#quirk nova learns to draw

[quirk-nova]

Quirk-Nova Learns to Draw: Faces

Like the title says, I tried to learning how to draw faces today, making it the first day of my art learning journey.

To be honest, I struggled a little bit with drawing faces in a 3/4 quarter view and back view

I tried to learn this through the following tutorials I found on both YouTube and Pinterest:

[dorky-stars]

{CANON X CANON FANKID}

Name: Taya Iida

Alias: The Nitro Nova Hero; Nitrova

Birthday: July 20th

Age: 15

Gender: Female

Height: 5'7

Eye Color: Navy Blue

Quirk: Engine. The engines in her calves can make her run at extraordinary speeds.

Description: Taya is the biological daughter of Tenya Iida and Yuga Aoyama. She was a bit of a late bloomer with her quirk, causing kids to berate her for it. Striving to prove to them she could be a hero, once she got her quirk, she entered Shiketsu High, pursuing her dream. Taya is rule-abiding and sassy, but can be gentle and kind when close to others. Defensive when it comes to her family. Her hero name, Nitrova, is a mix of Nitro and Nova she came up with at a young age. Nitro reminding her of Tenya's speed, and Nova reminding her of Yuga's sparkles and glitter. She also has a learning disability, having trouble grasping things others grasp easily.

Extra: Itsuka Kendo was used for her drawing base.

[liquidstar]

im back with another oc drawing so soon! i finished imai so much quicker than i expected. she was really fun to design because i knew the cool experienced pro vibe i wanted to go for, so once i started i just kept going!! anyway im sure you all know the drill, more info about her under the readmore ^_^

Imai joined Nova Stella when she was in her late teens, but even in her early days she carried herself with the esteem of someone held to a high regard. She’s always been very by-the-books, no-nonsense, and very stringent even with herself. After all, she should be able to meet her own standards before anyone else. This made the guild pretty hard to get used to at first, life around there can get pretty chaotic, but over time she’s learned to take things as they come. She realizes that it’s not like she’s completely perfect either, she has her own very weird quirks too, so she fits in just fine. She’s part of the family.

She’s 35 years old now, and she’s become somewhat of a role model for the current teens of the guild, since she’s one out of the three (acting) 5-stars, which inherently makes her cool. Though out of all the older figures they could look to, she’s still the most strict, but that’s a counter balance that’s very much needed, and most importantly she’s never unfair. This stern but fair outlook is one she very very strongly believes in for all things, but she’s very inflexible about it, reflected in her power of linked causality; an ability which allows her to link the effects of two separate things. If she uses her power to link the causality of an apple and an orange, and then she cuts the apple in half, the orange will also get cut in half. The fact that she duel-wields is also reflective of her power.

Her name, Imai, comes from a star of the same name, the star gets it’s name from the fact that it "ceases to appear in the evening sky at dusk (around the end of August), it is said that the Omo [river] rises high enough to flatten the imai grass that grows along its banks, and then subsides." and since her namesake came specifically from the grass, I gave her a very green color scheme and tried to make her hair look somewhat like grass too. The idea of her “disappearing at dusk” also inspired the fact that she would leave the guildhall very early in the evening compared to everyone else because she just has a very strict regiment she absolutely must uphold.

[hunnybadgerv]

Challenging Risk Tolerances | SWTOR | Jedi Knight x Doc

Summary: Doc doesn’t like being left behind, but he and Amaryn can agree that there is something to be said for reunions, especially when the thrill of a little risk is involved.

a/n: Prompted by a request from @alyssaalenko: “R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) For your Docmancer because for a Jedi how interesting ;)”. She also gave me the idea of ship sexcapades, and this is the result.

Read on AO3

Challenging Risk Tolerances

-1-

Hidden among the stars, amid the gentle hum of her ship’s engines, in the lithe arms of the man who tended all their wounds, Amaryn Rha could always find a moment of comfort if not calm. Something always drew her toward the medbay on the lower decks whenever she returned to the ship. She finally allowed herself to admit the culprit—her heart.

When she entered, Doc looked up and flashed her one of those trademark crooked smirks. The one that went all the way to his eyes, lighting them up and making them crinkle at the corner. Setting aside the datapad in his hand he crossed the room. She met him halfway, but they stopped just inches from the welcome back kiss that had become like a ritual for them.

“Missed me, huh?” Doc said that smirk quirking at little higher on one side.

Amaryn bit her lip for a moment before she answered, “Always.” It was their typical exchange, one or the other of them always started it.

His fingertips grazed her jaw, tipping her chin upward gently, just a hair. His eyes moved over her face, his lips curved into a fuller, sweeter smile. Then he slowly bent toward her. She welcomed his kiss, craved it with every fiber of her being. When he pulled her against him, her hands fisted in the back of his shirt, holding onto him with all the physical strength she could muster.

They moved in tandem in a dance she learned some of the steps to from him, but she wasn’t quite a master at it yet. After a few missteps and stumbles, her hips met the edge of the medical table, caught there between a slab of cool metal and his warm lithe body.

“I prefer to not be apart from you,” she whispered against his lips.

“Then you shouldn’t leave without me. Never know when you might have need of Ol’ Doc’s talents.”

“Talents, huh?” she asked with a wide grin that broke into laughter when he lifted her onto the examination table.

He pressed another passionate kiss to her lips. His fingertips traced down her neck, tracing the ridges that ran down her sternum.

“Like quick hands,” he whispered against her mouth. “And laser-point accuracy.” He bared her shoulder to the amorous march of his lips.

“Doc,” she whispered against his cheek in protest. “Anyone could walk past.”

“Mmm, perhaps.”

Amaryn shivered; it could have been the nonchalance in his tone or the shift of cool air across her skin when his hand tickled against her side as he opened her robes. Regardless, her pulse pounded in her veins as her eyes darted to the open door. Doc sucked at the pliant skin of her neck, drawing a quiet moan from her. Her eyes slipped closed in response to the overload of sensations—her own fretting about the inherent risk seemed to intensify every touch, the smoothness of his hands baring her skin, the chill in the air and cold metal clasps on his shirt against her warm flesh, the brush of rough fabric warmed by his body, the heat of his mouth and sharpness of his teeth.

It was enough to drive her mad there on the spot. “Please,” she breathed, pulling at the back of his shirt. “Doc.” It bordered on a whine, but that didn’t bother her.

-2-

The tip of his tongue traced the arrow-shaped ridges between her breasts. His rich brown eyes rose to meet her frantic sunset gaze. “Please, what, beautiful?”

He loved that look on her—wild-eyed, lips parted with heavy breathing. His fingers unclasped the binding she wore, freeing her breasts. He knew from experience how sensitive they would be to the slightest touch, and took full advantage of it. A slow exhale made her shiver, prickling her flesh and tightening her nipples. Then he brushed his lips against the supple curve of her breast.

The shaking in her breath only edged him onward in covetous increments. His hands inched up her sides, fingers tracing at the plump swell. He watched her, couldn’t take his eyes off her as she whimpered.

“Archiban,” she breathed, her head falling back once more when he took her puckered nipple into his mouth.

How he’d hated his given name all his life, except for when it fell from her lips in that needy tone. He could hear it said like that every minute of the rest of his days and it still wouldn’t be enough. She arched toward him, pushing her chest forward in offering.

Kisses and greedy sucks drew gloriously lascivious noises from his Jedi, but he knew just how to garner more. When his other hand drew tender circles around her other breast, her body ebbed with a strangled cry. She curved around him, fingers threading into his hair.

Shifting in her grip, he tilted his head, straightening his back to claim her mouth once more. His tongue met no resistance and slipped past her pouting lips. Feeling the small movements between them, he smiled against her mouth when she tugged at his shirt to pull it out of his trousers and push it over his shoulders. He helped her, without breaking their kiss.

The sensation of her bare skin on his intoxicated him, made him far more susceptible to her frenzy, which incited his own. In an instant, the last few lonely weeks overcame his calm resolve to test her limits. His hands went to the waistband of her panties and she leaned back on the table to lift her hips enough to help him. Doc only stepped from between her thighs for a moment, but it felt like too damn long.

Clearly she agreed, for when he stepped back between them, she leaned forward to kiss him once more. Her hands converged, battling his, to undo his trousers. Then their intents diverged, while still working cooperatively toward the same goal. He pushed them down, while her gentle hands freed his cock. He groaned into her mouth with the soft strokes she lavished on him. The desperate sound became louder, when she pressed the tip through her folds.

The wet heat of her was like nothing else he knew. His plan had been diverted. As she sucked on his bottom lip, his hand floundered for the drawer at the foot of the table. He had to look away from her, reluctantly, to find what he sought. Before his hand could grab the lubricant, her sharp teeth inched their way down his neck, raising a growl in his throat.

With his other hand, he grabbed her hip and tipped his head to press a kiss into her hand. He ripped the package open with his teeth, pressing some of the cold concoction onto his fingers. He warmed it, or tried to as much as possible. Patience was a virtue he could not find in his heart at the moment.

Amaryn did not let go of him, when he shifted to press his fingers along the track she had been tracing with his cock. That maddeningly loose grip, paired with an equally vexing slow pace did nothing more than inflame him further.

Doc watched her face intently when he slipped one slick finger into her. Her eyes fluttered closed, her mouth opened, and she moaned with a deepness that made him pulse in her hand. Giving up her touch was always a horrible moment, and he did not warm up the lube before slicking another dollop along the length of his cock. The chill sparked a shiver and he worked quick to slip on the condom in order to rectify that as quickly as possible.

Grabbing her thighs, he pulled her bottom to the edge of the table. In doing so, he shifted her off balance enough that her hands wrapped around his shoulders and her forehead came to rest against his. She held his gaze as he rubbed his cock between her labia, pressing the firm tip of it against her clit. When a hint of a quake entered her breathing, he slipped into her. A long true stroke, filling her, stretching her around him. He couldn’t and didn’t fight back the groan feeling her around him again inspired. He savored the low debauched sound that parted her lips and seemed to echo between them.

He measured his movement in centimeters, though it was never quite slow enough. This would end too soon, it always did, he thought. Their raspy low groans mingled in the tight space between them. Closing his eyes, Doc kissed her, savoring the feel of her—every blessed inch. With a languid stroke, he felt her tighten around him; recognizing the sensation of her smile against his lips, he met her gaze.

-3-

A breathy hint of a laugh left her lips when his eyes met hers again. Amaryn couldn’t be certain if she’d surprised him or just caught him off guard, but she adored the way his smile made his eyes dance. She stroked his cheek softly, only breaking eye contact when the sensation of his body moving against and inside hers crested toward overwhelming, or whenever they kissed.

For a time, the entire galaxy shrank to the two of them—to his lips on hers, his body in her arms, and that point where their bodies became one. Moving with him, she savored every second, stealing time and storing every moment away in the back of her mind like a smuggler making off with the most valuable treasure in the galaxy.

In no time at all, smooth, greedy machinations took on a desperate harshness until she was keening his name as he pumped into her ferociously. Every sensation building and wrapping into a tight point that eventually wouldn’t be able to contain all that energy. When it reached critical mass, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could do nothing more than hold on to him with every ounce of strength she still carried in her tightening limbs. When the inevitable happened, she felt like a star going super nova. Sparks burned across every nerve all centered around him. Her body bucked against him in spasms that he always insisted that she not try to control. The brightness was all she could see or feel in the moment.

When he came back into focus, she became aware of how still he was inside her. She missed it; had been too wrapped up in her own orgasm to be aware of his. She pressed her forehead against his as the frenzy bled out of them. Even once they stilled, they didn’t part. His rested against her, their breath mingling and slowing.

“I love you, Amaryn” he said to her with a crooked smirk.

Her smile widened, going from soft and satisfied to entirely enamored. “I know, handsome,” she replied.

Doc laughed. His arms pulled her tighter against him as he kissed her hard. Her legs tightened around his hips when he tilted her backwards just enough to surprise her. Holding her there, retaliatory kisses tracked down her chest.

The echo of a full, gruff laugh traveled through the ships corridors, and in an instant Amaryn tumbled off the cloud of ecstasy her lover planted her upon. Her head shot toward the door.

“Doc,” she gasped on a squeaky whisper.

He chuckled at her. “Relax, gorgeous.” He reached for the datapad he’d set aside when she arrived and with a few taps of dexterous fingers the door sealed. His attentions returned to her. “Better?”

“You could have done that the entire time?” she squeaked at him.

“No, not the entire time.” His fingers teased up the center of her chest. “I was a little focused on something more important.” He pinched her nipple and gave it a tug. “Much more important.”

Amaryn narrowed her eyes at him.

“Besides. You had a very enticing grip.”

“Oh, I see.” She pouted at him. “Blaming me now.”

“It’s totally your fault. Come in here with that gorgeous smile after spending two weeks away. You can’t possibly expect me to resist.”

“You think being adorable will get you out of trouble.”

“I don’t know. I rather like trouble,” he growled at her. “Especially when you’re involved.”

“I’ve noticed,” she laughed.

“There was no one else on the ship,” he finally admitted. “You had nothing to worry about.”

“Tricky rogue.” She grinned at him. Her tender stroke of his cheek turned more demanding, steering his mouth back to hers.

