#put barely any effort into hiding their vigilante identities

[daydreamerwonderkid]

I know it's mostly only done for crossover purposes, but I do think it's hilarious when the Batkids have little to no reaction whenever Bruce brings a new kid home.

No questions asked, just immediate acceptance.

Oh, there's a random child at the breakfast table whom Bruce hasn't bothered to inform anyone about yet?

Aight, well it looks their messed up family just acquired its newest member. Welcome to the fucking club, kid. You have no fucking clue what you're in for, but don't worry. It's only going to get more bat shit insane from here.

[a-cat-in-toffee]

tiny little drabble of wight freaking x the fuck out dont ask me why the vigilantes and destroyers are working together. they just are

“Just kill them.” It was mostly a joke, but it was enough to get a reaction.

“It's wrong, they've done nothing.” X frowns. Wight grins slightly.

“I could make you think otherwise.” He doesn't get a response from X beyond an eyebrow raise. “Not convince you, of course, just go in there and flip a couple switches. Does that scare you?”

“No.” An obvious lie, even Kota would have been able to pick up on that. X looked away, back over the city. Wight wondered if Cantrip knew her mistake pairing up the two of them, or if she had been blinded by the chance to talk to Wavelength about tech.

“It does.” he practically purred out. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to antagonize X, but who could really blame Wight? He made it so easy. “You’re terrified how easy it would be for you to be like me. How similar we already are.”

X glanced over at him, glaring, but there was something else there. Something vulnerable. A chink in his armor. An opening. Wight had hit him where he wasn’t expecting. He was winning. The feeling was exhilarating. “Except I’m nothing like you. Not even close.”

Wight shrugged, sauntering casually over next to X, grinning at him. “But how easily could you become like me, Xavier?” His words were chosen carefully to neatly slice through all the defenses that X had put up keeping Wight out, to destroy what scraps of ‘dominance’ he held onto in the conversation.

It was satisfying how quickly it worked, X’s entire expression changing at the casual drop of his name. It was a simple power play, Xavier made minimal effort to really hide his identity, but it was enough of a reality check to remind him where he was and who he was with. That Wight could easily know whatever he wanted to know about X, not that he really wanted to know anything.

X didn’t know that, though.

Wight turned to the city, keeping everything about the way he was standing leisurely. As though this were just another day, and just another conversation. He wasn’t even putting in effort to fucking with Xavier. No, he was relaxed, he was calm, and he was enjoying the view. Nothing about him could give away the racing of his thoughts or the just barely faster than normally beating in his chest.

The others would finish their rounds soon, and Wight doubted the conversation between him and X would pick back up any time soon, so he just enjoyed the night.

[bluegarners]

hiya @viceturtle! I finally got it done! Here is your Bad Things Happen Bingo request with Dick and Jason; you can also read it on ao3

What Have I Done?

It’s a lot. He’s not going to lie.

Dick was dead for eight months. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. It was a fact that they were all forced to deal with, all forced to live with. Dick was dead and there was nothing any of them could do about it. And for a time, Jason had held onto the small belief, he’s not going to call it hope, that Dick had somehow managed to pull through. That even despite the beatings, the torture, everything before and after it, Dick had managed to pull through and come out of it all alive.

But he hadn’t. That was the thing, at its core. Dick died. 

Jason knows what it is to be dead. To be beaten and left to die. To struggle and still search for a way out of the shit hole you’re suddenly in and cling to that light, that stupid, stupid promise in the back of your head that screams, Help is coming, just hold on a little longer, that forces you to keep struggling, keep surviving, keep hoping for a way out despite the circumstances. Jason knows and it absolutely sucked. 

He died and then clawed his way out of his own coffin. One of his fingers is permanently misshapen, wood chips and metal piercing through his stiff and cold skin. He’s got scars all over his body to prove that he died, to prove that he was beaten with a crowbar, messed around with like he was just some dummy, some thing that could take a beating and then some. Up and down and across and lined; the scars are all over him and he died.

And Dick died too. 

In those eight months, Jason felt more connected to his deceased older brother than he ever had before. A deep and twisted connection over a shared death, a similar fate so convoluted it makes Jason sick to think about sometimes. His murderer is still out there. Jason has to live with that fact and even though it’s not fine and things would be so much easier without that psychopath, Jason gets it. Sometimes. Gets the moral code, the compass, that shrouds Batman and his little followers.

And he’s trying. He is. He made an effort to try and do the right thing when Dick died because suddenly, the role of older brother had fallen onto him and even though he doesn’t have a good relationship with Tim or the recently resurrected Damian, or anyone for that matter, there was still that recognition that it was all on him now. He was the eldest. He was the one to look towards. Not look up to, no, he will never claim the title of a role model, but now he’s the oldest, the most experienced, the next in line when one just can’t go to Bruce about shit going on.

The point being is that he did try, put in more effort than he probably should have, to stepping up to the plate and taking a swing at being better. At being the eldest of the entire brood and not fucking it up horribly. He switches to rubber bullets and smoke pellets. He keeps his excessive violence reserved for only the worst scum and even then still attempts to steer clear from Batman’s territories. He takes care of the Narrows, rekindles a sort of friendship with Tim, doesn’t fight the literal child that lurks in the Cave, and avoids confrontations with Bruce altogether.

It works and it’s good. He steps up, frankly owns being the eldest, and he’s fine. He’s fine with it. He’s still got his reputation intact, Red Robin isn’t terrified of his presence any longer, and Robin doesn’t pull a sword every time they spot one another. So what if he slips up occasionally and gets carried away? They’re just rubber bullets, weapons all the same, and they’re no different from getting hit with Batman’s fist (which Jason knows, from experience, hurts like hell) or getting swung at with a large knife. 

He had a thing going on, is what Jason’s trying to get at, and then Dick showed up.

Dick. Richard Grayson. Who died eight months ago after he was tortured by the Syndicate and had his heart stopped by Lex Luthor. Who they had a funeral for. Who they mourned for. Who Jason had attempted to fill the gaping hole he had left behind.

Who Jason thought had died.

Betrayal is a word Jason feels like he could apply to a majority of his life. Betrayal from his parents, his poor, poor mother who just couldn’t muster up enough fucks. Bruce, Batman, for getting him into the vigilante life, for letting him wear that damn costume and get himself blown up for all his efforts. Talia, for restoring his mind after he was supposed to be dead. Bruce, Batman, again, for letting his murderer walk around like it was another Sunday, any other day, just a nice, normal day for a stroll like he didn’t just kill Bruce’s own son-

Yeah, Jason feels like he has liberal use of betrayal. It’s just an old song he hums sometimes and lets others join in occasionally.

But there was an unspoken code, a silent right-of-passage, when it came to being Robin. A mutual understanding of sorts. You don’t back-stab another Robin. Ever. You don’t lie, cheat out, betray a fellow Robin. There were too many shared experiences when it came to being Batman’s, Bruce’s, Robin and that ultimately revolved all back to trust and knowing that things were still the same despite all these years. Being Robin was both the best thing to ever happen to someone and also the ultimate death sentence. You don’t just get to be Robin either. You’ve got to earn it, to prove yourself, to show that you can take it all on, to keep up with Batman and the ever changing and violent Gotham.

So, when Dick shows up with an apology on his lips and the expectation of being welcomed home after all this time, Jason punches him square in the jaw. It’s surreal, a part of him thinking his fist will just phase right through the man’s face, but his knuckles connect and if the sound of his fist against Dick’s jaw isn’t the most satisfying and cruel thing he’s ever heard, Jason doesn’t know what is. 

It’s agony, nearly, to see the red blossom on his older brother’s cheek because, holy hell, that means it’s all real. That Dick is really alive and not still buried in that weed covered yard with decaying roses scattered on top of it. Dick is alive and Jason is furious because he’s supposed to be dead and Jason already tried so hard to fill the other man’s impossibly huge shoes and he was doing a damn good job at it. He likes to think so, at least.

But who cares, right? Who gives a shit when Dick is back now and it was all for nothing? Everyone can just go back to their normal routines now that the star player is back and they don’t need a fill-in like Jason to stick around. All that effort, all that time, all that trying all summing up into one big, Surprise, I’m not dead, from the man of the hour himself.

Jason avoids Dick after that. The man said he wasn’t staying long, just “checking in” with everyone like he was just on some business call for a few months and not dead. 

And that’s the root of it, Jason thinks. That’s what really gnaws at him because Dick is treating the whole situation exactly like he was on some extended vacation and just forgot to tell anyone where he was going. Not like his absence literally turned their entire world upside down. Not like the loss, the emptiness, that literally echoed everywhere Jason went was consuming and terrifying. In those eight months, Jason had to toe the line between being the eldest and maintaining his identity as Red Hood, and that’s where Jason truly felt close to Dick. Felt like he finally got what Dick and Bruce’s arguments were about so many years ago, this constant war of wanting to be better, wanting to have freedom, wanting to stay yourself when there was a constant war of others trying to get you to fill a role that you don’t want. 

Finally, Jason felt like he had some other important connection to his elusive older brother that had nothing to do with the man that housed them, only for it all to be thrown across the room and into the trash. 

To keep it simple, bare-bones, really dumbed down, Dick lied. About being dead, of all things. Jason can get behind needing to lay low after all that, being stripped of your identity on live television wasn’t exactly great for their kind of lifestyle, but to just leave? To go out on some mission and leave the rest of them out to dry like that? No warning, no hints, no notes, nothing? God, at least Jason made an appearance. Granted, not the best sort of re-introduction, but at least he wasn’t trying to hide.

To say the least, Jason is hurting. The anger faded along with any sort of need to prove to Dick that he had stepped up when he left. Now, he just feels… shitty. In a way, this is what he had been half-way expecting. No one stays dead in this business. There is always someone with a back-up or ex-machina to save the day and bring back a fallen hero, villain, whatever. But there had just been something so final, so human in Dick’s death. In that moment, seeing the mask ripped off, seeing his brother’s face on T.V out of context, away from the normal flashiness that was being related to a billionaire, it had scared Jason because that was his brother, Dick Grayson, world’s most annoying man in the universe, on T.V; beaten, bloodied, bruised, and humiliated for everyone to see.

He’s always been jealous of how clean and clear Dick’s eyes looked. Just a simple and rare shade of blue, obnoxiously bright and searching. Jason’s mother used to say he had his father’s eyes, a muddy mix of blue and green. He’s never liked his eyes, but there was always something so attention grabbing with Dick’s. Seeing them on T.V, wide and blood-shot and bruised to hell; the blue was out of place and humanizing in a way that Jason just couldn't describe because it was simply Dick Grayson there. Not Nightwing. Not a hero. It was just Dick Grayson, world’s worst older brother ever, looking lost, defiant, and defeated all at once.

