says. It’s the first things she’s said to you since you left headquarters.

“Chinese for dinner?” you say with a smile, hoping that it will ease the tension. Natasha nods and you wave, jumping into the darkness.

The landing is a bit rougher than you would have wanted since the parachute was dragged around by the wind, but nothing is broken and you can disable the security alarm in the hatch.

From there, your next stop is to the control room. There’s only one man monitoring the cameras, and you knock him unconscious before he can reach for his gun.

“I’m in. You have twenty minutes” you announce.

“Got it”

Out of pure curiosity, you look over at the computer on the side, browsing through the files.

“Clint” you say as you stumble upon Stark’s designs.

“I’m kinda busy” he says, installing the explosives around the warehouse.

“They have intelligence on other Stark weaponry. Should I make a copy and then clean up their files?”

“Proceed. But be on the lookout, we’re almost done here”

“I can multitask” you say, pulling out a drive to copy all the files. The encryption will have to be done later, but for now, eliminating everything they have should be enough.

Either way, the entire building is blowing up in a few minutes.

An alarm blares across every hallway, and you look up, surprised.

“What the fuck, Y/N? We’re not done here” Barton barks, clearly in a hurry to finish the job now that you’ve been discovered.

“It wasn’t me” you say, frantically looking at the cameras. There’s a man with long hair that frames his face, covered up to his eyes with a dark mask. “We have company. I’m locking the doors on your side, exit through the vent”

“That means you won’t be able to get out” Natasha protests.

“I’ll find another way and meet you. You have to go. Our friend here seems to be… in a hurry”

Your blood runs cold when you see him punching his way through the guards. He is a super soldier, judging by his strenght and now you’re trapped with him on this side of the building.

“Fuckfuckfuck”

Pulling the drive to your pocket, you leave the room and go to the side farthest away from the man.

The thing is, he seems to be going through the walls instead of using doors, so the distance grows smaller with each of his steps.

“Natasha is gone” Clint informs you as you’re sneaking around. That makes you stop in your tracks.

“Bullshit”

She wouldn’t.

“The minute we were out she ran away in the opposite direction. I’m on the jet now. Give me your location”

“East side of the…”

The sound of metal and concrete cracking surprises you from behind, and you come face to face with the man.

He takes your gun and twists your arm, but you aim at one of the pipes in the ceiling to give you a few seconds to run. You can feel him going right behind you, dangerously close.

“The building is blowing up in five minutes, Y/N” Clint says.

“Thanks, I’m trying not to get killed by fucking Frankenstein” a heavy metal arm pulls you down, punching you two times until you’re gasping for air.

He then kicks you down a couple of stairs, and you hang on to the railing by an inch. Once he glances over to check if you’re still alive, you shoot at his eyes, protected by the mask.

Wrong move, as he’s not pleased in the slightest.

Dropping a few feet to the ground, you begin to run down the exit.

A few things happen at the same time.

You turn and see Natasha, breaking a door. You smile at her. Of course she wouldn’t leave. Her eyes widen, and when you turn around, the man is raising his gun.

Two shots and then you’re down, hot liquid spilling down your stomach and leg.

“Y/N” Natasha screams, throwing Widow Bites to the man. His arm is briefly paralized and Natasha takes advantage of the moment to help you up. You limp against her, feeling the building shake.

“Come on, Clint is waiting outside”

Luckily, the ceiling behind you begins to fall, putting some concrete between you and the man.

The next minutes are confusing, since you struggle to remain conscious.

“HQ, this is Barton. We have an agent down. We’ll be there soon” you hear Clint report. There’s a pressure in your abdomen but you can’t look down. “Natasha, I have to fly this thing, keep her awake”

“Y/N” the woman says, trying to stop the bleeding. “Look at me. You can’t fall asleep now”

“I’ll be fine. You were great today, Natasha. I knew you’d be a great agent. Would you tell my mom that I…?”

“Tell her yourself”

“Don’t be a сука” you mumble, your eyelids heavier.

“What is the one thing you always wanted to do?” she asks, desperate to keep you talking.

“I always wanted a cat. My sister’s allergic” you drag your words. But then, you turn to the redhead, smiling. “What about you?”

