#like i dodged a massive bullet today

[thetruemek]

now this is a story all about how I spent the entire year slowly working towards a degree to be able to train new students, only to have my shitty boss deny my request for some time off my routine shit to set everything up and dedicate myself fully to this new position and upon further requesting outright telling me he "still has the option to not have [me] work that position at all so [I] can quit and look somewhere else for work" with me going "You know what? With how this joint is operating, I'd prefer that option!" But here's the kicker: I'm not quitting bitch, I'm just gonna do my routine shit as I've done always, ignore my fucking degree and drive you insane by simply existing and having a merry old time you dumb fuck

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 11: Your Greatest Fear

Fandom: The Dark Knight Trilogy

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x OC

Summary: Vanessa gets injured. 

Word Count: 2,340

Notes: Today (October 25) is Vanessa's birthday! So here's a little fic I actually wrote awhile ago but that I've since edited and improved to celebrate. Warnings for depictions of blood and violence.  

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It had happened so quickly. One moment, Vanessa was beside him as they crouched, waiting for the officers’ gunfire to finish, and the next he heard her let out a sound almost like a yelp. She had already been pressed against him, but the weight resting on him increased and when he whipped his head around to check on her, Vanessa’s hand was pressed to her side, already sticky with blood. Jonathan had reached out to her only for the spray of glass from the skylight above them shattering to send him jerking back, arms held out to protect his face. He only managed to catch one more glimpse of Vanessa kneeling on the ground beside him, side now soaked with blood from the gunshot wound, before Batman was slamming him hard into the wall. His ribs ached from the hit, but pain was an old friend, and he shoved it into the back of his mind.

Despite having a bullet in her side, Vanessa still managed to leverage the brief moment in which Batman’s attention was focused on Jonathan and in an explosion of movement, her blade was slicing at one of the weaker points of the Bat’s suit. He easily shrugged her off, but it gave Jonathan the opening he needed, a quick movement of his wrist and a lunge forward sending a plume of toxin directly into the Bat’s face. 

Normally, he would want to stay to watch. It had been quite amusing that night in the apartment in the Narrows, watching the man’s arms flail around in panic as he tried to fight off whatever demons he saw. And Jonathan was particularly proud of that little stunt they had pulled with the alcohol and the lighter.

But there was no time for that now. Quick as he could with what were definitely bruised ribs, he dodged around the Batman to Vanessa, pulling her to her feet and wrapping an arm around her waist to help support her as they ran to the backdoor. They made it out and down the alley before having to duck at the cacophony of gunfire behind them. Vanessa grunted and turned, gun free from its holster on her thigh as she fired blindly behind them at the cops that had gathered on the other end of the alley. She managed to hit one in the torso, the others ducking for cover, buying them just enough time to slip around the corner.

It took some zigzagging through alleyways and hiding behind a dumpster before he was confident that they had evaded the last of the cops. 

Vanessa leaned against the wall, tugging down her gas mask to hang loosely around her neck. Her already pale skin was a frighteningly sickly white color, freckles standing out even more starkly against her skin. The side of her black shirt was utterly soaked with blood.

“Look at me,” he said, cupping her cheeks and tilting her head up. Her eyes blinked slowly, like it was taking a massive effort for her to keep them open.

“Jonathan,” she coughed a little bit. “I’m really tired.”

He wasn’t used to the stab of anxiety that raced through him as he stroked away a few stray hairs that had fallen out of her bun. “I know, Nes. Just a few more blocks, alright?” 

One of their safehouses wasn’t far, and he was pretty sure they still had a medkit there. Winding an arm firmly around her waist again, he  pressed his hand tight over the hole in her side. “You’re gonna be alright.”  

She passed out right as they were climbing the stairs to the safehouse. He caught her with relative ease, having already been supporting the majority of her weight anyway. Jonathan forced himself to swallow down the stab of dread as Vanessa’s head lolled against his shoulder.

He carried her swiftly to the couch, leaving her there for only a few seconds to lock the doors and grab a medical kit from the bathroom. He breathed a sigh of relief when he opened it to find it fully stocked. 

He set to work, cutting away at her shirt and cleaning the wound. He had to extract the bullet first, which ended up being slow and tedious as the annoying little ball kept slipping through his tweezers. He paused every once in a while to check her pulse. It was much more fluttery than he would have liked, and her breathing was too low and shallow. Once the bullet landed with a clink in the little metal dish, he set to work with the yarn and thread. He thought it unlikely that the bullet had hit anything vital; if it had she likely would already be dead. Right now it was blood loss and the potential for infection that he was the most concerned about. 

Once she was all sewn and bandaged up he sat back on the now bloodstained rug, still bloody fingers reaching out to trace over her beautiful face. He would monitor her throughout the night; if she declined at all he would take her to the hospital, cops and authorities be damned. His fingers shifted to rest on her wrist, checking her pulse again. It was still fluttery, but perhaps the slightest bit stronger since he had gotten the bullet out and stopped the bleeding. Jonathan allowed his fingers to curl from around her wrist to lace with hers, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. He brought their hands up to rest against his cheek, a ghost of a kiss brushed across her knuckles.

She would be just fine.

She had to be.

∗ ∗ ∗ 

It had been two days and she hadn’t woken up. Jonathan continued to hover over her, constantly checking for signs of infection or tears in her stitches. He had moved her to the bed, removing the rest of her uniform so that she would be comfortable and had wrapped her up in one of his hoodies. It was big on her and wouldn’t disturb the stitches. With the zipper he could easily check and change her bandages with minimal disturbance. 

He spent the rest of the time pacing nervously, ringing his hands and not knowing what to do with this sudden ball of intense anxiety that had flared up to choke him. He made soup, obsessively double and then triple checked the locks, and tried to go into the lab to work, but he couldn’t focus, eventually throwing his pencil down and stalking back to the bedroom.

She was laying on her side, curled into a fetal position. Long, endless locks of thick black hair fanned out on the pillow. One of the shoulders of his hoodie had slipped down to expose one freckled shoulder. He pulled it up, not wanting her to get cold.

It felt so wrong to see her like this. His Vanessa wasn’t motionless, pale,–okay, she was usually pretty pale but not that type of pale–and cold. His Vanessa was full of warmth and life, teasing him with bright eyes, and even when she wasn’t moving, there was always a promise that at any moment she could explode into sudden wonderful motion. No matter what happened she was always the one constant in his life, her understanding, protective presence forever at his side with her quick wit and beautiful, intelligent mind.

She had always seemed a bit indestructible to him, a wild force of nature that could never really be seriously harmed. She bounced back easily from cuts, bruises, broken bones, and even concussions, always up and moving far earlier than he was ever comfortable with. But she would always laugh, and kiss him, telling him that she was fine and that he worried about her too much. Seeing her like this was incredibly unnerving, even if logically he knew that she had just lost a large amount of blood and needed to rest to recover from it.  

He missed her. It was ridiculous, because she was right there curled up in the bed in front of him and it had only been a couple of days. But he ached to feel her wrap her arms around him, pressing herself against his back or side whenever she wanted his attention. Or to hear the sound of her laugh and voice as they spoke about the latest test subject, about the best place to gas on Halloween this year, about what they should have for dinner. 

God, he really, really missed her voice. 

He pulled his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes, exhausted. Without her, he spent way too much time stuck in his own head.  

He could feel the beginnings of tears building up behind his eyes and had to look away from the little body curled in that cheap-ass bed, instead focusing on the wall. After a moment he sighed, kicking off his shoes and climbing into the rickety, godawful bed. He curled himself carefully around her, spooning her from behind. One hand found her wrist again, obsessively checking to feel the thump of her pulse. It was stronger than it was two days ago. He pressed his face into her hair and breathed in deep.

“Nes,” he croaked out, voice hoarse from lack of use over the past couple of days, “I love you. I love you and I really need you to wake up now, sweetheart. Because I don’t think that I can do any of this without you, okay? Nes, please…” 

She twitched in her sleep but didn’t wake. He sighed, heat sinking. One of his slim arms draped loosely around her as he tucked his face more firmly into her neck and closed his eyes. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

When she woke up, she was warm.

It took her a few moments to gain any sort of awareness, her head felt fuzzy, everything hurt, and she was starving. 

She was tucked into a bed with an incredibly shitty mattress, her side hurt,–oh, that’s right, bullet hole–and Jonathan was wrapped around her like an affectionate blanket. 

She had always maintained the position that he was essentially a giant, often rather grumpy cat trapped in a human body. He took a hell of a long time to warm up to anybody, was more than a little moody, and though he would deny it to the ends of the earth, he was also secretly incredibly affectionate and outright cuddly when he wanted to be, especially when he got protective or worried. 

Vanessa shifted and tried to stretch, which turned out to be a mistake as she let out a soft yip of pain, hand fluttering to her side as her eyes squeezed closed.

Jonathan was sitting up and leaning over her in an instant, hand brushing some of her hair away. “Nes?”

Her eyes fluttered open to look at him. He looked tired and rumpled, and his eyes were a bit puffy–had he been crying? She managed a smile that ended up being more of a grimace.

“Ow.”

His lips twitched up the slightest amount. “A gunshot wound to the side will do that, love.”

“I’m hungry,” she complained, but when she tried to sit up he gently pushed her back down.

“I’ll go get you some soup. After you eat I can give you some painkillers.”

She nodded and watched him jump gracefully out of bed and head to the door. Before he walked through it he turned around and pointed at her with narrowed eyes. 

“And don’t move.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dr. Crane.”

“I detect sass.”

“Just go get me my soup.” Laughing hurt, but it seemed to relax him. Vanessa sighed and snuggled down into the pillows. She still felt very, very tired. He came back a few minutes later with two bowls of soup, some water, and a sleeve of saltines for them to share. Once he was settled back into bed next to her she pressed herself to his side, smiling at the way his arm immediately went around her.   

“How long was I out?” she asked around a mouthful of noodles and carrots.

“Only about two days,” he didn’t look at her, just stirred his spoon mindlessly in his bowl. She tilted her head to the side.

“Were you worried about me?”

“Pfft. No,” liar, liar, pants on fire. She poked him in the shoulder with a sly smile.   

“Whatever you say, bag-head.”

“Rude,” he was looking at her with that fond, adoring expression that made her cheeks flush. She couldn’t reach his cheek or his lips without stretching upwards and angering her side, so she settled for pressing a kiss to his collarbone instead.

They finished their soup and saltines in comfortable silence. When they were done, Jonathan gave her an antibiotic and two little pills along with a glass of water to swallow them down with.  

“Those aren’t the ones that make me dizzy, are they?” she asked once she was laying back in bed on her side, Jonathan curled up behind her again. He shook his head, a hand reaching down. For a moment she thought that he was going to hold her hand, but instead his long fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“No, they just might make you sleepy.”

She hummed, snuggling down into his arms. She was enjoying the extra attention and doting he was giving her. Sure, the mother-henning would probably get old in a week or so when he still scolded her for getting out of bed, but for now she basked in it.

His fingers were still pressed against her wrist, and she opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing before the realization hit her and her heart tightened with deep affection for him. He really had been very worried about her; even if he wouldn’t admit it.

She allowed herself to doze, warm and happy, with the feel of Jonathan’s warm chest pressed to her back and his fingers at her wrist, checking her pulse.  

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[bulldog-butch]

This is not really a question but a couple weeks ago I got double ghosted by someone after having to postpone dates a couple times (due to me being really ill) and today they sent me a message saying they have a girlfriend but they really like me do I wanna be friends. So i laugh reacted to it and they sent back a question mark haha. The worst/funniest bit is that they sent me a massive paragraph about how much they like me and how they hadnt felt like that since their ex not long before the ghosting

what a wild thing to send to someone, good god. i don’t even know what to say except it sounds like you dodged a bullet anon

[dlnorton]

(As I write this, the Tropical Storm Hilary has yet to land its full force into the Southern California region.. but its 24 hours away and coming in..)