And that hurt.

The man is like some nasty disease that won’t leave him alone though. Their first meeting was two days ago and Jason is trying his best to ignore the knife in his chest, not literally, when Dick shows up. Just outside the Narrows on the roof of a bodega, Dick appears from where ever the fuck he’s been and walks over to Jason. It’s a cue, Jason knows, when thunder rumbles in the distance and if he were a bit more into literature, feeling a bit more melancholy for his freshman year of high school, Jason would say that a storm is coming for the both of them, not just Gotham.

Dick walks with his hands in his pockets, stuffed inside an old brown jacket that looks well-used and well-loved. Jason’s never seen the jacket before. Must’ve gotten it on his extended vacation. A part of Jason knows that Bruce was in on it too, that Bruce probably deserves just as much anger he’s dishing out towards Dick, maybe even more, but Jason’s tired of trying to play nice and get along. Dick is the one in front of him now, right here on a Wednesday night with the glowing, neon advertisement for Coke singing behind their heads and a run down, twenty year old convenience shop beneath their feet. 

Dick is here and now when he should be dead.

Just like Jason should be.

“What do you want?” he asks, the metallic tin of his voice modulator diminishing some of the threat. It’s a known fact that Red Hood guards his territory with a viciousness rivaling a rabid dog. Outsiders aren’t welcome. Never welcome.

In contrast, Dick is mask-less. Civilian. Same clear blue eyes from eight months ago that were sealed shut the last time Jason saw them. A dark bruise stains Dick’s right cheekbone, the shape of knuckles and betrayal. It’s a good contrast.

“I came to say goodbye,” the other man answers, stopping just short of six feet in front of Jason, “and that I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner. I really am,” he insists when Jason remains silent. “Things just… happened too fast. It killed me to be away from you all for so long. I wanted to tell you, I did-”

“Really?” Jason interrupts lowly. “It killed you, huh?”

Dick sighs, a hand coming up to brush through his hair. “That’s not what I meant. You know it’s not.”

“I don’t know, Dicky. Times are changing, you know. One minute, you’re the star pupil, and the next I’m your backup. And now,” Jason shrugs, letting his hand come up to rest on the holster he keeps on his hip, “I’m not so sure about that.”

Dick is eyeing Jason like he’s looking at something he doesn’t like. Something that’s leaving a bad taste in his mouth. But that’s just something he’s going to have to deal with, isn’t it? Suck it up buttercup, and all that.

A laugh erupts from Jason as he truly takes it all in. “You know,” he chuckles, nothing humorous causing his mirth, “you really had me there for awhile. I bought you flowers, went to your funeral, dealt with all that shit, and yet here you are. In the flesh.” He laughs again, fingers curving steadily around the grip of his gun. “I think I liked you better dead, Dick.”

The older man frowns, brow dipping into a neat crease. Not a single wrinkle on his perfect, tan, not dead face. “The situation was unavoidable,” he says, like he actually believes a word he utters. “Batman needed a guy on the inside. The, hm, circumstances leading up to that set it up so that I could be that guy. It wasn’t exactly my choice to stay dead, Jay.”

“Names,” Jason snarks, that same anger he felt two days ago rearing its ugly head again. “You know, you say you didn’t have a choice, but I think there’s a clear distinction between dead and alive, don’t you? It might just be me, who knows because fuck if I do, but I think a warning woud’ve sufficed. A fucking warning. ”

Something must click in Dick’s head as his frown deepens. His hands are out of his jacket pockets now. They’re both tense.

“I’ll be back soon,” he says. “Maybe another month. Two at most. When I get back, I’ll try and…” Dick trails off there, as if searching for the right words, but Jason doesn’t have the patience for him to find the right way to say the same bullshit he’s already heard before. 

He’s so tired. So, so tired.

“We were fine without you,” he snarls, relishing in the way Dick’s eyes widen at the claim. “The world doesn’t stop turning just because you decide to go off on a little adventure. Newsflash, asshole: None of us need you. You can’t come back here and expect everything to fall back to the way things were just because you decide it’s time to show your face again.”

“I was doing what I thought was right,” Dick snaps back. “Look, I’m sorry you had to step up and be a decent person for once-”

“And there it is,” Jason growls, unholstering his gun. “You think you’re so much better than me. You’re just so goddamn smug you can’t even see your own mistakes. What, is my being here just too inconvenient for you? Can’t make all the little hero-worshipers fall back into line like they used to?”

“Stop putting words in my mouth. I did what I thought was best for everyone and I paid the price for it.”

Jason lunges, cutting the feet between them into inches. “What was best?” he yells, swinging with one fist and aiming with the other. “Who the hell are you to decide that?”

Dick retaliates, pushing away Jason with a kick that connects to his armored chest. It’s barely a glancing blow though and he’s charging forwards again, squeezing the trigger as a shot rings off into the air, missing Dick’s foot by a few centimetres. Another crack of thunder resounds in the distance and a bolt of lightning cracks open the dark sky. Dick rolls away from Jason’s tackle, on the balls of his feet and ready to jump away again.

“I didn’t come here to fight you,” Dick tries, widening his stance. “I just came to, god, I don’t know, Jay. I didn���t ask for this!”

“Cut the bull,” Jason says, raising his gun again. He’s got it trained on Dick’s mid-section and even though a part of him knows he’s not going to take the shot, another part of him has his finger itching towards the trigger. “None of us asked for any of the fuckery that comes our way, but we deal with it, right? I’m dead, you’re dead, the brat’s dead, we’re all dead!”

There’s another crack of thunder, one that brings the rain with it. It pours, instantly drenching the pair, and a sheet of gray divides them. There’s surely something poetic about it, the divide that surrounds them both, but Jason’s not one to dwell long.

“Well, I’m not dead anymore!” Dick screams through the rain. “I am alive! I’ve been dead for eight months and I don’t want to fucking be anymore! I want to come home, Jay. I am alive. Goddamnit, I am alive!”

“So why didn’t you tell us that? Tell any of us that? All of this, that’s on you , Dick. You want to know why there wasn’t a big fucking parade for you? Why no one was fighting over the chance to be the first one to get to shake your hand? It’s because we don’t trust you anymore. No one fucking wants you near them because that’s how badly you fucked up.”

He must strike a nerve because Jason sees something crumple on Dick’s face. 

“I didn’t- I didn’t want to leave you guys, Jay. God, you’ve got to believe me on that. I had no choice. It was either I leave and do this for Batman or-”

That same anger rises up again. Anger from different directions, different thoughts, but ultimately because it’s about Batman. Always, always about Batman. What he wants. What he needs you to do. Because if you don’t do it, and someone dies, it’s your fault. And Dick has always been the suck-up, the one to come when called, because even after all their spats and all these years of silence between them, Dick was still a Robin first and goddamnit if Jason doesn’t understand that. He hates that he understands that need to please Batman, to do what he asks in the hope of just some tiny ounce of praise or acknowledgment, but Dick is a grown adult. He’s not Robin anymore.

None of them are.

Dick takes a step forward and Jason squeezes the trigger, feeling the recoil in his wrist as Dick freezes, the bullet breezing right past his armpit. His eyes are wide, finally taking the weapon in as it is, and there must be some realization going off inside Dick’s head because now he’s the one charging in, stance low and shifty, and Jason’s on the defense now. His finger is still on the trigger, just barely, and he’s raising it to aim again when a flying round-house knocks the gun from his hand and fist drives under his chin. It disorients him a bit because, damn, he didn’t actually expect Dick to fight back, Jason was trying to get him to go away, but now they’re both serious. They’re both dangerous.

It’s a no-weapons brawl, just fists and dirty kicks and the rain is still pounding away against the bodega. The rain has plastered Dick’s hair to his skull and Jason is grateful for his helmet because it’s clear the water is making it difficult for the older man to see. He takes advantage of this, striking down with his elbow on Dick’s trapezius and quickly hooking his left foot around his ankle. It works for a split second, Dick thrown off and unbalanced, before Dick is tumbling down and using his own momentum to pull Jason down with him. 

They’re on their backs now, rough and cold cement bleeding through their jackets, and the neon Coke sign flickers in and out as thunder continues to roll and shake the world.

“You should’ve stayed dead,” Jason snarls, taking a jab at his older brother’s face. “You should’ve never come back.”

Dick frees one of his hands from underneath the massive bulk of Jason’s suit, palm striking the sides of his helmet. “Take off the godamn hood and say that to my face,” Dick pants, shoving one of his knees into Jason’s side. “Look me in the eye and tell me you want me dead, Jay. Tell me you want me dead. ”

Another bolt of lightning splits the dark and its image refracts against the many puddles, and for a moment, the light sears into Jason’s eyes. He flinches against the burn and it’s enough hesitation for Dick to take the unguarded moment and flip Jason, crouching with one knee on his chest and the other digging into Jason’s forearm. They’re both breathing heavily, exhausted both physically and mentally, and he doesn’t bother to stop his brother as Dick reaches down and shoves the helmet off of his face.

Their eyes meet and Jason squints up at clear blue. Yeah, he hates that color. Hates it so much it feels like something ugly in his stomach, coiling and clenching. They’re both frowning but Dick just looks resigned. Jason hates that too. Now that he has the chance, he can see new scars on his brother’s face. New, finer lines and white and pink discoloration. 

Funny how eight months can make someone look so much older.

“I wish you had stayed dead,” Jason finally says, hating himself all the more for it. “I wish you had never come back.”

Dick stumbles off of him and there’s a thin trail of red leaking from one of his eyebrows that keeps getting washed away. Jason doesn’t even remember hitting him there, but he must’ve been excessive. Must’ve over-done it. Just another thing he’s managed to fuck up. Check it off the list. 

He sits up, feeling the ache of a sore back and numerous bruises, and watches as his brother leans heavily against the poles of the advertisement. The rain only seems to come down harder, bouncing off the yellow stained bodega roof. He gets to his feet slowly, careful to keep an eye on the slouching man, and treads over to pick up his helmet. His gun is closer to the bright neon sign and when he gets near enough, Dick looks up, something horribly heavy and sad, settling into his face.

“Okay,” is all he says, nodding once. “Okay, Jay.”

Dick reaches into his jacket pocket once more, fiddling with something, but Jason’s too preoccupied putting his helmet back on to really pay attention to it. They’re done fighting. Done with whatever all of that was. His hair is soaked, his jacket is going to have a layer of mildew on it in the morning, and Jason is tired. Beat. He can’t find the will-power to truly be bothered with anything else. 