“A rollercoaster” Natasha says without hesitation. Your smile grows.

“We’ll go to Connie Island, it’s gonna be so much fun…”

“Y/N, stay with me, don’t close your eyes”

But you’re too tired to listen.

—

“Her family should be here any minute” Fury steps in, eyeing your bruised face. Three surgeries later and the doctors think you have a pretty good chance of recovering.

Natasha and Clint are sitting by your side, their eyes glued to the monitor that keeps beeping.

“The man… had any of you seen him before?”

“I thought he was a myth” Natasha says, the image of the metal arm and the symbol on it etched on her brain. “They call him the Winter Soldier”

“KGB?” Clint guesses.

“HYDRA”

“That’s ten times worse” Fury sighs, turning to the Russian. “We’ll need your help to figure out who he is. But for now… nice job”

“I should have done more” Natasha says when Fury leaves the room.

“She’s alive because of you” Clint protests. “But you should let me know, I thought you were running away. When you want to pull a rescue, at least tell me where to fly the jet”

“Ok” the redhead nods.

“Let’s get something to eat. You know Y/N wouldn’t want you to starve yourself”

—

When Natasha and Clint come back to your room, Maria is talking to an older woman. She has eyes like yours, and a smilar hair color, which makes Natasha think it’s your mother.

“You saved my daughter” she says as soon as Natasha walks in. Your mother hugs her tight, thanking her.

She has no idea that this is all new to Natasha, especially the hugging part.

“Let’s go over some forms” Maria rescues the redhead, walking the older woman to the door.

Her words echo and Natasha goes over them till she loses count.

She’s never saved a life before. She never had someone thanking her for keeping a loved one safe.

Maybe, there’s hope for her after all.

—

It’s been a few days and you have yet to open your eyes.

Natasha stays next to you, and reads out loud the way you did for her. Your mom is in the couch, knitting as she listens, keeping an eye on the girl.

Even if she’s not aware of Natasha’s circunstamces, she can tell there are strong feelings involved between you two.

“How long have you been at SHIELD?” the woman says, examining the green pattern on the scarf she’s knitting.

“Not long” Natasha tenses, hoping it won’t be necessary to bring up her past as a former assassin.

“Y/N’s father was in the CIA. Her sisters were more… I don’t know. They argued over clothes and wanted to wear makeup. Y/N would work on cars with her dad or build stuff”

“That sounds nice”

“It was, yes. Drives me crazy that she risks her life for a living. But it’s in her blood, I guess”

“She’s a great agent. And a wonderful person. You did a good job raising her”

“You’re too kind” the woman says, pulling the scarf and presenting it to the redhead. “Here. This color brings out your beautiful eyes”

Natasha is hesitant as she takes the green scarf, inspecting the fine knitting and feeling the softness of the fabric against her fingertips.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you”

“Thank you. For saving her. I’m happy to know my daughter has wonderful partners. I like you, Natasha”

“I’m glad to hear that, because I kinda gave her the secret pasta recipe” you say with a weak voice, making both women rush to your side.

“Oh, sweetheart” your mom says, running her hands through your hair.

“Sorry to make you come all the way here. I know you hate flying”

“No, don’t be silly. Plus, I’ve spent some time getting to know Natasha. You guys make a great couple”

“Ma!” you protest, the monitor beeping loudly as your mother teases you. “Would you be a dear and get the doctor? I really want to eat something that isn’t hospital food”

Your mother rolls her eyes, but leaves and you stare at Natasha.

“Thank you for saving me”

“It’s nothing”

“It’s not nothing. I’m alive because of you, Natasha Romanoff”

“I guess it’s our thing, isn’t it? Saving each other” she smiles, her hand inching towards yours.

“Yes. Yes it is”

—

The doctor promises you’ll be discharged in a few days, but there’s a long road ahead for your recovery. At least six months without missions.

Fury stops by, surprising you.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, eyeing the box of chocolates that Maria brought you. “You mind?”