[goldkirk]

Blackbird, a Tim Drake/Batfam fic

Chapter 20: soldier on, headstrong into the storm 

[ Read on ao3 ] 

Tim wakes up to sun leaking around the edges of his curtains and Bruce sitting quietly in an armchair by his bed. It looks like the one they often shuffle from room to room, depending on who’s having the most nightmares or got hurt on patrol recently. 

Bruce’s head is tipped back, resting against the high back of the chair, eyes closed but tension lines present. So he’s not quite asleep--meditating, Tim guesses, or just resting his eyes after a long day and night. 

It doesn’t escape Tim’s notice that of all the places Bruce could be right now, he’s here. In Tim’s room. Waiting for Tim to wake up. Which, on the one hand, is really nice. But on the other…

“Bruce,” Tim says, softly. He pushes himself up in the bed till his back rests against the headboard, and draws his knees up close.

Bruce’s eyes snap open, and he straightens. He meets Tim’s eyes, and Tim sees--there’s something sharp in Bruce’s face, this morning. Something dangerous, that usually only criminals see, something a little bit feral, a little bit wild, emotions that Bruce normally keeps a lid on except in the most extreme cases. It’s peeking out now. 

That’s...that’s not the best sign. 

“Tim,” Bruce says, voice pitched softly. He doesn’t speak again for several seconds, just watching Tim with softening eyes, worry lines just barely starting to show between his brows, and the sharpness retreats a little, replaced by just plain old Bruce. Tired, worried, still-looking-out-for-his-kids Bruce, who Tim bets didn’t get more than two hours of sleep while he let the rest of them get as much as they could. 

“You should take a nap,” Tim says, before he can remember to get his brain-to-mouth filter online for the day. 

Bruce’s lips quirk up for a moment. “Do I look that bad?” he asks. “Later, maybe. A nap sounds nice.” 

Tim swallows, and his fingers reach to start picking at the edge of his blanket only to find a very awake Nova suddenly in the way, begging for morning scratches. He happily obliges. 

“Is everyone okay?” Tim asks. “I know it was just one night, but…” 

But they don’t know what was in the bombs. But they don’t know if something was engineered to kill in hours, maybe, or if it’s an alien virus, or some kind of new lifeform that has unfamiliar rules. But Cass faced her worst nightmare last night, and she’s still only just learning how to handle the bad nights without hurting herself or Bruce on accident. But Jason took off his mask in the car. But Barbara doesn’t wear lenses in her cowl. But Tim worries. About everyone. All the time. Constantly. 

So yeah. Is everyone okay.  

“No changes,” Bruce reassures him. “Cass had a hard time last night, but she got through all right. Alfred’s making her crepes right now for when she wakes up.”

“Good,” Tim says fervently. Alfred’s crepes are god-tier. If anything can make Cass feel a little better after a pretty restless night, it’ll be Alfred and his cooking and the way he always knows exactly how much or how little they need him to say. “And...the attack?” he asks, looking away from Bruce’s face, down at Nova. 

“Clark got the call from our contact about two hours ago,” Bruce says, and Tim fights not to tense up, because Bruce is using the voice he uses at crime scenes, for victims, for little kids, for scared people who need to stay calm. “They did a rush job, of course, and it’s not going to be released to the government or public for a little longer, until they double check with a supervisor. But they’re positive, they checked the samples thoroughly, and Clark trusts them with our lives. It’s Ebola.”

Tim freezes, his fingers stilling under Nova’s chin and behind one of her ears as his breath hitches. 

He knows. He knew this was a possibility, of course it was, Ebola is just--it’s not as transmissible, because it isn’t airborne like a cold, but it’s very dangerous, still emerging--it’s not a bad option for a bioweapon. He even expected it. He knew that smallpox or Ebola were the most likely candidates, but he just--

Bruce saying it in the calm light of morning makes it real. There’s no more “maybe” to fall back on. No more “false alarm” theory, however unlikely it was. It’s real. It has a name. And that name is a 50-90% death rate, historically, and Tim has not really had the best dice rolls in the past few years, if he’s being honest, and it’s just--it’s a terrible way to go. But at the same time…

“We’ve got treatment for that, though,” Tim exclaims suddenly, a little bit of hope stirring, a little blood starting to warm his limbs again where it feels like his whole body turns to ice. “Right? We started with ZMapp and now there’s that one with the even  higher survival rate--remer--regen-something? So we can treat people under compassionate use, even if it’s not fully through testing? And there’s the vaccine that got approved. They can give out however many doses we have in North America currently, right? And try to manufacture more? So maybe we can’t stop everyone from getting sick, but a lot of people could--”

“It’s not...it’s not the main strain, Tim,” Bruce says, cutting him off more gently than should be possible. “It’s not Ebola Zaire.” 

“Oh,” Tim says, quietly, his shoulders hunching again. “Well--is it one of the less bad ones, then? Or--did they figure out how to make the Reston strain make humans actually sick instead of just monkeys? Oh no. Bruce, is it airborne?”

“We still don’t know of any Ebola strain being airborne,” Bruce says, quickly. “But no, Tim, it’s not any of the others that have gone around in previous outbreaks. This one is new. It’s only been recorded once before, in a spy left for dead by an unknown group a few years ago over in Oman. That incident was never announced outside of the intelligence community and a few consulting Ebola experts.” 

Tim feels like the world is slowly falling around him. Everything is fading colors and quieting sounds, except for where he sits on the bed, frozen in a slight hunch over Nova. Bruce’s voice is the most real thing he has left. 

“So...we don’t know how bad it is?” he asks, through numb lips. “It’s a totally new strain?”

“There’s a little data on the end stage, since they found the spy too late to save him,” Bruce says, voice as even as he can make it. “But other than that...no. Not yet.”

Yet, Tim thinks faintly. Yet, yet, yet, no real information yet, not until people start to get sick. Not until Gotham starts to die.  

There’s pressure on his legs. Nova’s nudged them down onto the bed and clambered up into his lap, started nosing gently at his neck and giving him a lick here and there. His hands come up slowly to wrap around her. 

“How do we know the antibody drugs won’t work on this strain?” Tim asks. “If there was only one case before, we can’t know that, right? Or that the vaccine won’t work?”

“The vaccine only works for the main Zaire strain in the first place,” Bruce says. “You’re right, though, it’s possible that Regeneron’s treatment might work on this new strain, we’ll have to see. They need to approve it for compassionate use in the U.S. first, and the doses have to be shipped from wherever they are. I’ve already got Wayne Enterprises helping smooth the process anywhere we can.”

“That’s good,” Tim says. “That’s good. Maybe it’ll--maybe we--maybe--” he looks down at his arm, where the tiny waterproof bandage sits, now, where one little turning point may have changed his life forever, where his body has a weak spot, where his suit was soaked through before they ever got to the cave—he knows, he was damp and sticky with more than sweat when they reached the Batmobile—hell, before they even made it out of that first street—

Tim is too present, suddenly, with Nova in his lap and his arm feeling just like normal and Bruce already halfway out of his chair with Tim’s name on his lips, and with Ebola maybe slipping into his cells, replicating, replicating, silently building an army throughout all his veins. A ticking bomb, a countdown timer fueled by the resources of his own body turning against him, and Tim chokes out one short, strangled sob. 

Bruce lands on the mattress at his hip, leaning over to wrap around Tim as much as he can while Tim tries his hardest not to let himself cry, shuddering in Bruce’s arms every few seconds, breath getting choppier as his mind races through scenarios, biology lessons, postmortem reports, statistical models that a year ago had been just extra-credit projects and now are playing out as life or death. When he finally does start to cry, his throat is so tight that it comes out as hardly more than high, jagged tea kettle noises. 

“I know,” Bruce whispers, close to Tim’s ear. One of his hands keeps brushing gently through Tim’s long hair, rubbing small circles at the nape of his neck. “I know. I know, sweetheart, I’m so sorry that you were there. I’m so sorry this is happening. It’s okay to be scared right now. You’re not alone. We’re not going to stop trying to fix this, I promise, Tim. Let it out. No one’s going to bother us for a bit.” 

When Tim’s gotten over the initial panic, when his breathing is more or less back under control, he pushes away from Bruce and stands on the rug, elbows tucked in close. 

“Should I stay away from everybody?” he asks. “I know I’m not symptomatic, but if it’s a new strain, maybe—maybe I shouldn’t be near anyone, maybe none of us should be touching each other.”

“We’re going to treat this as if it’s about like the main strain, for now,” Bruce says, calm and firm as he stands and steps close enough to drop a hand on Tim’s shoulder and start steering him to the door. “No excessive contact, constant hand washing, disinfecting what we can, but no need to totally quarantine anyone yet. It’s going to be all right, Tim, Alfred and Dick and I have trained for things like this. We’ve got things covered. Keep trusting, all right?” 

“Yeah,” Tim sighs, as they start down the hall in the direction of what Tim can faintly recognize as the smell of crepe batter. “I do trust you all. Just—promise me that you won’t wait too long if I’m getting sick,” he begs. They stop in the middle of the hallway, Tim’s hand wrapped around Bruce’s upper arm tightly. Bruce turns to face Tim properly, hands coming up to grip his arms back.

“I promise,” Bruce says, low and serious. 

“You can’t not throw me straight into quarantine because you hope it’ll not be Ebola or something,” Tim says quickly, “or like, not tell the others right away—Jason will kill you, and then kill me if—once I’m out again, and it’s not worth it. But my parents—and the state, how do we…”

“If it comes down to it, we can give you better care here than they would at an overwhelmed hospital. Leslie has promised to take on the role of official doctor for us if someone gets sick, so that we can isolate in an official capacity. It’s skirting the system, but...I trust our chances here more than getting taken back into Gotham. Even the power grid and water system there may not be consistent if this gets bad. We’d keep your parents updated no matter what.”

“Yeah,” says Tim. “Makes sense. But what if the state comes and inspects? After the fact, what if they come and need to see how we quarantined? You can’t afford to be charged with like, negligence or child endangerment.” 

Bruce smiles for real now. “You think after all these years, Alfred and I didn’t plan for that kind of contingency? With Dick as a young Robin, and multiple Gotham villains having a penchant for toxins?” He shakes his head. “We have an actual quarantine setup in the manor, too, not just the cave. It’s tucked behind the secondary library in the East wing.”

Tim’s brows pinch together, and his grip on Bruce loosens. “What? But how did none of us notice that the outside and inside—“

“We rarely go over there,” Bruce points out.” And it’s within the interior of the structure, not touching any windows or outer walls. So from the outside, it does appear that there are rooms there, on the sides, because there are.”  

“Oh,” says Tim. “That’s...really smart. Weird, but not so weird that it can’t be chalked up to being a paranoid-private-eccentric-billionaire thing. Nice.” 

“Dick got told about it when he was older, and less likely to freak out about possible plagues,” Bruce adds, as they resume walking. “And the state technically knows. Turns out, we’re not even the only wealthy family in the state to have a setup like this. So it’s not unheard of. My lawyers assure me that as long as I can prove that we have proper equipment and medical staff providing care during any use of it, there should be no issue with keeping care in-house rather than in a hospital, so long as the proper state agencies are informed as necessary.”

“Huh. Okay. So this is why you let Clark and Lois drop their hints in articles that you have prepper tendencies.”

“Maybe, Bruce concedes, but Tim can see the smile he’s trying very hard to hide. “Any more pressing concerns, before we get breakfast and probably get swarmed by your older brothers for at least three minutes straight?” 

“Nope,” Tim says. “I mean, I’m assuming you’re gonna sit us all down after crepes for another briefing, so if I have any I’ll just ask then?”

“You assume correctly,” Bruce says. He lets go of Tim to ruffle his hair until it’s puffed up a solid two inches from Tim’s head. “Come on, Tim. Let’s go get some breakfast before Cass and Steph steal all of the first batch and leave us with nothing but diced cantaloupe and shattered dreams, huh?” 

“Oof, yeah, let’s go,” Tim says, taking off in a half-run. “I hate cantaloupe. Everyone hates cantaloupe. It should be illegal.”

Bruce joys alongside him. “I like cantaloupe,” he says, sounding a little offended.

“That’s because you’re a weirdo who fights crime in your million-dollar fursona outfit and drinks green smoothies with spinach in them like a heathen.”

“I do not —it’s not a—that’s—!”

“Did I hear fursona?” Jason demands, popping his leaning out from the dining room doorway suddenly as they approach. “Are we roasting Bruce? Is it Bruce-teasing day again? Because I have been planning since the last day and I have some real—“

“It is not,” says Bruce. 

“Are you sure?” Jason grins at Tim. “It has been a while, and we’re all gathered here serendipitously. It would be a shame to let the opportunity go to—“

“BREAKFAST,” Dick hollers from the kitchen, right then, and the rest of Jason’s sentence trails into a shout of delight.”

“COME ON, baby bird,” Jason exclaims as he ducks out of the room and yanks a startled Tim behind him at high speed. “The world might be ending, but it ain’t ending yet, and I’m gonna get at least six crepes if I have to fight Cass to the death to do it.” 

“No fighting in my kitchen!” Alfred calls firmly as they slid through the doorway. “Wash your hands, please. Then you may serve yourselves. Three crepes apiece, no more, and the next batch will be ready in ten minutes.” 

