sentimientos-demedianoche

[wolfsbanesparks]

Fanfic idea!

So I wanted to share an idea i had for a story that just sorta appeared in my brain fully formed. It will be a while before I have time to write it out, but I wanted to share it with y'all now while it's fresh in my mind.

This was inspired by @puppetwoman17 's story "Batson Family Soap Opera" and conversations I've had with @cerealboxlore as well as some other posts I've seen floating around tumblr but can't find right now.

Title: Signed in Blood

Premise: Ebenezer Batson makes a deal with Lady Blaze to bring his son Sinclair back to life, but there's a catch: after a year and a day either Sinclair must return to the land of the dead or a blood relative must take his place.

When the time comes for Blaze to collect on her contract, the Justice League is recruited to protect the Batsons from the hellhounds and demons she sends after them.

Full details under the cut because this will get long. Like the entire fic is there in bullet point form

Okay bullet points for all the plot beats i know (basically an outline of the story)

We open on Lady Blaze tracking down Ebenezer and offering to grant his greatest wish: bringing his son back to life

Ebenezer jumps at the chance and signs the contract with his blood, even knowing the caveat that someone must die in one year. A further stipulation in the contract is that the soul of whoever dies to fulfill the contract will belong to her

Ebenezer loves his son and won't let him die again, but he's still a selfish bastard, so he doesn't plan on dying either

He justifies it to himself with the thought that Sinclair is smarter, more charismatic, and had a bright future whereas Billy is a troubled runaway who will probably become a petty crook etc.

There is only one other blood relative he knows is still alive: Billy

(Billy is of course trans in this but I'll stick to the name and pronouns we know he uses rather than Ebenezer's misgendering and deadnaming)

Sinclair does not know he's dead: Blaze wiped his memory of the accident and used magic to provide false memories to account for the time he was dead

Ebenezer tracks down Billy to take back custody of him so he'll be able to hand him over to Blaze (he knows that if billy dies and he tells people Billy ran away they'll believe it because of his history thus getting away scott free)

Billy is conflicted about being in Ebenezer's custody again, especially with a cousin he doesn't remember (he died before Billy's parents did) who seems a bit off (because he was resurrected with demonic magic)

Sinclair jumps straight into making a name for himself by running for political office (he has ambitions and plans for his future and zero idea what his father did)

While campaigning for office, exactly a year and a day since he was resurrected, Sinclair attends a major political conference

The conference is attacked by hellhounds sent by blaze to remind Ebenezer of their contract. But it causes a huge scene and the Justice League, including Captain Marvel, gets involved to help protect the political leaders of the conference

But they soon realize the main target is Sinclair so they take him and Ebenezer back to their home and offer their protection while they figure out what's going on

Ebenezer is sweating because he has no idea where Billy is so he can't offer him up like he planned (because Billy is CM at the moment) but he figures the JL can keep him and Sinclair alive

Cap is unusually rude and abrasive. He's distant and avoids certain sections of the house. The JL is worried because he never acts like this and they don't know what happened or why he doesn't seem to like the batsons

As they try to figure out why the Batsons are being targeted, a second attack happens at a charity event where the Bromfields had been in attendance (the demons targeting Mary)

The JL brings the Bromfields and the Batsons together to try to find a link. And after Batman runs a DNA test he finds out that Mary is related to them.

(Billy recognized her the moment he saw her locket and is desperately trying to hold himself back from pulling her into a hug and whisking her away from their uncle)

Ebenezer is gobsmacked that his niece is alive, Mary is ecstatic to learn more about her birth family, and the Bromfields are worried about what this all means.

The story of CC and Marilyn comes out and Sinclair tells the JL about Billy and how he's missing and they need to find him before the demons do

Demons attack the house, gunning for Cap as well which leads to some investigation and the theory that Cap is CC with memory loss which he adamantly denies

(Both Billy and Ebenezer are shaken by just how many "dead" Batsons are in the room)

Blaze appears and tells them all that due to her contract they cannot deny her: she is owed the life and soul of one of the Batsons by midnight. A life for a life.

Everyone is freaking out because what contract? And who is she?

But Billy knows who she is and it takes him no time at all to put the pieces together. He confronts Ebenezer and when he denies it, he convinces wonder woman to use the lasso of truth on him

Ebenezer is forced to tell them he made a deal and why: he wanted his son back.

But Sinclair still has no idea he died so he doesn't understand: he would have come home if his dad needed him so bad.

But Billy remembers an incident from when he was a kid living with Ebenezer: playing in the backyard, digging a hole as little kids do and finding a ring engraved with the name Sinclair Batson (a high school class ring that Sinclair always wears, one that he's wearing right now)

His uncle had been furious and punished Billy for it, but later while drunk he sobbed about how his perfect son was gone, how he'd never see him again.

Billy had (rightly) assumed he was dead but didn't ask any questions about him until he was in Ebenezer's custody again, then he assumed he was just young and misunderstood the situation (after all he'd lost so many people at that age. Lots of people were just gone without explanation)

But now he realizes the truth: Sinclair was brought back from the dead and the strange offputting aura was blazes magic

Ebenezer is forced to tell them what happened: how Sinclair died.

It was an accident. The two of them had been arguing about Sinclair going away for college among other things and things got heated. Sinclair tried to sneak out after the argument, climbing out of his window. Ebenezer caught him and shouted for him to get back inside. The shout startled Sinclair and he fell off the roof and broke his neck

Ebenezer couldn't bring himself to call the police, he was terrified they'd arrest him because the neighbors heard them arguing and Sinclair had bruises on his arm from where Ebenezer had grabbed him

So he buried his son in that backyard, telling everyone who asked that Sinclair was away for college and building up the lie so no one suspected the truth. (Billy found Sinclair's ring because he was playing on top of his unmarked grave)

Billy pushes and Ebenezer admits that he'd been planning on giving Billy up in exchange for Sinclair (airing out his justifications)

Everyone is horrified, especially Sinclair. (Not Billy though, this aligned perfectly with the Ebenezer he knew)

There's a lot of argument about what to do: most are in favor of handing Ebenezer over to Blaze but Sinclair is admant that he was supposed to be dead so it should be him she took.