Here’s the thing about the hurricane Hilary coming in to give Southern California a huge, and potentially, a much needed bath.. it’s the irony.. (btw..Southern California really needs the water after a horrendous two to three year drought) Southern California has had it’s share of natural disasters.. namely brush fires and earthquakes.

I currently live in the Denver, CO region along the Front Range, but my hometown is Riverside, CA. I’ve also lived in Los Angeles in various communities during my younger days as a starving artist.

Living in SoCal since 1970, I lived through 3 major earthquakes and countless brush fires. Brush fires so bad, at one time in the early to mid 1990s fire seasons, I could see all of those fires (1993-94?) 360° around me in the mountains and foothills. It was a crazy time.

Growing up, I also lived in two states, Florida and Texas. I don’t even remember severe weather back in those days. I don’t even remember hurricane Gladys in 1968 hitting the Florida panhandle where we lived when I was 6 years old. Hell, I barely remember any tornado that came in. Of course today, here in the Denver area, I’m connected 24/7 to all tornado and weather alerts.. and I won’t mention the crazy snow storms and blizzards..

But hurricane Hilary is a conundrum to me. It’s like a cartoon.. it’s there, but it’s two dimensional. I have family and friends that are right now bracing for this potential disaster, what with the possibility of catastrophic flooding and wind damage.

The last event equal to this was around 1937-38. Massive flooding due to run off that the hard SoCal ground can’t absorb, and the ground is still like this today, from the deserts to the sea.. pancake hard. I know the Los Angeles River and the Santa Ana River are the main concourses that will have to take the brunt of this deluge that will be coming. I can only imagine.

The majority of the storm is currently hitting the east from Palm Springs to all points eastward. Arizona and Nevada will surely get a drenching.. and probably within a week, we’ll start to see remnants coming into Colorado.

But something like this has never happened to the southwest U.S. in over 85 years.. or what has been referred to as the 100 year flood event. It’s bound to happen but not as a Tropical Storm.. “Pshhh! This happens to Florida, the Caribbean and the Eastern Seaboard.. not the west coast..!!” SoCal did have a horrendous Pacific storm in the late 1980’s that tore up a good chunk of the L.A. and Orange County beaches.. tore off a pier or two. I do remember that one. Rained for days..

So here I am.. getting ready to watch my old stomping grounds get tested by the storm of the century.. seems unreal, but there it is.. in all it’s wet sloppy glory.

Go easy on them Hilary.. it’s their first time..

..and..

huh?

What?

Southern California really dodged a bullet..?

Oh fuck me..

[logorrhea5mip]

Inspired by one of the ppl i follow who has the same position, i am seeking advice from people knowledgeable in this: I have tons of symptoms of autism and find most experiences of autistic ppl extremely relatable. I live in a place where mental health is quite taboo, let alone getting a diagnosis of something "being wrong with you".

A funny story(kill me) i have is when my mom told me like a year ago, and I quote: "When you were 3 a doctor told us you probably have autism(what), and it would start showing in a few years. When you behaved really asocially in school we were worried(didn't do anything tho) but now you talk to people and have a few friends so we dodged that bullet(hdjshdhdhd)"

I didn't have the heart to explain that that is not how any of it works, and tell her that she and dad made a major parenting fuckup, but I still live with the consequences today.

Anyways, is there any reason to seek a diagnosis now, especially considering the fact that any involvement with mental health professionals caries massive stigma with it?

[figula]

good evening-

me and ana are in an airbnb now lol. we're both still testing neg, if we can make it to friday w/o testing positive i think we'll feel as though we've dodged a tiny little germy bullet

ben's alright, he said he was ok really this eve + is having a chill time at home, and he's being very good about doing absolutely nothing, which is really key wrt avoiding long term issues, so hopefully by friday (when this airbnb expires) we'll be able to come home

i just hate knowing he has covid bc he's just my favourite person in the world lol + it feels so surreal to have successfully avoided it for 3y and just suddenly to be like "nope here u go".

i'm feeling pretty depressed + have been crying + sleeping in bed most of the day tbh. i miss ben, talking on discord is obviously not the same as hanging out w/ him constantly, and im just so worried he's going to take a turn for the worse at some point (even tho he is triple vaxxed + only 31, w/ omicron, so it's v unlikely)

he's getting a bit of his spark back tho bc for the first few days he was barely speaking to me + now he's sending me pics of the cat lol like "BABY IS HERE :)" so i think that's a good sign

there's a massive bathtub in this airbnb and ben loves baths so i sent him a pic of it and he agreed it was good but not as good as the one in a lewes airbnb he stayed in with ana last year, which he brings up wistfully every so often

i've eaten more today than i have since he tested pos so that's good - im just feeling so wildly depressed that i dont want to eat or drink anything lol i just :-)

after i slept all day ana appeared at the door like HELLO IM LONELY LET ME IN YOUR BED so then we just hung out all night doing parallel play, and also watching chessboxing

[brw]

Very glad I get to explain this. Basically after Scotland and England had a basic union because of the merging of the crowns, but before there was a general Great Britain, Scotland (and by that I mean Edinburgh and Glasgow, the Highlanders who were being taxed out of their own land probably had a different view) were very interested in how wealthy England was getting through its new empire and the imperialist East India Company. A few people got the idea to basically fund their OWN empire, so they could get rich too They knew there was land that could make them rich in Panema, so, not worrying about the people living there like most people, they started getting the people to try and fund the expedition to claim the land and get the imperialist machine rolling. This part of the story went well–around 20% of the entire wealth of Scotland went into this thing. I mean, families put their whole life savings into this, because they were that desperate to have their own imperialist machine built by the labour of enslaved people. Anyway, they go off to establish their new colony, which is also being claimed by Spain because of course it is. Upon arriving, these colonists soon found themselves dying quite rapidly. This was for a few reasons–the climate of Panema is probably as opposite to Scotland as you can get and a lot of people suffered illness from fever and heat. The food supplies hadn't been stored properly, so supplies went low fast. They didn't know how to hunt the animals in the area, and their bodies weren't acclimatised to the diseases there. Apparently, the native people around there tried to give them some fruit to make up for the lack of food they had, but the ships' captains, who mostly remained onboard, appropriated them and didn't share. The death toll was around 10 settler-colonists a day.

This was obviously a disaster. So everyone left, except for the few people they left behind to die because they were too weak to be moved. More unfortunately, the second expedition that they had planned to follow after the first with more supplies hadn't heard of the absolute catastrophe that had gone on and left anyway. When they got there, the captain of that little group and the captain of the first clashed pretty badly because there was basically no colony there and the second didn't think they were going to have to build one. They tried to arrest each other, it was a mess, and then the Spanish Empire came because as far as they were concerned this was their land and not the people who were living on it's land. The Scottish went home because they did not have a force left after all the people that died, and just like that a group of 2,500 would be imperialists were down to just a few hundred after the disease and lack of food killed most of them.

Scotland's economy was in pretty bad shape after this, and it ended up a key motivation in the Acts of Union. The Scottish aristocracy and wealthy elites decided for the people (they were never asked if they wanted to be forever in a union with England) that it would be in their best interests financially and socially to be in a permanent political union with England, and that's where we end up today. Some rich people wanted an empire, it failed, and then they decided to join another empire. Interestingly, another motivation for Scotland's union with England has to do with the Irish colonisation project–it was a lot more politically convenient for the powers of England and Scotland to be unified against the Irish working people, rather than having two distinct nations have colonial power over Ireland.

Anyway, while I am a staunch anti-unionist and a massive advocate for Scotland's independence, there is a distinct feeling of having dodged a MAJOR bullet in this story. If you're interested in learning more about this, I highly recommend Union with David Olusoga, which explores this in great detail of how the concept of Britishness came to be, and the role the colonisation of Ireland specifically but also of this massive failed Imperialist project of the Scottish aristocracy played into the union as we know it today

[olderthannetfic]

RE enjoying HP content: Personally I don't give two shits about HP, but I'll admit, I have a hard time justifying the "Don't engage in HP fandom!" stance. Not giving the creator money and only pirating stuff from the franchise, fine, makes sense. But the argument that people shouldn't even engage in fandom feels strange, because I can't really separate it from the age-old "You shouldn't participate in X fandom because one of the people involved in it is a rapist/wifebeater/union-buster/was abusive towards their actors/[insert long list of other ways people can be shitty]". Is the singular focus on JKR due to her disproportionate impact and celebrity status? The reach of her platform? Even there, I hardly doubt that she is unique in her evil, there are doubtless many others who don't get the same publicity due to not being involved in something central to the pop culture background for so many Westerners.

I can see three arguments for not participating in fandom: One, to punish, and the other, to reduce impact. First argument has the consistency issues I highlighted above, the second one I COULD see, but at the same time, don't we as fans tend to overstate our own importance? (In censorship discussions we frequently discuss that fanfiction has very little power to normalize anything and is ultimately a drop in the bucket.) HP gave rise to a massive mount of licensed spinoff content from videogames to multiple blockbuster movies, including a new franchise that collects millions at the box office each time. In light of the overwhelming marketing and reach, it's hard to see how some people making fanart on Tumblr or whatever matters, and as much as I side-eye HP fans, I find it very hard to actually judge them for the extremely bland crime of not wanting to sacrifice a source of entertainment for some abstract moral good.

The third argument for abstaining from HP fandom is to make nonbinary people feel safer (both people in your circle and strangers coming across your content), but this feels really circumstantial. Abandoning the HP fandom to take a stand with trans people is a nice gesture, but ultimately it's just a gesture, and one that doesn't actually mean anything outside of very specific circumstances. Someone NOT being an HP fan doesn't mean they can't be a transphobe, and someone being an HP fan doesn't have to mean they're anything worse than maybe a little bit selfish/unwilling to sacrifice a source of entertainment and comfort for the sake of other people. This kind of selfishness may be something to judge, but it's also extremely mundane and common, and hardly more offensive than, say, refusing to put content or trigger warning tags on your blog because it's your blog and you just can't be bothered.

To conclude, I personally share the distaste for HP content but I'm not convinced I'm actually being rational in it. At the same time, I'm very much a person driven by hyperfixations, and the fact that I dodged a bullet in not caring about HP is just sheer dumb luck. I do have a lot of sympathy for people obsessed with HP and drawing joy from it, because god knows I can't imagine myself simply forcing myself to stop caring about the thing that's held my imagination in a vice grip for the past few years and inspired me to create so many things. I have a lot of nb friends, so I like to think that if I were interested in HP, I'd be able to choose their sense of security over my hyperfixation. But that's a much more personal argument that can't really be generalised to fandom as a whole...

End ramble. Thanks for reading, and I'd love to hear your thoughts.

--

My argument about fandom participation is that you, the fan, have limited time and brainspace.

If you want to support some other less known creator, put your time and emotions towards that. Don't carve out 50% of your free time for HP or Supernatural or whatever canon we're mad at today.

"I'm not paying them" is a weak argument when you put that much of yourself towards having whatever thing as a lifestyle. "I read the occasional fic. You're making too much of it" is a reasonable argument in my book.

Of course, if people don't care, they don't care, but I keep seeing people who are like "I would leave [bad large fandom] if only I could find the same experience in another". But they don't go build that world they want to see, so it continues to not exist.

[mischiefmanaged71]

Turning Tables (1/8) - Joaquin Torres x Reader

Summary: The instances where Joaquin and Y/N try to express their feelings and the one time they did. 

Author’s Note: I may turn this into a series following the show’s timeline if enough people like it! So far, I’ve planned five parts. Please, let me know what you guys think. Y/N’s powers are ‘mimicking’ others talents and abilities, SIMILAR TO X-MEN’S ROGUE. Check out my other fic, ‘Bad Romance’ - its not related to the show’s exact plot but its pretty epic if you love action and romance.

Warnings: Fluff, canon-level violence, action, slow-burn

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x fem!reader

Word Count: 3K

“The criminal organisation known as LAF is targeting Captain Vasant, one of our military liaisons.”

The hum of the plane continued to drum in the background as they received their instructions.