This is his territory so he’s not technically fleeing, but that’s what it looks like. Tail between his legs, off to lick his wounds, Jason’s sure that’s what Dick is thinking (he knows that’s not true, he knows this, and he’s got a little secret screaming, pounding away in the back of his skull, but Jason’s too burned out to deal with it, to address it). He walks to the edge of the roof with his back turned on his older brother, his alive and breathing, long lost brother, and jumps off, sliding down the fire escape and landing on the grimy streets below. His boots squelch in the rain, and there’s water logged into his socks, but Jason ignores it in favor of staring ahead. Refusing to look back.

Here’s the thing about being a Robin that everyone who’s been one before knows. 

You rely on each other. There’s no codependency, not really, but there is a certain degree of reliance on past and current Robins. Robin is the inspiration. Not Batman. Batman doesn’t inspire little kids to go out in the night and get punched in the face and witness cruelty so awful you have nightmares for years after. Batman doesn’t inspire light and forgiveness and mercy; that’s all Robin’s doing. The bright colors, the chatter, the youth. That’s all on Robin, the little child weapons they are, and the shared experience of being that for Batman is a bond that runs so much deeper than blood. Thick and interwoven and relied upon so much more heavily than a simple crest or uniform.

And here’s that screaming secret that vibrates inside Jason’s skull: he’s happy Dick’s back. That Dick’s alive. At the end of the day, Dick was the first Robin, the first light, and having him snuffed out was a world that got three shades darker, bleaker. It was Dick’s Robin that truly gave it the twinge of hope all the Robins after carry with them; he was the model, the mold, they shaped themselves after. Him being dead changed that perspective for the worse because the first Robin made it. That’s what was so important, what tips the scales for the confidence of all Robins after. Dick made it. Survived being Robin, survived past Robin, and became his own hero. 

Dick outlived being Robin and that was the ultimate goal. To survive. 

So him dying was the last straw but now that he’s back, alive, everything was going to be okay again. Yeah, they’re all still messed up from it, there’s going to be a lot of trust built back up again, but they’re Robins for Christ's sake. Thicker than blood, stronger than a crest, relied on more than Batman. And maybe Jason’s being sentimental, still trying to be more eloquent than his sophomore English education allowed him to be, but God, he’s trying. He’s trying so hard despite the ache that wears down his bones and the fire that consumes his brain.

That’s why he gives in. Turns around. Looks back. Does what he thought he was too stubborn to do, but things change and-

The neon sign is brighter. No, that’s not right. There’s another source of that eerie, glowing light and Jason’s eyes widen as he sees a person step through it. Another figure, broad, muscular, unfamiliar, and they’re heading straight for Dick. His brother. Who is still leaning against the advertisement poles. Who’s not doing a damn thing to avoid the stranger that’s fast approaching. 

Soreness and fatigue forgotten, Jason starts sprinting, boots pounding against the pavement as he cranes his neck upwards to watch the stranger continue to advance.

“Dick!” he yells in warning, drowned out with the rain. “Dick, move!”

He slams into the fire escape, hands scraping up the ladder as he hauls himself three steps at a time, chest heaving and heart beating wildly. He slips, losing his footing, and Jason grunts as he feels the pull on his shoulder and his knees bang into the sides of the bodega. He pushes on though, gripping the metal tightly and finally reaching the top.

He’s pulling himself over, gasping and searching, and he sees the man tugging Dick closer to the strange light, what Jason thinks must be some sort of portal, and before he’s even gotten a leg over the edge, his right hand is scrambling for purchase on his gun. He takes aim and fires without a second thought and curses aloud when it jams.

“Dick!” he yells again, throwing the useless weapon away and falling over onto the roof. “Stop! Stop! What’re you doing?”

His brother just trudges on though, bicep gripped by the stranger that continues to drag him closer and closer to the pulsating light, ghoulishly pink and saturating the air with an ominous buzz. Another flash of lightning illuminates the sky and Jason trips over himself in his haste, crashing into the slick cement. He whips his head up, too far away, too late, as the stranger disappears fully into the portal, Dick just a few inches away.

“Wait!” Jason cries, still attempting to rise off of his knees. Damn the rain. Damn the weight of his grief. Damn it all, get up. Get up. “Dick, stop! Stop!”

The rain is loud though and there’s a divide between the two of them, mixes of gray, pink, and red light. His brother half turns, watching as the younger stumbles towards him, and Jason can’t hear anything, can hardly process what’s even happening now, but Dick’s lips move in what Jason thinks is, Goodbye, and Jason screams, lunging as his brother fades into the light.

He falls, smashing into the cement once again as he fails to reach for his brother’s hand, and lands where the portal had just been. He lays there on his chest, heaving and attempting to breathe through his helmet, but it’s too hard, too suffocating, and Jason rips it off and flings it as far away from him as he can. His hands clench into fists and he fights back the urge to cry as he slams his fists into the roof. Bam-Bam-Bam.

Something cracks in his knuckles and Jason stops at the pain, shifting back and hanging his head between his knees. There’s a vicious burn in his eyes, his ugly, muddy green eyes, and Jason swipes at them furiously.

“We just got you back,” he whispers through gritted teeth. “We just got you back, Dick, and you, you just-”

A clap of thunder rattles the thin poles of the Coke advertisement as its lights finally flicker out. The night is dark without its glow and Jason is left in obscurity. 

“What have I done?"

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Satisfied, Part 15

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~~~

Marinette didn’t need to turn around to know they were snooping. She could hear all three of them shuffling around her apartment. She bit down on the inside of her cheek. As long as they didn’t find the Miraculous Box or Tikki she would be fine. And those were both pretty well hidden. It’d be fine.

She hummed to herself as she pulled down baking equipment, then looked over her shoulder to figure out where they were.

Nightwing was looking suspiciously at her bed, where she had left her fake version of herself. He glanced at her and she raised an eyebrow.

“There was three people outside my window, did you want me not to take precautions?”

The man looked away without saying anything.

Red Hood messed with her window lock, eyes narrowed, then he typed something in his phone as he mumbled to himself. She barely caught the words “buy new” and rolled her eyes.

Red Robin was closest, rifling through her kitchen cupboards for... something. He set a box on the counter and then continued looking for something, eyebrows scrunched in irritation.

She read the label of her instant coffee. “Oh! The good coffee is...” She leaned past him to pull it out from where it was hidden in her spice section (she didn’t want to be tempted, it was only for when guests were over). She handed it over and he beamed.

“Thanks!”

She nodded and started pulling things down to bake. She could feel all three of them wander closer and looked back at their interested expressions.

“Um... can I help you?”

“Whatcha making?” Asked Red Hood, peering over her shoulder to try and guess.

She glanced down at the stuff she’d gathered. She would have thought that the bag of brown sugar would have given away that she was making cookies, but she supposed this just put another notch in her ‘rich kid’ theory.

“Cookies. Anyone have allergies?”

They all shook their heads and she checked over her ingredients before starting to add --.

“Can we help?” Asked Red Robin.

She set down the flour she was holding and gave a wary glance back at them. “Do any of you actually know how to help?”

They glanced at each other. She was asking a rich kid, an ex-circus kid, and an ex-orphan if they knew how to bake.

“Yep,” said Red Robin.

“Of course,” said Nightwing.

“Obviously,” said Red Hood.

She sighed. “You have no idea, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Of course.”

“Obviously.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned back against the counter. They were very clearly bored, there was little to do in her apartment, and she supposed it wouldn’t be bad to get some help...

She set back the chocolate chips and brown sugar. “Fine. I guess we’ll make sugar cookies,” she muttered.

She started searching through her things for measuring cups. Did she even have any? She never used them, why would --? She pulled out some red ones spotted with black and blinked. She didn’t remember unpacking those, didn’t even remember buying them...

Her eyes flickered to where Tikki was, and she saw the little kwami give her a small smile before disappearing under the covers again.

She smiled and handed them over. “Great. I need someone to make frosting, someone to cream the ingredients together, and someone to measure things.”

This was an easy recipe. There was no way they could get this wrong.

~

How could they mess up so badly.

She hadn’t expected her usual caliber of cookies, but this was ridiculous!

She had looked away for one second to show Red Robin how her coffee maker worked and now the batter was dry and the frosting had split.

She rested her head in her hands. She vaguely considered giving up her secret identity just to give them all a quick punch, but disregarded it when she brought her hands down.

They were clearly trying so hard. They were failing. Miserably. But they were trying.

Marinette discarded the idea of ‘accidentally’ dropping the batter. It would allow her to make a new one and lessen suspicions of her being Ladybug, but she definitely would have felt bad.

She looked down at the bowls and rested her hands on her hips, looking them over as she tried to figure out where they had gone wrong.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek and started messing with the dough. It didn’t look quite overworked, so it had to be a recipe problem. She started opening and checking all her ingredients, and sighed softly when she opened the egg carton. She added the last egg they needed in with a small frown. It wouldn’t be her best work, but it should be decent. She handed it back to Red Hood to mix.

Her eyes found their way to the frosting next. All her ingredients had been the same temperature when she’d given them to Nightwing, so that meant it could only be how long he mixed it. She set it back in the mixer and pressed start.

Aw, they were all blushing in embarrassment, how cute.

After a few more minutes everything was done. She rolled out the dough and, after a bit of searching, handed over cookie cutters.

They looked at her confusedly.

“Well, obviously, you have to decorate them. Get to work.”

The three vigilantes eyed each other warily, then the box in her hands.

A grin split across her face. “Any day now, there’s only so many good ones.”

She hastily set the cutters on the table and backed up. She forced back a laugh as they a made grab for the box. There was a blur of colors and limbs as they all shoved each other around, trying their hardest to get the ‘good ones’.

Marinette had the good ones. They didn’t need to know that.

She watched the chaos for a little bit and then looked at the frosting. She should really get to coloring it, but what colors was she to use? Should she just do the colors of their costumes? Or did they have specific things they wanted to make?

She turned around to ask this and raised a eyebrow as she watched Red Robin throw flour at Nightwing. This would have been all fine and good -- she had more than enough -- if Nightwing hadn’t ducked.

There was silence as she wiped the flour from her face.

She gave a long, tired sigh. Her lips parted as if to say something.

Then she grabbed a handful of flour and threw it right back.

She ducked as the fighting resumed, then glanced at what they had made. She bit the inside of her cheek again. She didn’t want to mess it up, it had been too much effort to make for her to abandon it like that, and she made a dive for the parchment paper.

She squeaked as flour was poured down the back of her shirt, and whipped around to see a somewhat sheepish looking Red Hood. This look was replaced with fear quickly, though, as she tackled him to the ground.

He struggled limply. She wasn’t trying to actually pin him down, but he wasn’t exactly trying to get up either. He was scared of hurting her. How cute.

She pulled the flour from his grip and smiled cheekily as she covered his eyes and dumped it on his face.

She rolled off of him as he sputtered and brandished her new weapon.