But Billy knows something no one else knows about this deal, not even Ebenezer: Blaze had always intended to reap Billy's soul as payment

She knew there was no love between Billy and Ebenezer but she also knew that Billy would never let anyone (even someone he hates as much as his uncle) become her slave via owning their soul

But if Billy's soul belonged to her, so would his powers and his connection to Shazam and the Rock of Eternity. The contract would back him into a corner and his pure heart would give her the opening she needed.

So Billy pulls Sinclair and Mary aside. Mary's clinging to Sinclair because even though she just found him she doesn't want to lose him.

The three of them hatch a plan

When Blaze arrives and demands her payment Cap steps forward and offers himself (which makes everyone confused since he's been denying being CC all night)

Blaze is ecstatic because she can taste victory

Sinclair steps up and demands to know how they can trust her not to come after them again once she has cap's soul.

After a bit of back and forth, she agrees to add an addendum to the contract Ebenezer signed ensuring that she would never harm any of the Batsons after collecting what she is owed.

All batsons sign the contract in blood

Last is Billy who she tells to power down so she can collect his soul without divine interference

Billy transforms and literally everyone except Blaze is blindsided by the fact that Cap is Billy who has been missing since before this mess began

Blaze shoves her hand into Billy’s chest to rip out his soul and claim her birthright

But before he dies he gives Mary, who is shell shocked and horrified and quickly realizing that's her twin, a nod

As he falls to the ground she remembers the plan: she shouts out "Shazam" and becomes Mary Marvel

You see the night before Billy officially chose her to become his successor as Champion (Sinclair is too closely tied to blazes magic so it would've been too risky to give him. Plus Mary was always destined for the powers of Shazam but had been hidden from him by black Adam's magic)

Just as Blaze was denied her father's power and the Rock of Eternity because he chose Billy as his champion, so she was denied when Billy transferred his powers to mary

She is furious and attacks mary

But upon landing the first hit, Billy is brought back because she hurt a batson rendering the contract null and void

Together Billy and Mary send her back to hell

The epilogue features the Batsons several months later. Ebenezer is in prison for attempted murder (of both Billy and Sinclair) among other crimes. Sinclair still visits him because despite everything he loves his dad and owes him his second chance at life (it's definitely complicated) Sinclair is billys legal guardian and theyd sold the house where both Billy and Sinclair were abused moving into the same neighborhood as the Bromfields so the twins can be together again. Captain Marvel and Mary are beloved heroes and they've officially endorsed Sinclair's campaign which meant he won in a landslide.

And they lived happily ever after

So thoughts?

I told you the idea was fully formed but I'd love to hear what y'all think!

[feral-cockroach]

im watching a video abt the mckamey manor. its an interest of mine (the lack of ethics, the shit owner, etc.. not a desire to particpate) BUT it has been a long standing interest of mine from all the way back in 8th grade, so junior high. at like 13 or 14 years old if i am recalling right. and at that age i did very badly want to participate. and the video im watching mentions having to be 21+ to participate. and this is a pretty innocuous detail but it unlocked a core memory for me.

being in 8th grade, in my school computer lab. i sat a row ahead of my boyfriend at the time. i had mckamey manors website pulled up and was turned backwards telling my then-boyfriend all about it. and i got to the part about having to be 21+.

and i remember pausing, and turning fully back around in my seat. and i remember being devastated. because i couldnt go through it. i would never have the chance to go through it. even if i did make it past the "extensive waiting list" and the "psych evals", i wouldnt be old enough. i would never be old enough.

because at 13/14 years old, i was completely and genuinely convinced that i would die before i turned 21. to me, there was absolutely zero chance i would live to see 21, let alone 21+. to me, id be lucky if i graduated and hit 18.

and that just hit me like a truck. im 21 in february of next year. i graduated already. i remember not thinking id hit 18. or 16. but i had forgotten abt beinf so convinced i wldnt make it to 21 . i forgot completely that at every single milestone i hit (13, 16, 18) i just became increasingly more convincwd that my luck was runninf out and i would die before x age. 13, 16, 18, and soon, 21. 13/14 year old me was convinced i wouldnt see 16, 18, let alone twenty-one. that was decades, millenia away to 13/14 year old me. and now to 20 year old me its just a couple of months.

just a bit of a ramble. it was like being hit by a truck at how far ive come. 16, then 18, graduation, then my first job. then my second, and third. and my first promotion. then my second. my third lease. my second apartment. its just crazy. and its a little funny to me that something as sinister as mckamey manor was the reference point for my progress.

this is not, though, to give a false impression that those "ill die before im [x] age" have gone away. theyve just gotten a bit more distant. im not sure ill make it to 25 anf im near certain i wont hit 30. we'll see how it goes.

[zwei-rhunen]

Squeenix why do u do dis to me D:

Someone tell the lalafells that there's an untapped market to be had! Level 35-48 jewelry is the latest trend!

A once in a lifetime gil-gathering endeaver for your local, aspiring venture capitalist!!!!

.... in other news, I've been prepping myself for jewelery-crafting shenangians, which means clearing out my inventory LOL

But I got too invested and this time I took the time to research alot of the stuff that I've been hanging onto, and it turns out they're really easy to get later if i really wanted them back.

Most of it was either crafting materials (i thought they were turn-in tokens bc they looked special) or they were things that were fairly inexpensive to buy off other people if I wamted to do that in the future. I'd kept alot of things bc I wasn't as familiar with the UI/the game as i am now back when I tried downsizing in the past. Like I'd hold onto alot of junk bc for example, I'd research about this cool shiny item. and it'd start out so innocently lol.

I'd be like,

"oh I can use this to craft neat gear! Well I'll hold onto it bc i want to do that soon"

but then itd quickly spiral into

"oh, well I need a master crafting tome of X level, and to get that I need to collect these things. Okay that's doable. But wait, to do THAT, I first need to level up these 2 jobs so i can craft/gather the ingredients, alright.. (goes to level up the jobs) ...oh. i don't even have access to the zone that I need to collect those materials in, so then ACTUALLY I need to do the MSQ up to THIS point. Damn, thats kinda devastating bc I just spent all this time leveling lmao. Well, I got this far and i dont want to just toss these items, so ill just hang onto them for now

And then eventually I forgot about the details related to those items, but I remember how let down I felt while dealing with them so i just put it off and eventually they blurred into the clutter of the other stuff going on in my inv/I got invested into other goals lol

But now I've gotten better at asking the right things like "is this item rare? Where is it dropped? What is it used for, is it for crafting or a token or smth else? Also, does an NPC vendor ask for this in return for something cool? Could i buy this item on the MB later on?"