“LAF?”, Sam asked.

“Yeah, they’re high powered. We lost contact with Vasant’s plane just after it took off.”, the Captain informed.

“We need you to make sure that LAF doesn’t deliver on their threat.”

You listened from the front of the hanger, strapping on your gear as Sam walked over. His hand gripped your shoulder, pulling your attention away from the straps of your boots.

“You ready?”, Sam asked.

“I have to be”

“I’m your only backup in the sky.”, you joked, winking at Sam.

“Vasant’s plane has already entered Tunisian airspace. US military cannot be seen operating out there.”

Sam knocks on a button, triggering the door’s release. A red light flares along with a siren as the hanger doors drop. You squint your eyes as you peer down at the drop.

“Got it. You guys fly low, drop us off, we fly up to intercept. No treaties violated.”

“How are our eyes on the ground?”, you ask the Captain, adjusting the com in your ear.

“First Lieutenant Torres, our intel officer, will be helping on the ground. And Sam, this has to be subtle.”

“Subtle. Got it.”, he said, before free falling out of the plane. You peer out into the open space as Sam falls before he initiates his wings, shooting him forwards.

You roll your eyes and breathe out a soft laugh.

“I’ll make sure he sticks to the plan.”, you assure the Captain.

You close your eyes, breathing deeply and searching for that spark within. It’s a growing feeling, one that existed from a long time ago, but it's still there. It remains just as the others have. 

Gripping onto it is like opening a new door each time, engulfed by a different skin which takes over. 

It shocks your system for a second and then quickly adjusts. 

Your eyes flash open, filled with adrenaline as you inhale deeply and an orange glow begins to overtake your sight. 

Your uniform whips against you as you creep closer to the edge and take the leap, diving head first with your legs and arms held tightly by your side. Pushing your hands and feet behind you, you’re launched up and against the wind. 

Adrenaline pumps through your chest as you soar past clouds, leaving the plane behind you.  You swoop down, spotting the red suit and wings from a distance as he circles around for the plane.

“Sam, (Y/N), Torres here. Sending intel to your HUD right now,” 

“I’ll be your boots on the ground.”, Joaquin spoke into his com.

“Copied, Lieutenant. How are we looking?”, you asked, following behind Sam.

“Stable so far. I can see Sam. Where are you?”

“Look up, Flyboy.”, you teased, sweeping in a curve and kicking your feet out, as you blasted off to catch up with Sam. A burst of air billowed off you as you’re launched forward.

You hear a low whistle through the coms as you slow down your descent. 

“Stop showing off for Torres, Y/L/N.”, Sam interjected.

“I got eyes on a plane. Any sign of LAF?”

“Nah. nothing yet. But I’ll keep tracking the chatter.”, Torres replied.

“On your left.”, you shot at Sam as you floated on the opposite side of the plane, hovering out of sight of the pilot. 

Laying on the windscreen, Sam glanced inside at the body in the co-pilot seat.

“They’ve already hijacked the plane.”

“Oh, we’re gonna need to call some people.”, Torres exclaimed.

“Just what I needed today.”, you chided, sighing. 

Suddenly, Sam shuffled back and shot his wings out, flying backwards and out of sight. 

“Subtly, at its finest, Wilson.”, you stated, circling around to follow around the back. 

“Tracking back.”

“Okay, switching to Plan B.”, Sam spoke over the coms

“Remind me what Plan B was again,” you asked.

“Red Wing, engage.”, detattaching from the suit, Red wing assaults the door with lasers, releasing it with a blast.

Sam retracts his wings and launches into the ship, kicking Batroc in the chest. Assaulting the pirate with a kick to the head, he takes on the next guy with a right hook to the jaw, throwing him into the wall. 

You glide into the plane, narrowly missing the fist flying at your head. Ducking down, you strike your knee into your assailant’s stomach, directing a fist into his face.  You slam your foot into his chest, sending him flying off his feet. 

Sam kicks one of them in the side, sending them towards you as you roundhouse kick him through the only exit.

Sudden light fills your vision as bullets rain down. Bullets ricochet off of The Falcon suit but the wings shield the both of you. Suddenly the plane tips forwards, sending you all flying up. Tucking yourself in, you strike the ground, manoeuvring to grab a hold of Vasant as the plane continues to drift downwards. 

Kneeling down, you placed your hands on his shoulders, tugging him into a seated position. 

“Captain Vasant, let’s get you out of here.”, you said.

Your next movements are interrupted with a kick to your back, forcing you into a wall. Groaning, you look at your attacker, backing up as he approaches with raised fists. 

Batroc lunges at you with a swipe but you dodge, aiming a kick at his knee. He swipes his leg in a circle to knock your off your feet and slam you into the floor. You’re quick to roll over and dodge another kick to the abdomen and cart behind him. Launching yourself on his back, you grip your legs tightly around his neck and vault him over you. 

Batroc huffs, jumping up to strike his leg down on you but he’s intercepted by Sam’s kick to his chest which knocks him backwards.

Now that Batroc was occupied, you pursued the men holding Vasant. Fire brewing between your palms, you form a lasso, sweeping and snatching the leg of the man gripping Vasant’s arm. Wrenching your arm backwards, the man smacks the floor and you’ve caught their attention. One of them tugs a gun from his belt, fire off a round which you flick away with a hand. A massive blast ignites, sending you hard on your back. Your ears ring as you grip your throbbing head. 

Glancing up, you see the remaining agents clad in gear, jumping with Vasant strapped to one of them.

Batroc empties his entire clip on Sam who dodges behind his wings. With a smirk, Batroc slips on his helmet and leaps from the plane. 

Only a glance shared between the two of you, you and Sam leap from the plane. Diving forwards, you flip and kick your feet together to soar towards the descending pirates. They continue to shoot at you but Sam swings around and pulls his parachute. 

You pursue Batroc, following as Sam propels with skill through the canyon. The gaps become narrower until you’re dropping to miss incoming helicopter machine-gunfire. Swerving around rock formations, a plane follows your path as another pursues Sam.

“All subtlety has gone to shit by this point,” your voice portrayed little of the anxiety now rising in your chest.

“Redwing, get them off our ass!”, Sam yelled as Redwing ejected and launched missiles at the helicopter’s engine, bringing it down with an explosion.

“Y/N, you alright up there?”, Joaquin’s voice filtered through your com.

“Well, I’m being trailed by machine gunfire so not too bad.”, you sarcastically retorted. 

Darting upwards, you jet yourself upwards to cart over the plane and behind it. Gripping your palms together, you position your index fingers in-line with the engine and a ball of energy explodes. The craft blows up in smoke and fire as you whoop.

“OH! Ha Ha”, Joaquin laughed in exhilaration, looking through his binoculars.

Finally spotting the last aircraft with Batroc and Vasant, you bolt for the craft, Sam behind you. The man beside them pulls out a missile launcher, you’re close enough that if you dodge, Sam will be hit. Bracing with your hands crossed, a light barrier shields you as explosion hits you. You’re blasted backwards, rocketing to the ground.

Sam ducks around the smoke, “Y/N!”

Your back collides with a rocky surface and an intense pain pulses through you as your vision clouds.

“Y/N! Y/N! Are you okay? Can you hear me?”, Joaquin shouted.

“...Feeling a bit rough, gimme a minute.”, you whispered, rolling to lean on your elbows.

There are mere minutes before Batroc crosses the Libyan border with Captain Vasant.

“All right, heads up! You’re about to fly into Libyan airspace.” 

“And I assume they have a problem with that?”

“Yeah, yeah, a big problem. A big problem.”, Joaquin emphasised, nodding his head frantically.

“How long I got?”, Sam asks

“Ninety seconds.”

Missiles explode around Sam, knocking him from side to side. He’s barely dodging them when a pillar of flames zips behind him and through the aircraft, ripping it in two to reveal your hovering figure. 

“I said I had your ass.”, you chided with a smirk.

Joaquin’s voice shouts through the coms, “Sam! We got to call it off! We gotta find another way!”, Joaquin yells.

“I just did.”, he answered smugly as he retracted his wings and grabbed Vasant before the final missiles destroyed the craft.

“WOOH!”, you yelled as you descended to the ground.

You spot Joaquin cheering and pumping his fist in the air excitedly. Your smile grows wider as you chuckle at his excitement. Your feet meet the ground as you land, kicking up dirt with it.

“One hell of a mission, Torres.”

“You were incredible out there. Are you okay? You were quite literally hit with a missile. Then again, how are you even standing?”, Joaquin worried, gripping your shoulders.

“I’ll be fine. It’s my invulnerability.”, you brushed it off but your breath hitched as you gripped your back.

“Invulnerability or not, there’s no way you're getting back to base on your own.”, he guided your waist to the passenger side, opening the door for you to climb in. 

You sighed in relief as you sat, 

“Thank you, but I'd be fine to fly back, I’ve done it before.”

“What? You’ve been shot with a missile before?!”, he exclaimed in shock. 

You chuckled at the pure look of concern on his face, 

“Avenger, remember Flyboy?", you pointed at your chest.

“Yeah, how could I forget?”, he let out a breathy laugh.

*** 

Tunisia

Sat in an outdoor café, the streets are bustling with music and chatter. After the mission, you all needed a bit of calm. Joaquin returns with a tray of tea for you all.

He placed a cup in front of you.

“Thanks.”, you smiled up at him as he sighed and sat between you and Sam who was fixing Redwing’s circuiting.

Joaquin pointed towards the wiring, 

“You could try to reroute that to the other…”

“Hey, could you not?”

Sam nudges his hands away, eliciting a chuckle from you as you leaned your head on your palm. 

“Oh.”, Joaquin chuckles and backs off, making eye contact with you at Sam’s remark.

“I’ve been working with the Air Force for six months now. Every time ops touches him, he gets all glitchy.”

“Well, you know, those poor techs can’t keep up with a billion returning IP addresses and your sick-ass Stark level tech.”

You all laugh at that reality. The world you live in is stranger than just advanced tech when you can wield fire in one hand and break someone’s wrist in the other.

Joaquin looked at you, 

“You feelin’ better?”

“Yes. I’m fine, don’t worry. Sam, will you tell him, I’m fine.”

“She’s fine. I’ve seen the woman take on Iron Man’s pulsar rays head-on.”

But Joaquin’s gaze continues to flicker back to the open gash on your forehead.

“Hehehey! Avengers! Assalama!”, a Tunisian man approached your table, addressing Sam in Arabic.

What surprised you both was Sam’s response.

Joaquin pointed his phone at Sam, “He knows Arabic.”

“Your pronunciation is incredible, Wilson.”, you fired towards him, leaning forwards.

“Wait, can you say that again? Hold on a sec.”, Joaquin teased.

“All right. Come on.”

Joaquin let out a breathy laugh, rising from his seat to scan the area with his phone.

“These LAF crews, they’re tryin’ to take advantage of all the chaos and make some money. And that I get, but there’s…”

“Whatcha doin?”, you asked.

“Oh, bam! Right there!”, Joaquin stopped, leaning over you to show his screen to you and Sam. He was close enough that you felt flustered as your cheeks began to burn. Hovering on the screen was a red image of a hand holding the Earth.

“You see these guys? They’re guys you gotta worry about. I’ve been stumbling onto their manifestos on message boards. They're called the Flag Smashers.”

“I swear, everybody’s got a gimmick.”, you remarked, looking at Sam with a knowing look. You’d been in the game since you discovered your abilities at the age of fourteen.

“Is that a new thing? Bad guys give themselves bad names.”

“There’s a lot worse names than that one.”, Joaquin’s eyebrows  perked up.

You creased your eyes, wondering, how it could get any worse than ‘Flag Smashers’. 

“But basically, they think that the world was better during The Blip. Trust me, it wasn’t.”

You sigh, eyes cast down on the table as you think over it. 

Five years. 

All of your friends and family who remained had moved on for five years without you, thinking you were dead. That was, until the living Avengers fought to bring everyone back. Although, not without losing a few in the process.