“Yes, Alfred,” Jason grumbles, walking over to the sink at normal speed, Tim on his heels. The others are already at the table, Dick cheerfully slathering Nutella on one of his crepes at light speed. 

“Good morning,” Bruce calls, as he enters the room. 

The usual chorus of “Morning, B”s, “Good morning, Master Bruce”, “Hi Dad!”, and “Hey, pops,” tumbles around the room for a few chaotic seconds, then settles into clinking dishes, easy morning conversation, and quick, quiet exchanges of information on what everyone has heard in scattered updates from the city. 

Tim serves himself quietly and settles into a chair between Jason and Dick, letting the various conversations wash over him and absorbing pieces here and there that sound relevant. He mostly eats in silence, trying to keep his concerns about the infection rate and potential outcomes to himself, and sinks more and more into his own thoughts.

We have to get an estimate on how many people were on the streets in close enough proximity to any of the biobombs, and how many people potentially walked through several zones of them while trying to get somewhere safer. Those people are going to have the highest viral load, and probably show symptoms more quickly...people need to know to stop breastfeeding the second they get sick, and the street kids--I have to get in contact with Brent. All the kids need to have the situation explained and we need to set up some kind of shelter--

Tim’s startled back into full awareness as Jason clunks a fruit bowl down in front of him onto his empty plate. 

“Eat,” Jason demands. “Alfred and I have come up with a meal plan. Everyone’s got to eat the minimum daily amount of fruits and veggies a day, so get a move on.”

“If you try to make me eat broccoli or cauliflower,” Tim warns, as he picks up his fork and carefully stabs into a grape, “I will puke on you.”

“You’ll eat what we give you,” Jason says, pointing a finger at him. “But also, duh? Who do you think I am? We aren’t going to try to feed you meat or anything you hate. You just can’t go around trying to fight off the plague while eating nothing but Kraft cheese and mustard sandwiches every day.” 

“That was a year ago!” Tim protests. “And I cooked real meals sometimes! That’s not fair.” 

“Mustard and cheese?” Steph chimes in. “That’s it?”

“Not even good cheese,” Dick says, solemnly. “American cheese squares.” 

“It was easy!” Tim exclaims. “And it didn’t involve meat. I was just taking deli meat off of cheese sandwiches anyway, so why not?”

“Disgusting,” Steph says, sounding impressed as she takes another enormous bite of jelly-covered whole grain toast. 

“Tim,” Babs says, A hefty side helping of you-guys-are-just-so-weird-sometimes in her voice. “At least the deli sandwiches have, like, actual cheese on them. You couldn’t have gotten anything better? Or tried, I don’t know, pickles, or something , at least? Maybe slice up a tomato?”

“I was a little busy! Listen, you try feeding yourself most days from like, elementary school onward, while you’re going to school and running back and forth to Gotham most nights, and see how sick of trying to actually make meals you get,” Tim protests, stabbing at a grape and sending it flying right onto Bruce’s morning paper. “Uh, oops.”

Bruce sends the grape soaring over at Cass with a flick of one careful finger, and smiles when she laughs and flicks it right back. He tosses it in a perfect arc to the trash can, ignoring Alfred’s exasperated look in his direction. 

“I’m going to have to side with Tim on this one,” Bruce says, to Jason and Dick’s dismay. “Food preparation is a pain.”

“Bruce, when have you ever cooked a meal in your life,” Jason says flatly. “Aside from that time you set the oven on fire. That doesn’t count.” 

“I wandered around the globe as a broke ninja in training for years,” Bruce points out, taking a prim sip of his coffee and ignoring Tim’s envious glare. They forbid Tim from any coffee or energy drinks until the crisis is over, and Bruce has sworn to himself he’s not going to let Tim sway him. At least not until they pass the five day mark. He’s got a bet going with Dick, and he can’t keep losing them like he has lately. One of these days his eldest will stop taking him seriously at all. 

“But did you cook for yourself?” Jason prods. “Or did you mooch off of locals, and like, whatever cooks your creepy League time involved, and stuff like that?”

“I got very good at grilling lizards for a while,” Bruce says with a straight face, enjoying the way he sees Alfred twitch slightly out of the corner of his eye. 

“Lizards,” says Dick.

“Lizards,” Bruce confirms. 

“Why...you know what, I don’t want to know.”

Bruce takes another sip of his coffee. 

“Come on,” Tim pleads, finally cracking. “Please. Just a little mug? Not even enough to give me any buzz. I just want to taste it. I can smell the coffee, you horrible people. It’s not fair.”

“When you’re eighteen, you can have all the coffee you want when we’re having the next global-scale crisis,” Jason says smugly. “Till then, looks like you gotta listen to us grown-ups, baby bird.” 

“I hate you so much right now,” Tim says with a fake scowl. 

Jason clutches his hands to his heart, and theatrically spends four entire seconds falling out of his chair to the floor, throwing one hand up dramatically to rest on his forehead. 

“Egads!” he exclaims. “You wound me, sir, stab me right in the heart. How can you be so cruel, when all I have ever been is your faithful companion and friend?”

“Last week you put toothpaste in Oreos and stuck them in my locker for after patrol when you knew I wouldn’t be able to resist eating anything in sight,” Tim says, unmoved. 

“Okay, well, besides that.”

“That other time, you got mad that I beat you three times in a row on Rainbow Road, so you set my alarm to wake me up at five in the morning blaring Boom Boom Pow at full volume.”

“That was just--”

“AND there was the time when we were playing rooftop Ghosts in the Graveyard on that slow night on patrol, remember, and I tackled you into that pool right after you re-bedazzled your jacket, and you decided that the appropriate retribution would be to--”

“OKAY,” Jason says quickly, clapping his hands together with a mildly-panicked grin. “Point made! Got it! Can I interest you in another crepe, maybe, and we never speak of that incident again?”

Tim stares him down for a few seconds, then breaks into a too-wide grin of his own, while Dick shakes beside the two of them trying desperately not to laugh. “Yes, actually,” Tim says pleasantly. “Neatly rolled, with cream cheese, strawberries, plenty of gummy bears from the jar in the pantry, and exactly seven chocolate chips spaced out evenly along the length of the crepe, thank you.”

Stephanie snorts orange juice out through her nose and can’t stop laughing while tears stream from her eyes for a few moments. 

“Sorry,” she wheezes. “Oh, god, that burns a lot more than I expected--sorry, didn’t mean to, it was just--” she laughs again. 

Jason looks pained. “Gummy bears?” he asks, wearily, already resigned. 

“Gummy bears,” Tim repeats. “Generously.” 

“Okay. Fine. One strawberry, cream cheese, gummy bear crepe, coming right up,” Jason says, walking to the counter like a man headed for the gallows. 

“Don’t forget the chocolate chips,” Bruce adds. 

Dick grins. “Exactly seven!”

Jason very, very carefully sticks his middle finger out at Dick where he thinks he’s safe from prying eyes, but unfortunately…

“Master Jason!” 

Busted. 

“In this house,” Alfred says sternly, “we do not flip the bird to siblings, guardians, or anyone else. You will apologize and deposit the correct amount into the swear jar before leaving this kitchen after breakfast.”

“Alfie,” Jason tries, but it falls on deaf ears. 

Tim leans against Dick as his oldest brother wraps an arm around him and tugs him close, and they both laugh together while Jason tries to get Bruce on his side, then falls back on Stephanie. Tim grins while Alfred starts in on a lecture for the both of them on appropriate and inappropriate places and times for crude language, and the finer points of why cussing is done at all, and the even finer points of why Alfred does not allow it in his domain save under very, very extenuating circumstances, which do not include sibling bickering no matter how serious it may be. 

Tim gets his crepe in the end, and a solid noogie from Jason that he may or may not lean into for an extra second or four. They go out to run the dogs that morning together, just the two of them, after breakfast and Bruce’s family meeting, and things are honestly...all right. 

~

It’s not too bad being stuck in the manor, for the most part. Babs does go home with the help of Batman, the second day of Gotham’s lockdown, but even with her not around for the most part, there are still plenty of people in the manor to stave off boredom. 

Bruce kicks Tim out of the Batcave six times in the first three days whenever he finds Tim in the dim lighting, tapping away at the keyboard trying to dig up more information, new leads, vague references that might help. 

“I’m trying to help, here!” Tim growls at Bruce as he’s shoved in the direction of the stairs. 

“You’re helping plenty by taking care of your health and assisting me when I ask you to,” Bruce says. “I haven’t restricted your laptops. You can do your research upstairs in the sunshine, where you won’t turn into a vampire and forget to eat or drink for nine hours straight until Jason or I come dig you out of the Batchair or a cupboard.” 

“I’m not that bad.”

Bruce snorts. “Bud, you absolutely are.”

“But my laptop doesn’t have all the functions of the Batcomputer,” Tim protests. “I need the case compiling program!”

“When you really need to use it, you can come tell me,” Bruce tells him. “Until then, march.”

Tim marches. 

Once Bruce gets everyone else on board with the whole Keep Each Other Eating, Drinking, Sleeping, and In Sunny Areas With Circulating Air As Much As Possible initiative, Tim switches gears and sets up a genuine, bona fide conspiracy theory cork board in the main lounge. Except it’s not a conspiracy theory board, since this is a real scenario, but hey. A goat is a goat, no matter its reason for existing. 

“Are you okay,” Steph says, the first time she walks into the room the next morning and gets an eyeful of Tim, in full bedhead, attaching the hundredth red string to the board between a blurry photograph of what looks like a middle-eastern ninja of sorts and a post-it note with “FUNDING?? ASK ORACLE TO TRACE BACK” on it in pink sharpie. “Should I like. Get Bruce. Are you having a breakdown or is your family just this weird.”

“You kept a manilla envelope of hundreds of pieces of evidence on criminals all over gotham and made a plan to make your own costume and run around the city spraying ecologically-stable moss graffiti on unused walls,” Tim says, without even turning around. He picks up another push pin and jabs it through the top of a typed list of known manufacturers of biological warheads from the past fifty years. “Are you really sure you should be judging right now?”

“He’s fine,” Dick calls, from where he’s doing handstand push-ups near an 18th-century Rococo-style painting. “This happens. Usually more on the Bat-’puter, but--” Dick grunts as he wobbles for a moment, then stabilizes again and keeps going. “--Timmy makes do.”

“Thanks for making me sound like a homesteader,” Tim says. 

“Pleasure,” Dick says, with an upside-down grin. 

Tim throws a roll of vivid yellow duct tape at him, but Dick catches it with his foot and juggles for a few seconds before just tossing it on over to Cass where she’s perched on a window seat. 

Why, she signs, looking at him with exasperation. 

“Just because.” 

“Oh my god,” Jason moans, shuffling into the room with a duvet wrapped around him like a cape and slippers nearly falling off his feet. “It is too early for this, shut up, everyone shut up, why do you have to be so loud underneath my room.”

“You could always move,” Dick points out. 

“Fuck you.”

“Language,” Steph sing-songs. 

“And you. You’re not Alfred.”

“You called?” says Alfred, dryly, as he steps into the room. 

Jason nearly trips over his own feet. 

“Morning Alfred, sorry Alfred, I was absolutely not saying anything rude, it’s all Dick’s fault.”

“Mm,” Alfred says, narrowing his eyes. “I see. One dollar and thirty-three cents in the swear jar, Master Jason. I may be old, but my hearing, I assure you, is still quite sharp.”

Tim slams his hands over his mouth to hold in his laughter. He locks eyes with Steph, whose whole face has gone red-purple in her own struggle to stay silent, and has to look away immediately. 

“A dollar thirty-three?” Jason says, outraged, even while he slumps over in a heap on the sofa. “F--uh, the f-word is only a dollar!”

“The thirty-three cents are for attempting to lie to me,” Alfred says cheerfuly, as he drapes one of the room’s many afghans over Jason’s feet and lower legs after the young man kicks off his slippers. “I thought you had grown out of the habit, but if you need a reminder, perhaps that will serve.”

“Sorry, Alfred,” Jason mumbles.

“You’re forgiven,” Alfred says, brushing one hand over Jason’s curls. Then he turns to face the other side of the room, hands landing on his hips. “Master Dick,” he says, in that voice. “I understand you have as much energy as a litter of month-old puppies, but would you please release it somewhere a bit further away from valuable artwork?”

Dick flips onto his feet, looking chagrined. He rubs one hand across the back of his neck and walks over to a more open part of the room, closer to Cass. “Sorry, Alfie,” he says. “But I haven’t broken anything in three years, that’s pretty good, right?”

“Quite,” says Alfred, opening another set of drapes, and shooting Cass a soft smile before walking to the next window over. “But we would do well to not tempt fate into breaking that streak.”

“How do I get an Alfred,” Steph whispers, after she sidles over to stand beside Tim. 

“You’ve already got one,” Tim says. “Once you’re here for a few days, you get Alfred worrying about you for life for absolutely free.” 

“I can hear you, too, Master Tim,” Alfred says from across the room, and Steph can’t hold the laughter in this time. 