Whereas before, I'd just be like "okay. what can i use this for?? " And then I wouldn't see any crafting use for it, so I'd just toss it, and then 10 mins later id go to Mor Dhona and realize DANG IT was a TOKEN, i coulda traded that for smth interesting!! And it seems like a PITA for me to get again 😭 .....so thus began my hoarding :)

can't regret what you don't discard! lmfaooo

Also said screw it and sold off most of my food bc I realized by the time I worked thru all those edibles, id probably have a sub and would be able to buy HQ food really easily. Like, I'd been holding onto the food from when I had brute-force-leveled CUL to 50, and I'm still gonna have like ~200 hours worth of exp lmao.

I also actually, seriously reviewed the differences in food stats for once in my life (this deserves so much praise tbh bc I do not care for their details as long as I'm getting the exp buff lmao) and realized my level 15 HQ food is useless to hang onto bc my lvl 40 normal foods are still way better, and all this other info that's probably common knowledge lmao (and ik i CAN get more efficient with this if I prioritized food with stats that align with which jobs I'm gonna main for now but um. this is far as I care to go into the weeds with food details for now lmaooo like... no. stop thats too much to worry abt for me 😭😂😂 i mean like, i know (i think i know?) Strength and determination for tank, spell speed/piety for casters, skill speed for dps bc it just sounds like it makes sense lol. So like ill half-assedly try and pick the best stat buff food but its not really smth tht im overly concerned abt atm tbh. Maybe later at a higher level but for now everything seems to be okay without needing to suffer over the details)

So I sold off a buncha stuff off to an NPC and now i have a whole page and a half of space. I'm so excited!

I also reviewed the clutter in my chocobo sidebags and finally traded in the ancient gear drops to Rowena and sold off some faded maps that i realized are really common and can get again later lol

I'd have more space but i think I can use those few items up in the short term so it's just a waiting game for moar space uwu

But, yeah!!

✨️ A page and a half of inventory!! ✨️

I haven't had this much space ever since probably the MIDDLE of doing the main 2.0 MSQ!! xD

[kaibacorpintern]

hi i forgot the ship name but would u write something thats seto and ryou? (platonic or romantic) where they play a ttrpg together or somethin idk

“or somethin idk” give me an inch, i have run a mile. a mile of 4.7k words.

platonic euroshipping. post-canon. ryou applies for a game writer position at kaibacorp and makes it to the final stage. contains: dragons, swords, some very sexy things about solidvision and the virtual world, kaiba covered in blood and having a great time, me the writer having a great time, hopefully you the reader having a great time, and ryou, not covered in blood, having a very, very, very anxious time

tw for some fantasy violence

++++++

Ryou inhaled, taking a deep breath of: the fresh, sweet smell of grass, the coolness of river water, something dry and grey in the wind, slightly rotten - smoke? And sulfur. The grasses were filled with the restless susurrus of the wind, each blade quivering with anticipation. Above him, a hawk tilted in lazy, wide circles, tracking the hidden paths of its prey. He stood on a dusty path halfway up the long slope of a steep hillside, the farmlands of the valley behind him peeled back to reveal the burned, blackened devastation beneath. The village from this distance looked like the charcoal remains of a bonfire, the air still shimmering with heat. 

The sun itself was hot, making him sweat in the thick, coarse silk of his mage’s robe, every purple thread saturated with light and heat. Mopping sweat from his brow, Ryou opened his options menu, the holographic display falling open, in the guise of an illuminated manuscript, and hovering at waist-height in thin air, perfectly tilted for reading. The parchment was old and yellowed, almost velvet to the touch, the edges frayed with age, and he couldn’t resist the urge to smell it, leaning in cautiously to take an experimental whiff. Strong notes of dust, old ink, age; an undertone of knowledge, of the forbidden kind. 

He selected Player Appearance and the page turned, with weight and heft, to reveal another. Kaiba didn’t miss a beat. Ryou had no doubt if he knelt down to drink from the stream that flowed down the slope, folding in clear ribbons past the rocks, the water would run cold over his fingers until they pruned. And the magic effects?

He swallowed. It was not just the sun that was making him sweat.

He’d just changed into something more practical - a short-sleeved green tunic, a pair of white breeches, leather boots that had just a bit of bite to the fit, like the player had to wear them in - when a chime pealed out from six feet away, as though someone had rung an invisible bell. The air tore apart, in odd, geometric anguish, like a broken mirror twisting into itself - 

and there was Kaiba, standing in the knee-high grass in his customary black turtleneck and tight pants, frowning with his arms crossed.

“Hello,” Ryou said. “It’s so nice to see you again. Your technology is... this is amazing. The attention to detail is incredible. The player screen, with the parchment - it even smells like - ”

“What is this? Medieval?” Kaiba said, glancing around at his clothes, the distant village, taking no notice of his praise; Ryou bit his tongue in self-rebuke. As if buttering him up with compliments was going to help. 

“Western Europe. From the mid-11th century to the 12th. The age of knights and chivalry,” he said, deciding that maybe his best strategy was to simply be straightforward.

“I’m familiar with basic history, thank you. How... classic,” Kaiba said, in a tone that screamed disinterest, and Ryou’s heart began to plummet - already starting from behind? No, no, no, he reminded himself, straightening the slouch out of his shoulders. Yuugi had warned him about this. Kaiba was fantastically tough to impress, in general, and the Virtual World was his world, a realm he'd built with sweat and tears, and stolen back with blood. So he hand-picked every writer that wrote for Virtual World games, refusing to squander a single pixel on conventional nonsense and uninspired cliché. 

The last step - before he brought the axe down - was a short, playable demo, as proof of concept, written by the applicant and executed by the Virtual World team.

Ryou had come this far in the application process. Trust that, Yuugi said. And trust yourself.

Kaiba was looking at him, eyebrows arched with expectant curiosity.

“Er,” Ryou said. “Let’s get started, then. You’ll need to change.”