“Trust me. Every time something gets better for one group, it's worse for another.”, Sam stated.

“Yeah. Essentially, these people, they want a world that’s unified without borders. So you could see why a lot of people are into that.”

“Yeah, keep an eye on it. If anything gets serious, you let me know.”

A massive grin spread over Joaquin’s features,

“No doubt. I’ll...I’ll, uh...I’ll track the online chatter, see what they’re saying.”

You smile at Joaquin’s eager nature and pure smile. It was cute how he went from First Lieutenant to fanboy in mere seconds.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, urging your attention. You gripped Joaquin’s shoulder as you stood to take the call,

“I’ll be right back.”

Sam had a knowing look on his face as he looked from the hand you rested on Joaquin’s shoulder to the affection in Joaquin’s eyes as you drifted off to the side.

“This is Y/N.”, you answered.

Silence reverberated from the caller’s end.

“Hello?”

“Y/N...It’s...It’s Bucky.”

“Hey, how are you doing?”, you crossed your arms, still gripping the phone in one hand.

“I’m fine.”

“How’s therapy going?” 

“It’s going...The usual, you know?”

“Bucky...you know that I’m always here, right? Whenever you want to talk or just sit in silence, I’m there.”

“Yeah I know.”, he whispered on the other end, leaning against his couch on the floor.

“I mean it. My doors are always open. Not literally, but who’s going to mess with little ol’ me?”, you joked.

Bucky let out a breathy laugh, 

“Thanks.”

“No need to thank me, Buck. Just take care of yourself, okay?”, you looked over at the boys who stared back at you as you crept closer to the table.

You heard Bucky sigh, 

“When do you get back?”

“Sam and I depart soon so I should be back in the States by tomorrow.”

“Alright, take care...Bye, Y/N.”

“See you soon, Buck.”, you ended the call.

“Was that Buckaroo?”, Sam asked as you sat down.

You rolled your eyes, 

“Yes, it was.”

Sam turned his head in confusion, 

“I’ve been tryin’ to get that man to answer my texts for weeks and nothing. How did you get him to call you?”

Sam saw the smile retreat from Joaquin’s face at the mention.

“I guess we’re closer than you are. Also, could be the fact you call him names like - Oh, I don’t know - Cyborg, Terminator, Barnes and Noble?”, you suggested with raised eyebrows.

“Nah, can’t be that.”, Sam dismissed it.

“Check it. We’re headed back to DC.”

“Alright.”, you grabbed your bag off the floor.

“Before I go. Joaquin?”

Joaquin perked up, his attention solely on you.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to keep me updated on the Smashers chatter. We make a pretty good team.”

“Alright, yeah...yeah, of course. I...Uh,”, he fumbled.

“You should probably give him your phone number so he can call you.”, Sam snipped from behind you.

Joaquin nervously laughed, 

“Having your number would make it a whole lot easier.”

You shook your head as you reached over and gripped his wrist, grabbing his phone to enter your details.

“Done.”, you handed Joaquin his phone back.

He slipped his hands in his pockets, 

“So...I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

A grin spread across your mouth as you tugged a bag over your shoulder,

“I guess so, Flyboy.”

“And I’m still here.”, Sam reminded you, earning a smack on the back of the head from you.

“Hey!”

***

Thanks for reading, lovely! Comment, tag and reblog! Let me know your thoughts and if you have any questions or prompts, don’t be afraid to ask! xx 

ALSO, tag me if YOU write any Joaquin Torres fics.

TAGS:

@remmysbounty @cjsinkythoughts @merceret @samscaptain @gryffindorwriter

[janumun]

It's because of comments like that that made me believe no one will ever love me because I have small boobs

It is hard to ignore the sting of comments like that, even when you realize they are purposefully trying to be hurtful. And also, Nonny, you dodged a bullet with idiots like that, I think. Men, and really anyone in general, who tend to focus more on outward appearances rather than how emotionally compatible they are with a partner, are massive 🚩🚩🚩🚩 It may be chest sizes today, and something else just as ridiculous, the next day.

Try and remind yourself of the fact that you do not require a superficial partner like that, or anyone else, to know your worth; be kind to yourself. ♥

[gaddaboutgriffon]

Well rip the reader’s hearts out why don’t ya. … well let’s continue.

Danny could feel it. He didn’t know who but he knew that this was going to be he last day in the lab. Maybe it was that His heart had stuttered more today than it Evers has since he reincarnated into this awful place.

He wished he could hear his little brother one last time. Let him know he isn’t going to be in pain anymore soon. With that wish came the memory it has been almost two years since they moved Kyn-El. He had stopped trying to sing and even whisper out to his brother about a year ago. Maybe they moved him again and now he is close enough to hear Kon-el hopes. He will sing one last time as a goodbye.

——————

Connor scowled as he stood on the edge of a roof next to Robin and Impulse. They snuck out of mount justice because Batman and Superman were in another argument about big blue was neglecting him. Connor stoped caring a while ago, but it still is better to be away and pretend he couldn’t hear them.

Bart was on his sixth hotdog and Tim was muttering about some drug ring case in Gotham. Connor sighed and tuned them out. Choosing instead to listen to all the mixed together background noise of this city and to other five in 50 mile radius.

Then he went rigid. It was faint but he heard it. His brother singing. It stopped and for a second he thought he had imagined it. Then a new verse started. Connor zeroed in on the direction and jumped. Bart and Tim startled but where soon at his heels as He rushed at full speed leaping over buildings that where in the way. They stopped asking what was wrong when he didn’t answer the first five times and instead focused on keeping up.

Connor was only vaguely aware they were following. His focus was solely Kon-El’s voice. It sounded so weak. He put on a burst of speed he didn’t know he had. Soon they were out of the City and heading into a decommissioned and abandoned nuclear plant. He ran past startled scientists that officially shouldn’t be there. He smacked guards aside not even feeling the bullets shot at him. He ran through the tunnels not on the buildings plans, deep underground. He was so close! Kon-El’s voice was so close now!

A green laser barely missed him but the effect of the kryptonite that powered it still caused him to stumble. Now he had to focus on dodging, but with each blast the kryptonite radiation in the hallway got worse. He was almost cornered when Impules zoomed in, dropped Tim off, and hit the gunman.

“Superboy! What is going on?! You know we capjust charge in without a plan!” Tim yelled at him. But Connor wasn’t listening to that, the singing had stopped. He almost started to panic that he had lost him when heard a whispered, “Superboy?”

A tear escape as Conner responds, “Kon-El! It’s Kyn-El! Keep talking I am almost to you!”

Behind him Bart looks to Tim, “Kon-El? Wait isn’t that his brother we have been looking for?!”

“Shut up! I am trying to listen!” Connor snapped. Kon-El still hadn’t responded. So Connor started listening for heartbeats instead. There wasn’t the usual rhythm he remembered but there was one that was painfully unsteady. That had to be him.

Connor took off down the hall taking turns that brought him closer to it. Then Kon-el started to whisper about stars like he had when they were young.

In moments Connor was pounding on the massive thick steel door that the voice was just on the other side of. He was making dents but being weakened from the kryptonite laser he wasn’t really making much progress. Soon Tim was next to him and starting to hack the controls for the door. As soon as it was open Connor was inside undoing the restraints on his brother.

“I’ve got you! You’re going to be ok! I’ve got you! I’ve got you.” Connor said tears streaming down his face as he picked up and held the thin, pale, and broken boy he has always imagined as being tall and strong as Superman.

Bart was by the door wide eyed and a hand over his mouth. He has been from a dystopian future but the state Kon-el was in was still worse then anything he had seen.

Tim stopped out of his horror and put a hand to his ear listening to Batman announce the leave has arrived on the scene. Tim directed them to a defendable position while they wait for extraction.

After that it is all a blur to Connor as he holds his ill brother close whisper all the assurance and comfort he can. The adult hero’s arrived at some point and guided them out, but when they tried to take Kon-el to put him on a stretcher, Conor nearly broke the jaw of Green Lantern who got between them. Then realization that they were giving medical help that Kon-El needed caught up in his brain and he stopped fighting.

Connor was in the waiting area of the League contracted hospital for three days. No one could convince him to leave for anything. His friends brought him food and water that he barely touched as he sat and listened to the medical staff work. After the fourth day someone must have slipped a sedative into the food. Because he woke up in his bed at mount justice, and found out he had been asleep for a full day. After that he had to admit not taking care of himself was not helping Kon-el.

It took six days before Kon-el was moved from ICU and into the recovery ward. Connor was by his side every day. He was on the mend, and Connor was telling him all the adventures he had been on and things he had seen. He tells his brother that he had found it what Kon-el really meant and was going to start calling him Dan-El (which we will pretend means Second chance for the house of El.) and his human name will be Danny. It brings a small smile to realize that he has come full circle and is Danny once again.

Ya’ll have fun with it from here.

Like Conner, Danny was a clone of Superman. However unlike Conner, Danny was not designed to replace him. Instead he was created as a test dummy. Day in and day out, he was subjected to various injections, toxins and experiments. All for the purpose of one day using them on the real deal. Danny quickly lost track of the days and the pain as he slipped into mental oblivion. That is until one day, his brother comes busting through a wall.

[miracle-sham]

Crack Your Bones and Say Those Lies.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Saturday Challenge 3: And They Were Roommates} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

———

| After getting roped into the Vigilante life by Chat Noir, her friend and partner in crime, Maladroit tries her best to help fight crime to make the city a better place, if only Red Hood and his gang would stop causing problems. |

| Or alternatively, Marinette and Jason are roommates with secrets. Both have huge crushes on each other but more importantly, both are trying to juggle moonlighting as their secret identities. However, when watching the nightly news together, everything changes. |

| Word Count: 5,014. |

| Warnings/Tags: No Miraculous/Different Powers Au, Roommates, minor gang mentions/Red Hood is a gang lord, gun violence, Vigilantism, Identity Shenanigans/Mistakes, Miscommunication, some emotional hurt, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, and Domestic fluff. Also Oblivious, Protective, & Mutually Pining Marinette and Jason. |

———

| A/N: Hey! Sorry this is nearly a week late but where I live got hit with a nasty heatwave and I was barely able to write from sheer exhaustion from the heat. But on a happier note, I'm so glad I've finally been able to write and post a proper Vigilantes au (as in like Spidey style vigilantism with homemade gear and all!) Because that kinda Vigilante au especially combined with roommates is my favourite trope ever! Well maybe joint with Dragonrider AUs, but still! I've had multiple Vigilante Aus sitting in my notes and drafts so it's brilliant to finally release one into the wild! Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

It's Friday night, and Maladroit and Chat Noir are midway through their usual patrol of their slice of territory in the city.

“Race you to the billboard!” Chat Noir calls out, snickering in an almost cat-like-chitter as he launches himself forwards. Swinging over Maladroit's head with his grapple, he lands on the next roof ahead, in a perfect three-point landing.

Maladroit giggles, “Oh, you're so on!” She grabs her grapple and shoots. Swinging after him and onto the same roof. She instead, dive forward rolls for her landing and uses the momentum to propel her into a run.

Losing his lead due to the momentum loss of the three-point landing, Chat Noir vaults over a roof vent.

Forced to swerve to the side, Maladroit barely dodges a massive puddle of rainwater on her side of the roof.

Neck and Neck, the two raced across the rooftop. Closer and closer to the billboard they raced.

Nearly there! She thinks, c'mon! Reaching an arm out to slap the billboard—

Bzzt!

“Eep!” She yelps, startled by the buzzing crackle of her earring-comms. Unintentionally, she accidentally veers to the side and crashes straight into Chat Noir's side.

They collide with a loud thud, and two of them crumple into a pile.

“Graceful as ever, Mal.” A voice teases over her earring-comms. “Joking aside, didn't mean to spook you, sorry!”

Maladroit groans, “thanks,” and gingerly extracts herself from the vigilante limb pile.

“Gamer!” Chat Noir cheers, having heard him through his own disguised comms. “Got any crimes for us to fight tonight?”