“Help yourself, boss” he picks a sweet and nods approvingly, clearly stalling. “Come on, you’re not one to sugarcoat things”

“The drive you took. It does have some very detailed information on Stark’s tech. I know we discussed an undercover mission a while back… but I decided to send Natasha instead”

“As what? I was supposed to be a new engineer on his team”

“Legal. Close to Pepper Potts. And hopefully, Agent Romanoff will charm Stark”

“Oh, Nick. Come on, not the playboy angle” you protest. There’s an unpleasant feeling at the pit of your stomach as you imagine Natasha dealing with Stark’s advances.

“It is what we have, Y/L/N. Take some time, recover and come back. I have a feeling we’ll need all the help we can get”

“Yes, Director Fury” you nod, as Natasha walks in. The man nods, and you can tell he trusts Natasha now. It’s a relief.

“How are you feeling?” Natasha says, pulling the usual chair next to your bed.

“Happy that I get to go home. soon Not so excited over my mom running around my place cleaning and complaining”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could stay but…”

“You have missions. I heard you’re booked and busy, Agent Romanoff”

“Well, yes” she smiles, blushing lightly.

“Is that what you want? Because that’s all that matters to me”

“I want to do good. Clean my ledger”

“You’ll do great. I know it” you reach for her hand, smiling.

“I could… put it off. For a few months. It won’t be a big deal”

But you can see how eager she is. To prove herself she’s so much more than the Red Room. That she’s not just the Black Widow.

She’s Natasha Romanoff.

“I’m not going anywhere, Nat. You’ll always have me. Ok?”

“Ok” she nods, looking away, but keeping her hand in yours.

Deep down, you knew this was only the start of your journey together.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n

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smartpartexporter · 2 years ago

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strong-with-the-sarcasm · 11 months ago

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part 15 - we’re all misunderstood

"Me and all my friends, we're all misunderstood. They say we stand for nothing and there's no way we ever could." -Waiting On The World To Change by John Mayer

Masterlist Part 14

The Watchtower was a marvel of engineering and fortitude, constantly in orbit above Earth among the star-studded void of space.

Just a quick glance out of the meeting hall window had proved to the Regent that her little brother would love it here. He’d inherited the innovative side of Fentonworks more than she, so the combination of one of his obsessions and tech to fiddle with was a dream come true.

(She’d inherited the ruthlessness of Maddie Fenton.)

Batman, the Dark Knight her little brother had trusted and the father of her soulmate, tapped away at a tablet in hand before turning his focus to her at ease form, hands clasped behind her back. Wonder Woman stood at her side and Superman at the other. A flanking maneuver it seemed.

The Regent would’ve been offended if they didn’t consider her a threat, despite her willingness to discuss war prevention between the Infinite Realms and the Living Realm. Her armor alone was meant to be intimidating at first appearance, but it was the woman sealed into it that gave off the vibes of ‘Approach with caution’. She was a Warrior, not a pacifist,and everything she presented about herself was meant to signify that.

However, the Regent was trained by the Ancient of Peace and would demand a peaceful resolution to a crisis rather than conflict, even if the Liminal had no desire for a battle against the Justice League.

Constantine was a familiar presence in the room. The Laughing Magician had a soft spot for her little brother, but she felt the claim she had of his soul. It was cracked and missing so many pieces, but it was still a good one. The Sad Trenchcoat Man might’ve been a career drunk and conman, but that didn’t mean he was unnecessarily bad.

He wouldn’t be here if he was.

The man in question spoke first, much to the obvious surprise of those present, “How’s Phantom?”

Her helmet turned to face him down where he sat a few feet away, an unopened flask resting on his thigh, “He is fine. Would you like me to pass on a message?”

Constantine seemed to relax for a moment before shaking his head, “Nah, the kid bugs me enough.”

“Regent.” Batman interrupted. “We would appreciate it if you could answer some questions we have regarding some disturbing files we received from Phantom.”

The Liminal nodded, “I suspected as much. I cannot speak much on behalf of the King or others not present, but I will answer what I can truthfully.”

“Thank you, My Lady, for your willingness to discuss such things with us.” Wonder Woman offered with sincerity in her words.

The Regent shook her helmeted head, “I’d rather peace than be across from one another on the battlefield, Princess.”

“Wisely so.”

The Knight tapped on his tablet again, a projection of one of the Ghost Files documents spreading across the wall behind the Bat, the man in question returning his attention to her.

“Why does the King require a Regent?”