“I didn’t say it was bad, you’re like, the actual best and we all appreciate what you do. I love you Alfie,” Tim shoots back instantly, grinning even while he flushes, and then he realizes the whole room has gone dead silent. 

Alfred has turned to face Tim, quite still, and his eyes look...oddly shiny. Dick and Cass are both staring at Tim, and there’s a small but very satisfied smile on Dick’s face. Even Jason has popped his head out from under the duvet to stare. 

“Uh,” Tim says quietly. “What…”

“Master Tim,” Alfred says, thickly. His hands clutch the handle of the duster he’s holding tightly by his chest. “I love you very much, as well.” 

Tim blinks. Was that...really the first time he…

“BRUCE,” Jason hollers, at the top of his lungs. Dick sprints for the doorway and leans out, to project his voice further down the hallway. 

“BRUUUUUUCE,” Dick shouts. Then he walks over to the sofa and drops down an inch away from Jason’s ankles and leans back. 

Bruce comes practically skidding into the room a few seconds later, while Tim is still blinking at Alfred and no one has quite gone back to what they were previously doing. 

“What,” he demands, voice tight. “Is something wrong? Are you all okay?” 

“We’re fine,” Dick says calmly, smiling at Bruce. “Tim just told Alfred he loves him.”

Tim feels his skin go even more red, from the front of his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Bruce turns, looking over at him with an odd expression. Maybe a mix of...surprise? And a little pride? But sadness too? Tim doesn’t know. He’s not great at labeling emotions, still. It’s hard.

“Really,” says Bruce, voice much looser now. 

“It was great,” Jason says. “He didn’t even realize for a second.”

“I--” Tim starts, still standing in the same spot. He frowns, looking over at Alfred, who’s smiling at him. “But...haven’t I...I never told you before?”

Alfred shakes his head slightly. “Not like that,” he says. 

“We’ve been wondering, for a while,” Bruce says, as he walks over to Tim, now. “It was a matter of time, but we weren’t sure when you’d do it. You have a much easier time saying that you love us as a group than actually telling us individually.” 

“What?” Tim asks, feeling more stressed than he thinks he should. “Did I--have I told the rest of--” he swallows, and suddenly his eyes are burning, heat welling up behind them, and here come tears, and goddamnit . Why does this always seem to happen at the worst times? “No, I have to have told you, of course I love you, how have I not said it before, I--wait. No, no no no, who else haven’t I told?” He looks frantically over at Bruce, a few steps away, and Dick, and Jason, and Cass, back to Alfred, back to Bruce. “I’m sorry!” he says thickly, tears spilling over. “I didn’t realize I don’t say it, I love you, I promise I love all of you, I mean--I love you, Alfred, I do, and, and--Bruce, I love you, and--” he has to pause to sniff hard a few times. He can see Steph edging away a little in the corner of his vision. 

And then Bruce is there, wrapping him in a hug, shushing him like he’s a little kid while Tim tries to breath through his rapidly-running nose and Bruce’s thick sweater, and feels a wet patch spreading under his face. 

“Tim,” Bruce says, calm and steady. “Hey. Don’t worry about it too much. We all know you love us, buddy. You don’t need to say it with words when you say it a hundred other ways. Alfred has always known.”

“But--”

Alfred is next to them, like magic, the man is always like magic, and this apparently is one of the rare end-of-the world moments in their family, because Alfred breaks the rules he normally follows like the Laws of Moses and lays one of his hands on Tim’s head. Tim turns his neck till he can see Alfred while Bruce is still holding him in a hug. 

“Don’t cry,” Alfred says, but it’s not any kind of rebuke or command. “There is nothing for you to be ashamed or afraid of in this house. I love you quite thoroughly, and words are not necessary for me to do so. Never doubt that we know you love us. It is evident in everything you do.”

“But I never said it?” Tim asks again.

“It doesn’t matter,” Alfred says, leaving absolutely no room for argument. “I am, of course, quite touched that you did say so, today. But you never need to say it for me to hear it in your actions, and in the things you do say. Just know that I love you as well, always, and nothing will ever change that.”

Tim gets emotional again for a few more minutes, and makes Bruce have to go change his sweater in the end. And Dick is a bad sympathy crier when it comes to family, so of course he ended up crying too, and then Cass wrapped them both up in a hug once they were finished and essentially frog-marched them after Alfred down to the kitchen, and by the end of the whole saga, everyone in the household got hot cocoa how they liked it most, and Tim had given Alfred probably the longest hug between the two of them since the day Jason first brought Tim home from school. 

~

So life goes on. They relax, and they watch the Lord of the Rings three times, and swap TV shows, and work on projects. They eat healthily, and sleep when Alfred and Bruce say, and gang up on Bruce to bully him into bed when he’s staying up too late, as well. Jason and Dick are in communication with Superman and Wonder Woman, keeping tabs on how long Bruce is out in Gotham as either Bruce Wayne, helping with relief efforts in protective gear, or as Batman, working with the Justice League and among the people who are trying to fix the city and hunt down those responsible.

They record their temperatures every four hours each day. It starts to become routine. Steph even gets together a decorating party, and convinces even Bruce to add stickers to his personal temperature log sheet. And she’s right. It does make the whole thing a little less grim.

“Whistling in the dark,” Alfred says approvingly, as they clean up from the arts and crafts tornado that swept through Bruce’s study, leaving it looking more like an elementary school summer camp than a business office. 

“Gotta stay cheerful somehow,” Steph agrees.

And so they keep on. 

Tim adds to his cork board, adds files to his computer, spends hours brainstorming with Bruce while the others aren’t around. They talk about possible suspects, try to leverage every asset to trace funds and ghost accounts, coordinate friends and teammates to help them follow up on various leads. They spend a lot of time working on Tim’s side project, his simulation, trying to take data from previous Ebola epidemics and correct for various factors like location, geography, utility availability, drug treatments, proximity to major urban centers and high traffic levels, start building something that might, at least a little, begin to show what has happened in Gotham. What might happen in the coming weeks. 

It’s hard. He’s spending most of his free time on it by day seven. Gotham is--the attack wasn’t just one person getting infected, and becoming patient zero. The scientists haven’t traced the full lineage of this strain yet, and it was dropped on a lot of people all at once. There is no patient zero to trace from. There are hundreds. Maybe thousands. People started falling sick as early as the fourth day after the attack, and time is already starting to run out for them. Tim has to get this done. He has to figure out the variables, scrawled around three whiteboards, use the right formulas, he has to put this together so they can tell how many people are going to get it, so they can know where to target first with the vaccines, with more intense quarantine, with the antibody drugs, he has to make this model work, or--

“Tim.”

Bruce catches his hand from behind, gently pries the Expo marker out of it and sets it on the little ledge at the bottom of Tim’s fourth whiteboard. “Stop. You need to take a break.”

“I need to predict the spread,” Tim says. He sounds a little unhinged even to his own ears, honestly. But he has to. He does. “I’ve got to get this done, Bruce, people are already sick. It’s got an incubation period of three weeks, but people are already sick, and they don’t have that long. I have to figure out where it’s spreading.”

Bruce sighs, and bends down so he can look Tim in the eyes, but Tim looks away. He can’t. He can’t right now, it’s too uncomfortable, what he needs is to work . 

“Sweetheart,” Bruce says. “You are not going to be able to save everyone. We’re not going to save everyone even if we found a total cure right this second. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I can try!” Tim snaps. “I have to try. We have to do it. There’s no one else, the government is completely tied up trying to keep the whole nation from panicking, not to mention the pressure internationally, and there are lots of experts but--”

“But you are fifteen years old,” Bruce says, starting to slowly approach the starting range of his Batman voice, “not a trained expert in epidemiology and statistical modeling, not a metahuman, and potentially infected yourself. You can’t run yourself ragged, and you can’t work miracles in less than half the time it takes most experts to do things, and you can’t save everyone no matter how hard you try. You know that, Tim. And I know it’s hard, and painful, but it’s better to take care of yourself, and save who you can, when you can, than to not be able to save anyone at all because you burned yourself out.”

“But all the people,” Tim says miserably. “They’re just...they’re just sitting in quarantine, getting worse, and so far the antibody drugs aren’t doing much of anything at all except slowing it in a few people, maybe, and there’s no telling how and where it’s already spreading. And I have to--my kids, Bruce, I haven’t even been able to see them, and Kristin said like a third of the little ones are just missing altogether, since that night, and you know that the poorest people and most minimum-wage staff get hit hard, and they’re my responsibility, B, I have to get this done soon!”

“You will,” Bruce says, holding Tim’s face gently. “Tim. I absolutely believe that you will. You’re so smart, and the fact that you even know how to do anything like this at all is amazing. But you can’t solve the whole thing tonight. I have to go out, for a few hours, and you need to go to bed. I promise you, I’ll do whatever I can to find and help the street kids, but sweetheart, this is one of the times where I need to step in and take care of you. All right? I promise you’ll get this done. Barry and I will keep helping where we can, and I’ll keep contacting experts who can give some insight on how to do the math. But not tonight. Please let me take you up to bed, sweetheart.”

Tim looks at his whiteboards, at the multi-colored writing, the formula that’s been rubbed out and written over and edited at least twenty times, at the new whiteboard that’s got only a few inches scribbled on so far, screaming for him to stay, to keep going a little longer--he can figure it out, make something that’s passable, good enough even if it’s not perfect, he just has to keep going. He sighs, and turns his back on them, reaching up silently to take Bruce’s hand, still so much bigger than his. 

“Okay,” he says quietly. 

“Thank you,” Bruce says. They start up the Batcave stairs, not slowly, but not too fast, and halfway up, Tim opens his mouth suddenly. 

“My dad,” he says. “The modeling, it was--I started learning it for school. And I got really, really into it, so I kept going a lot on my own, and that’s how I practiced and know so much about the different epidemic models, but. In the beginning. It was just this extra credit project, and I got stuck on something, with one of the formulas, and it was one of the good days. My dad spent the whole morning helping me figure out where I went wrong and make the whole thing better.”

“He’s very smart,” Bruce says, giving Tim’s hand a short squeeze. They push open the door to Bruce’s study together. “Your father was a very respected numbers man, before he got more into archaeology.”

“Yeah,” says Tim. “He taught me a lot, in bits and pieces. I think he was trying to get me to understand square roots when I was like...seven or eight? But I had no clue what he was talking about then.” He laughs a little. “When he’s in a good mood, he’s one of the coolest people ever to talk to. That was the most interesting stuff I learned the whole school year.”

“I’m glad you had that time with him. I hope...I know that he’s hurt you, and I don’t know if he’ll ever be capable of taking you back in, or being a father the way he should. But I hope that you can get some more moments that are like that, again. You deserve that. I know how much you love him still.”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs. “I hope we can have that too.” He snorts, as they turn off the main staircase towards where the bedrooms are. “And hey, maybe if I get stuck on this too much, he’ll be able to figure this model out too.”

“Maybe,” Bruce agrees. “Honestly, it’s not a bad idea. Maybe tomorrow you can do a video call and see if he has any insight.”

“Maybe,” Tim says. “I don’t know if I can...talking is harder, now, for us. I might just email him...we’ll see. I’ll figure it out if I need to. But I want to take another crack at it again myself, first.” They pause at Tim’s door, Tim drooping more by the second, Bruce already in his under layer, tired but alert and mentally bracing himself for the chaos that the city has been falling into during the perfect storm of martial law and quarantine and a lot of panicked people being caged in one space. 

“Please be safe, B,” Tim begs. “Don’t take any stupid risks. No one can afford to have you out of commission right now, and if you get sick, I think we all might lose it for real.”

“I will be,” Bruce promises. “I don’t want to get sick, believe me. I’m actually already talking with the JL and Gordon about cutting my hours a little more, and acting as more of a coordinator while I focus on tracing down the source of the virus. That’s looking more and more like our only hope of stopping this from doing the damage it’s intended to.”

“Find the source, find a treatment?” Tim asks. 

“Exactly.”

“Just...come home okay,” Tim says, hugging Bruce for a few seconds. He opens his door and steps halfway through, turns back to look Bruce in the eye fully. “I love you,” he says, clearly and deliberately. “Good night, B. Go help people. They need you.”

Bruce salutes, smiling at Tim. “Aye aye, captain,” he says. “Go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning. And I love you too, Tim. Sleep well.”

The door closes as Bruce walks down the hallway, headed to his study to check his temperature one last time before he goes out. He hasn’t told the kids everything about what it’s like, over in Gotham, and of course they have more sources than just him, but no one is especially eager to talk about details at the moment. It’s not pretty. It’s becoming like the wild west, everyone suspicious of everyone else, all the racism and bad blood and class disdain coming out in full force fueled by fear. People have been dying of more than just the virus, which hasn’t even killed anyone yet, except one old woman--and that was from a heart attack just hours after she was told she tested positive. 

But Bruce has seen the patients in quarantine, through the plastic and the windows of hospital isolation wards. Isolation wards that are already full. Newcomers are spilling over into plastic isolation tents surrounded by military barriers now, and more keep coming. Tim’s numbers are a day and a half behind. 