He pulled up the menu, revelling in the hovering parchment once more, and changed Kaiba’s appearance, like - like magic, the lines of Kaiba’s silhouette rippling like a sine wave from the bottom up, his modern-day clothing becoming a knee-length tunic of chainmail under a belted dark blue surcoat. Kaiba held still throughout the entire transformation, in smug admiration of the effect, his arms held out in a ballet dancer’s pose as chainmail draped down his shoulders to his wrists. 

In his right hand appeared, with a sharp, diamond flash of light, a long arming sword, the edge nicked with age and bloodspill. The hilt was black, with a sapphire gleaming in the pommel. A plain shield dropped onto his left forearm. 

He gave the sword an experimental spin, testing the heft with practiced ease, and slid it back into the leather scabbard on his belt.

“A knight, the charred, smoking remains of a village… I’m assuming I’m on a quest to kill a dragon?” he said, pushing back the hood of the chainmail so that it draped off his shoulders, and nodding up the slope to where the grasses tattered into rocky shale. 

“Yes, you can assume that,” Ryou said politely.

On cue, a child no more than twelve years old staggered up the dusty path from the village, her small torso heaving with breath, sweat and tears running in clean streaks down her soot-stained face. 

“Sir Knight,” she choked out. Flashing a look at Ryou that said cheap blow, but unable to deny his own fraternal instinct, Kaiba dropped to one knee and caught her, his hands swallowing her thin, shuddering shoulders. Playing along, at least.

“Calm down,” he said, steadying her. Ryou imagined his anxiety as a small, hard rock, packing in the twist of every fraying nerve, and leaned all his weight onto one foot, grinding the rock into the dirt with his heel. "What is it?”

“They sent me to warn you, about the dragon,” she panted. “They said only the Chosen One can truly defeat the dragon, and bring peace back to the land. Many have tried. All suffered the same terrible fate - a fate worse than death.”

“I see,” Kaiba said. “And who is the Chosen One?”

The girl glanced at Ryou over Kaiba’s shoulder, her eyes glinting with fear. 

“No - no one knows,” she said. “But all the oracles say they’re coming… a knight with a pure and worthy heart. Sir Knight, don’t go. Come back to the village. It’s safe there. What do you gain from this? Our humble lands aren’t worth the danger!”

“I think they are,” Kaiba said, thumbing soot off her face, and frowning as her cheek pixelated, briefly, and resumed a skin-like texture. "Open master commands, user ID 000002510. Initiate master log. Begin recording: skin-to-skin contact glitch reappeared during writer play-test, candidate Bakura, R. Begin patch work immediately. End recording. Disperse to Virtual World team, flag Sawada, project manager. Close master commands. Did you know, one of the most compelling unsolved problems in physics is the lack of a theory that realizes both general relativity and quantum mechanics?”

The girl gave him a wary look, wide-eyed with faint alarm. Ryou sucked in a breath, grinding the anxiety rock down, down, down.

“You - you speak in tongues, Sir Knight," she said. "Are you also an oracle? Has your future-sight failed you? Don’t you see that only death lives on the mountain?”

Kaiba snorted and stood up, turning to Ryou. “A solid response to non-standard player input. Doesn’t ignore modern concepts, but re-contextualizes them in the setting of this world via a framework of prophecy, and redirects the player to the plot.” 

“Um... thank you?” Ryou said. “I wanted this world to feel like it has a future, too, not just a history. I wanted to place it on a timeline, like it - ”

Kaiba’s attention swung back to the girl, still standing there with her eyes darting between them, full of bafflement. 

“Return to the village, girl. Tell them my future-sight never fails me.”

The girl retreated backwards, warily, twisted on her heel, and fled down the path.

"If I go down to the village, what'll I find?" Kaiba said.

"More information about the Chosen One, and an outlaw who tries to recruit you to her band of thieves, with the option to join them for a stealth-based quest.”

"Hm. You have the imagination and the decency to offer me something other than blatant bait, which I don't always bite. The cliché of the Chosen One is boring as hell, it’s both over-done and deterministic, but I think... yes. Yes, I'll bite. Let's go see your dragon."

In the wake of this... compliment?, Ryou could only offer him a small, tentative smile, his heart clenching tight around Yuugi's advice. 

Kaiba started up the path. 

“Er, Kaiba - you might want to check your inventory before you encounter the dragon."

Kaiba’s hand padded around his waist until he found the small satchel that sat on his hip. Another parchment unfurled in the air before him, listing its contents:

Two full healing spells;

Two glamour spells, for changing the guise of a person or object;

Two transformation spells, for changing a person or an object into an animal;

Two scrying spells, for locating people or objects;

Two ignis spells, for commanding fire;

Two aqua spells, for commanding water; and

Two ventus spells, for commanding wind.

Ryou watched him as he read. He'd carved a small, thick groove into the dirt below his foot. Surely, that was enough for Kaiba to get creative?

Kaiba only closed the parchment with a brisk flick of his hand. Then he started up the mountain, Ryou following nervously behind.

***

The mountain path was rougher than Ryou expected, a tightly-coiled spring of switchbacks, leading to the curved lip of a high pass. After several minutes of trudging the dust in silence, he was panting for breath, his feet aching and blistering in their boots, and deeply regretting adding this little detail to the story. Next time, he was just going to put the dragon on a rolling, grassy plain, and he’d make it like an American autumn corn maze, because it still needed to be a challenge, and when the players got to the center they’d find the dragon’s decaying, rotting corpse and realize they’d been stuck inside the maze for five hundred years and everyone they loved was dead, and if they wanted to go back to their own time they’d have to find out how to resurrect the dragon, but only at a terrible cost, a sacrifice of some kind... Not his best off-the-cuff work, but there were usable concepts in there, somewhere. If there was a next time.

Despite being laden down with the chainmail, each tiny link flashing like fish scales in the airy slanting of the afternoon sun, Kaiba seemed unaffected by the demands of the hike, propelling himself forward with long, energetic strides. How?

Ryou thought about asking for a break. Or drinking water from the stream. Or changing his boots for something comfier, but he didn't have anything else in his outfit inventory except the mage robes, and the slippers might be even worse… he stopped, hands on his hips, gathering his breath.

From here the valley sprawled below them, a wide, velvety plain, its edges rising and scalloped by mountains. The village fit in the circle of his thumb and forefinger, a smoking black thumbprint. The team had done a fantastic job: the stream ran down the mountain, flattened into a river, and ran south, lazy and serpentine, a green-blue ribbon cutting through the yellow plains, just like he’d outlined in his initial description of the world….