If Bruce was being honest, which he was, he’d rather be anywhere else than here in the Watchtower about to helm peace talks between the Infinite Realms and Earth. He’d rather be eating dinner with his children, questioning Phantom about Jason’s whereabouts, or even on patrol- anywhere but here.

It wasn’t even the presence of the armored woman who’d answered in place of the King Constantine had been asked to summon, rather Bruce wanted nothing to do with the Death Energy he felt in lapses radiating from the Regent that felt�� cleaner than that of what Ra’s Al Ghul or Talia had.

Bruce wanted answers.

But he also wanted to be anywhere but here.

He supposed it was his self-preservation instincts trying to get him away from the being that’s been summoned, he had no choice but to stay though.

“The King is too young.” The Regent replied evenly, hands clasped in front of her stomach, much like Diana would when trying to demonstrate that she’s prepared to draw her sword at a given moment. “There is still much for him to learn and experience before he is ready for the Crown.”

Batman hummed, even though Constantine spluttered in shock- “A kid defeated Pariah Dark in single combat?”

“Yes.”

“There are some questions that we would like to have recorded for the record, would you be amenable to this?” Batman interrupts, “We would also discuss public use.”

Regent nods, helmet tinting a darker green as the Watchtower lights slant across it for a brief moment. “I accept, though there are some answers that are not mine to give.” The woman takes a breath, “I cannot give the identity of the King without his permission, nor can I discuss how or when he died.”

“Is there a particular reason why?” Superman asks. “It is considered taboo to ask a ghost anything related to their death because it can cause them to relieve it.” A pause, “Ghosts, or Ecto-Entites, are a fighting-based culture. They are beings of varying intelligence, thoughts, and emotions- sentient and sapient, much like humans and aliens. Capable of great things, both good and evil.”

Bruce processed those words, a pit of horror forming in his chest. How many times has this woman said those exact words, hoping for them to be heard? They were eloquent, with the formality that hinted at diplomatic training, but with so much hope that it almost physically hurt.

Capable of great things, both good and evil.

Wasn’t that the choice Bruce made every time he put on the cowl? Anytime one of his kids got hurt and he felt such rage in his bones? He made the choice every day to do good and while it may not be great in the broader scale of things, it was to somebody somewhere. That was what it meant to be alive, to have free will, to exist.

Now he finally understood why Phantom gave him the Ghost Files.

He needed this. This confrontation of what it means to exist outside of Bats and Birds, the cowl and the mask, as a being. Would Bruce have listened had he not seen the Files? If he hadn’t seen the inhumanity committed upon the inhuman? What evil would he have perpetuated had he refused to listen?

(Tim might think he had been the only one to watch the video of Danny Fenton’s death.)

(He was wrong.)(What if he hadn’t heard the wail?)(What if he hadn’t seen the rebirth of Fenton to Phantom?)

With all the bloodshed the GIW had on their collective hands, they would not go quietly.

The Regent had emphasized their zealot tendencies, hypocritical ideology perpetuated by the Drs. Fentons and somewhat lackluster training, but exceedingly advanced technology geared explicitly towards Ecto-Entities in her testimony to the Justice League in the hours that followed. Several examples from the Ghost Files were explained and expanded on, including the destruction of the Casper High Gym which resulted in the death of a faculty member and the maiming of a student. Evidence of the town roads being utterly demolished, what looks like the aftermath of war being the norm for the citizens as they try to go about their daily lives.

She had prepared to discuss all the above, and gone through various questions she’d been expecting from the League, but she had steadfastly avoided thoughts of the GIW’s unethical experimentation. Naturally, the League began this particular section with the Files’ opened to what Danny, Tucker, and Sam had included, a warning issued to all present that what they were about to watch was grotesque and to leave the room if they felt unable to hold the contents of their stomachs.

The Regent was an older sister, a daughter, a leader, and a warrior- but she was still only able to take so much. (She hadn’t known the Fentons recorded Danny’s Phantom’s vivisection.)

(She hadn’t known they called each other sweetie and fudge-kins while digging in his chest cavity.)

Fury was a familiar enemy and friend in equal breaths, existing in the space between her ribs and her heart, trapped by a cage of bone and will.