Bruce has seen the patients, been watching the progression with grim stoicism while in the Batsuit, next to his fellow heroes--and Poison Ivy, who told him that she couldn’t stand to watch the kids suffering without anyone to at least read to them, hold their hands, bring them water, except when a suited health worker happened to be gowned up and walking through one of the wards. Ivy has been turning into one of the most useful, silver-lining things to come out of this whole mess. Inside the Batsuit, behind the cowl, the mask, the persona, Bruce’s heart just keeps breaking more every day and night that he goes out. 

There’s a little kid, almost five, who’s close to losing his fight. Bruce has waved to him through a window every night this week. He probably won’t live to see tomorrow evening, and Bruce doesn’t need one of the doctors to tell him what he can already see. 

But tonight, Bruce is going to be at the window again anyway, and maybe the boy will be away, and maybe he won’t, but Bruce will be there. Batman, yes, he’ll be in the costume. His cowl will peer through the glass. He’ll be raising a gauntleted, gloved hand when he waves. But Bruce is the one waving to the little boy. It will be Bruce who weeps with Alfred, when the news comes through Superman, eventually, that he doesn’t need to come to that particular window again, until someone else is placed in there. 

This is the kind of detail Bruce doesn’t tell the kids. They could handle it, he knows that, he trains them, loves them, knows how their minds and hearts work better than they do themselves sometimes. But that’s why he wants to spare them as long as he can. They’re going to face it soon enough, anyway. He’s trying to give them a little bit of time before they go back out into the horror as well, or before it comes knocking on their own door. He’s still holding out hope that maybe they’ll be spared the Sword of Damocles that’s hanging over them. Possibly. Just this once.

Bruce’s temperature is normal, just as it has been every day. He puts the thermometer back in it’s case, labeled Bruce in Alfred’s neat printing. He goes to the cave, puts on the rest of his suit. He drives to the city. He handles looters, talks strategy with the JL, with Gordon, with a general, with international contacts. He goes to the wards. Goes to the first hospital. He stands in front of the window, and he waves, and the little boy doesn’t open his eyes, even when the nurse now parked in the room in a full protective suit tries to wake him gently. Bruce waves again anyway, one more time, and watches the little chest rise and fall hard and fast, a little uneven, then steady again, and repeat.

Then he goes home and decontaminates. Lets Alfred get up and hold him like he’s eight again, twelve, sixteen and his heart breaking, just for a few minutes, and then he gets up, and splashes water on his eyes. He checks on each of the kids, watches them breathe without trouble, lets himself relax and remember that yes, they’re all right, they’re safe, and there is nothing to fight here.

He closes the last door soundlessly, and crawls into his own bed, mind settled for the next few hours and finally allowing him to sleep. 

~

Tim wakes up before true dawn the next morning, on the ninth day, with a throbbing, squeezing headache. His muscles are sore, like he has the flu. Tim feels like his heart skips a beat, or maybe three, as he realizes, suddenly blinking fully away, and he rolls his aching body over to the nightstand, snatching up the thermometer there. 

He waits, each second stretching out for what feels like seventy heartbeats and a hundred years, and the thermometer finally beeps, and he yanks it out of his mouth, propped up on one shaky arm, staring at the numbers as if wishing will make them change. 

He lies down and breathes, for a few minutes, pushing every emotion away that tries to come. Looks at Nova, who woke for a moment when he moved, but is now back to sleeping peacefully across the foot of his bed. Tim goes through steps in his mind. Thinks of each thing he needs to do, holds on to the order and purpose as the anchor to keep himself afloat, and then he unplugs his phone from the charging cable and hits the very first name in the favorites list, swallowing hard once against his slightly-sore throat as he listens to the ringtone.

“Tim? It’s early, sweetheart, are you alright?”

Tim can’t speak for a moment. He takes a breath, more uneven than he expected, and opens his mouth. 

“Bruce,” he whispers. “I have a fever.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line for a beat. 

“I’ll be right there,” Bruce says, dead serious. “I just hit the button to call Alfred. Any other symptoms.”

Tim closes his eyes. “Headache,” he says. “Sore. Feel weak, low energy. It’s…”

“It might be,” Bruce says. It’s been seconds since Tim woke him, and he’s completely alert. Tim can hear the sound of a door opening down the hallway. “But it might not be. We’ll see. I have to gown up before I come in, Tim, but I’ll go as fast as I can. Put on the mask in your drawer next to the bed.”

“Okay,” Tim says, reaching over to tug it out. “My fever is already 100.6, B.” 

Bruce sighs, very, very quietly. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. “We’re going to get you a fever reducer as soon as we can. And lots of water. Alfred and I are getting dressed, and we’ll be in in probably ten minutes. Do you want us to stay on the phone?”

“No,” Tim says. “It’s okay. I’ll be--” he cracks a wobbly grin and flops back, voice muffled slightly by the mask as he stares up at the carved wood ceiling. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Just a few minutes,” Bruce promises, grunting as Tim imagines he’s tugging some part of the suit on. “Then we’ll be with you. It’s going to be okay.”

“Okay, B,” Tim says. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Love you, Timmy,” Bruce says, quietly, and Tim can finally hear a little bit of the fear leaking through. He squeezes his eyes shut against the heat that’s trying to build, and firmly shoves that back down, too, locking it up as best he can. 

“Love you too,” Tim says, and then he hits the red button and tucks the phone under his pillow. 

It’s going to be...a long day. A really long day, he thinks. I should call my parents. Later. After I’m...after I move, and we call Leslie, and everything. Once I get it set up so my mom won’t be scared. It’ll be okay, he tells himself. It’s not bad yet. I can still keep working. I can do this. And Bruce is coming. Batman is coming, he’s going to get me. It’s okay. Batman always manages to make it okay. Tim takes several long, deep breaths.

It has to be okay, he tells himself firmly. I’ll make it okay. I’ll do this. I’m gonna kick your ass, Ebola, you can’t beat my family. They’re really territorial. And when Batman finds out who’s responsible for you, I sure’ll be glad to not be them that day. We’re not going down. We’re going to win. 

[atatteredsoul]

//*flings a bunch of sketches*  boi have I got a couple characters to talk about and here’s the first one (that has the most stuff tbh).

This fella here is Rockwell Nova, or Rockwell for short.  (With his little mouse friend Matthew.)

*slaps a bunch of stuff under yet another Read More plz read tho’ if you can*

He’s still fairly new, so I hope more of his background falls in place over time, but hoo boi he’s a fun? guy.  Rockwell is a warhound construct, same as Webdings, and was the “alpha” of the pack he was put into.  Bigger, (a whopping 8′5″ tall, 14′ at shoulders when shifted), stronger, and what gave him the edge over others is the fact that his defining trait is determination.  It was very hard to get him to stay down.

I loosely say “alpha” because that social construct has been debunked in wild wolf packs.  These warhounds however were all antsy, highly aggressive individuals forced together into a group and instructed to get along.  Brawls over dominance and disagreements were often occurrences.

Webdings and Rockwell were actually part of the same pack before Web and Tatters fled from humankind and ended up allied with monsterkind.  The thought of him sends fear in Web’s soul, however so much time has passed and no known skeletons other than Web and Tatters were sealed away, so it’s assumed the rest of his packmates perished.

Nope.

After Rockwell’s necromancer handler died and the war was won, it became increasingly hard to keep him under control (warhounds are well-known for their violent tempers) to the point that the only way to keep him in line at least somewhat was through fire magic.  Rockwell strongly disliked humans (and pretty much everything) to start with, but scorch after scorch...it easily became a deep hatred.  His bones are permanently charred (first drawing for reference hhh).

He managed to flee, however due to how skeleton constructs were treated, they were like batteries without knowing how to recharge themselves.  Eventually he ran out of strength, almost magic as well, but was discovered by a mouse-like monster named Matthew.  The mouse took a chance by offering food to the warhound and it formed an uneasy pact between the two.  Rockwell was to help protect Matthew’s hidden refuge from humans and their tools while he would be repayed in food and shelter.

A dangerous gamble, but Rockwell saw no threat from the monster village, learned that “food” was both surprisingly tasty (to the point where he repeatedly tried eating things he shouldn’t have) and kept him alive, and at least had the notion not to bite the hand that (literally) fed him, so he complied.  Over time it would change into curiosity, then perhaps a massively tsundere form of companionship.  Small acts of kindness from those who dared get close enough to him boggled him.  For the first time, he witnessed a form of humanity.

Rockwell is not as far in development mentally as Webdings is, but there is some support from his small companions (dare he say).  He can still be quite cruel and aggressive toward outsiders, though he will stop at nothing to make sure his charges are safe.  Perhaps there is a little good under the levels of assholery that he is.

Though that brings up a good question, when will they learn that monsterkind is free...?

Fun facts:

-With the introduction of Rockwell, it probably warrants a list of some defining characteristics in warhounds in general.  First of all they have notoriously violent behaviors with severely stunted emotional/mental growths and are often kept sealed away until released to hunt monsters down.  Large nasal passages, they are incredibly good at sniffing prey down.  Horns, they all have unique horn patterns that are retractable if wanted.  It’s believed their vaguely draconic/demonic looks were inspired by the mages creating them.  All are “multi-bodied,” meaning multiple skeletons were used and fused together to form them, so they have a range of quirks they can pick up from their human and canid remnants (or whatever skeletons were selected for the individual).  They made for very effective monster hunters, but were often frowned upon by human mages due to how unpredictable and difficult to manage they were.  Webdings (and vaguely Rockwell) have moved on from that stage thanks to the incredible influences they’ve had in their lives.

-In case you were wondering, Rockwell wears a ghillie suit that the mice made for him.  Helps him blend in a little better with the forest they’re residing in.  Fashion!

-The mice monsters don’t have that long of a life span, so while Matthew was the first “handler,” Rockwell probably went though like 4 or 5 before monsterkind is freed.  His latest handler will be Matthias, a much more cheerful and outgoing fella.

-Shifting for multi-bodied constructs moves kinda like nanite technology?  They will adjust their bone structure as small fragments until the new shape is formed (as seen in the second to the last sketch).  However there are varying styles of it, some are able to shift more gracefully/smoothly than others.

-Warhounds are more likely to do this out of other multi-bodied constructs, but they will regain bone mass by consuming other bones.  Webdings doesn’t do this since it’s seen as barbaric (and hopefully he’s not losing entire limbs like yikes).

-It’s actually pretty fun seeing the similarities and differences between how Webdings and Rockwell developed after the war ended and I hope to write a more comprehensive thing about it in the future.

[emybain]

Renegades Titanic AU: Part 4

sis may be sick posting this but I got a break today from the madness and I’ve been itching to post the next part since like Wednesday so here she is. I was going to write more but figured it would be better splitting up this part and the next part bc this would've been a lot longer since the next part will have a lot of stuff going on. also, go watch the hecking movie if you haven't already please I dont want to spoil but I also love this au and its my current obsession okay

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Part 4: The Next Day

Nova

    “I’ve been on my own since I was six, when my family died.” Nova tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as the wind picked up. “Well, not technically on my own…” she trailed off, fixing her eyes on the horizon. She didn’t want to mention the other’s names, especially Ace’s, in front of Adrian, due to their circumstances. 

    “With the Anarchists?” Adrian piped up, looking down at her. They were strolling along the first class deck, Nova feeling out of place in her old shirt and hand-me-down suspenders among the beautifully dressed ladies. Adrian had sought her out that afternoon after lunch and invited her on a walk along the deck, to which Nova accepted, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. Now, it was nearing late afternoon, and they had made a few laps around the ship. 

    Nova shot him a bewildered look, but laughed. “Anarchists? Is that what you call us?”

    Adrian blushed. Nova bit her lip, ignoring how adorable he looked. “Um...yeah, I guess. Because of their crimes.” She noticed how he didn’t include her in with them. Huh. 

    Nova said nothing in reply, remaining silent. They stayed like that for a bit, until Nova forced herself to speak again. She was bothered by last night's events, and felt it necessary to address them properly. 

    “I want to thank you, Mr. Everhart-”

“Adrian,” he interrupted, before coughing awkwardly. “Sorry. But please, call me Adrian.”

“Adrian,” Nova nodded, his name feeling weird on her tongue, “thank you for saving me last night.” Nova looked down at her hands. “And also thank you for your discretion about what really happened.”

    Adrian stopped, so she did as well. He turned to face her. “Of course, Miss McLain. If you don’t mind my asking, what made you think you had no choice?”

    Now it was Nova’s turn to blush. She tore her eyes from Adrian’s, despite enjoying gazing up at them, and made her way to the railing overlooking the ocean. She turned back around and leaned against it, hugging herself. 

    “I know what you’re thinking.” She risked a glance up at him. His eyebrows were furrowed together. She looked back down. “How can someone who causes pain be in pain herself?” She laughed humorlessly. 

    Adrian took a hesitant step forward. “No, that’s not what I was thinking at all. And besides, you're not the one causing people pain. They are.” The way he said they, with so much hostility, sent a shiver down Nova’s spine. He had no idea just how much she had done, how much destruction and pain was on her hands. How Nightmare was the most wanted criminal in Europe. 

    Nova pursed her lips. Deep down she knew she shouldn’t open up to him; he was a stranger, one of them. But his eyes were so kind, so filled with concern. Surely, since he had kept her secret last night from everyone, he could keep another. It wasn’t like he would rush down to third class to tell Honey or Leroy or Ingrid, either. 