Wait. 

This was all virtual. 

There was no such thing as air, here, or rivers or sunshine or grasses.

His real, physical body was half-asleep in a Virtual World testing pod on the 17th floor of the Kaiba Corp Tower, and his body here was just a series of algorithms, and if he didn’t want to sweat, he didn’t have to fucking sweat! Thank God!

Up ahead, Kaiba noted the absence of his footfalls and turned around, one hand resting easily on his sword hilt. From his position on the path, he looked down at Ryou from several feet up, which doubled the intimidation of his already formidable bearing.

“I’m fine,” Ryou said. “Just... admiring the view.”

“Are you having your Matrix moment? That’s what my programmers call it,” Kaiba said.

Ryou laughed. “I think so. I was tired but I don't feel it at all, anymore. Like all the fatigue's just melted away and I could run a marathon.”

“Is that something you enjoy?”

“Oh, no. I hate sports.”

Kaiba snorted.

“So, tell me. Why do you want this job?” he said. “At my company? Writing stories with my technology?”

“Er - ” Blindsided by the swerve in topics, Ryou tripped over his thoughts. Surely he must’ve read his application? Maybe he didn’t have the time. Stick to straightforward. “I’m sure you remember my performance in Battle City?”

“Yes, I remember,” Kaiba said, which was honestly more than Ryou expected of him.

“Well, I don’t play much Duel Monsters anymore,” he said, “but I still.. every once in a while, I turn my Duel Disk on and play a few cards, just to see my monsters come out, see them breathe… you know I run a Zombie deck, full of demons and dead things, but SolidVision makes them feel so - so alive. You took these fantasy monsters that exist only in our heads and put them in our world.”

“Virtual World game writers don’t work on SolidVision products,” Kaiba countered.

“Right, I know that. To me, Virtual World and SolidVision are the inverse of each other, or opposites that contain each other, like, like yin and yang - with SolidVision, the unreal enters the real, and becomes real. In the Virtual World, the real - ” Ryou motioned to himself - “enters the unreal, and becomes unreal. We like to put walls between imagination and reality, you know, taxes are real and unicorns aren’t, but with SolidVision and Virtual World, there is no wall. That’s the world I want to write stories for.”

“Hm,” Kaiba said, the corner of his mouth curving up in a smile. “Interesting take.”

And he waited, saying nothing more, until Ryou realized he was waiting for him; and trotted lightly up the path to join him.

*** 

By the time they reached the top of the mountain pass, the air had turned a clear, dusky gold. The mountains cast long, black shadows across the valley, like dark teeth, chewing up the farmlands. The mountain pass was saddle-shaped, one side sloping down into the valley they’d just come from, the other flattening into a smaller, higher bowl, cupping a pale blue-green lake between its rocky palms.

Kaiba scrambled onto the nearest large rock, his head swinging as he scanned the lake valley. Ryou wrapped one arm around his waist and bit his thumb. They had found a deep, penetrating quiet, the kind of wilderness quiet that was devoid of texture of any kind; no bugs or burbling streams or bird song. It was not even like holding your breath, waiting, because that implied a coming moment of exhale, a sigh of relief. This was a perfect stillness. 

And hidden somewhere inside it was a dragon. 

Ryou bit harder, until he remembered the pain was fake and did nothing, and he had to come up with something else to temper his anxiety, which was definitely, definitely real.

Kaiba's gonna flip his shit when he sees your dragon, Yuugi said, from the back of Ryou's mind, Ryou's demo manuscript in hand. In a good way or a bad way? Is it too derivative? What does it matter that he'll flip his shit for my dragon when he flips his shit for ANY dragon? He's a slut for dragons. Oh my god, you can't say that! Yuugi, please, help - nope. You got this. You know what you're doing.

Even the metallic shing of Kaiba’s sword coming out of its sheath seemed small, in an unnatural way, a pointless, petty defiance. 

A shadow fell across the lake valley. 

Both of them looked up -

and an enormous dragon hurtled out of the sky, landing with thundering force on all four clawed feet, flattening trees and boulders beneath its reptilian bulk. Ryou staggered backwards and fell, in an awkward, clumsy crab pose; Kaiba threw his shield over his face and dug in, undaunted.

"HAVE YOU COME TO KILL ME?" the dragon boomed. “MISERABLE WRETCH?”

Kaiba lowered his shield, just enough for his first full look at the dragon. From his spot, crumpled on the ground, Ryou saw, in the shadow below the shield, another slender smile. The dragon’s hide was a dark, luxurious blue-black, mottled like snakeskin but textured with the heavy crags and knobs of crocodiles. It lowered its head on its long, arching neck, gracefully bearing the weight of two massive, curving horns, and stared down at them with fathomless acid-green eyes.

Even Ryou, who had designed it, sat enthralled: every movement it made - the eager flick of its tail, the claws, curling into the dirt, glinting under a layer of blood and grime, the shuddering of its leathery wings as they folded into its long body - hinted at indomitable power. It was a true creature of legend, a titan from the youngest days of the world, demanding both reverence and terror.

“I have!” Kaiba replied blithely, despite announcing it in a ringing voice.

“ONLY THE CHOSEN ONE CAN DEFEAT ME,” the dragon said. “YOU ARE NOT WORTHY OF SUCH A FEAT. I SEE YOUR HEART, BLACKGUARD KNIGHT. I CAN TASTE THE BLOOD YOU’VE SPILLED WITH YOUR SWORD, BRIGHT AND PUNGENT. I CAN HEAR THE CRIES OF ALL THE LIVES YOU’VE LET EBB INTO THE DIRT AT YOUR FEET!”

“I’m here to avenge the village!” Kaiba shouted. 

“YOU COME UP HERE TO DEFEND SOME PATHETIC SCRAPS OF BRICK AND WOOD, THINKING YOU CAN KILL ME, AND CALL THAT HONOR? REDEMPTION? YOU CALL THAT COURAGE? ITS TRUE NAME IS VANITY! EMPTY AND FALSE! IT WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN BEFORE I DO!” the dragon boomed again. “LEAVE. I WAS ONCE NAIVE AND VAIN LIKE YOU. COME BACK WHEN YOU ARE MORE THAN A MERE WORM, OR ELSE SUFFER MY FATE!”