There's a chuckle over the line, “Lucky you should ask, Chat, I do happen to have found some villainous plans for you to thwart.”

Chat Noir cracks his knuckles and stretches. “Oh? What are they?”

“Two which are time-sensitive.” Gamer adds.

Maladroit stifles a squawk, “Two! That are time-sensitive?” Her voice goes up a pitch on the last word, making it sound like a question.

“Uh-huh.” He confirms. “Chat Noir, there's a break-in at a jewellery store two blocks over from you. I'm sending you the directions now to your phone.”

Chat Noir does a two-fingered salute to the nearest security camera. “Got it, G! Detective Noir is on the case!”

“And Maladroit, we've got reports of sightings of Red Hood outside his usual area. By the Warehouses on fourth. There are no security cams around there so I've got nothing but rumours to go on. See if you can check it out and find out what he's up to.” Gamer informs her, sounding slightly irritated at the fact he's got little information to give her.

Maladroit nods, grumbling slightly. “When isn't he up to something.”

Slinging an arm around her shoulder, Chat Noir grins like the Cheshire Cat. “C'mon, Mal! It'll be a quick sweep and nothing will turn up like the last twenty times we've gotten this kinda tip-off!”

“You owe me ice cream from André's when we're in civvies tomorrow!” She huffs. “I made us macarons last time!”

“I haven't forgotten!” Chat Noir protests. “Anyway, see you tomorrow if we don't catch each other for the end of the patrol?”

Maladroit nods. “Yep! See ya later Minou!”

The two split. Chat Noir dashing after the directions, and Maladroit swinging towards the warehouses on fourth.

———

Breathe, Maladroit—reminds herself, perched on the rafters in one of the warehouses on fourth. Staring at the blood-red glowing mask of the red hooded villain, who happens to be oh so creatively named the 'Red Hood', leaning on the balcony railing on the opposite side of the warehouse to her rafter, and presumably glaring up at her.

“It's you again, Maladroit.” He growls, distorted by whatever voice modifier he's got wired into his mask.

She can't help but wince at the reminder of the word she had accidentally said the first time she had ever helped Chat Noir fight crime. Which irritatingly enough, stuck as her vigilante name. Especially since her second attempt at a name, Ladybug, didn't stick. She frowns beneath the black and red spotted bandana covering her mouth, and tightly grips her bladed yo-yo—with piano wire instead of string—of the same colour scheme.

“What are you planning, Red Hood?” She spits out, voice also modified by her bandana, a tad too grumpy and bitterly for the awkward-but-smiley "persona" she's supposed to act like (although it's not so much of a persona when that's just how she is almost all the time). But in her defence, she's had a rough day at uni, things have been awkward at home because of her crush on her roomie lately, and more importantly, Red Hood's lackeys have been a pain in the neck for the past week, so her reaction is more than warranted.

He has the audacity to laugh. “What makes you think I'm going to tell you, Pipsqueak?”

“Well,” Maladroit huffs, “I was hoping you were feeling considerate.”

Red Hood shifts his shoulders. “Aww, sorry Pipsqueak. I'm not feeling particularly considerate today.” In a split second, he slips both guns from his holsters, spins them, and shoots.

Maladroit squeaks, instinctively tugging on her power, and dives off the rafter to dodge the shot. “Rude!”

She's just able to shoot her grapple off and swing up to another metal beam.

“How the fuck do you keep dodging my shots?” He snarls, gesturing at her with his guns in short angry-looking motions.

In response, she throws her yo-yo at him, tugging on her power again. The yo-yo spins through the air, slashing through the Red Hood's jacket sleeve and slicing a deep groove into the gun, then rewinds on the wire back to her. “What makes you think I'm going to tell you, Bullet Boy!” She parrots back, cheekily.

“Hey!” Red Hood snaps, aiming another shot at her.

Tugging on her powers once more, Maladroit yelps as she swings to yet another metal rafter beam in order to avoid the shot. “Your aim sucks!”

“Fuck you!” He retorts, firing off four more shots aimed at her head.

There's a horrifying moment as she barely manages to tug on her powers in time. The bullets barely skimming past her hood, one even tearing the fabric slightly.

“Mal!” Comes Gamer's terrified voice over her earring-comms, “I need you to pull back immediately! Red Hood and his gang have been spotted nearby and Chat can't get to you in time to back you up if you do get into a fight!”

She raises a hand to her earrings and quietly laughs hysterically. “Little too late for that, G! I'm uh currently staring… face to gun to him”

“Oh, fuck!” Gamer responds, voice going up a pitch. “I'm contacting Chat now. Try and get out if you can but prioritise not getting yourself killed, please!”

Red Hood fires his guns again. “Eyes and ears on me, Pipsqueak.”

Squeaking yet again, Maladroit desperately tugs on her power once more and swings to another rafter. Her heart thunders in her chest as loudly as his gunfire. She spits out a frantic, “no promises!” to both of them.

“I've informed him, your backup is on the way.” Gamer tells her.

The main warehouse doors clatter open with a resounding slam! Followed by the stomping of multiple pairs of boots storming inside.

Maladroit waves at Red Hood, the quiet terrified hysterical laughter practically bubbling out of her mouth. “Haha, well I'm afraid that's my cue to Bug Out!”

“Oh, I don't think so, Pipsqueak.” Red Hood taunts, shooting six bullets at her, rapid-fire. “I ain't finished with our convo yet.”

Squeaking for the umpteenth time, and really just giving him even more reason to keep giving her that stupid pipsqueak nickname, she riskily shoots her grapple, aiming and swinging towards the warehouse's large balcony windows.

“Get the fuck back here!” He snarls, voice deepening with fury. Pausing to reload before firing off more shots at her with abandon.

Maladroit wriggles midair, tugging on her powers to try and dodge the shots. She curls into a dive forward roll as the grapple forces her to land onto the balcony. The same one that Red Hood has been stood on this entire time. Oh, help me! She thinks, eyes widening behind her makeshift red with black tinted lenses, goggles-slash-domino mask.

He aims his gun at her once more. “Move and you fucking die, pipsqueak.”

Putting her hands in the air, she swallows a gulp of air. Her body armour is padded beneath her red, and black spotted, hoodie but it isn't bulletproof. And she can feel the straining exhaustion of overusing her powers clawing at her.

They're at a standoff. Still as statues, the both of them. It's almost poetic how they parallel each other. He's got his gun aimed at her, whilst she's desperately clutching at her grappling hook gun in one of her raised hands. Both donned in red. Both committing crimes in the eyes of the law. Two sides of the same coin, one and the same.

Maladroit feels sick to her stomach, staring down the barrels of his guns. Ever so slowly, she tugs on her powers. The window a little bit behind her creaks quietly enough that Red Hood doesn't seem to notice beneath the clamour of his gang doing whatever it is they're doing below.

She counts her breath and tugs on her power. A minute passes with no movement, no words, nothing happening on the balcony. Out of the corner of her eye, she can just see that it's now open enough that she should be able to make it out unscathed. Or at least mostly unscathed.

Closing her eyes, not that he can see, her power snaps. Instinctively she doubles over and slaps a hand over her mouth. Barely in time as a stifled scream is yanked from her throat, leaving her panting for breath. Her knees crash onto the balcony flooring. A bullet whizzes past her neck.

“Shit. What the fuck was that?” Red Hood grumbles, sounding genuinely concerned. He storms across the balcony towards her.

Maladroit can't help but flinch, bodily throwing herself back as far away from him as she can. Mind racing in panic.

He stows one gun back into a holster then reaches a hand towards her. “Hey, hey, hey. Calm down.”

“Gotta go! Bug-bye!” She squeaks out, wrenching on her power with all her remaining strength, and bolting for the window.

“I think the fuck not! Fucking pretending to be hurt.” Red Hood barks, ripping the gun back out of its holster.

Narrowly dodging the spray of bullets shot at her, Maladroit dives through the window and fires off her grapple. Safely swinging far away from the warehouse.

———

Carefully Maladroit drops with the ease of far too many nights of practise, onto the fire escape outside her bedroom window. She crouches and lets the shadows of the night hide her form. Creeping closer, she checks the windowsill for any marks or signs of tampering but it all comes away untouched. Content with her quick security check, she fumbles for the disguised piece of string wedging the window ajar in a way that's barely visible unless you know where to look for it. Got it! She thinks to herself, grabbing ahold of it and prying it, and the window above it, up and open.

Slipping through the open window, she sits on the sill to rip her thankfully not-too-dirty studded steel-toed boots off. Picking them up in one hand, she wiggles the rest of the way into her room and immediately resets the security measures, yanking the curtain down for privacy.

Maladroit then shuffles over to her bed. Tikki—her gorgeous fluffy red and dark brown miniature dachshund—blinks sleepily up at her, from the dog bed next to it. The puppy yaps in greeting before snuffling and curling back up to sleep.

She coos at the cuteness before continuing on. With the other hand not carrying the boots, she pries the blanket covered duffel bag out from underneath. Wrestling to unzip it in one janky and awkward motion, grunting slightly at the exertion. The metal of the zip digs in but the discomfort is mostly mitigated by the padded gloves and wrist guards she's wearing. The easy to clean plastic bag designated for temporary storing of her boots is dragged out of the bag and said boots are tossed in without a second glance.

Huffing, she starts to take the rest of her cross between mostly homemade and refashioned sports kit vigilante gear off. First, tugging down the hood of her hoodie and unclipping the black scrum cap hidden under it. It's dumped unceremoniously into a secondary plastic bag in the open duffel bag. After that, Maladroit removes the black neck guard and pulls her makeshift goggles-slash-domino mask over her head. Those too, are dumped into the other plastic bag. Then she unties the bandana with the nose guard underneath, from around her mouth and nose. Unsurprisingly, they're also dumped in the bag.

Next, she undoes the velcros on her red and black padded gloves, black wrist guards, as well as black elbow, knee, and shin pads. Also dumped into the other bag. With the outer protective wear removed, Maladroit pulls her hoodie over her head. Continuing on, she peels the padded rugby body armour and shorts off, and then the thermal under-armour. All dumped into the third and final plastic bag. “I swear,” Maladroit mumbles to herself, “getting changed out my gear never gets easier. And to think back when I had my last P.E. lesson at school, I thought I'd never have to touch this kinda kit ever again. Rip me.”

Lastly, Marinette—no longer Maladroit seeing as she is no longer in her vigilante gear—throws on her running-to-the-bathroom spare bathrobe to cover herself. She hastily shoves the three plastic bags into the duffel bag and kicks it under her bed. Purposefully leaving it unzipped but quickly fixing the blanket covering the bag, so that she can more easily grab her kit to clean everything later, whilst keeping it sufficiently hidden.

With that mostly taken care of, she nabs the mouthguard case, some clean pyjamas, and dashes out of her room—clinging awkwardly to the bathrobe. She hops in the apartment's shared bathroom, the rest of the place is silent, meaning her roomie, Jason, must have gone out. Still, Marinette locks the door regardless. If there's one thing she's learnt in her foray into the nightly masked vigilantism, is that one can never be too careful.

“Shit! Nearly forgot to take this out.” She grumbles to herself, just as she was stepping into the shower. Prying the mouthguard out of her mouth as she shuffles over to the sink, she gives it a quick rinse under the tap. Followed by a thorough scrubbing with her toothbrush and glob of toothpaste. She pops it into the mouthguard case and leaves it on the side of the sink for now.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Marinette finally allows herself to indulge in a good half an hour-long hot shower to get the grime from a night of crime-fighting off of herself.

She's only just drying off her hair, having already changed into her pyjamas, when the blare of the TV echoes through the apartment. Tensing up, her anxiety runs wild. It's what they get for living in the cheaper but slightly dodgy apartments where the walls are thin and the doors are thinner. Grabbing the mouthguard case, she wraps it up in the bathrobe and peeks out the bathroom door and looks down the hall into the open plan kitchen lounge. Jason's back, he's sitting on the sofa watching the TV.