Red Robin offered her a hand up. She glanced at it and grinned as she took it. An alliance had been made.

An egg hit the back of her new ally’s head and they whipped around to find Nightwing grinning at them.

“Cover for me?” She said.

“Why do I get the feeling that I’m not getting a choice?”

“‘Cause you’re not,” she chirped.

He sighed as he reluctantly lunged towards Nightwing to distract him.

She grabbed the dough and frosting and quickly hid it away. The moment the cupboard door closed she turned around to see Red Hood, smiling cheekily as he held up a bottle of milk.

She rolled away in an attempt to stay dry, but it wasn’t enough. Now there was milk covering most of her legs.

She shook out her soggy pants awkwardly before running to Red Robin’s side. “C’mon,” she mumbled, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him away from what would have been an egg to the face. He grabbed as many things from the counter as he could as they passed and she glanced around quickly.

She jumped over the bed -- Tikki flew up her shirt to hide -- and started peeling off sheets and blankets for a fort.

He raised an eyebrow and she mumbled a quiet: “For cover.”

He grinned appreciatively. “Smart.”

“Thanks.”

She glanced at her friend and they locked eyes for a second. They ducked to the floor as she began building up their walls, and he worked at keeping the others away in the meantime.

He held up a spoon and she raised an eyebrow. He gave a short wink before using it to launch some flour at an advancing Nightwing.

She grinned. “Smart!”

“Thanks!”

When light finally filtered through her window, her room was utter devastation. Nightwing had gotten himself locked in the closet somehow. The two allies high-fived over the body of Red Hood, who was completely coated in random ingredients.

She smiled and pressed a kiss to Red Robin’s cheek. “Come back tonight, I’ll have some cookies made for you guys.”

Marinette grinned as she waved them all off, costumes still flecked with ingredients despite their best efforts to pat them off. They’d surely have a fun time explaining that to Batman.