Ryou had clambered to his feet and bolted for the safety of a low ridge, which gave him a perfect view of Kaiba, head held high and proud as he gazed unflinching at the dragon, several hundred times his size. He’d written those words in his notebook on the metro, leaning his head against the cool midnight glass, pausing every other line to ferret out another piece of sour candy from his bag. Then he’d missed his stop. That trundling, light-washed world of a train car seemed impossibly distant now - a rapidly fading dream, to be remembered only in flashes and silence. To hear the words come out of the smoking jaws of this dragon, each syllable flowing in a delicious, indulgent baritone from its shining teeth, filled him with a breathless exhilaration, his heart hammering in his throat - this was real!

“Only one of us is suffering fate today!” Kaiba shouted back, a laugh in his voice, and then threw a glance at Ryou. “‘Suffer my fate?’ Is that a typo?”

“VERY WELL. COME KILL ME! THERE IS PEACE IN DEATH, AND ONLY ONE OF US CAN CLAIM IT!”

“I - watch out!” Ryou yelled, as the dragon lunged forward, its jaws snapping shut on the empty air where Kaiba had been standing half a second before. Kaiba threw himself out of the way, a nimble tuck and roll, and scrabbled across the shale towards higher ground. Behind him, the dragon swung its massive head, nostrils red and flaring, mouth curled up in a savage draconic grin, glinting with the promise of violence. 

No sooner had Kaiba flung himself behind a scattering of boulders, shield raised, than it unleashed a jet of fire so hot and scorching the boulders glowed red, their rough faces melting in sheets. Ryou felt the heat wash across his face, from several dozen yards away. 

The fire died out. The dragon snorted in satisfaction, horse-like, a loud, wet huff of smoke. The boulders sizzled as they cooled into their new, bizarrely dripping forms.

Kaiba emerged from behind a boulder, sweating and singed, his face streaked with ash and his eyes shining. He tossed the warped, melted wreckage of his shield aside, where it bounced and clattered against the rocks.

“SO YOU STILL LIVE? A MISTAKE. WHAT COMES NEXT WILL HURT WORSE!”

“For you!” Kaiba hurled back, and threw his hand into the air, a gesture Ryou had seen countless times on a duel field - a lightning rod, a summoning. “VENTUS!” 

The wind picked up, in a giddy, howling whirl, bringing with it a cloud of dust that descended gritty and blinding and pale across the valley. Kaiba and the dragon vanished from sight inside it. Mentally Ryou subtracted one spell from Kaiba’s satchel.

“THIS WON’T HELP Y - ” Cut off by a wet chop and an ear-splitting draconic scream, a raw, awful sound, torn out of an unwilling throat. Just below it, a glorious, cascading laugh. “WRETCH! WORM!”

The dust settled, revealing glistening, dark-green blood splattered across the rocks, and a single severed claw, its flesh still twitching. The dragon seethed, its wounded foot curled in agony. Kaiba was clear across the other side of the pass, by the dragon’s tail, grinning open-mouthed as he panted for breath. His chainmail and surcoat dripped with dragon blood; his hair was thick with it. 

“COME GET YOUR PEACE, DRAGON!” he bellowed, and the dragon slung its head around, tail coiling in an ominous whip. 

Again Kaiba lifted his hand, shouted “VENTUS - !”

And a second dust cloud barreled into the valley, as the dragon roared back, “THAT WON’T WORK AGAIN!”

It whipped its tail through the dust cloud, a scythe-like sweep - smacking something hard into the rocks with a thick, fleshy crunch of bone that made Ryou’s insides clench tight with terrified sympathy.

The dragon whirled around, clearing the dust with several storm-gathering wingbeats.

This was not real. This was just pixels, neatly arranged and running in rivers of algorithms - just a clever series of ones and zeroes - and yet Ryou gasped, the dragon laughing, at the sight of Kaiba lying in a crumpled, motionless heap in the rocks. He hadn’t considered Kaiba might actually fail to kill the dragon - all thoughts of jobs and game-writing abandoned - unreality aside, the mind had a way of making it real - what the fuck happened if Kaiba died?

“IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE, WORM?” the dragon said, nudging Kaiba’s limp body with its claws, rolling him over. His head lolled, his body twisted into a horrifying, broken-boned slouch. How on earth was Ryou going to explain this to Yuugi? Hell. “I TOLD YOU, YOU'RE NOT W - ”

Ryou almost didn’t see it - a hawk in a dive, arrow-straight, from the top of the sky, diving through a blinding flash of light several stories up - and out of the light came Kaiba, alive and whole, plummeting towards the dragon’s head, gripping his sword with both hands - plunging it straight through the top of the dragon’s skull. 

He left the sword hilt-deep in dragon flesh as he pitched forward with the force of impact, rolling over the dragon’s brow, flailing to catch himself - on the massive horn. Clinging, victorious, as the great dragon swayed, its green eyes filming, and finally slumped, in agonized slow motion, to the earth, body first, head last, with a thundering, bone-rattling crash. 

It released one last, rattling breath, the trees shuddering in the fetid breeze.

The valley descended into stillness once more. 

Ryou sat down on his low escarpment with a limp thump, burying his face in both hands. This was just a Virtual World, where at one point everything would power down and they’d wake up safe and sound in the squishy, air-conditioned comfort of a pod, and he had, after all, planned on Kaiba killing the dragon, but Kaiba’s sheer nerve seemed beyond that. Yuugi was right. The guy was, maybe, a little nuts. Completely off his rocker.

“Ryou,” Kaiba said, above him, and Ryou lifted his head. Kaiba rested the sword jauntily across his shoulder, the rest of him filthy with dragon blood and human blood and dirt. “I have to say, I enjoyed your dragon. A shame it had to die.”

“Your strategy... You used a glamour spell? On a... rock? To make it look like your dead body,” Ryou said. “And then a transformation spell.”

“Correct. Is that all for your demo?” Kaiba said, cocking an eyebrow, both bloody and disdainful, and Ryou swallowed. “I was hoping for more of a cha - ”

His words stopped hard in his throat, a harsh, hacking sound. His free hand flew to his neck, mouth dropping open in pain and confusion, eyes widening. He coughed - or tried to, achieving nothing more than a thin, ugly retching, his face going white - and Ryou watched, in fascinated horror, as his gamble began to play out. There was nothing he could do to help; he’d written it that way.