Shoulders untensing, she finished drying her hair and heads out into the hallway. In place of a greeting, she exclaims, “oh! Jason, you're back!”

Jason flinches slightly and looks over his shoulder back at her. “Yeah, a friend had an emergency so, y'know.”

Immediately, concern wrenches at Marinette's heart, “oh no, I'm sorry. Are they… okay?”

He waves a hand in a so-so gesture and clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. They're fine now.”

“That's good!” She says, nodding, as she makes her way fully into the lounge and the TV catches her attention. “Oh is it nearly the eleven o'clock news already? I need to watch this! Alya texted me earlier saying I have to, and she sounded really excited!” Glancing down at the bundle in her arms and flushes red. “Actually, I'll be back in a second!”

“I'll yell as soon as it actually starts.” Jason offers, smiling warmly at her.

Marinette just misses the smile, rushing back to her room, and throwing a quick, “thanks,” over her shoulder back at him.

Also missing his smile turn fond and the good-natured roll of his eyes at her antics.

Barely half a minute passes before she's bounding back into the lounge, with a sleepy Tikki at her heels. She plops herself down on the sofa next to him and hopes the blush on her face could simply be mistaken for the flush of running about like a mad thing instead. Tikki whines until Marionette picks her up and lets her on the sofa with them, padding over to the furthest corner to curl up in.

Jason points to the pink floral steaming mug on the coffee table, right next to his Pride Prejudice and Zombies themed mug. “Whilst you were in the shower, I made us both hot chocolates with marshmallows, my granddad Alfie's recipe.”

“Oh!” Marinette responds in pleasant surprise. She turns to him and positively beams, eyes shining with happiness. “Thank you so much, Jason! You're always so thoughtful!”

He blushes and rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “Yeah, well, I thought it's only fair since you normally make 'em. And I visited Alfie recently, and I promised to get you his recipe to try, so I thought it'd be a nice surprise for once!” He pauses and points at the big bowl also on the coffee table, “also I cooked us some popcorn.”

“Aw! Thank you again! I really appreciate this!” She scoops up the hot chocolate with slight reverence and takes a sip. Immediately her face lights up even more in joy. “Oh, this is delicious!”

Jason chuckles, “isn't it the best! I'll pass that onto Alfie though, he'll be glad to know you like it so much. Speaking of which, he's gonna give making them a try next time I'm up since I wasn't there long enough this time. Would you fancy coming with me to see him, then?”

Her eyes widen and her heart stutters in her chest, feeling close to bursting from happiness. “I'd love to! Do you have a date when you're thinking of going up?”

He nods. “Yeah, maybe around—”

But he's interrupted by the starting audio of the eleven o'clock news.

They both immediately shut up and watch the screen intently as the news anchors appear on the show. The starting discussion is somewhat boring, talking about the local billionaire Wayne-or-something business and a related upcoming charity event of some sort.

Marinette doesn't pay attention to it, but she does catch Jason wrinkling his nose and scowling at the conversation.

Luckily, the topic shifts quickly enough. “And now, over to our newest reporter, Alya. We hear there's been some rumblings regarding the conflict between local vigilante Chat Noir, his sidekick Maladroit, and the gang controlled by the infamous Red Hood himself.”

“That's stupid,” Jason grumbles, “Maladroit is a fully-fledged vigilante in her own right and not just the catboy's sidekick. That's like saying Nightwing is Batman's sidekick!”

Marinette frowns, very touched by his words and trying her damnedest to appear nonchalant. “I don't know… from all the-uh news clips, Maladroit seems like Chat Noir's sidekick to me. She's always hovering nervously near him like a strong wind would spook her.”

“C'mon! She's been reported to have held her own against Red Hood on multiple occasions, alone!” He argues, sounding rather offended on her alter egos behalf.

Scoffing, she shakes her head. “Clearly that's because he's going easy on her! He's never directly shot her, according to the reports clearly, he's soft on her!” The lies taste bitter on her tongue.

Jason splutters and flushes bright red, turning away from her slightly. “W-well that's obviously a testament to her skill and not Red Hood's mercy! He's always reported as being a merciless killer, why'd he be soft on her!”

“I don't know!” She makes a dying-choking noise as she flushes even more red than earlier. Shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth to avoid having to respond any further.

Luckily, the news shows pans over to Alya standing in front of a screen showing a recorded feed of a warehouse. Not just any warehouse, but specifically the one on fourth that Maladroit had faced Red Hood in less than an hour ago.

Marinette feels her pulse quicken at the reminder of the close shave she'd had.

“Hey wait a second, those warehouses don't have security cameras at all? How'd they get this footage?” Jason complains, eyes narrowed at the TV.

It feels as though ice has been poured down her spine at his words. She freezes, body stiffening in shock. He's right… G said there's none because that's why he asked me to check things out. The only people who'd know this are Chat, Gamer, myself, and Red Hood and his gang. She swallows thickly and tries to subtly side-eye Jason. Oh no. I've been crushing on my roommate who works for Red Hood's gang? Oh god! The friend with the emergency was referring to Red Hood calling him into work!

She can't help but inhale a shallow panicked breath. He could've been one of the lackeys shooting at me and Chat this past week. Or, or I could've hurt him with my yo-yo. Or—

Jason turns to fully face, clearly registering the blatant panic on her face. “Hey, hey, hey, Marinette, you're okay, you're safe. What's wrong?”

“Are you working for Red Hood?” Marinette blurts out, accidentally, the words pouring out in an unintentional panicked rush. “Are you in his gang?”

He jerks back, fear, confusion, and hurt crosses his face. “Wh-what? What makes you think that?”

“His gang was just in that warehouse, and you were out on an emergency for a "friend". And how would you have known unless you were there tonight and working for his gang?” She chews her lip forcefully and winces as the taste of iron floods her mouth.

He reaches towards her, eyes widening concern.

She flinches back, suddenly reminded of how similar this is to that moment with Red Hood on the warehouse balcony.

Jason jerks back as if her flinching burnt him. Raising his hands, he leans away from her to give her some semblance of space. “Fuck. Look, I'm not going to hurt you! Have I ever hurt you whilst we've been roomies?”

Nervously, she shakes her head.

“I really care about you, Marinette. Hell, we've lived together for nearly a year now. I would never hurt you, okay! I promise.” Tears prick in his eyes, and he grimaces slightly, lowering his hands to rest on his lap. “Yeah, I uh, I'm working for him. But I do everything I can to keep work from following me home. I didn't tell you because I never wanted to scare you.”

Guilt gnaws at her. “I'm sorry! I shouldn't have judged. I—” She takes a shaky breath, “I really really care about you too. I'm just worried, what if Red Hood, or even Maladroit, or any of the other vigilantes hurt you? What if you get hurt in one of those gang wars?” Her words aren't lies but they're not the full truth either.

He sighs, “I can't promise I won't ever get hurt on the job. Maladroit and the other vigilantes do a lot of good but Maladroit especially is far too nice to hurt any of us. I've uh, seen her fight some of the others gang members, and been fought by her too. And out of everyone against the gang, she's the one who leaves us with barely more than a scratch at worst.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Most in the gang really respect her for that, y'know.”

Marinette's brain feels like the windows shutting down sound. “Oh. Oh.”

Sheepishly, he smiles half-heartedly at her. “Yeah.”

“So, is that why you were so adamant she's a fully-fledged vigilante in her right?” She asks, feeling bashful yet honoured whilst completely surprised.

Jason clears his throat and glances away. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh.” Her brain rewinds a moment. She splutters for a second, desperation racing through her. “Wait, she's fought you!?”

Full-on grimacing, he nervously laughs. “Left but a scratch!”

“Are you misquoting Monty Python right now? Oh good gods, that's the knight who says that after getting his limbs chopped off!” Marinette exclaims, looking every bit as horrified as her tone of voice conveys.

“Seriously, I've never gotten worse than a couple of minor cuts and bruises, I'm fine!” Jason reiterates.

She frowns and gingerly shuffles across the sofa closer to him. He keeps leaning back away, so she physically throws herself at him, pulling him into a tight hug. Incidentally burying her face in his shirt. “Okay, okay. Just, please let me know next time you get hurt. I've a friend who lived in a bad situation before, so I know how to help patch up minor injuries. Promise?”

Jason stiffens at the hug and slowly moves one hand to cup the back of her head whilst wrapping the other around her back. He shuts his eyes, cocking his head back and sighs. “Alright. I promise I'll tell you. And I'm sorry for keeping something this big from you. As I said, I was worried you'd be scared of me or that you'd get dragged into gang-related shit because of it.”

“You don't need to apologise.” Marinette mumbles in response, “I get it. I really do understand.” She bites at her sore bleeding lips again in guilt, her secret identity left unspoken on her tongue.

He shrugs, “so uh. I'm guessing you're still happy to stay roomies then, right?”

“Of course!” She responds without missing a beat hugging him even tighter.

Eventually, they release each other from the embrace to finish their now lukewarm hot chocolates and popcorn. The news continues playing, no longer forgotten in the background as the two try to act as if nothing has changed.

———

Jason collapses onto his bed with a heavy sigh. He pulls out his phone and rings a number on autopilot.

The dial tone plays as the line connects. “Hey, whaddup Jay?”

“Holy fucking shit balls, man.” Jason groans. “I fucked up.”

Roy hums, “like need help burying a body fucked up or what?”

Jason groans even louder, smushing his face into his bed covers. “My roomie is smart, right. I accidentally let a tiny detail slip when we were chatting whilst watching the eleven o'clock news as usual. And she now thinks that I'm in Red Hood's gang.”

There's a long pause, before Roy bursts into raucous laughter. “Holy shit, I'm dying! She's not wrong!”

“Yeah. I know. She ain't right either though.” He grumbles in response. “She was absolutely terrified when she realised. Nearly had a full-on panic attack and everything.”

“Oh fuck.” Roy helpfully says.

Jason grunts in agreement. “She was also real concerned that Red Hood or the vigilantes have hurt me.”

“Well, that's better?” Roy offers, sounding rather unsure of his own words.

“Yeah but she's taken thinking I'm some low-level member of my gang this badly, how the fuck d'ya think she's gonna take finding out I'm the big bad Red Hood himself?” Jason sighs. “I don't want to ask her out without her knowing this, 'cause it could endanger her.”

Roy hums again, “well, you've been roommates this long already and she's been completely safe from the Vigilante-Gang life so far.”

There's a gentle thump as Jason lifts his head and throws it into the sheets again out of sheer frustration. He relents, reluctantly. “That's true…”

“See. And since it sounds like she's not planning on moving out, clearly she doesn't mind living with you. Just ask her out to dinner already.” Roy adds, cheerfully.

Huffing, he rolls over on the bed. “I'm starting to feel like those weird girl slumber party ads with the creepy phone-a-boy games.”

Roy wheezes, followed by a thudding noise and the distant sound of his cackling.

“Wow. And to think I called you for help. I'm offended.” Jason goads with no bite, waiting a few seconds to hear Roy's response but it's just more laughter.

He rolls his eyes and ends the call, not like Roy will mind. Throwing an arm over his face, Jason barely refrains from grabbing his pillow to scream into. He doesn't, obviously. Because the walls are thin enough that Marinette might hear him and he's worried her enough this night as is.

Sighing like a lovesick protagonist in a period romance novel, Jason moves his arm to run his fingers through his own hair. A date. Just gotta ask her at some point, to dinner at a fancy-ish restaurant. It'll be fine, what's the worst that can happen?

Her terrified reaction on the sofa flashes through his mind, followed by the reminder of how small and scared Maladroit had seemed when she had fallen to her knees on the warehouse balcony. There was no way that she was faking the pain, like he'd initially thought. She had practically staggered in her mad dash to escape. And there's no way for me to find out whether she got to somewhere safe afterwards. God, she could be lying dead in some dank alleyway for all I know right now. Fuck, I hope she's okay...