She turned back to her room and sighed at the mess. Great. She picked up a mop.

~~~

Me? Writing fluff? It’s more likely than you think

~

Taglist

@comet-kun @thatonecroc @trippingovermyfeet @swiftie-miraculer13 @nickristus-dreamer @moongoddesskiana @i-am-ironic @indecisive-mess-named-me @thebooki3h @insane-fangirl-of-everything @deepestobservationwombat @theymakeupfairies @fatimaabbasrizvi @clumsy-owl-4178 @fanofalittletoomuch @iamablinkmarvelarmy @nathleigh @lilkymilky @silvergold-swirl @dino-lovingreen-angel @thestressmademedoit @kissa-chan @ladybug-182 @alysrose-starchild @t1dwarrior-of-earth @spyofthenightcourt @rowanrouge @nik-nak-3 @momothefemur @aestheticnpoetic @labschaos @our-preciousss @mochinek0 @eliza-bich

[black-streak]

Saturday night's alright for fighting (but Sundays are meant for rest) - His Shadow

Part 6

I'm already on part?! 6?!?! How did I get here?!

Also! Tag list??? I am a person who has one now? How even? @poshplumcot @emjrabbitwolf @mystery-5-5 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @fandomkitty8 @dast218 @silvergold-swirl and I know you didn't ask to be, but @littleblue5mcdork your comments give me life, so I'm tagging you.

~---~

At approximately 12:34 am, Monday morning, a phone rang, abruptly waking the two occupants of the room.

"That better be important, or someone is going to pay."

"Stay quiet, it's Nightwing."

The use of vigilante names queued her in and she fell silent as Tim answered.

"What happened," he demanded, voice dipping in tone. 

Marinette couldn't hear everything, but she caught the jist of it.

Riddler had missed a few too many therapy appointments and was currently sending them all on a scavenger hunt, multiple hostages involved. She couldn't pick out who the hostages were or the locations, but that was fine. Tim knew, so as long as she followed him, it wouldn't matter.

Ending the call, he made his way past her and into the bathroom, talking as he went to change.

"Three bats are out of town, so they need me out there."

"Not the brightest, all traveling at the same time. Oracle and A still there?"

Shaking his head at the reminder that she knew all their identities and exactly which three had gone, he called back, "A is on it, but Oracle was unavailable."

"Good. Easier that way," was said as a flash of light poured in below the door, disappearing almost as immediately.

Coming out of the bathroom, he found his room empty.

"You plan to follow me," he stated.

"Of course," whispered back from the shadows, in a husky alto, neither feminine nor masculine in persuasion.

"There's no convincing you to stay put either, is there," still a statement.

A hum was his only answer, so he led the way towards the upstairs roof access, not wanting to take a chance with his own apartment window. Not a random safe house, after all.

"Suppose I don't have to tell you to stay hidden, but try not to give yourself away completely."

He was met by a chuckle and took that for the not promise it was, taking off across the rooftops, no sound other than his own near silent boots hitting pavement to indicate his little stalker.

…

He ended up in the one location that had Riddler actually present inside. Of course. Just his luck. Normally, Red would be thrilled at the chance to end this as quickly as possible, but for once, he had hoped against hope that one of the others would take care of this while he just solved a few puzzles, set someone free, and received a brief com relay that Bats had this one from there. 

Now he had to ensure not only that he solved everything and took Riddler down personally, but also had to watch the back of a shadow that he couldn't even keep track of. Sure, Red had seen her handiwork countless times, how clean and efficient the crime scene was. But mostly when she aimed to make the villains fool themselves into failing, leaving nothing of herself. The one time she did take matters fully into hand, he'd only seen the aftermath. And none of that accounted for never having worked with her. 

Needless to say, Red was stressed. Which led to a lack of focus that made finding his way to the underground archives of the library (yes, library) that riddler set up in take twice as long. Having made his way around 12 different traps, a few of which were already cleared up and solved before he arrived, he couldn't claim surprise that Hood and Nightwing were in his ear, having already cleaned up their own parts. 

"Where you at, babybird?"

"Entering the inner archives now."

"Not finished yet? Thought you were quicker than this," Hood teased.

"You were already on the scene when N called."

"Excuses excuses."

"We're entering the library now. Be down to back you up in a moment," Nightwing responded, cheerfully ignoring their antics.

"It's just Riddler, you don't need to help," He rushed to reassure, wanting to keep them and Mari separate in such an enclosed space. 

"Never underestimate a villain off their meds, Red. Almost there."

And that's how he found himself in this situation. Every time an attack came either towards Hood or Wing, they'd have to deflect or defend themselves, but every henchman that even looked in his direction became immediately distracted by something else. Honestly, at this rate, he could probably waltz right up to Riddler and finish this now, but he couldn't help but sit back and observe. 

One goon turned towards him, only to jump to the right, seemingly trip on his own two feet, and end up at the receiving end of an escrima stick.

Another freaked out and ran away from something only to slam directly into another fighting Hood. Both only took a moment to go down in the distraction. Two others ran from the room without any prompting. Soon enough they had Riddler in captivity, called in to Batman and Agent A, and left after handing the situation to the police. 

"What the hell, you barely even helped!" Hood yelled the second they landed on Red's apartment rooftop, Wing having already returned to finish his patrol for the night.

"Yeah, and I'm supposed to have Sunday nights off."

"It's Monday morning and that's never held you back before."

"... We weren't alone," he let on, knowing he needed to offer up some explanation for his lacking response down there.

"... They were in there?"

"Yeah. I was observing for more information."

"That would explain the idiots tripping over themselves more than usual, I guess. What'd you find out?"

"Nothing more than we already knew. Evasive, lets the opponent take themself out. Some seemed to be running from something. Whoever it is seems intelligent as well. Took out a few traps before I even reached them. Went around others completely if they were already in that room when we arrived."

"That doesn't help us though," Hood stated, arms crossed where he leaned against a wall. 

Blue/silver eyes appeared beside him, serious looking and tilted, giving the impression she was mimicking Hood's stance from less than two feet away. It took a monumental effort not to laugh.

"Not even slightly."

Heaving a sigh, Hood pulled off the wall and walked over to the edge, the eyes following him, rolling in mock exasperation.

"I'll have A look over the footage of the library, see if we can pick anything up," he called back, muttering about subpar cameras and lack of funding to inner city libraries before taking off towards the Manor. 

For a second, the eyes disappeared, only for a figure to appear in the corner, shaded by two walls of the roof where the access door was.

Glancing around to ensure the others were long out of sight or range, he turned off his comm and took it out. Walking over to the edge of the shadow, he paused.

"No backlash for giving away your existence?"

"None at all. If I didn't want them finding out, I wouldn't have helped. As you implied, you had it under control."

"You're introducing yourself."

"Mhm! In a way where no one can deny I'm good or mistake me for a bad guy. I've seen how quick some of you are to attack first and interrogate later. Figure I'll allow interrogation later when I'm a more established presence."

He raised an eyebrow and stared her down a minute before she broke.

"Aaand I might enjoy messing with them a little. It's fun to see the 'World's Greatest Detectives' fumble all over themselves to figure out who's hiding right underneath their noses."

"Speaking of which, you plan on actually letting me see you, or just stand in the corner all night" he snarked.

"Hmm… not in the open. I'll meet you in your room."

With that, she disappeared once more.

…

Upon entering his room, Tim thought one of Ra's assassins had come for him once more. 'Hadn't that freak old man taken up a new obsession?!' Only to pause at seeing the same gray to blue eyes from the roof peering out from under the hood. 

Flicking on a lamp much closer to her, he took in the full extent of the costume. Noticing a tail only barely peeking out around her calf and the sharp claws on her fingertips, Tim heaved a sigh.

"Tell me you're not cat themed. Dick will never let me live it down after all the shit we gave Bruce about Selina."

"More foxed themed if anything, though the eyes are more cat related," she giggled, voice still altered to her form.

"Pure black foxes are pretty rare. Sure it's not a fluffy black cat," he eyed her suspiciously.

"Not pure!" The tail lifted up to in front of her, the gray tip fully displayed.

"... It moved."

"Yes?"

"Why'd it move? I know for a fact you don't have a real fox tail outside of costume, so how?"

"Oh you know, do you? For your information, I have fox ears too."

Looking bewildered, he strode over to her, reaching for the hood. Squeaking, she disappeared once more. Coming back to himself, Tim took a step back, apologized, and requested she come out again. Reappearing before him, she watches him wearily, instincts on high alert and unable to reconcile the still masked Red Robin with Tim, despite them being one in the same.

"Could… you take off the mask first?"

"What?"

"I've kept out of Red's sight for too long, I can't get my instincts to calm down about it," she ducked her head down, almost squirming, reminding him who exactly was under that outfit.

Removing the mask slowly so as not to rip at the skin, he placed it down on the nightstand. He reached once more for the hood, watching for any reaction. When no resistance came forth, he slipped it down around her shoulders, the lower face cover not even twitching, as though held in place by other means. 

There they were. Two big, fluffy black fox ears with gray tips and insides surrounded by loose silky gray locks. He couldn't resist. Tim gently grabbed an ear, rubbing his thumb across baby down textured insides. It twitched across his palm. Tilting the ear each way, he finally let go, only to run his fingers across the base as though looking for how it attached, pulling a low purr from the woman he had absentmindedly been fondling the ear of. Abruptly yanking his hand back, he stared down at Mari.

"They're real."

"Very."

"You're a furry."

"I'm a what?"

"Holy smokes, you're an honest to goodness Furry."

"... Says the man who regularly calls himself Red Robin, eh, babybird?"

Flushing bright red, Tim could only sputter, not realizing she had heard Jason call him that.

"Still not the one with an actual tail and ears!"

"Yeah, at least I didn't chicken out like some animal named heroes."

"And I suppose your name is as blatant as your costume?"

"Hmm?"

"Your name, you still haven't given it."

"Oh! Um, it's Teumessian."

"Teu-whata?"

"You know, like in greek mythology?"

"That's more Jason's line of expertise."

"Tuemessian was a fox that was destined to never be caught. Another name for it is Cadmean Vixen. Suppose you could call me Vixen for short," she purred up to him, eyes turning into slits, but cut short as a huge yawn overcame her.

"Alright, whatever you say Vixen. You get back into bed and I'll join you in a moment." 

….

By the time Tim exited the bathroom for the last time that night, Mari was already passed out across his sheets.

"Can't believe I'm dating a furry."

[princeanxious]

Cracked Ribs and Old Promises -

TSS Analogical superhero/villain au fic

Warnings: mentions of trouble eating, anxiety, dark/misguided Roman, severe injury, let me know if i should add more!

Thank you to @the-modern-typewriter for the scenario prompt that inspired me to write this!!

“The Knight had been going after anyone he could deem evil, and it had gotten to the point that The Knight had to be leashed in, forced into a league of heros to keep him from going wild. It slowed him down in the end, yes, however, not for good.

Why did Virgil know this, you might ask?”

A new Superhero in town was quickly becoming known for his super strength, and ability to pull objects temporarily from thin air, his chosen name? The Knight. Dressed in galiant and knightly garb and known to speak like a true fairytale prince.

He was also known for constantly disrupting the balance code between villains and heroes.

Some villains were labeled dangerous, others not so much, some were simply suspicious, others weren’t quite villains by definition. Some of those that had powers chose to avoid the hero scene, with the sad disadvantage of being mistaken as having suspicious intents with secrecy. The Knight had been going after anyone he could deem evil, and it had gotten to the point that The Knight had to be leashed in, forced into a league of heros to keep him from going wild. It slowed him down in the end, yes, however, not for good.

Why did Virgil know this, you might ask?

He knew this because The Knight had recently zeroed in on him, a bystander to most, but a non-threatening villain to those few heroes who knew of him. Perhaps, though, he was more of a vigilante, bordering hero terms but always mistaken for a villain. What could he say? Black and purple looked good on him!

Perhaps it was because The Knight had zeroed in on his powers, apparently no one was good if they had control over shadows and darkness, right? The Knight’s morals always seemed too black and white, nevertheless, The Knight seemed to trail him wherever he went. It was a surprise that The Knight didn’t assault him at work or at home.

Seriously, as if Virgil didn't have enough of an anxiety disorder as it was!

Still, there were upsides to it all. The Knight was in a league with a couple of nicer superheroes, ones that spared him or directed The Knights agressions away from him. In fact, one of Virgil’s favorite superheros from that bunch was his own ‘nemesis,’ L.O.G.(Logical Omni Genius, though only Virgil knew that). Truly, there was very little rivalry between them, in fact it bordered on companionship.

Their first fight had been one of wits, moves, and careful actions. Riddles and brain teasers, ‘answer me this and I won’t shut down the factory’s powergrid’ questions and more. There was little aggression, nor any hostility. L.O.G. knew of Virgil’s environmentally friendly motives, or at least learned about them quickly. In all reality, L.O.G. took place in making sure Virgil's plans were both foolproof and harmless to the people it would affect. Virgil even had a little sense of pride in that L.O.G had verbally deemed him a worthy ‘nemesis.’ Still, Virgil was a villain, if only because he could no longer bother the breath to defend himself from having the label.

Today, though. Today was different.