Her arms tightened around her middle. “It’s just…” she swallowed. “It was everything, I suppose. And everyone. There’s this pressure to be what they want me to be, and-and I don’t know if I can do it. You know, not once have they asked me what I want. It’s always been about their needs and desires. I’m barely seventeen and it’s like the weight of the world has crashed down upon my shoulders and I’m powerless to lift it up.” 

    “That’s some serious stuff.” Adrian quirked his lips up, drawing Nova’s eyes to them. She looked away immediately. “That much stress would have dragged you to the bottom for sure.” 

    She knew he was trying to be lighthearted, possibly for her sake, but all she could do was hum in reply. “I have until this boat docks to figure out how I’m supposed to make them proud, but I’m frightened of failing. 

    “Do you care about them?” 

    Nova’s head shot up. “Pardon me?”

    Adrian repeated the question, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Nova blinked at him, stammering. “That’s...that’s very rude. Not exactly a question you should be asking me.”

Adrian shrugged. “It’s a simple question, Miss McLain. Do you care about them?”

She pushed herself away from the railing, a laugh bursting from her lips. “It’s an inappropriate question for someone of your rank and mine.”

“Why is it so hard to answer the question?” He smiled, but it was confused. 

“We are not having this conversation,” Nova said firmly, looking around them as people passed. “You are rude and presumptuous, and now I’m leaving.” She reached out to shake his hand, which he accepted. “Adrian...Mr. Everhart, it’s been a pleasure.” Although her tone said otherwise. “I have thanked you, and-”

“Insulted me.” Adrian grinned. Nova’s teeth clenched. Of course he found it amusing. He would probably recount the whole conversation to his little friend group later. Nova knew she should have just kept her mouth shut. Now she was paying for it. 

“You deserved it.” Nova looked down at the book-type thing he had been carrying around with him all afternoon, and frowned. She had noticed it earlier, but thought nothing of it. Now, though, she could see how he carried it close to him as if it were important. She let go of his hand, which she had still been shaking, and reached out for it, snatching it before he could pull back. “What is this stupid thing you’ve been carrying around, anyway?” 

Adrian did nothing, said nothing, only watched calmly as she peeked inside at its contents. The outside was made of fine leather, soft against Nova’s hands. Her head tilted. “What are you, an artist?” Flipping through each page, Nova slowly made her way to one of the lounge chairs near her, sitting down. “These are rather good.” In her peripheral vision, she saw Adrian sit down next to her, watching her closely. Her cheeks reddened. “They’re very good, in fact. I didn’t know rich people could have talent.” Only a second later did she realize that that probably wasn’t the best thing she could have said. Now she was the rude one. 

    He drew a lot of people. She recognized some of his friends she had seen the night before, drawn quite often. She also recognized his parents. There were others, too. A mother with her child, children in a park with a dog. As she kept flipping, she noticed the same face of a young woman, who, unlike the others, was posing for her picture. 

    “You like this lady,” Nova observed, admiring every detail of the drawing she was currently viewing. “Were the two of you-”

    “Oh, no.” Adrian chuckled nervously, and one peek at him confirmed he was blushing. Nova smiled. “She had beautiful hands, you see? He turned that paper over to another one, of the same lady, and pointed to her hands. “Also, she was around a lot when we were in Paris, the daughter of an old friend of my father. Very kind, but also very demanding about getting her portrait done.”

    Nova hummed, the smile still resting on her face as she looked at Adrian. “You have a gift, Adrian. These are exquisite. You see people as they are, and not what they portray themselves to be.”

    Adrian met her eyes, his own softening. “I see you, Miss McLain.”

    Nova’s heart skipped. “A-and?” 

    “I don’t think you would have jumped last night.”

__________

    They talked for a while after that, and Nova found herself enjoying the company of Adrian Everhart, son of her enemies. It wasn’t like talking to one of the others. No, he actually paid attention to her, hanging onto every syllable that came from her lips and never once interrupting. It had been so long since Nova had spoken to someone of her own age, but she also had a feeling she enjoyed talking to him for more reasons that just that. 

    She learned that he had travelled a lot when he was a child, before his mother passed away. And even when he was adopted, his dads took him everywhere with them. He, unlike her, had seen the world. He had even mentioned how he and his friends would often travel alone when they wanted to. 

    “I wish I could do that.” Nova sighed, gazing at the sunset before them. They were standing side by side at a railing, elbows barely brushing. “Just leave whenever I please without a care in the world.” Quietly, she added, “It must be nice having money.”

    Adrian drew back slightly. “Actually, we try not to spend too much money when we travel, at least my friends and I do.” His cheeks reddened. “We only recently came into a great deal of money, and frankly, none of us are used to it.”

    Clearly your parents are, Nova wanted to say, but she bit it back and swallowed it. As far as she could tell, Adrian was being honest, and he had seemed uncomfortable whenever she brought up the subject of wealth. Even the way he dressed, which was much more modest than the rest of the first class gentlemen, showed how he must not have liked his wealth. 

    “Say we travel somewhere together, even just in theory,” Nova mused, forcing a smile on her face. “Like, oh I don’t know, the beach.”

    “That’s oddly specific.” Adrian’s grin returned, warming Nova inside. “Let’s do it.”

    “Really?” Nova perked up, although she couldn’t quite place why. 

    “Yeah.” Adrian nodded specifically. “We can go with Oscar, Ruby, and Danna as well. You’d love them, trust me. They aren’t like the rest of first class. We’d go to one of those piers with rollercoasters, drink cheap beer, walk along the beach, watch the sunset...” He trailed off. Nova thought of his friends, who, like him, didn’t exactly fit the first class stereotype when it came to looks, based on what she had seen the previous night.

    “I’d like that. Very much, in fact.” And she meant it. Never in her life had she been allowed to just have fun, to be young. It was always study more to outsmart the Renegades, train harder to beat them, do this and do that to be one step ahead of them with the promise of their downfall. Revenge, revenge, revenge, had been implanted into her mind since her family was murdered, and had been watered carefully by Ace and Phobia and Winston and Ingrid and Leroy and Honey over roughly ten years. 

    “Screw everything,” she blurted out suddenly. Adrian blinked, surprised. She looked at him, a new excitement blossoming in her chest. “This world is a mess. The people in it are a mess. Fuck all of it.”

    Adrian looked like he was about to laugh, but he made a frantic shushing sound. “Lower your voice, people are looking.”

    “I don’t care.” Nova smiled widely at the sunset. “Let them hear. Fuck. Everything.”

    Behind them, someone cleared their throat. They both turned, and Nova’s eyes widened. It was the Council, and they didn’t look the least bit happy to see Nova with Adrian. Somehow, that made Nova happy. Not far behind them were Adrian’s friends, attempting to catch up once they saw Adrian.

    “Dad, Pops.” Adrian’s voice suddenly took on a slight strain. “You remember Miss McLain from last night?” Both of his dads nodded and acknowledged Nova with the same iciness from the previous night. Adrian introduced her to the others, who were kind if only out of politeness. When she was introduced to his friends, however, she was greeted with real smiles. 

    The dinner bell rang then, and Nova was instantly reminded that she was to join all of them tonight. Fear erupted inside her. 

    Adrian seemed to remember as well. “We should go get ready, right, Father?” He walked over to Hugh Everhart and the others, then turned back to Nova. “I’ll see you at dinner, Miss McLain?” There was so much hope in his eyes that any excuse Nova was about to make up dissipated. She swallowed and nodded, watching as he walked away with his dads and the rest of the Council. His friends, however, stayed behind. 

    One of them, Danna, she remembered, snapped her fingers in front of Nova’s face, drawing her attention from Adrian’s retreating figure. 

    “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Danna asked, concern in her eyes. Nova bit the inside of her cheek, suddenly losing her confidence she had previously had with Adrian. These were his friends, she reminded herself. She could trust them. 

    “Not really, Miss Bell.” Nova shook her head. 

    Danna’s lips quirked up. “It’s okay to call me Danna, you know. Miss Bell is a little too formal for my taste.”

    “The same goes for me,” Ruby piped up, all smiles. “And I’m sure for Oscar as well.” 

    “Of course.” Oscar nodded. “Although, Mr. Silva does have a ring to it.”

    “What are you planning on wearing?” Danna brought back the conversation to where it began. She looked Nova up and down, not out of distaste, but critically. When Nova gestured to what she was currently wearing, seeing as she had nothing better, Ruby shook her head. 

    “Oh, sweetheart, no, no, no.” She reached forward and touched Nova’s elbow lightly. Nova jumped from the contact. “You’re going to need something more than that.” Ruby shared a look with Danna, and then they both linked arms with Nova. 

    “C’mon.” Ruby pulled her along. “We’ll make sure you shine tonight.”

[teabunnypaws]

Constellations Collide

An art trade I did with @dreamerdraws2018 !!! A fic about her OC’s Galileo and Nova meeting!!!

I hope you all Enjoy!!! Fic under the cut!!

On the outskirts of San Francisco, there stood a rather elegant looking post office. Humans and toons alike strolled by it nonstop and even got their mail from the place without ever stopping to think that it could be more than it seemed. The stylish exterior and tall clock spire made the place seem on the up and up, almost...church like in a way, but this place was anything but holy, despite the angel that lurked within its walls.

Oh sure the mail ran in and out, but behind the sacks of mail and the rows and rows of post office boxes, up a hidden staircase there was an office that housed one of the most powerful and feared Mafia Dons in the whole city. 

It was a perfect cover, packages going in and out could hold anything...booze, drugs, weapons...even other toons and people..it all depended on how much money was paid and what deals had been laid. But despite the usual smooth workings of his empire, it had been...a day.

A very long…

Long…

ANNOYING day.

Excruciatingly so, if Galileo was being honest. Paperwork, calls, people just being downright damn bunglers at their jobs. It was quickly building up into too much for him and that...well that was bad news for everyone.

If the boss wasn’t happy, no one else was happy either.

Seated at his desk, surrounded by the organized stacks of paper, Galileo closed his eyes as he ran over the thoughts of the day. A low growl rumbled in his chest, the sound startling his men that stood at parade rest in the room. Slowly, they all tensed, subtly glancing at one another with a twinge of nervousness in their gazes. One had to learn to read the room when working for a Don, or you could find yourself looking like swiss cheese. 

The constellation freckled angel shoved back from the desk, the movement and noise of the wheels of the black leather chair against the fine wood flooring startling the men. As he stood and pulled open one of his drawers, many pairs of eyes followed, shoulders and legs tensing as their boss reached into it and pulled out a rather expensive looking pair of shoulder holsters laden with a pair of even more expensive looking guns.

The lines of tense shoulders relaxed as the guns remained in place after the holsters were slipped on, Galileo shifting and adjusting slightly, making sure that should his wings come out, they wouldn’t snag on the straps. It was a custom made fit, perfect for one such as himself. 

Once armed, sharp steps took the angel to a nearby coat rack where he tugged his jacket from its hook along with his hat, slinging them both on and giving a sharp turn of his head to the men. They were quick to stand up a bit straighter and suck in their guts a bit to avoid earning the boss’s ire. The silence hung heavy in the air for a moment, as if he enjoyed watching them shift and sweat under his gaze. Mercifully, he spoke, his voice tight with the annoyance he was feeling, “I’m going for a walk. Damien’s in charge.” And with that short and simple order, out he marched, the heels of his shoes snapping against the hardwood floor.

None were foolish enough to stand in the way, since..well..none of them had a deathwish at this time.

Once out of his office, Galileo let out a slow exhale, his eyes falling closed a moment as he stood with his back to the door. It was a simple looking door, plain oak with a frosted glass window; the words 'MAIN OFFICE' painted in gold lettering in the middle. Such a plain looking door, no one would ever suspect that the head honcho of a well known Mafia worked here...just as it should be.

He sighed and adjusted his coat before briskly walking towards the stairs that led down through the floors of the main building. Due to the hour, the usually bustling place was eerily quiet, giving the whole building an almost reverent feel to it. Galileo smiled just a bit as he made his way down the stairs, his gloved hand smoothing along the polished brass of the railing. The coolness of the metal soothed him as his footsteps echoed almost like gunshots in the silent building. High windows let in rectangles of light that shifted over his shoulders as he rounded a landing and continued downward.

Once on the main floor, he strolled past the main mail room, and past the rows and rows of boxes standing a silent vigil over the first floor. It was almost claustrophobic in a way, all those little doors stacked and piled so tightly together in such a small space. The room was quiet, and smelled of floor polish, soft motes of dust drifting lazily through the sunbeams from the nearby windows. Galileo give a glance at his rather well established front and couldn't help but smirk before he pushed open the wood and glass paned door. Effortlessly, he stepped out onto the front stoop and into the cool sunset air, taking a slow breath and looking around.

It was a beautiful sight to his eyes. Though it wasn't the main city, they still had their traffic, their toons and people running here and there like ants over a picnic. The angel stood there a moment, surveying his domain. Trucks and cars rolled by with their chugging engines, humans and toons milling about in their own lives. Coming from work, going to work..it was like a heartbeat...a heartbeat that pulled a ghost of a smile from Galileo as he made his way down the steps and onto the sidewalk to join the river of people.