Fury echoed by her mirror image that entered the camera frame, sword first and merciless as she gutted Jack Fenton.

(Regret was nowhere to be found.)(Shame had no place here.)

“By Realms Law 2127 subsection 32f paragraph 3: liminals, mortals, all in between may be promptly judged and or executed on grounds of threat to End a protector spirit or child. May also be decreed as battlefield law when faced with a sufficiently armed opponent and or external force.” The Regent recited monotonously. “Drs. Fenton also could have been tried for Invasion by opening the portal, but Phantom was able to give them a pardon.”

“On what grounds?” Wonder Woman questioned, “He is a protector spirit, yes?”

“Yes, which allowed the previous Law to be enacted and legal. By him acting within Amity Park and using Fenton tech to catch Ghosts, he gave them a pardon by an unspoken alliance.”

“An alliance they broke,” Batman this time was clearly angry too in his clenched fists were any indication, “when they vivisected Phantom.”

“Yes.” The Regent continued, “Make no mistake, I uphold the Realms Law to the best of my abilities and expect my subjects and my council to do the same. We are a people and people have societies, societies have structures and without that, we would be no better than what the GIW claims us to be.”

“Well spoken, My Lady.” Wonder Woman complemented, clearly taken by the Regent’s speech.

“This is all gory and horrifying, but we still haven’t talked about preventing a bloody war.”

While he’d been quietly observing the meeting, minor mutterings here and there, Constantine remained the only Dark member present. The Regent was somewhat fond of the Sad Man, even without having ownership over his soul (or the majority of shards) he would remain a fond memory for the Nightingales.

“My Lady,” the Magician belatedly addressed her, clearly having recalled to whom exactly he was speaking.

“Constantine,” Batman warned, “we’ll get to that.”

“Indeed we shall. In fact,” the Regent twirled a hand in a graceful motion “the Anti-Acto Acts is the main point of contention on the docket and allows that,” now she thrust a pointed finger at the Files’ section on ‘experimentation’, “to be legal.”

“It’s been discussed, previously, to bring these laws before the UN with a censored version of the Ghost Files.”

The Regent nodded almost immediately, “If you can, yes, but I would recommend leaking some of the data for the public to judge.”

“Amity Park, for instance?” Superman asked, “Let the public choose a side and put pressure on the UN.”

“Perhaps.” WW nodded, “Though there is likely chance that blame will be shifted onto the Ghosts solely for the damage.”

“We can show the footage of the attacks that caused them.” Batman interjected, “As well as the videos of Phantom protecting Amity’s citizens at risk to himself.”

The Regent agreed, “There are also videos of teenagers practicing drills for Ghost and Ghost Hunter attacks.”

“What about sitting for an interview for a newspaper?” Superman suggested, “I can get a reputable reporter to conduct it.”

“That can be done.”

The Regent felt a slight tug on her Proto-Core, a shiver down her spine to follow- her little brother was trying to summon her back to him. Nothing urgent, not with just a slight tug, not an emergency.

It had been quite a while here anyway and she missed her boys.

“I’m afraid I am being summoned for a council meeting.” The Regent announced, “If I am needed again-“

She took a breath before turning to Batman, “You May summon me, Dark Knight, through your Lady’s Claim.”

A friendly handshake with Superman, “Have your reporter meet me in the Ridge next Friday during the Witching Hours.”

A clasping of arms with Wonder Woman, Warrior to warrior, “When this is settled, I would ask for a spar, Princess.”

And the Regent was gone in a torrent of icy green-tinted mist.

A/N:

Happy new year!

I can't believe it's 2024 already! Feels like I just got used to writing 2023.

As always, thanks to the wonderful beta @meditating-cat, who also let me who use them as a sounding board for ideas for the Regent earlier. I cannot wait to write those ideas, let me tell you.

As always, if you have any song suggestions please feel free to share and check out the masterlist for the rest of the series. It's always updated afterwards!

Thanks for reading!

#dp x dc #dp x dc au #dpxdc #dc x dp crossover #jazz fenton #regent!jazz #jason todd #anger management ship #hardcover ship #jazz x jason #batman #anti-ecto acts #let's get it #happy new year 2024 #lets start it off right with the end of the GIW

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