Virgil had nothing but his shadows, he was built for stealth, for mind games, for eliciting existential fear. Virgil was not built to fight, no, he actually bruised very easily, he couldn’t even throw a proper punch despite L.O.G.’s best attempts to teach him self defense. Virgil really wasn’t built to be the villain people made him out to be.

The Knight, for whatever reason, was more fired up than ever to get at him this time. Virgil had been cornered on his route to visit the site of his next strike, weaponless and with nothing but his mask to hide his identity. Well, it wasn’t like Virgil needed weapons, of course, but a holstered dagger sounded great right about now, anything to defend himself from The Knight’s wrath!

From the get go, The knight had already managed a solid surprise punch to the back of his shoulder, he would be surprised if his shoulder wasn’t dislocated already from that one hit alone. Thankfully though, Virgil(or, in his current situation, ‘Nightmare’) didn’t need his shoulder to control the surrounding evening shadows.

The Knight didn’t take kindly to that, growling out rude comments about Virgil’s very existence. Virgil tried to remain in his calm, sarcastic demeanor, firing back witty remarks and snide comments to keep Roman distracted while he formulated an escape plan. Virgil hadn’t eaten well in the past few days due to the stress, so his energy was almost too low to use his shadows to teleport himself, so that was saved as a thread to grasp as a last resort.

Still, though, The Knight had cornered him good, thankfully but also sadly away from civilian life, away from superhero patrol routes, away from anything that could have saved Virgil if he had just begun screaming for help. There was no way out.

The Knight was quickly losing patience with Nightmare, tired of the wordplay and tired of the mind games. All too soon The Knight had Nightmare in his grasp, ignoring how frail and light the villain was as he tossed the man around, expecting the real fight to start. But it didn’t, no shadows came to attack him, but instead worked to cushion each blow, or fall that was administered to the shadowy villain.

He was getting angry, why wasn’t this awful villain fighting back!

The Knight finally tossed Nightmare against a close by brick wall, trying to ignore the sickening thud of the man collapsing to the ground. Thankfully, the man was still breathing, and even struggling to sit up. Still alive, that was good.

“Some chivalrous Knight you turned out to be..” Virgil muttered, though not really expecting the other to hear him.

“You are one to talk, you vile Villain.” The ‘hero’ spat back.

“God, oh chivalrous one, if you hate my guts so much why haven’t you killed me yet? Poor taste, I’m tellin ya, leaving an injured animal in its misery.” Virgil joked sarcastically, growing tired of the other drawing out these exchanges. There was no doubt that a few of his ribs were cracked, and his right shoulder was definitely dislocated now, a possible fracture or brake on the same arms wrist. He didn’t even want to consider the hell that was going to be hiding the bruises at work, if he could even make it that far. He just wanted to get home already.

However, Virgil’s choice of words rung out in the air, and for the first time the prince was silent, staring at him with a mix of unreadable emotions. The next few words out of The Knight’s mouth as his eyes narrowed at Virgil made his blood run cold.

“You know what? Maybe I will.” Next thing Virgil knows, there's a sharp sword in the other’s grip, and hes stalking solemnly up to the injured villain.

Panic seizes Virgil, flooding his senses and throwing his frazzled mind into overdrive. Shadows zip around him, coalescing around him as his physical body quickly fades to teleport, but not before seeing The Knight running at him with the sword drawn. The danger recedes as his body dissipates.

“Where now?” The shadows ask him.

He responds, weakly, “Safety.”

He expects to be deposited in front of his home, where he can curl up and sleep the pain off, and perhaps take a trip to the doctor to investigate his wounds. Expects a night of weak painkillers and an uncomfortable couch, an aching chest and another lonely, hungry 24 hours.

What he doesn’t expect, is to be softly placed in front of L.O.G.’s private lair’s door. Despite the confusion and disorientation, Virgil knows his time is limited before he blacks out and is really put in danger, so he stumbles up and presses the right button to be let in. L.O.G’s hyper intelligent A.I(aptly named Data) system’s voice answers the call.

“Hello, Nightmare. Welcome back.” Virgil sags against the side of the wall, wheezing a bit as his exhaustion finally hits.

“Hey, Data. I-is L.O.G home?”

“Negative.”

Virgil curses, “Do I have permission to enter?”

“What is your reason for this emergency?” L.O.G’s only rule for Virgil entering the lair without himself present was that it had to be an emergency, and Data was simply confirming to inform L.O.G of said emergency upon his return.

“Critical injury, as well as imminent threat of blacking out in about 7 minutes, 10 tops.” Virgil wheezed, and was grateful that Data asked no more questions to let him enter. He stumbled inside, thankful to be in a safe environment to black out in.

“Nightmare, do you require any assistance? You are disoriented, I could assist you.” Her voice was calm, obviously concerned that Virgil was going to drop dead. In all reality, Virgil’s energy had just been overused. The recliner looked tempting, but his ribs ached at the thought, he needed to lay flat.

“Is there a bed anywhere?” He asked, hoping that he wouldn’t have to sprawl out on the floor.

“Yes, let me bring it out of the wall for you.” Data’s voice was calming to his rapid beating heart. He watched with a bit of amusement as a panel slid down from a wall to reveal an extra room, set with a bare bed and a dresser, some posters and even a pile of folded clean clothes yet to be put away. “You can rest here until L.O.G. returns from his current patrol. Feel free to ‘yoink’ one of L.O.G’s hoodies if you feel so inclined, so that you do not get cold. I can assume you do not have the energy nor the time to make the bed before blacking out.” Virgil snickered softly, knowing data’s verbal slang was his own doing. Still, Data was right, he was most certainly running out of time.

Slowly trudging up the few small stairs to the opened room, he expressed his gratitude to Data before he lost the energy to talk. He made quick work of a deep blue hoodie, not even bothering to take his roughed up suit-top off when considering how much effort and pain it took to even pick up the hoodie and put it on.

He was lucid enough to toe his boots off, but at that point, the edges of his vision were darkening, and he knew he needed to lay down quickly. Carefully, he laid down flat on his back, distantly thankful for L.O.G’s choice in memory foam, adjusting the hood over his eyes and attempting to get comfortable. It took another minute before Virgil’s vision gave in, and he was out like a light for the next three hours to recharge his energy from overusing his ability.

….

….

Logan was glad that this patrol had been one of information gathering rather than of action. It was something he could do well and keep himself occupied while the others were off doing who knew what. Most currently, no one seemed to be up to much, not even his nemesis, whom he hadn’t heard from in just under a week.

Now that the patrol was over, everyone was returning to their secondary abodes/lairs to recharge for the night, considering how late it was. In fact, Logan was anticipating coming home to a quiet, normal morning, perhaps even with the chance to read more of his current book. What he had not expected, was for Data to greet him as L.O.G. at the door, instead of Logan.

That meant only one thing.

“I must inform you that Nightmare is currently resting within your bedroom, and to be careful not to spook him.” Logan barely registered why, striding up into the lair to find his nemesis resting in his bed. No contact for a full week, not even a hello, and Nightmare is resting in his bed.

He got so far as to reach out and rest his hand on the vigilante’s shoulder, expecting him to awaken with a start. To his surprise, the man whimpered but otherwise did not wake.

Strange.

“Data. What was Nightmare’s reason for entry?” Now that Logan was getting a good look at the other, he noticed a bruise peeking out on Virgil’s neck, and another poking out from Virgil’s hand. He knew the other bruised easily, but these were dark and fresh and angry, a worrying combination.

“To recite the recording exactly,” Data began, before switching over to the recording of Nightmare’s labored and pained voice, “Critical injury, as well as imminent threat of blacking out in about 7 minutes, 10 tops.”

“When did he get here?” Logan took notice of Virgil’s breathing, each breath still labored as if it hurt to expand his chest. Normally Nightmare was the type to curl up no matter the position or place of rest. Seeing the other laying flat out and stock still was highly concerning. “About two hours and 34 minutes ago. I am sensing concern, L.O.G., if it helps, a body scan of Nightmare’s current health indicates that it is stabilizing and not depleting.” Logan nodded.

Nightmare was experiencing an energy blackout, which meant that he would be out for the next 30 minutes to an hour, likely the latter due to his injuries. For now though, Logan draped a blanket over his injured companion and set to work on preparing a late meal and some coffee. Sleep would not be an option tonight.

He’d settled on a frozen pizza, it being too late to make a full meal. He set aside a tall glass of water and strong painkillers before he forgot, then had Data upload and present his league’s daily task logins for the week as well as send out a request to his league’s best healer, Patton, for possible assistance, looking for something to do to pass the time. He was much too stressed to read for leisure now.

He felt his eye twitch as Roman’s log sheet remained a mess, knowing he’d have to sit down and force Roman to fill it out correctly before lecturing him on why he was in the league in the first place. Strangely, Roman’s current log for the day remained blank, which was for one, against the rules. And secondly, entirely unlike Roman. He’d ask Roman about it later, and hope that Roman did not go completely awall.

Logan manages to busy himself until Nightmare wakes up, eventually hearing Data answer to Nightmare’s soft question. There's a bit of shuffling, it taking much longer for Virgil to arrive into Logan’s kitchen than he would have liked to see.

“Goodmorning, V. Coffee?” Came Logan’s strained voice, the question was rhetorical, obviously. Virgil was hugging his right arm with his left, which was odd because it was always the opposite. Virgil said nothing in return, a guilty look passing over his pale face.

Indeed. Something was definitely wrong.

“Sit down.” Logan ordered, “You are not going anywhere until I’ve taken care of your wounds.”

Virgil complied without complaint, sitting slowly in a chair instead of on his usual counter perch. He waited, watching Logan pull out the pizza and set it out to cool after cutting it into slices. And yet, still, Logan’s silent questions did not get directed at him.

“You're not interrogating me? Or angry?”

“Oh no, I’m furious. But, shockingly, not at you.” Logan looked up, a fiercely passionate glint to his eyes as he stared at Virgil’s obviously injured wrist, unconsciously being cradled in his other arm.

“If I ask you what happened, you will run, won’t you?” Virgil could not confirm nor deny this, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. The Knight was part of L.O.G.’s league, an obvious conflict of companionships and oaths. He looked up at Logan, and said nothing.

The unnerving silence from his usually snarky nemesis spoke plenty, Logan could tell his nonthreatening companion had been completely and utterly broken.

Justice behind bars for such a heinous act would not suffice for the rage Logan felt. And L.O.G. had a sneaking suspicion he knew just where he needed to begin.

“Data. Call Roman.”

[elydraws]

01 │きせい かげ よこちょ

pairing: dabi x oc

genre: angst, action, dramatic, lemon (maybe future smut)

word count: 2.2k

masterlist

part 1/?  <previous next>

warnings: strong language

author’s note:  as I have already warned in the presentation chapter this is a translation of my original fanfiction (written in my language), so I hope there are no big mistakes, however I wanted to try to write it in english hoping it won't make your eyes bleed. （；´д｀）ゞ

forgive me if there is any mistake, I am not very good at translating, so if you have any suggestions about it, it is absolutely welcome.(｡･∀･)���ﾞ

"Stars, hide your fires;

Let not light see my black and deep desires."

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ 01 きせい かげ よこちょ (kisei kage yokochō)

THE NEON SIGNBOARD WHIRRING ABOVE HER HEAD LIKE AN ANNOYING MOSQUITO.

The writing 'Flamingo Night,' of bright pink, flickered reflected on the puddles on the ground. The rain had wet the garbage thrown out of the bins already full to the brim. The smell of rancid and mildew saturated the narrow alley she was going through.

She twisted her nose, trying not to notice the acrid stench of spoiled food. In that part of the city, despite the proximity to the center, it was not difficult to come across abandoned streets.

Few dared to venture into that area of ​​the commercial district unless you wanted to take the risk of getting ripped off.

As much as the heroes boasted that they made cities crime-free, there were corners of them still in the hands of the gangland. They were well hidden, concealed by the lights of the skyscrapers, and far from the cameras and residential homes for families.

Mostly they were suburban neighborhoods patrolled only by the police or small groups of minor heroes. 

Everything took place under unsuspecting or corrupt eyes, masked with signs such as that of the 'Flamingo' or the small night market at the end of the street.

Without evidence and moving in the shadows, the villains in the area could not be arrested. The omerta of who lived there allowed the crimes to be committed even in the light of the day.

Nobody saw or heard anything at 'Kisei Kage Yokocho.' Kisei Kage was a slang born just before the Age of Watchers to indicate the neighborhoods in the hands of criminals who used their quirks to sow panic among those without Meta skills. With the Vigilantes and later the Heroes legally recognized by the government, the areas under the control of the underworld had drastically reduced, reaching a few frightened alleys and some shops scattered here and there.

They were the thin and blurred gray line between the significant organized criminal gangs and ordinary citizens.

A life lived like rats in the sewers. You know they are there, that they move under your feet. Sometimes you can hear them scratching in the ground, but you don't realize it until one sneaks between your feet. A miserable existence, perhaps, but a choice for many of them was a privilege.

It was a cruel world: if you were lucky enough to call yourself 'Hero,' you were allowed to do everything, and you could observe the rest of humanity from above, judging it. Power was in their hands.