Reaching into the inner pocket of his coat, Galileo pulled out a small silver case and a box of matches. Opening the case, he easily plucked a cigarette from its slot and slipped it between his lips. A swipe of a match on a nearby building and it lit with a brilliant flare, quickly quieting down to a small dancing flame as he cupped it close to his face, lighting the cigarette and taking the first slow draw. His tension lowered with that first inhale, flicking the burned out match aside as he pulled the cigarette from his lips and blew a slow lazy stream over his head into the sky, his eyes closing from the moment of bliss.

Continuing onwards, he set his sights on the far end of town, observing how the city changed as he got closer and closer to the edge. It was early in the evening, the sun slowly starting to dip towards the horizon, leaving heavy shadows on the pavement that stretched out wide as though to swallow up the small neighborhood. His eyes lifted to the blaze of oranges that lit the sky on fire, the slight twinkling of stars barely visible as night slowly drew closer with each step he took.

Beautiful…

A small smile quirked his lips as he pushed his coat back from his hips and sank his hands into his pockets, his back giving that slight telltale itch it always did when his wings were due to emerge. Galileo wound his way through the foot traffic, passing by human and toon alike until soon, sidewalk gave way to soft green grass and pebbles beneath his shoes.

He took one last long drag of his cigarette as his wings shifted and flexed outward, splaying wide as they appeared with the falling of the sun behind the horizon. A little sigh of smoke as he let the butt fall from his fingers, grinding it under his shoe before large wings flexed and with a strong downbeat, he became airborne.

Galileo barely took notice as his little strip of town became smaller and smaller at his feet, catching a thermal and easily riding it up and up, the wind whipping past his face and tousling his hair and clothes. His eyes scanned the landscape before he found his bearings and began to wing towards the observatory.

It was his secret place; a spot he went to decompress and handle the stress of his daily life and the small smile on his face grew calm and more natural as he swooped down and landed delicately on the small ledge that encircled the top floor. The telescope was there of course, but he preferred to be outside, where he could observe the skies in the open air.

Everything was going great, he was unwinding, decompressing...the tightness in his jaw was slowly unclenching. The knots at the base of his wings, the throb behind his eyes was ebbing away until he heard humming of all things.

To most it might have been a beautiful, melodious, even appropriate sound for the peaceful imagery before them, but to Galileo, it might as well have been nails on a chalkboard. Someone...had invaded his private thinking spot and his wings bristled in agitation. Part of him wanted to reach for one of his guns and blow the offender away, but...body disposal was not something he wanted to deal with at the moment.

Least of all by himself.

So instead, he decided for an alternative tactic. Dames were easy to frighten, especially ones that were foolish enough to go out wandering by themselves without an escort. So with a confident, if not malicious smirk, he opened his wings and glided down to the lower observation balcony where the song was coming from.

He took a pause to run his hand back through his hair to tidy it, straightening his lapels and his tie to make himself look pristine. One had to look the part when delivering a threat after all. So after a moment of preening and smoothing himself out, he squared his shoulders and made his way around the balcony to confront the intruder. Everything about him read intimidation; from the slight upward cant of his wings to make himself appear larger, to the deep disapproving scowl that etched his features.

Without trying to mask his footsteps, he moved around the corner to see a woman sitting on a folding chair with a small easel in front of her, busily capturing the twilight before her in sharp elegant sweeps of her brush. He paused for a moment, eyes flicking over the scene to take in just what was happening.

She was an unusual looking dame as far as Toons went, being one of those with a fairer grey complexion than those whose flesh was varying shades of ink black. Her face was rather elegant and gentle as she continued to put paint to canvas with deft strokes. Her hair was long, piled up into a messy bun atop her head with the tail hanging down, perhaps disheveled from her time working. Her hair actually caught his eyes for a moment, looking for all the world like the star laden sky that would soon be above them, her violet eyes flicking from the canvas back out to the horizon.

She looked serene...peaceful…

And he instantly loathed her.

This was HIS peaceful retreat, his calming place...and how dare she come in and steal his serenity for herself. He set his teeth, wings fluffing in annoyance as Galileo prepared to defend what he saw as his. “And just what exactly do you think you’re doin’? Spyin’ on me? Who do you work for hm? You might as well tell me, otherwise...things might get messy.” He said, his voice not holding back on the malice and authority as he stood next to this intruder, his arms folded over his chest. 

Galileo’s glare settled onto her easily, the woman barely paused in her work as if she hadn’t noticed him...which annoyed him even MORE. Ugh. It was reasons like this he couldn’t stand dames most of the time. She turned her gaze up to him, a frown of her own etching over her lovely features as she slowly dunked her brush into a small mason jar of spirits and swirled it about. “I’ve been here for hours. It’s a public place, so I have just as much right to be here as you do.” She said, her voice prim and sharp as she returned his glare rather than cowering from it.

The constellation angel’s wings bristled again as she changed brushes and dabbed a bit of paint and continued back to her work. Ohhh now that burned him up. If there was one thing he despised, it was being disrespected. No matter that he was the one that had intruded on this poor woman’s private time...she had dismissed him. HIM of all people! “A public place huh? I can change that with just a phone call.” Galileo’s voice was tense with the threat as he stared down at her. “Then I’ll have th’ cops come and throw you out of here.”

A light scoff of laughter filled the air and she looked at him with a raised eyebrow and an almost amused expression. “Well you haven’t made that phone call yet, and it takes police at least a half hour to get out this way, so until then, I’ll remain right here finishing my landscape thank you very much.” She replied tersely, looking up at him with a stern look of dislike. 

Again...dismissal…

He snarled, moving forward threateningly his wings flaring even wider. “That’s a pretty smart mouth for a pretty dumb broad. Don’t you even know who I -AM-?!” Galileo exclaimed, his wings shaking slightly in his fury as his hand twitched, eager to shove into the side of his jacket and pull out one of his pistols.

Galileo waited for to her reply, for her to recognize just who he was and to beg for his forgiveness and scramble to leave...but instead, she shifted her pallet and grabbed a painter’s knife, gathering some paint on it to put on some shadows and highlights as the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the moon to light the pair. 

The starry haired toonette huffed and looked to him with annoyance, blowing a strand of her ethereal hair out of her face. “A very loud, very rude man who is ruining a perfectly good view?” She replied sharply and Galileo was, for lack of a better word, stunned by her sheer audacity.

His jaw dropped for a moment before he snapped it shut with a click, his anger finally shoving past the restraints he had on it with that final quip. His hand reached into his jacket, pulling one of his pistols, the hammer cocking back as he lunged. One hand grasped her shoulder with a bruising tight hold as the other pressed his pistol tight to the base of her neck. “No. I’m the man whose evenin’ you ruined and who’ll be the last one to see your pretty face before I cover that canvas with the inside of your skull.” Galileo all but snarled.

The woman had taken a sharp inhale and froze under his hand, a malicious grin from him as he had finally managed to garner a proper reaction from this intrusive woman. What he didn’t expect though, was what came next.

Instead of the usual tears, begging and pleading for her life, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin to stare at the rapidly fading twilight. She wore a brave face, even though he could feel the quiver of her shoulder, read the tremble of her bottom lip before she tightened her jaw, those violet eyes steeling as she seemed to wait. She wasn’t going to beg, she wasn’t going to prostrate herself before him in a desperate attempt to save her own life...no...she stood before him unwilling to give a single step to someone like him and that to him, was...well..rather intriguing he had to admit. He had given this treatment to full grown men twice his size and all they could do was blubber and beg and piss him off.

But not her.

This elegant, delicate woman stood her ground before him and that was perhaps enough to save her life. His wings shifted as they stood there in a deadlock, the wind whistling through the valley and ruffling his feathers and coat lightly. It seemed like an eternity before the sound of the hammer being released echoed through the air, along with a small breath from the woman. “Heh. You’ve got moxie...I’ll give ya that.” Galileo huffed as he pulled back, uncaring as she winced and rubbed her shoulder from where he had left a bruise from his grip.

She cut her eyes back to him with a huff. “I’m not going to apologize for being somewhere that I have every right to be in...not to you...not to anyone.” She replied lightly and Galileo almost laughed. Even when he had spared her life, instead of groveling at his feet in gratitude, she quickly made sure that he knew that she saw herself in the right.

Tch, dames. Who could understand ‘em?

He huffed as he tucked his gun away. “Hmf, you should be thankful I decided that I needed t’save this bullet for someone more important.” Galileo give her a sour look then before he turned away, glancing up at the sky as the night finally settled in and laid its stars out for all to see. This was a bust, he might as well go home and train for a while to blow off some steam. 

“Don’t come here again.” He said, a simple warning before he smirked and flared his wings, giving the hardest downflap he could as he took off, relishing in the clattering of the painting and easel as well as the stream of angry words that chased him into the sky...along with a jar of paint thinner.

A slight glance back and he saw her there, on her feet, her pretty face twisted in her fury as she glared after him. Ahh….sweet revenge. Galileo couldn’t help but feel a bit smug as he began to wing his way towards home, pondering on how to get rid of this last bit of pent up aggression.

He hoped Damien was ready for an ass kicking, because he was getting one whether he liked it or not.

[proheromidoriyashouto]

(We All) Lift Together AU where three mothers’ attempts to save their children result in a burden all must bear

It starts with Todoroki Rei trying to save Shouto. She notices the manifestation of his quirk before he does as he leaves ice behind on his things at the same time that small embers wisp from his hair. Afraid of what her husband will do if he is to discover that his means-to-an-end-marriage bore the desired fruit, she takes Shouto away to visit her relatives for some time to search for an alternative.

Rei hears of a man who can give and take quirks. She pursues the lead, takes her -sedated- son to a man older than the modern era and an exchange is made. When they go back and Shouto reveals his quirk, it is not fire and ice. A dual quirk though only Rei knows it, the first ability “Water” allows Shouto to manifest and control water from his entire body. The second was called “Puddle Puppy“ and lets him create glowing dog-shaped bodies of water that behave how he wills them. Young Shouto thinks they will act like real dogs rather than extensions of his will- which he has always desired- and seeing him play with a puppy of his creation is not uncommon. As far as anyone else is concerned, this is a single quirk.

Endeavor is angry. It’s him who burns Shouto, on the right bicep, trying to force a fire quirk to appear under duress. Shouto creates a geyser in his pain that shoots through the ceiling high into the sky, alerting nearby heroes. Endeavor is removed from their lives, but in years to come Shouto doesn’t fail to notice that his mother is worried about a debt of some kind. He resolves to become a hero to protect her from whatever fallout she fears.

Midoriya Inko is not blind to her son’s suffering for his quirklessness and tries to make it better. They try everything that’s suggested to help reveal “hidden” or non-physical quirks to no avail. Her husband is all out of ideas. His American lover is not. They tell Inko about a man who could purportedly take and give quirks. Any chance is a good chance.

Pursuing the lead, Inko takes her -napping- son to a man with a voice like the sands of time and another exchange is made. Izuku unveils fire and ice, from his left and right sides respectively, in the school yard the next morning. His ice withstands explosions and he quickly learns to take advantage it, but his left side is also naturally resistant to burns. The fire can be explained since Hisashi had fire-breath, but the ice is too different. If anyone asks, Inko’s fingers and toes were always made of crystalline ice and she simply wore faux-skin over them-- can you prove otherwise?

This incredible quirk and the newfound confidence in Izuku infuriates Bakugou, and a few days later to “put Deku in his place“ he pushes the limits of Izuku’s quirks’ protection and takes it too far. The Midoriyas do not have the resources to acquire the best treatment in the world and Izuku loses the eye. He still wants to be a hero, but now one that does not rely on brute force to resolve their problems. He tries not to be self-conscious about the scar but combs his hair over it anyway.

Izuku’s one good terms with his step-parent but they look at his eye and get a guilty look on their face. He wonders what that’s about, but is usually distracted by the interest expressed in his current progress with his quirk. When he enters U.A., the support course offers a prosthetic eye/HUD and he takes them up on it. The new eye is made to resemble a real one and while the iris is electric blue, and the sclera black, all his parents cry when they see him with two eyes again.

Uraraka Ochako’s mother worries about her daughter in the heroics field. She witnessed the death of the Water Horses and doesn’t want harm to come to her child. Aside from training, she’s unsatisfied with the resources available to prepare her child for heroism and her search for something more adequate draws a certain man’s attention. Beginning to feel desperate, she strikes up a deal with the man, and in the middle of the night he enters the Uraraka home while her husband is out of town and quietly gives her daughter a superior tool for heroism as the girl sleeps on.

Ochako wakes up as usual in the morning and screams when a cup she dropped form the table and failed to grasp begins to float in the air in a blue-purple flame-bubble like the one engulfing her hand. After the initial scare, she finds that this “flame“ does not burn or ignite like fire and instead causes things to float or become heavier, can be thrown to affect things at a distance, and can form a small “blackhole“ that draws things through the air though not in.

Unbeknownst to her, this quirk “Mass Manipulation“ has fused to her existing quirk and can be controlled by how many fingers she clenches as well as which muscles she moves different ways. Over the years she learns even more abilities, and is far more confident in her strength with her quirk better suited for combat and rescue. The nausea she experiences is still prevalent and, at times, worse and is now coupled with headaches, and static shock when touching other people or things. She still wants to be a hero to care for her parents and strives to master her quirk.