He groans in distress and shifts in place. Already feeling like he really won't be getting any sleep at all tonight at this rate, thanks to his concern for those two.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

| I decided to go close to canon for names this time, hence why Chat Noir remains unchanged but Max is Gamer (because A. that was his Akuma name, and B. he's like Player from Carmen Sandiego in this, couldn't help myself), and Marinette is Maladroit (from the first thing she calls herself in Origins). |

| Oh, also whilst it's not explicitly stated in the text; Marinette/Maladroit's has the power of luck/being lucky, Chat Noir has the power of being unlucky, and Red Hood has "Perfect Aim" aka he's a hitscan. Which is why Maladroit is able to dodge his bullets by making herself "lucky enough" to dodge in time. |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[marshvlovestv]

Okay, I give up - I tried every fix for The Forgotten City I could find, set all the graphics settings as low as possible and even uninstalled and reinstalled the game, but it keeps crashing. I hate to end a set of ten on such a low note, but I don’t really have a choice. So here’s games #131-140 ranked.

1.If On A Winter’s Night, Four Travelers - A bite-sized exemplar of the pixel art point-and-click genre. It’s intriguing and creepy and totally free on Steam, please go play it.

2.Boyfriend Dungeon - Yeah, ignore all those annoying people who just can’t handle Things Happening in fiction, this is a great game. It really is just like all the Supergiant games were smooshed together.

3.Downwell - I actually played this game today. I didn’t know what to say about it in this post so I picked it up for a refresher and before I knew it a couple hours had gone by so, I think that says enough.

4.NUTS - I loathe to think what tagging this game will do to this post but I have to do it. Anyway. This is a really unique investigation game with a quirky aesthetic. I like the part where there’s squirrels.

5.Chicory: A Colorful Tale - I loved the story, the characters, the music, the puzzles, and the general aesthetic. So, basically everything except for the main draw of coloring in a black-and-white world. That was a little lost on me so I feel like I didn’t get the full experience of this game.

6.Shipwreck - Kind of a bare-bones experience, but hey, sometimes you don’t want to fight enemies in the overworld.

7.Spooky Ghosts Dot Com - This was as difficult and stressful as any metroidvania I’ve played but it was short enough that I was actually able to finish it, which is a refreshing change of pace when it comes to metroidvanias. Still too hard.

8.Knights of the Card Table - I thought I was really going to like this one at the beginning, but it drags on. And on. And on. It’s not even the challenging kind of marathon because it’s way too easy to get massively overpowered.

9.The Forgotten City - I’m so bummed. I would have loved this one, I know I would have, but the application just isn’t working, and that’s an enormous demerit. Ah well. Apparently this game (this detective game) has first-person combat in it, aka my least favorite thing in video games ever, so I may have dodged a bullet.

10.Oikospiel - I didn’t even spare this one the courtesy of making a post about it. It’s weird.

[mercurial-madhouse]

SNIPPET SUNDAY

I usually only do seven sentences, but back in November @lululawrence tagged me for a proper snippet so here I am better late than never! Also, thank you @jacaranda-bloom @quelsentiment and @larryyouknow for tagging me to post a proper snippet today! Finding a snip with Harry and Louis that didn't give away the massive secret was incredibly hard, so thank you @makethebestofwhatyouget for your help finding one! Here's an unedited snip with all five, because I have hella love for my OT5.

**

On the other side of the doorway, Zayn falls against the entry wall, sucking in air.

Liam moves to the only other window in the kitchen. “Doesn’t matter. Not like the people who lived here are coming back.”

Harry's only seen glimpses of this Liam, like something's been stirred up beneath the surface, crackling energy switched to decimate. He reminds Harry of Louis, that constant detonation flickering just beneath his skin.

Except right now Louis’s white-faced and twisting up in a knot just outside the kitchen door. He's known Louis for less than a week, watched Louis dodge bullets without a second thought, so it takes Harry too long to see the emotion bursting out of Louis and straight into Harry's chest for what it is: terror.

Everything clicks, flaring through Harry in a blinding strike. Harry throws a hand out towards Liam.

“Li, wai—!”

Liam slams his fist into the second window. It shatters in a single blow.

Zayn flinches, eyes squeezing shut.

Louis throws his hand into the wall, muscles in his neck cording like he can’t breathe.

Niall appears at Harry’s side, eyes widening. “Liam!”

Liam whirls around. The dark determination on his face evaporates at the shock Harry knows is plastered all over his and Niall's faces. Liam doesn’t wait for an explanation.

“Fuck shit Zayn!” He throws the towel off and ducks out to Zayn’s side before he’s even seen him, even though Zayn’s already shaking his head to wave him off.

“Lou?” Harry jerks to a halt, close but not touching, because he’s not sure if that would help or harm right now. There’s no way that this isn’t some form of PTSD. Harry’s got his own version of that so he knows. But he would be lying to himself if he pretended the momentary panic in Louis’s eyes when the glass shattered didn’t send a spike of terror straight up his spine.

Easing part way between Louis and the wall, Harry closes his fingers carefully over the wrist Louis’s got pressed into the surface. The tremor is noticeable. Louis doesn’t pull away.

Eyes closed, Louis ducks his chin down and his forehead hits Harry’s shoulder. Harry can’t see anything but Louis’s black hood now, but he doesn’t move even as Louis tries to regulate his breathing.

Harry doesn’t know how else to help. Mind racing, he searches his memories until he locks on to Zayn keeping Louis asleep the night they all had to run. He eases his left hand carefully just below the line of Louis’s jacket to his hip, slowly enough to not startle, and grips with a steady, but firm pressure.

Louis’s irregular breathing cuts off with an audible swallow but he doesn’t move.

Harry just holds on, steadies his own breathing, and hopes he’s doing something right.

The tension in the muscles beneath his hands starts to relax.

“It’s fine,” Louis finally grits out. He drags in another breath then seems to be forcing himself to release it slowly. The warmth of his breathing seeps through Harry’s clothing to his skin like there’s no barrier between them.

Louis lifts his head from Harry’s shoulder. There’s only a few inches between their bodies but Louis doesn’t pull back from Harry or shove off the wall.

“The fuck did you do that for?” Louis growls at Liam. Hovering in front of Harry with that tone and this stance makes Harry feel like he’s the one being protected.

Harry follows Louis’s glare, looking past Niall—still stood with a hand gripping each side of the doorway as he watches the four of them with wide eyes—and over to the Zayn and Liam.

Liam’s got his hands wrapped around the curve of Zayn’s ribs, their foreheads pressed together. Zayn’s breathing is visible in the rise and fall of Liam’s hands. He's got a hand around the back of Liam’s neck, but Harry can’t tell if Zayn’s holding on or trying to prove to Liam that he’s fine.

He only answers Louis when Zayn’s eyes open, the same question obvious on his face.

“The more ransacked this place looks, the less chance we’ll have of anyone attempting to break in. You can see those windows from the street.”

********

Tagging my incredible artist @hiccoops and my brilliant composer @onlyforthebabes so you both have this! @zannithinks @solvetheminourdreams @theisolatedlily @scrunchyharry @homosociallyyours @adidassquad @tomlinvelvetfics @kingsofeverything @soldouthaz @allwaswell16 @haztobegood @fournipplesau @hadestyles @londonfoginacup @tempolarriefix anything FROM THOSE FIC WIP LISTS to share this lovely Sunday? 👀👀👀 (Also I promise I'll get mine compiled soon!)

[mishastoesies]

ok so sorry i am spamming u today. but. consider adding to the schedule: bela marrying ketch (turns out to be a scam/massive heist on the guests and ketch) OR crowley marrying hotboy!hannah to fuck with dean & cas (it does not work. meg steals a margarita machine from the gifts table for cas/eileen/meg girls night).

HELP OH MY GOD?? BELA AND KETCH SO TRUE SO SO TRUE. bela and eileeen are besties, and bela herself is an ally to the IRA so she seduces ketch into letting her into the BMOL and destroys them from the inside out while stringing him along. the wedding is a part of this. she looks immaculate. 

and as for crowley and hot guy hannah... SOOOO true. they want to make dean and cas jealous so bad but all it does is solidify dean and cas’ commitment to each other because they feel like they dodged bullets. 

the demon-human-angel girls’ night... holy shit. they would be LEGENDARY. eileen can somehow put back more margaritas than the two nonhumans combined. there’s arson involved. cas gets his eyebrows shaved off. 

[batarella]

The Commander - Part 9 (Arkham Knight x Reader)

I just want to thank you all for the kind comments and messages. I was afraid of disappointing you with the next chapters. So please let me know what you all think! It lets me know if I’m on the right track!

WORDS: 3272 WARNINGS: UHMMMM YOU FIGHT WITH JASON AND THEN THERE’S A WHOLE MIX OF ANGSTY FLUFF AND FLUFFY ANGST 

Masterlist

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

“So what do they call you? Peashooter?”

This kid was a fucking menace. And the red and yellow on his suit just made him even more irritating to look at. The bullets just bounced off of him. Either that, or she’ll have to face her uncle for missing so many shots at once. She gripped onto the two pistols with her life.

Aim for the head.

She saw his cape rolling into a pile of boxes and fired.

“Silver Sniper! The Mini Gunner! Come on, I can think of loads of names right now!”

The boxes had become an exploded mess by then. Robin wasn’t there. She backed off, panting. Y/N had to get out of this. She focused on the sounds, or any movement from the ground’s vibrations, but there was nothing. Which meant-

“Fuck!” Robin jumped from the ledge above and tackled her to the ground. Y/N kneed his groin, then landed a punch on his face. She pushed him off of her and ducked just as he pounced for her head.

He blocked her kicks with his arms, then grabbed her right fist, then her left, just as she threw them, but she high kicked his hold and pushed him back. She kept throwing her punches, and he easily blocked them without blinking.

Y/N growled, but Robin just smirked at her. He threw a punch at her stomach, but didn’t see her foot aiming just at his chest.

He threw back, and it was enough time for her to pick up her pistols and aim at his head.

But just as she pulled the trigger, two batarangs landed right at the muzzels. The firearms exploded in her hands and her body was thrown to the floor. Robin laughed. “You were looking an awful lot like Lara Croft there, kid.”

“You think this is intimidating me, bird boy?”

“Without your precious guns, maybe it is.”

Xxxx

Jason ran right up to her, withstanding all the bullets she could fire with his armor thick enough to go against missiles, and pushed her to the ground, picking up her guns and throwing them over the roof. The Commander kicked him in the stomach and rolled off.

“No guns.”

His voice filter just sounded annoying at this point. Y/N picked herself up and ran to him, throwing a punch aiming for his neck. He saw her alternating strikes and dodged every one of them, blocking her knee with his own wrist. She landed a kick, but he grabbed her ankle and flung her off to the ledge, her back hitting the cement.

“Stop throwing me around, asshole!” she coughed.

This man was one she wanted dead at some point and was so tempted to help kill him, she was almost at the front gates of Arkham just to do so. At the last minute, she decided against it.

She might be a killer, but she was no monster.

Then she ended up sleeping with that same man, several times, even going so far as sharing a kiss at a time and place that a kiss meant the most.

And here he was again, Jason, finishing a war that started years ago.

Jason skidded to her front, his shoes making her lose balance. They rolled around the floor, with either on top and throwing their fists only to meet the ground. Y/N was first to roll off and regain her stance, but Jason managed to duck before she hit his head.

She had to tire him out. His hits were strong. Too strong in fact. More of those and his arms would eventually weaken. It was her turn to block his fists, her torso turning around while also keeping an eye on his lower body.

Her punches were swift, fast, and almost as light as air. They weren’t enough on their own, but if she gained her momentum it would be enough to throw her opponent off. She knew Jason had that in mind, especially since he was the exact opposite. He was slower, but each hit was strong enough to land her on the ground.

It had always been hard to best him. In fact, she never could say she’d beaten him in a fight. But this will be the first.

As a fight long awaited, it was too bad no one else saw them. They were dancing. A violent, bone-crushing dance.