If they decided you were the bad guy and rebelled, they had a chance to kill you. Take your life without blinking an eye and without consequences.

The government, on these occasions, set its gaze elsewhere. Sometimes the mayor even patted the hero on duty on the shoulder and complimented him for his excellent job.

"Thanks for making the roads safer."

That sounded very like: thank you for getting rid of the trash.

They were none other than this in the eyes of society.

Garbage.

Nobody had ever bothered to ask why. At the end of a clash, journalists had eyes only for the hero; nobody had ever approached a villain asking: "why are you doing all this?".

No one care about a Villain's past or his reasons. What pushed him into the shadows of the alleys, in the darkest meanders of the human soul.

It would be too tricky to humanize the category, to go to think that there is something else underneath or that their idolized Heroes are not all knights in bright armor, and the Villains are not those monsters that move under the bed at night, while everyone is asleep.

It would have been too much to handle for the fragile minds of those who only ask to be safe in a world where only the one with the strongest Quirk can win. A society divided between black and white.

The girl stopped in the middle of the alley. The tip of her sneakers touched a puddle, wrinkling it.

Her figure distorted, becoming unrecognizable, illuminated by the pink neon sign. If this was what she was destined to become, so be it. She would get her hands dirty because she was already born stained with an unforgivable shame in the eyes of society. It was her future. Her fate was sealed even before she was born.

The daughter of a Villain can only aspire to become nothing but rubbish.

At the end of the road, bordered by two tall buildings, the headlights of the cars on the main highway darted at high speed, leaving a bright trail.

Although it was late in the evening, the main streets were still full of life, the voices and waves of laughter rang among the constructions, up to her.

She looked up, and her eyes, in the darkness of the alley, shone like amethysts when they met the soft light of the shy street lamp in the corner. A moth continued to fly close to it, unable to land.

"I'm tired of the games, come out, you've been following me for a while now" the girl's voice sounded bored but sweet and inviting like honey for flies. 

The sentence remained suspended in the stillness of the alley.

A rat, around the corner of the Night entrance behind her, pawed towards a dumpster. Something must have frightened him, but, other than the rhythmic dripping of the water from the rusty fire ladder above her head and the distant echo of the city, there was no other noise to interrupt that glacial calm.

She didn't even make an effort to turn around when a can was kicked against the wall next to her and bounced off the center of the alley.

"Uh-oh, someone's in trouble," murmured a male voice behind her.

Another joined the first, very similar, but harder and hoarser, "I DID KNOW! you are truly an incapable!"

A lonely figure, however, emerged from the shadow of the building.

The girl smiled, her lips, adorned with a matte dark brown lipstick, rose to one corner showing the tip of the canines as white as pearls.

She had noticed the man's presence since she left the establishment for her latest job, a pawn shop a neighborhood further south. She had tried to sow the intruder, with fake streets and taking him away from where she lived, but that guy was a tough nut to crack, and he hadn't let go.

He was not a hero. It did not seem to act as such, nor did it look like it. She also crossed out the idea of ​​the policeman. He was too smart to be part of the police. Excluding those possibilities, this reduced the stranger's intentions to two unique options: a competitor who wanted to try to cut her out of the game or someone interested in sharing a slice of her thefts.

"What do you want?"

The man behind her winced, "Uh, right to the point, eh? What a daring girl!" the first voice squeaked.

"Rude!" croaked the second one. But they both came from that single, eccentric man.

A personality disorder? She asked herself, raising an eyebrow.

"Cut to the chase, I'm a busy woman," she said, barely lifting one shoulder, annoyed at the interruption.

What a pain in the ass. She was savoring the sweet and creamy taste of the Bubble Tea from her favorite kiosk before the arrival of that nuisance. The girl reached into the pockets of the military green bomber jacket she was wearing. 

She didn't want to waste time with a madman.

"SUPER RUDE!!!!"

"They warned me that you weren't very patient, Lady Hazard... or should I call you Unmei Nakano?"

Upon hearing her name spoken, the girl backed away, turning three quarters so she could finally face her pursuer.

She was impressed. That guy had discovered her true identity despite all the precautions she had taken. 

She didn't let the annoyance leak; however, she just raised an eyebrow.

He was probably keeping an eye on her for longer than she had imagined.

"I thought you were just a stalker, but I was wrong," she admitted, shrugging her shoulders without taking her hands out of the pockets. Her fingers tightened the grip on the handle of the snap knife inside the jacket—a slow and calculated movement.

But if he already knew her identity, he was probably already aware of her tricks and the weapons she had carefully hidden under the clothes.

The cold metal of the Bo pressed against her ribs, reassuring her with her presence, hidden by the mustard crop top. She would never be able to reach it in time and without showing up, not with that strange defensive guy.

The man put the hands on his hips. 

She couldn't recognize any physiognomy because of the full spandex mask that concealed his face. She could guess his expressions thanks to the orbits of the disguise, which followed every movement of his eyebrow arch. Now, the empty orbits thinned; he was probably trying to precede her next move.

The rest of the man's body was also covered in a tight, black, and gray suit.

"A stalker? Me? What made you think that?" the gentlest voice trilled as he shrugged. He seemed almost offended by such a claim.

"Because maybe you were following her like a maniac! DEFICIENT!" the other voice shouted against himself. The body of the stranger folded in on himself, grabbing his head as if he wanted to split it in two. He composed himself after that fit of anger and went back to speaking as if nothing had happened.

"I'm here for a business proposal. See our organization ..."

Unmei grimaced. "I am not interested," she abruptly interrupted him, returning to walk towards the end of the alley. The grip on the knife in her pocket, however, did not loosen.

For a moment, the man was contradicted by her answer before recovering from the momentary shock "AT LEAST LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY YOU, STUPID SNOB GIRL!"

Unmei stopped, giving her back to him. "Besides being crazy, you are deaf, so ... I said I don't care" this time her tone was sharper.

The masked man took a step forward, but before he could reach her, a shadow stretched from the dumpster next to them, reaching up to his feet.

"WHA—?!" his assailant shouted in surprise when he suddenly found himself stuck in an unnatural position, unable to move a single muscle.

One of his feet was still in mid-air and the same arm that had stretched out to try to grab the girl. He remained suspended, completely immobilized. He could neither fall, supported by a strange force that pivoted on his own shadow, nor advance, chained by invisible arms and fingers.

He seemed utterly taken aback by what was going on.

Unmei turned around, just as that same shadow that had elongated from the bins began to come to life, becoming more substantial and starting to go up the leg of its victim like a snake whose coils tighten around its prey.

The shadow monster came to tighten around the masked man's body until it tightened the grip on his neck, making him jump in hideous surprise.

"You did your research, but not so well," said the girl with a proud half-smile. Her long, petrol green hair slid over her shoulder as she studied the man.

The strange guy had started to tremble, gasping from lack of air.

"And ... tsch... i-if I told you ..." he tried to mark from under the mask, between the groans of pain and the attempts to breathe as much air as possible "...that we believe in a...world without he-heroes...?"

The shadow tightened its hold on the man's neck, causing him a squeak. Completely unable to move, or even just trying to loosen the grip of that thing on him, he kept talking.

His voice was now more hoarse and pasty, choked by the saliva that he could not swallow "...we... want... r-revenge ..." the last words were muffled by the lack of oxygen.

Unmei stared at him, impassive.

The man clenched his teeth under the mask. The girl could see the muscle of his jaw tightening under the cloth, his limbs starting to tremble. It was a matter of seconds before he passed out, or the shadow broke his vertebrae if that irresponsible continued to put off the inevitable.

With a wave of her fingers, the shadow let go of its victim. Her strange pursuer fell to the knees on the ground, exhausted. The man's body was shaken by violent coughs when air entered his lungs again.

The man's gloved hands touched his neck as if trying to ensure that the thing wasn't there. But the shadow, still resembling a shapeless snake, had already rolled up around Unmei's arm, peering over her shoulder like a harmless pet.

"AND THEN WE WOULD BE THE CRAZY ONE!" the man shouted in an even more hoarse voice, still crawling on the ground, before coughing again and looking up, returning meekly.

"I have to infer..." he coughed again "that this caught your attention."

Unmei bent on the knees, tilting the head to be able to fix him in the empty sockets of the mask. "You have my curiosity Zorro" she mocked him by pulling her hands out of the pockets and placing them gently on the knees.

"TWICE! My name is Twice! Slut!"

"My name is Twice," he introduced himself, reaching out a hand towards her, still trembling for the effort to speak "and welcome to the League of Villains, Unmei."

[ganymedesclock]

Masquerade: A Voltron AU

(okay, so it’s not entirely a masterpost but typing this much took longer than I expected)

Premise

In the middle of the desert lies the city of Galaxia- a radiant metropolis boasting the latest and greatest technology. Foremost among Galaxia’s crop of inventors and geniuses is the research conglomerate Daibaz, owned by reclusive millionaire Zarkon and its research led by Dr. Honerva Garos, widely regarded for her advances in medicine and humanitarian efforts.

Despite a glowing PR record, Daibaz- and Galaxia in general- has its shadows.

After an unknown chemical leak and a hasty cover-up, certain members of the population have been turning up with strange powers- and many are exploiting those powers to commit crimes. Dubbed “Psykers” by the media, police are frequently left without leads for how to investigate the source of the phenomenon, and often underequipped to match the unknown abilities of the Psykers, it’s created a context of panic where they’re desperate for any kind of ability to catch a Psyker- and even those without particular illegal inclinations get to hiding their powers fast. Masks and pseudonyms are a necessary precaution, but some people aren’t just happy not being criminals...

Some people are becoming superheroes.

Characters

Allura

Orphaned after the sudden, tragic death of her father and her mother’s disappearance several years prior, the influential young heiress has returned to Galaxia, city of her birth, from her schooling abroad, accompanied by her stalwart-if-strange honorary uncle. While ostensibly coming home to settle her father’s estate, she has another reason for returning to Alfor’s sprawling manor.

Harboring deep suspicions about her father’s business partner and friend Zarkon, Allura sets out to investigate the cryptic message Alfor sent to her three days before his death, accompanied by the gift of four peculiarly clever mice, and whether or not the “laboratory fire” that claimed his life was deliberately set. Of course, stepping off of her plane and right into the Psyker Crisis was not for the record, but a proper scion of the Alteos family is nothing if not resolute.

Investigating renovations she doesn’t remember from her childhood, Allura is able to discover a hidden lab containing pieces of his research into a serum proposed to “elevate potential”- of which the mice appear to have been successful test subjects. Lacking Psyker powers herself, Allura uses the laboratory to build and test a suit of mechanical armor, taking to the front lines of the Crisis as the white-armored Paladin, while civilian side, struggling with a lack of contacts and trying to keep her vigilante activities hidden from Honerva, who after many years of aloof distance is making a seemingly earnest attempt to connect with the daughter of her estranged colleague... always at the worst time.

(But perhaps she could be trusted? Surely, the good doctor couldn’t possibly be aware what Zarkon might be up to...)

Coran

Allura’s dearly beloved eccentric father figure and dedicated, if deeply concerned keeper of her secret mission and vigilante activities. He’ll do research, he’ll keep the house clean, he’ll coordinate missions, prepare tea, position pillows when late night adventures get too much, and offer first aid and the occasional (frequent) dry remark, anything for the young miss. Heaven help him if the ruffians Allura seems to be collecting track mud on that rug- that’s imported.

While largely content to toil in relative silence, Coran quietly holds claim to history with some manner of highly classified government intelligence cell- and while his military days are long over, he wasn’t born yesterday young man, and he doesn’t carry that tactical knife around for sentimentality’s sake. And of course then there’s those people he meets for tea and reminiscing about the old days... and possibly, gleaning some intel in the process.

Shiro

Takashi Shirogane held down an utterly unremarkable security guard job while attending local college. Not that any of that matters, of course, because he’s very definitely, certainly dead- one of the first Psyker-related deaths that sparked major panic and outrage. Not every day the only remains you have of someone are one arm.

The Psyker Wraith, on the other hand, is practically a local cryptid- between his incredible agility and the power to render himself briefly intangible, he’s barely even seen, much less anybody having a hope of catching him. Shrouded in concealing black layers and goggles, he’s identified only by the tuft of white hair that escapes his hood, his unusual metal arm, and the sword he carries, a straight-bladed weapon that he’s able to empower with unusual cutting force. The unnaturally perfect cuts he leaves behind are often the only signal of his passing- despite his power and formidable reputation, he seems rarely interested in destruction, but has been observed attacking certain facilities.