The sword clattered to the stones, green blood dripping off the shining edge, as Kaiba staggered sideways, gasping for breath, both hands on his neck - what was the algorithm doing to him? Ryou had only written ‘a suffocating, squirming pain, concentrated in the lungs,’ and resolved to think more carefully about what types of pain he might inflict on the player characters, if the gamble paid off... But how interesting to know even the creator of the Virtual World himself suspended his disbelief - his knowledge of the truth - sometimes, and indulged in pain...

He collapsed to his knees, stretching one hand out, fisting it around Ryou’s collar and dragging him closer - 

“What - ” he choked out, eyes glaring into Ryou’s, in baffled, furious agony - terrified - they rolled backwards, the blue sliding away to white, as he slumped over himself. 

His hand went slack and fell. What life remained slipped away in a low, shaking sigh.

Ryou took him by the shoulders and gently lay him down, passing a hand over his eyes to close them. Dead, but not really.

“Just hold on a moment,” he said. The body had been vacated. The soul - the player - was awakening elsewhere.

He waited a few moments, absorbing the stillness, the detail on the leaves of the pine trees; the way the lake water shimmered in golden flecks with late afternoon light. It was maybe his last few seconds to enjoy the world he’d written, rendered in full splendor by the magic of technology, and he’d banished his anxiety from both his mind and body, to live out its exile in the real world. It didn’t belong here.

The great dragon body began to stir, drowsily, waking up from a deep, deep sleep. The deepest sleep.

Ryou stood up and slid down the escarpment to the dragon, pebbles and dust avalanching around his feet. The stab wound in its skull was knitting back together; the severed claw was crawling back to its slow-bleeding joint. There was an agonized hiss, forced through the dragon’s tightly-clenched teeth, and a vibrating groan, deep in its chest, as it gathered itself out of death.

Its eyes opened, in wary slits - not the bright, acid green, but a stunning, oceanic blue.

“OW. FUCK,” it growled, in Kaiba’s voice, magnified and twice as resonant. “OPEN MASTER COMMANDS, USER ID 000002510. SUSPEND ALL PAIN ALGORITHMS. CLOSE MASTER COMMANDS.”

He rolled upright, flexing his wings with experimental care. He arched his neck, looking down at Ryou.

“YOU TURNED ME INTO A DRAGON.”

“Yes,” Ryou said cautiously.

“NO ONE HAS EVER TURNED ME INTO A DRAGON BEFORE,” Kaiba said. ”SO I WASN’T WORTHY? IS THIS WHAT IT MEANS TO SUFFER THE DRAGON’S FATE? EVERYONE WHO KILLS THE DRAGON BECOMES THE DRAGON, AND ONLY THE CHOSEN ONE BREAKS THE CYCLE. IS THAT HOW IT GOES?”

“That’s how it goes.”

“HOW DO I FIND THE CHOSEN ONE?”

“You choose them,” Ryou said. “You decide what makes them worthy.”

"SO ANYONE CAN BE THE CHOSEN ONE? ANYONE CAN BREAK MY CURSE?"

"That's right."

Kaiba pondered that for a moment, flexing his claws idly in the dirt, the massive slabs of muscle in his shoulders shifting as he tested the strength and fit of his new draconic body. His gaze drifted out over the lower valley, eyes clouding briefly with memories of another story, another game, another man; one who had always seemed real and unreal, all at once, no matter what world he lived in. Ryou had heard it all from Yuugi.

Then Kaiba looked at him and started to laugh, a sound that echoed and rebounded across the small lake valley, the water shivering as each delighted peal of laughter rolled across. Ryou blushed as it buffeted him from all sides.

“IS THAT SO,” Kaiba said, with dry relish. “YOU’RE HIRED.”

[killervibe]

Tethered

“Cisco.” Her cold voice pierced his ears.

He steadied his breathing and closed his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts. There was so much Cisco was hiding. So many secrets he was keeping from everyone it felt like if he took so much as a wrong turn everything would come spilling out. And this tone of voice Caitlin was using, this one so new and distorted, and yet, familiar. A call for him across the Cortex, a warning to reel back his sass. It was perfectly crafted to hide her emotion, to pike his intrigue and force him to turn and pay her all his attention, to give her his everything and simply listen to what she had to say. To make him quiet or to make him spill, and it didn’t matter which of the two it was now because everything Cisco now did, every facial expression every word every breath of crisp cold air in his lungs could reveal everything he had packed tighter than snow could ever allow.

Cisco shivered in his apartment, his fleece sweater doing nothing for him. He’s been fiddling with his thermostat for the last three weeks since Caitlin has come to stay here, and still, it did little to help him. He went back up to it now, cranking it up. His breathing came out in puffs of air, crystallizing in front of him.

  “Cisco,” she said again. Cisco swallowed.

Caitlin’s hair was stark white, and her complexion paler than death. The eyes that bore into him, however, were a cobalt blue that played in his dreams ever since she haunted them by dying.

Cisco sat carefully next to her on his couch. He rubbed his chapped hands together.

“Tell me something,” she said. And she called herself Killer Frost now, shot him withering looks whenever he called her by name, her beautiful, wonderful name, but now she tilted her head at him, the white curls falling to the side, and she considered her next phrase as his heart lurched in his chest. It was a very Caitlin Snow thing to do.

“Tell me something,” she repeated. “The day you came to release me from the hospital.”

Cisco stared at his lap. Waiting.

“How did you do it?”

“How did I do it?” he whispered, faintly.

~.~

It was rather simple and 100% accidental to be precise.

Cisco was sitting at home staring at a snapped necklace he had spent hours devoting to guarantee it did it’s damn job when he got the alert.

Cisco had signed up for the program 5 years ago. He wasn’t one to tempt with fate or to sit and look out every window, wistfully sighing over a predestined match. Cisco was never one to surround his life over possibility or chances that did not work in his favour, so, like most people of the 21st century, he left the idea of his goddamn soulmate alone.