And it was epic.

Her legs were flying in the air as Y/N twisted his arm and placed her whole weight right on his shoulder. She pulled at his wrist, gaining a cry from him.

“Get off me!”

“You asked for this, you son of a-“

And a massive blow of his strength pushed her off. She was panting, and she let her guard down for a split second and he had her against the wall, grabbing her by the collar.

“This making you hard, Knight?” she whispered.

Jason should’ve seen her knee between his legs. He let go of her, and she tackled him to the ground. She tried hitting his visor, but her already bruised fist gave out and Jason flipped them over.

He held her down with his muscled arm hard against her neck. Y/N struggled and she could only look up to his visor. The glass had broken and his grunts were no longer filtered. She could see his face, teeth gritting, and his eyes looking straight back at her. She used the last of her strength to push him off.

It had to be hours. The Commander was panting, and all her limbs felt like falling to the ground. “Stop!” Jason said, struggling to pull himself up the floor. He had to catch his breath as well, opening his visor to let the cold air in. She leaned her arm against the cement.

The sky had lightened. And the stars had disappeared. She was breathing so hard the air just seemed too thin. Jason laid flat on the ground, staring blankly above. Y/N pressed her back against the ledge and her body melted to the ground.

The worthiest opponent. And still, no one bested the other. She waited until the air wasn’t such a blur and the floor no longer spinning, and he on the ground. They sat there for as long as they’d fought until the sun had fully risen.

He hadn’t said a word, but she could see his chest rising and falling, eventually into a steadier pace. When she thought she could, she stood up, slowly walking up to Jason.

She caught his eye, and extended her hand. He looked at her up and down, but for once, he actually took it. She pulled him up.

“This conversation never happened.”

Jason pulled his hand away. “Just the conversation or everything that happened after it?”

“Need I remind you the militia leaves for Gotham in three days. This was stupid. We don’t have time for this.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

She brushed off her suit, lasting a glare at him before turning for the hatch on the floor. She pulled it open.

“I’m sorry,” Jason said.

She didn’t even look back at him. “Fuck off.”

Xxxxx

Her head was burning. She needed ice, right at the center of her cheek. She tried not to look at Jason or else she’d attack him from across the table again. He had a new visor on, as if he kept spare ones in his drawers. If she had broken bones somewhere they’ll have to be ignored.

“I told Stagg the Cloudburst arrives in Gotham today. He’s responsible for hiding it in his bunkers until I give the signal.”

Deathstroke filled in. “How do we filter out the effects from our men?”

“Their masks give them immunity,” said the Knight.

“And does everyone have this mask? I told you we had new recruits.”

“Everyone is accounted for,” Crane said. “Our men will be fine.”

“Have you even tested the toxin recently?”

Scarecrow stood from his chair. “The Cloudburst will do much more than just release the toxin. I’ve asked Stagg to amplify its poison gas into the density of rainclouds. The city will be a barren wasteland. And if the Dark Knight fails, all of Gotham will fall.”

Jason seemed satisfied. “I’ll make sure to alert our men before I release the toxin.”

“I thought the Commander drives the Cloudburst,” said Slade.

“If it has anything to do with facing Batman head on, I’ll do it. The Commander’s tasked mainly at HQ.”

“Actually,” Crane said. “Commander Y/N has the expertise to control the tank, don’t you Commander?”

The Commander sat back against the chair. “I do.”

“She’s the best man for the job, Knight.”

“I said, I’ll do it. We had a deal. I get to kill Batman!”

Scarecrow wasn’t bothered. “And is it with the Cloudburst that you end his life with? The Cloudburst isn’t used as our primary weapon, Knight. It is used for the toxin.”

“It’s the best weapon we’ve got.”

“Then perhaps that means our drones are far from enough.”

Slade stammered, “Those drones are mine and they work perfectly.”

“I don’t care if I have a knife or a tank,” Jason said. “He looks into my eyes while he dies.”

“Your delay in Gotham tells me your history with the Dark Knight will work to your disadvantage.”

Fuck.

“We had to hack into GCPD,” The Commander finally said. She’d join in on the argument, but her jaw hurt too much. Then she took out the hacking device from her jacket and slid it across the table to Slade.

“The Commander has her own work. I will not just sit in a chair and watch everything happen from a camera.”

“We all know you won’t be doing that, kid,” Deathstroke interrupted. “I say we send the Commander.”

“Her best position is to watch and control all comms and drones at HQ. She will lead the whole army. I gave her that job weeks ago, Wilson.”

“Enough,” the Commander said. “I’ll take the Cloudburst. The Knight can take a serpent drone and attack the Alpha Target once the tank destroys his car. He kills him right then.”

Slade slams his palms against the table. “How bout that?”

“A serpent drone?”

“I fire at his car, you make sure your visor filters out the gas and you take him out from above.”

Jason seemed skeptical, but Deathstroke had already stood up from his chair. “Have at it, Commander.”

Jason wasn’t having it. He went after Slade after he’d left the room. The commander winced at the pain in her lower body, struggling to even stand up. She started for the door, and Crane blocked her out.

“Commander,” he whispered. Y/N pretended not to look at him.

“What?”

“I know what went on with you and the Knight.”

The Commander kept looking at the ground. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“I have eyes in Gotham. You cannot talk your way out of this.”

“Whatever it is you think, that isn’t the case. Nothing happened between us.”

Crane neared his face dangerously close to Y/N. And suddenly, she had a whiff of his toxin. It was in his breath. In a daze, she looked straight into his eyes and saw demons crawl out of them. Her breath was shortened and she stiffed.

“I don’t care about either of you,” he said. “But if this affects the deployment of my toxin in any way, I’ll make sure he suffers your own consequences.”

“Get out of my face, Crane.”

“I know your fear. I know everybody’s fear. The Knight is deadly, but the man’s as fragile as broken glass. And as stubborn as a mangy dog. You would know that.”

He was making her see it. And hear things she wasn’t supposed to hear. There were screams. Not hers, but of Jason’s. And she could see his face crying out in agony. But she couldn’t look away from the blackness that was Crane’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Yes, in fact, you do,” Crane breathed and backed away.

There were still remnants of the toxin when he headed out the door.

“You have two days, Commander. Make it count.”

Xxxx

It was death.

That was what stared at her in the face.

It wasn’t just Jason, or Crane. It was death.

It was cold, and the streets were barren and full of shit. They were far away from the city, but the countryside had a small town just a mile away. She didn’t have to take her bike. Y/N walked even when the sidewalks were small enough for her to be run over at just a slight turn of a wheel.

But she didn’t care, not even when she felt it rain so slightly, the droplets disappeared as it made contact with her clothes. Y/N pulled up her hood and continued down the road.

There weren’t much people, even at this hour. She wasn’t even afraid anyone would pull her to the alleys and leave her defenseless. Her focus was on the ground, moving downward until she met the curb.

The light glowed red, even with no cars passing by. She stood there, waiting. And in front of her was a small diner.

It was the classic retro feel. There was a jukebox at the corner, red seats backed up against the window while a waitress in blue took the orders of the two people inside. A mother and her son. He seemed happy with the single slice of pie on his plate.

She looked away before she’s thought about it even more.

But even then, it was too late. It hurt before it even dawned to her.

In another world, where she wasn’t taken in by her uncle, she’d have gone into a diner just like the one in front of her, ordered a burger and a chocolate milkshake knowing the rain would fall in and it would take her too long to get home for dinner. Then she’ll take a seat at the counter.

In that world, she’d have met a boy looking at her from a few seats away, smiling. And she’d smile back when her order appears and they realized they got the exact same mix of the smoothie they wanted. The boy would take the seat beside her, ask for her name. And he’d tell her his. That boy would have the brightest blue eyes and she could already tell he had the habit of scratching his nose.

And they’ll talk all night even after everyone else in the diner had left, when the cook had to drive them out. He would offer to take her home, and she’d decline at first, but eventually give in. She wanted to give in. And by the end of the day, he’d have her number and they’ll see each other that weekend again. In that same diner.

In that world, she wasn’t a world-renowned assassin, and Jason wasn’t a vigilante with a broken past.

But-

But-

Fuck. She was so in love with him, it was terrifying.

But they had no business being kids, being cute, being so harmlessly in love and go on walks and even dates.

They had no business lying on the floor, eating burgers at three in the afternoon.

They had no business being so uncomplicated, when everything comes so easily and nothing would be at stake.

They had no business having a relationship. No matter how much she’d have wanted that. Not after their history. Not after what they’ve both been through. Not after what Floyd had raised her into and partially stripped her of anything normal.

Jason. Tortured. Being mauled on the floor while a madman beats him like a lifeless sack of hay.

Then someone stood beside her. She didn’t have to look at him.

“Stop following me.”

Jason didn’t answer. He looked on at the diner and he had the same look on his eyes as she had.

“You look at the diner, too.”

“Go. Away.”

He didn’t leave. Instead, they stood at the side of the street, not moving even when the light in front of them turned green.

She didn’t say anything more. Didn’t even look at him.

“I wish… I did something,” she swallowed. “I wish I wanted to save you.”

“Stop. I didn’t mean what I said. Forget about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I said stop.”

The woman in the diner held up a spoonful of pie and her son opened his mouth wide. It looked delicious even from the distance. The traffic light turned red and just one car drove off in front of them.

“Jason-“

“I saw the look on your face. Back at the cave. I knew you’d have figured everything out by then, about what happened to me at Arkham.”

She was stone cold and stiff.

“But none of that mattered. I didn’t care if you wanted me dead at one point. The whole day I was with you in Gotham, it was the first day I hadn’t thought about Joker… or Batman. Anything.

“I walked out of the cave hoping you wouldn’t run away after knowing who I was. So I kissed you. And you kissed me back. Then I let you hold me and I told you my name. Then… Jesus…”

Y/N still hadn’t turned away. She wasn’t crying. She couldn’t. It was the droplets from the rain that ran down her cheeks. Nothing else.

And by that time the traffic light had turned back to being green, the diner was dark and empty. She didn’t want to look to her side. Somehow, she knew Jason would just walk away, without so much as another word. He’d do something like that, and it wouldn’t be much of a surprise.

But he stayed.

For a long while, he did. So she asked, without much to expect.

“Can you walk me home?”

Just that. She could at least have that. Something so miniscule from the world she longed to be.

“Okay.”

He stayed right beside her. All the way back to the barracks. And the dark rain prevailed.

And it was the same when they reached the empty training grounds, deep into the back where the living quarters were. The walk to their rooms was silent, and their clothes drenched the floors all the way up to hers. Jason walked straight into his, without so much as another word.

She went into her room and locked the door, but her hand didn’t leave the doorknob. She stood there, silent and alone. Y/N never felt so lost.

But it had to have been long minutes, because she heard four knocks on her door before she’s even walked away. She opened it and Jason was standing there, his hair a wet mess, and he held up a coffee mug.

“Hot water,” he said. “Drink it before bed.”

Y/N didn’t have much energy left to decline. She took it from him. “Thank you.”

Jason stepped back, and she closed the door again.

Her whole body leaned against the hard wood of the door and she could feel a part of herself drip to the floor at each second she’d have to look into his hurt eyes. She’d fallen in so deep, and she hated herself for it.

She opened the door, determined to go after him.

But he was still there, at the door, just about to go into her room himself.

Y/N’s never felt so at the edge of breaking down when she met his eyes, panting. And with the pain, came the rush of cold air, the rush of cold relief. Jason went into her room, pushed her against the door to close it. He could feel her breath, wanting him.

He held the back of her drenched head and pulled her to his lips. She dug in to his hair, gripping it hard when his lips escaped hers and found their way back to her neck. Her other hand traveled down his clothed arms. She gasped, and Jason slowly guided them both to move to the bed. He’ll never pull away. Soon there were no more boundaries between them, no distance. They lasted all night, no longer with any trace of regret.

-----

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

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SMUT FANS. YA’LL KNOW IT’S ABOUT TO GET DOWN IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

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