It turns out Galaxia stands atop a labyrinth of sewers, catwalks, and support columns- a sunless, unmapped region where even a legally dead person turned runaway lab rat with a scrambled memory can hide out. Having a surface contact who can smuggle him niceties like changes of clothes, hair dye, and sunglasses to cover up those distinctive electric-colored Psyker eyes (unlike most, he can’t turn those off) helps, but suffice to say not being able to recall who spirited him away from the accident and how he got clear, besides a nebulous connection to Daibaz, is just one of many stresses chewing on his head. Though a not-so-chance meeting with the mysterious “Paladin” may be able to turn things around for him.

Keith

Having grown up as far as he knew an orphan, Keith honestly didn’t put that much thought into the fate of his parents, what had happened to them so long ago- until a day before the spill he received a cryptic phone call from an unknown number warning him something was going to happen.

Since then, normal high school has gotten a little less normal and a lot more of an issue, with him and his self-declared rival accidentally discovering they both have superpowers now. In Keith’s case- a precognitive hypersensitivity to his surroundings and the power to generate flames. Which is just another problem he has to deal with, after his best friend went missing and then turned up a month later injured, feverish, and deeply disoriented on his doorstep.

Keith is quick to take to vigilanteism, not out of any particular yearning for justice as much as determined to help Shiro figure out what happened. Like Shiro, he doesn’t come up with his own name, but is dubbed Firefly by local news pundits. Dangerous work, sure, but not as frustrating as the way his sister has started hovering lately because she’s convinced he’s getting mugged on a regular basis.

Lance

Lance wanted superpowers, okay? As soon as this Psyker thing hit the news he tried everything, even dragged a totally uninterested Hunk into helping him try to awaken super abilities one way or another. Was right in the neighborhood affected by the spill, went to bed with a weird headache and everything- but no dice, whatsoever, was willing to write himself off as a super dud.

Turns out he copies powers from other people, which was super exciting except the part where he got in hot water with the local punk kid he’d been competing with for most of the school year and accidentally set his pant leg on fire.

While he’s not sure what Keith’s hiding besides the superpowers, intervening in an armed robbery ended up putting himself in the public eye as an unknown Psyker (though he was pretty miffed to discover himself making headlines as “Hoodie Avenger”, it wasn’t like he actually got to use his power without another Psyker around- just the usual being stronger and faster than normal), which ended up setting him on a crash course with Allura when he made exactly the wrong assumption about seeing a seemingly defenseless young woman being attacked by a Psyker.

That said, while accidentally scaring off someone Allura had been hoping to interrogate wasn’t his finest impression, it sure led to a more meaningful partnership. He’s still looking for a way to casually drop the name Echo to the press without risking his identity.

Hunk

Hunk got the luxury of being a second wave Psyker- initially completely powerless, even though he knew about Lance’s secret and through him, met and started working with Allura, bringing his own ideas to the technology she and the rest of the team were using. Through his awakening, gaining the ability to selectively crystallize parts of his body, the team realized that the Psyker population was actually climbing since the original spill... that was ostensibly cleaned up.

He operates under the pseudonym Granite.

Pidge

Thanks universe, she already had enough problems with people thinking she was weird before she started sprouting leaves. Pidge is really not sure what besides that her Psyker gift does- and keeps meaning to find out, but it seems obstinate to most of what she’s tried.

She was practically pulled into the team by Lance after he helped her hide during a bad “flare-up”- unlike the rest of the team her control of her powers is iffy, but just because she doesn’t have this actual super thing found out doesn’t mean Dryad isn’t packing a homemade taser she’s not afraid to use.

[imaginethatalena]

#34: Batfam x Reader

Thanks @crazyfreckledginger for requesting! I’m sorry that the ending kind of sucks, but I hope you like the rest of it. My brother is a big Transformers fan so he helped me out with the Transformers part. I hope you like it ❤

Request Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3: Tell me if you have enough of my requests (hey don't blame me blame the anon who asked you if you write for Transfomers) So it's another crossover and the reader has scarlet witch powers and gets badly injured whist on patrol (she moves around alot but patrols the cities she goes to). She is found unconscious by the batboys and brought to the cave. They stitch her up and when she wakes up, Bruce asks her a few questions because he has suspiscons on what she is. She doesn't tell them much and says that she has to leave now. Bruce stops her and says that she is in danger and that they will protect her but she declines and leave rapidly. Bruce orders the boys to get her back whilst he does some research on her. The boys 'stalk' her and discover that she can really defend herself after being ambushed by a villain (idk Bane?) because he wants to use her. Then a group of police cars arrive and are shooting at her and the boys are about to step in when a group of sports cars, motocycles and vans arrive and the police car transform in decepticons and the autobots transform and fight them. After the fight, Jazz finds the boys snooping and brings them to the group. The reader recognises them but doesn't say anything. Ratchet says his line in the movie (it's something like "The boys pheromon levels suggests they want to mate with Y/N" and it become awkward but the other autobots become very protective? I dunno how to end it lol! I'm really sorry this is long!!

“God dammit!” You cussed when you saw the amount of blood coming out of your leg. You had just barely made it out of a battle with a particularly violent mugger, and you had gotten very badly injured. You thought that your telepathy and telekinesis powers would give you an edge over such a low risk criminal, but this one had a big knife and good aim. The person you were saving had gotten away, which meant it was time for you to leave and assess the damage.

You were getting lightheaded and you fought to stay conscious, realizing that the blood loss was worse than you thought. You had to stay conscious long enough to alert someone to where you were.

“Help!” you shouted into the night. You had been wandering the northeastern cities of the United States for a couple weeks now, and every single one had had at least one vigilante on duty the nights you were there. Tonight you had come to Gotham, and you knew there was an entire family of vigilantes here. You hoped one of them would hear you.

“Help!” you shouted again, but this time your voice was much softer. You lost consciousness moments later, just as a dark silhouette appeared in your vision.

“Over here!” Dick shouted to his brothers, leaping to the ground with the grace of his acrobatic training. Damian dropped down with the help of his grappling hook while Jason sped around the corner into the alley on his motorcycle, Tim sitting behind him.

“Shit,” Jason said. Dick was crouched next to you, checking your pulse. “Is she alive?”

“Yeah, but she’s bleeding pretty badly.”

“We need to get her to the hospital,” Tim said.

“Are we going to just ignore how she’s dressed?” Damian asked, pointing to your outfit. It was obvious you were a vigilante of some sort. “What if she has an identity to hide? We can’t risk that.”

“We’ll get her to Alfred, then,” Dick said. He scooped you up from the ground and went over to Jason. “Tim, get off. Let Jason take her.”

Once Jason was sure you weren’t going to fall off his motorcycle, he sped out of the alley and into the city. His brothers would catch up. Getting you medical help was the priority.

You awoke to a tugging sensation in your leg and you opened your eyes to see a high stone ceiling above you. You raised your head to look around and saw you were surrounded by six unfamiliar people.

Startled, you sat up and pulled your leg away from whoever was holding it, feeling a sharp pain as your skin stretched around the half done stitches.

“Ow!” You clutched your leg and cast your nervous gaze around. “Who the hell are you?”

Four of the people were young men, the oldest looking to be in his twenties and the youngest to be around eleven. They all backed away as soon as they saw you were panicked, but the older man at your side gave you a chastising look.

“My dear, you’ll have to allow me to finish the stitches before you can move around,” he said, his kind voice accented by a British upbringing.

You reluctantly gave him back your leg under the hard suspicious gaze of the final person, a tall man who appeared to be the father of the four boys.

“Who are you?” he asked you.

“I asked you first,” was your reply, but you didn’t need an answer. Aside from the old man tending to your leg, you recognized each of them from their superhero suits. This was the Batfamily. Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin all shared the same curious look, but Batman’s was cold and careful.

“Who are you?” he asked again, his voice firm, and you thought it would be best not to fight him and just answer his questions.

“I’m Y/N,” you said. “I’m kind of a vigilante, but I don’t have a home, so I just drift from city to city and do what I can while I’m there.”

“What kind of vigilante?” he probed. “Do you have any special abilities?”

“No,” you lied. “I’m just a fighter trying to do some good.”

“When we brought you here, we were followed by a few cars,” Nightwing said. “We lost them fairly easily, but we wanted to know if you knew anything about them.”

“I don’t.” You were just full of lies tonight, but they didn’t need to know everything about you all at once. You didn’t trust them.

“We believe you’re in danger,” Batman told you as the old man finished up your stitches and started wrapping your leg. “I think you should stay here until we learn more about the people following you.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you said, getting to your feet and looking for the exit. “I have to get going.”

“Wait.” Nightwing put a hand to your arm, but you quickly pulled away. Realizing that teleportation was the only way you were going to get away, you opened a portal beneath your feet and slipped away before they could stop you.

“Go after her,” Bruce ordered his sons, already at the Batcomputer. “I knew there was something off about her. I might have a lead.”

“What are we waiting for?” Jason asked, already revving the engine of his bike. Bruce had managed to get a tracer on you, and they were all ready to follow you back to downtown Gotham.

“Hey, Jason,” Roy said, climbing off his bike when the four boys showed up. “Why did you call for me?”

“I thought we could use your help on this one,” Jason said as they continued to search for you. When they found you, they were surprised at what they saw.

“Forget it, Bane!” you were shouting at the man attacking you, a hulking figure with green veins highighted on his unnaturally bulging muscles. “I’m not going to join your stupid secret society!”

“Your power is wasted saving the lives of ungrateful civilians,” he told you as he fought against your power, manifested as a golden glow that kept him away from you. “If you will not join us willingly, I will take you by force!”

“Good luck with that,” you said, and opened a portal beneath his feet. “Have fun in Arkham, asshole.”

The Batboys couldn’t do anything except stare at you in awe. You had gone toe to toe against Bane, a Rogue that even Batman had failed to defeat, and won with little to no effort. They were about to speak when a number of police cars and vans sped over to you and surrounded you. Instead of policemen exiting the cars, the cars all began to transform into robots that stood hundreds of feet taller than you. Soon after, a silver sports car, a yellow Camaro, an ambulance, and a pickup truck arrived and also transformed.

“Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” Dick asked.

“What the hell is going on?” Jason gasped. Roy stood next to him in stunned silence.

“This is impossible,” Tim said.

“Duck!” Damian shouted. The robots had begun to fight, and the collateral damage of their battle was enormous. Parked cars were smashed, sparks flew in every direction, and the robotic shouting coming from what was supposed to be their mouths was deafening. Eventually the boys could see the majority of the robots chasing away a few of their brethren.

“You Decepticons should know better than to challenge the Autobots!” one of them shouted, presumably an Autobot towards the retreating Decepticons.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” one of the four remaining robots asked, the one that had previously been an ambulance. “You’re injured.”

“I’m fine, Ratchet,” you told the robot. “It was just a couple stitches. Where’s Optimus?”

“He’s with Sam right now. Who fixed you up?” another robot, the one that had been a silver sports car, asked you.

“I was picked up by the Batfamily, Jazz,” you said. “But don’t worry. They don’t know about you.”

“Are you sure about that?” John Cena’s voice came from the yellow robot.

“Since when did you start quoting vines, Bumblebee?” you asked with an amused smile. “And yeah, I am. Why?”

“Because you were followed.” The boys heard a deep robotic voice above them, and they were all grabbed by the last robot. It was surprisingly fast for its size, and there was no escape once he had dropped them to the ground near you.

“Shall I kill them?” it asked, revealing cannons in its arms pointed straight at them. The boys began to panic, Dick and Tim pleading with the robots while Jason, Roy, and Damian shouted meaningless threats.

“They’re the ones who helped me, Ironhide,” you said, rolling your eyes. “They’re fine.”

“What are you?” Tim asked in wonder when Ironhide put his canons away.

“We’re the Transformers,” Ratchet told him. “Are you the Batfamily Y/N told us about?”

“Yeah, we are,” Jason said. “You guys were the cars that tried to follow us.”

“We thought you were kidnapping our friend,” Jazz said defensively. “Of course we’re going to search for her.”

“Pardon me, but I’ve scanned these boys, and their pheromone levels suggest they want to mate with Y/N,” Ratchet said. “I don’t believe they would mean to harm her if they---”

“Listen here,” Ironhide’s cannons came back. “If you’re all thinking about mating with Y/N right now, you better be prepared for the consequences. Right, Bee?” The yellow autobot’s face was covered by a combat mask and he readied his own guns.

“Guys, guys!” you shouted, stepping in front of the boys. “Calm down! It’s fine! I barely know them!”

You turned to the boys with a serious look.

“No one is supposed to know about them,” you said. “Can you keep our secret?”

Dick, Jason, Roy, Tim, and Damian all nodded. They weren’t sure how to feel about your robot friends, but at least now they knew you were safe.