But Cisco cared for them anyway. For their health and safety, and overall happiness, wherever they were, whoever they chose to be. The fee to register with the Soulmate Wellbeing Program felt like a justifiable cost to bring closure in his life should they pass away, or to be an extra hand if he were their last hope in affliction. Being his soulmate’s kin without even a face or a name to go with their undisclosed serial number was a little weird, the legal rights they had to his being and vice versa was something he never exactly wanted to be responsible with, nor thought was a great governmental idea when it was legislated after the second world war. That power to use it out of his own want simply if he pleased, to access hospital records and make decisions over their body felt to him like a man’s loophole to revert anything requiring consent.

So when the alert came from the Soulmate Wellbeing Program that Cisco’s soulmate was admitted to Central City’s Centre of Psychiatric Care, prompting him to view files, he hesitated, glancing at Caitlin’s lost necklace with a sigh of defeat before putting it away and clicking the link.

He read the patient’s admit file and froze. Then immediately grabbed his coat and keys and made a run for the door.

Checking Caitlin out only required an ID check and a signature, but he did stop to ask the nurse at the station how she had been brought in.

“A british man,” the nurse said, seemingly relieved to have been rid of Killer Frost. “With blond hair. He brought her in.”

Cisco narrowed his eyes and clenched the desk, brisk with his thanks. His mind was still reeling with his newfound information, with this missing detail that had been dark in his life for so many years, he could hardly fathom it, and was about to ask another question. But Caitlin was brought to him, blank and dull, a thin firm line pressed against her mouth, but willingly ready to leave with Cisco without snark or question.

“You do not need to be locked up,” he said firmly, breaching her to his apartment later that night. “Caitlin, I know you can hear me. Everything Julian has been telling you are lies. You don’t need to be locked up. You’re not crazy and you don’t need to be fixed.”

“What do I need, then?” Killer Frost said at last, meeting his eyes, and for a fraction of a second Cisco swore he saw the old Caitlin.

I don’t know. But I’ll take care of you, always, just as you did with me. Let me love you, Caitlin. Caitlin Snow. My soulmate. 

The words bubbled inside under his tongue, threatening to spill from his lips.

Cisco shrugged, and rubbed his arms around himself, freezing as the temperature plummeted.

“Food?”

~.~

Caitlin looked at her nails, before glancing back at him. Cisco sat very still and forced himself to look back.

"You would only be able to do that if you were immediate family or my.... or my soulmate."

His breath caught involuntarily, hearing her say it.  

She kept going, but paused at his behaviour, eyeing him with something that should frighten him, which would frighten him if he were anyone but exactly who she’s accusing him to be.

Caitlin’s mouth dropped open slightly, the most genuine expression Cisco has seen on her face in days. Her eyebrows steadily rose up to meet her white hairline.

The tears flooding Cisco’s eyes were there without his permission, and he swallowed the devastation down that this was how she found out. That after all these years of together, unknowing, blissfully unaware that they were each other’s person. And it was his fault it happened like this, it was his fault for keeping it his dark secret, but how could Cisco sit Killer Frost down and find a way to tell her that wouldn’t utterly cause him to break? He had imagined every possible scenario, her laughing in his face, her accusing him of making up lies at his desperate attempt to keep her, his imagination playing tricks.

And none of them would be what he knew how Caitlin Snow would react, his soulmate, because this girl in front of him, this maddening literal cold-blooded girl he loved so fiercely even without soulbond knowledge refused to be her.

Cisco took her hand, flattening her icicled fingers until his own were numb, placing it on his lap. Frost seeped through his thick clothes as he told her, “That’s because…” he worked his jaw open and gave a weak, tearful laugh. “That’s because, Caitlin. You are.”

“No,” she said automatically.

Cisco steeled himself and continued. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. It’s you.”

“No,” she said again, but Cisco’s eyes widened because this was a quiet, pleading no. Killer Frost’s blue lips trembled, and her hand shook in his.

“No,” she choked out, distraught, and her eyes flickered again, this time, Cisco not imagining it. “No,” Caitlin said. “No.”

“It’s true, Caitlin.” He reached for his phone and showed her the app for the program. The one she knew was always on his phone left abandoned.

“Cisco, no,” she whimpered, but colour was returning to her skin and Cisco simply held onto her tightly, letting it sink in. Rose flushed against her cheeks and her irises slowly morphed darker, her lips lighter and lighter until it was the pale pink from her deathbed.

And there is no magic with soulmates. No special feeling that tingles through your toes. No zolt or zap or Einstein theory on souls.

But the knowledge of being soulmated, bound to one person forever by fate cannot be fabricated or recreated or feigned.

It’s a real feeling that settles in your bones. A simple light switch from ignorance to cognizance once unearthed, cannot be stolen.

Cisco’s fingers were close to being frostbitten, and he removed his touch with heartache. He’d never be able to touch her, to kiss her, or take her in his arms like before. Their entire years snatched away with a twisted turn of timelined fate.

But they were scientists who built on numbers and facts and the truth was this was how they were, and always meant to be. And in that same way it meant there was no doubt in Cisco’s mind that this would not end in tragedy.

Caitlin caught him off guard, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his. He shuddered, wondering if this was how he died as he foolishly forgot all caution and wrapped his arms around her neck. It was cold and electrifying but she was not stealing his breath, not in the way that forced frost down his throat, freezing him inside out, and in fact, she folded, melting into his embrace, pushing herself closer as steam hissed between them like a sauna. Cisco opened an eye, and pulled away and so did Caitlin, stunned.

They sat there, breathing heavily, Caitlin gasping, staring at her own hands like they were broken weapons.

“Caitlin,” he said, and this time it’s she who turned and listened. Silver and blue danced back into her eyes and face as the old, temporarily unleashed Caitlin slithered back down into the depths of this new one. Cisco sighed and so did she, shifting away as heat vanished and he shivered again, returning to distanced and cold still as they were the same but something has shifted. “We’re going to make this work.”  

She nodded jerkily and took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Cisco started to ramble, his secrets flooding out like a disintegrating dam. He rubbed his arms up and down his sleeves, trying to gain some warmth. “I haven’t told anybody but Julian might be suspicious what with me cutting him off your whereabouts at the hospital and I still don’t know what to tell Barry or Iris, they still think you’ve disappeared to join Savitar and--”

“Cisco,” Caitlin said. He went quiet, but his eyes danced, couldn’t help it really, not with the way his heart was racing and teeth chattering, so filled with hope. 

“Put up the heat,” she said eventually, meeting Cisco’s gaze with the smallest of smirks. “Wouldn’t want my soulmate to freeze to death.”