They all enter U.A. unaware of the truth of their abilities and just what their mothers agreed to as their part of each respective deal. All for One has had to adjust his plots with his near defeat six years ago, but it’s time to make a move.

(Who gets One for All? I love overpowering Izuku but we don’t explore the rest of Class A having it. I’m thinking Ochako, Momo, Tenya, Tsuyu??? It’s true I’m an Izukrew stan and I’ll probably be giving it to one of them.

I want Shouto to have a puppy and live with his mama. That’s it.

Izuku does have Shouto’s old quirk. His scar is risen and kinda gnarly, and he needed surgery on the skin before the eye could be implanted. Shouto sees the eye and asks if he’s All Might’s love child post-Kamino Ward rather than the Sports Festival. Inko was given a mutation quirk to be able to pass off Izuku’s ice as a natural evolution from her own. Her extremities are made of clear ice and she doesn’t get much touch from her fingers and toes. She doesn’t freeze things to the touch but she wears gloves and several socks now.

It’s a headcannon of mine that Inko and Hisashi had a marriage of necessity/convenience so he could escape his conservative family and she could have one. They’re friends more than lovers, and she’s on good terms with Hisashi’s partner OC, Monroe, who is nonbinary. The arrangement the three have results in all three treating the children as theirs. Monroe’s kids call Inko “mom” and they call their birth parent “zaza.” Izuku also does this. He loves being a big brother and getting to visit America on the regular is a bonus.

Yes, Ochako essentially has the mass effect from games of the same name but I don’t give a fuck so don’t @ me. She’s be pretty badass with Nova and Charge-- biotic explosions!!!-- in her arsenal. It fits the space theme and puts her more in the front line which not enough of the girls see.

Who’s gone traitor? hmmm... fun times. I got the name for this AU from the Warframe song of the same name. The road to hell being paved with good intentions and all that.

Bakugou? Izuku has a restraining order, and that bitch is at Shiketsu. I make the rules.)

[rkmeiqi-archived]

the announcement.

oh god, something bad has happened.

that’s the only reason meiqi can conjure for the meeting that’s been sprung on the trainees and, quite visibly, some of the staff. confusion is evident on almost everyone’s faces, and she hopes it’s not her fault, that they’re not all getting punished for a mishap no one even realized happened. meiqi tries to rack her brain for anything out of the ordinary as she finds an open space to observe from, but she can only draw a blank. maybe someone else did something? the sigh of relief that falls from her lips is loud enough that the person beside her quirks an eyebrow curiously. she smiles dismissively.

when hyun bin, himself, makes his appearance in a dramatic fashion (he’s handsome while doing so, and his theatrics remind meiqi of herself back in her hong kong drama club), everyone knows this is serious. the silence that falls upon the crowd is unnerving. meiqi’s fidgeting the whole time, be it her thumbs twiddling or her foot tapping.

just as quick as he had appeared, hyun bin is gone, leaving the room with even more questions. and then, finally, the coaches explain what this whole fiasco is all about.

all she feels is excitement coursing through her veins. every word spoken goes right through her ears, only to come out on the other side, and only two imbed themselves in her head. sn project. nova’s very own pre-debut plan to prepare the trainees for the inevitable. the introduction of the project means that they will finally get their chance at stardom. the entire room is buzzing.

of course, meiqi is one of the first to sign her name on the list of participants. a few others take their time to ponder, weighing the benefits and the consequences of pouring three months into something that may simply be a waste of time, but she knows that opportunities like this are blue moons—a rare albeit beautiful occurrence that anyone is fortunate to be able to see. meiqi doesn’t think that there are any downsides to the project, and so she has no fear as she draws a little star beside her name.

she ends up being one of the fifteen nova trainees chosen for the project. meiqi isn’t surprised, per se, but she is grateful that out of so many, she stood out enough to qualify. that means her hard work is finally paying off.

unfortunately, that also means that the pressure to impress is much higher now. meiqi thinks she’s ready, and it seems hyun bin believes the same.

loose ends.

dealing with her family is easy. meiqi tells her cousin that she’s going to be busy for the next few months but that it’s nothing to worry about. viian is both reluctant and suspicious with the lack of explanation, but they both know she’s just playing the role of an older sister. she still transmits the information to the wongs once their schedules spare them enough time to actually hold a proper conversation. in hindsight, meiqi realizes she could have gone without telling them. the payments for her rent would still come through, and it’s not like she has daily check-in sessions with her aunt and uncle. do they even know she was on television, performing at the jeju samsung stage?

she doubts it.

and so, the problem comes with her roommate.

due to the confidentiality clauses in the contract she signed—truthfully, meiqi had someone explain it to her in simple terms, that hyun bin would immediately disqualify them if they told anyone—she can’t come clean to chungha. she can’t do as she normally would: scream excitedly about all the future possibilities, take a celebratory dance atop one of their beds, cheer with her best friend over pizza and a dozen kisses. meiqi’s getting her big break, so to speak, and she can’t even share the moment with the one person who means the world to her. the one person who would truly understand what this project actually means for her dreams.

the fact that meiqi can’t share this part of her life with any of her friends puts a damper on the whole situation. she has to be happy for herself, deal with the excitement by herself, suffer through all of these new and uncharted emotions by herself—seriously, why has her stomach been burning all week? 

she spends days (and nights) pouring over the different ways she can tell chungha about her upcoming three month absence. sleep has been sparse in the past week, but even when meiqi manages to drift out of consciousness, she wakes in a cold sweat. she must be having nightmares, but she can’t recall any of them when her eyes fly open. thus, she spends her nights alternating between packing her belongings and taking bubblebaths with a glass of wine to soothe the erratic beating of her heart. luckily, all of it goes unnoticed by her roommate.

her routine lasts for the week, and by the night before the big move, meiqi realizes she still hasn’t broken the news to her beloved roommate. in her defence, she doesn’t know how to broach the topic or how to work around an explanation without lying to chungha. 

all of her life, meiqi has never thought once about her little fibs and the consequences they may have either on her or on others. but with chungha, it’s different. she physically cannot bring herself to lie about something so significant to her best friend, because the older girl knows when meiqi is being honest or not. they’ve cultivated this friendship over the span of a year, to the point where they trust each other with the smallest things. breaking that bond seems more heart breaking than any of her past relationships ending.

it’s not that she doesn’t trust chungha to keep a secret, because that would be hypocritical of her. if meiqi is being honest with herself, she doesn’t want to tell chungha in fear of what happens when she returns. what if she comes back from a debut project that she was sure she would succeed in, right back at square one? it’s okay if she’s the only one who is frustrated, but meiqi is new to this whole letting other people down thing. before last week, she had never even considered the possibility of disappointing anyone because she’s never truly thought of or cared about what others think about her. and maybe it’s selfish of her to take the easy way out, but that’s all she is really good at. that’s the only way she knows.

so when the day comes for her to move into the dorms, and meiqi still hasn’t mentioned a word about her little sabbatical to chungha, all she can manage is a last-minute, shitty note taped to the fridge. on it is scrawled, “i’ll be back soon, don’t worry.” and then she disappears, for better or for worse, with guilt lining her heart and longing squeezing it in a fist as soon as she shuts the door behind her.

d-day.

the dorm is cramped even without any of the trainees’ belongings. and yet, meiqi still walks into the shared space with awe-stricken eyes, though it's attributed to just how terrible these living quarters are in comparison to her usual places. she definitely overpacked, what with her two suitcases bursting at the seams.

nonetheless, the first day is hectic in every way possible. not only must they adjust to the humble abode, but they all set out to celebrate the birthdays that lie on the cusp of move-in day. meiqi is in charge of decorations, so she sets out with chaeyoung to buy the most expensive, tasteful ornaments and helps set them up when they return.

meiqi doesn’t feel that odd ache in her stomach for the majority of the day, having busied herself with party preparations and filling herself up with cake. the fact that she’s surrounded with the other nova female trainees eases it too, to the point where every sliver of guilt and worry slips away and she can fully enjoy her time.

it’s when the lights go out, those pesky not-so-hidden cameras can’t see her, and when she’s curled up in her bunk bed that meiqi feels it. the emptiness by her side where chungha should be laying, ready to cuddle up for the extra warmth, be it an arm draped loosely over meiqi’s body or their bodies pressing together with no room to spare in between. of course, she brought one of her plushies that smelled reminiscent of home (of chungha’s shampoo). however, the substitute, she learns, is nowhere near the real thing.

holding the teddy bear to her chest, meiqi buries her face in its fur and forces her eyes shut. no matter how hard she tries, she can’t seem to fall asleep. that feeling in the pit of her stomach is back in full force, and meiqi’s skin goose-pimples as she hugs her blanket tighter around her frame. she wonders if any of the other trainees feel particularly cold, or if this is just something she’ll have to get used to from now onwards.

sleep finally comes at three in the morning, but not without respite.

meiqi dreams of failure, of loneliness, and a certain brunette hand in hand with someone else as they walk away from her without looking back.

[stopforamoment]

Part Four: Airing the Dirty Laundry (Series 21, Part 4 of 6)

Series Twenty-One: Brigitte and Her Family (Six Parts) Part Four: Airing the Dirty Laundry (Series 21, Part 4 of 6) My masterlist is at the end of my bio.

Book: The Royal Romance (After Book Three) Pairing: Bastien Lykel x OC Rinda Parks Word Count: 568   Rating: M for Language

SERIES TRIGGERS: This series will explore depression, anxiety attacks, and strained family relationships.

Author’s Note: Obligatory disclaimer that Pixelberry Studios owns the TRR characters and my pocketbook with those darn diamond scenes. OFC with all of her quirks is all mine. My apologies if Tumblr or I do something stupid when I try to post this. The keep reading link shows up on my laptop but not my phone. Ugh. Thank you @asherella-is-a-dork-3 and @bobasheebaby for always being my sounding board! Thank you @cora-nova @silviasutton1989  ​ @riseandshinelittleblossom​ for being my thirsty Bastien friends and for still being a part of the journey! Series Summary: Rinda meets Brigitte and her children for the first time, and Rinda begins to understand why Bastien doesn’t mention his family very often.

Chapter Summary: Rinda and Brigitte begin to open up and get to know each other better.

Chapter Four: Airing the Dirty Laundry

Rinda sat next to Brigitte and gave her a mischievous grin. “So I don’t know if Bastien ever told you this, but our house is always a disaster. And if I know I’m getting unexpected company that I have to impress, I throw everything into the bedrooms and close the doors. I also shove dirty dishes in the oven, and the other thing is that I pray they don’t need to use the bathroom because it’s always a lost cause.”

Brigitte looked at Rinda in complete shock, and then she blushed. “I kind of panicked when you asked Ellis to show you his Legos. They’re in his room, and um . . .”

Rinda laughed. “No worries. I totally get it! So seriously, how can I help? I promise I won’t judge.” Soon Rinda had Brigitte laughing as she explained the spaghetti stains on her kitchen ceiling, the marker drawings on her wall, and the disgusting crust on her toilet and bathroom floor because the neighborhood boys needed better aim. She told Brigitte how Bastien tried so hard in the beginning to hide his horror when he saw how bad her house got. That send Brigitte over the edge with laughter. Yes, her brother was a neat freak.  

Slowly the ladies began sharing stories about the challenges that came with being a military/law enforcement officer’s wife. Then Rinda shared her own battles with anxiety and depression, how Jameson was the one to always help her when she spiraled out of control. And when he was gone . . . it wasn’t good. But Bastien was so caring and understanding, and now she had him to learn on—just like Brigitte had George to lean on. But what about when George was gone for so long?

Brigitte began to cry as she admitted that she had anxiety and panic attacks that kept her from leaving the house.

That’s why Bastien insisted that we come to the house.

There were days she couldn’t leave, even when they had no groceries and it kept her from taking care of her own children. Rinda hugged her and assured her that it would be okay. Bastien was doing the grocery shopping, and they’d make sure she was in a good place for the next two days, until George came home.

After Rinda got a load of laundry going, she stepped into the kitchen and looked at the bare counters. She put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows. Brigitte blushed and opened the stove—there were dirty dishes piled inside. Rinda snorted and gave Brigitte a high five. “You’re my kind of people, Brigitte! But for the record, now that we’re getting to know each other, if you ever feel like you need to hide your mess from me again, I’ll be offended. And just so you know, I have no intention of hiding my mess from you when you guys visit.” 

Brigitte started laughing as she opened the nearly empty refrigerator and pulled out more dishes that needed to be washed. Things were worse than Rinda realized, but it would be okay. And while she reassured Brigitte that she wouldn’t tell Bastien how bad it was, she kept telling Brigitte that he did care about her and would want to know how he could keep helping. He was a helper, and Brigitte smiled. Yes, that was definitely her big brother.

[quirk-nova]

Quirk-Nova Learns to Draw: Hands

I’m a little late posting this, but today I tried to learn how to draw hands. As you can tell, this is a lesson I struggled with the most.

In addition to countless resources on Pinterest and elsewhere, here is one of my main sources of guidance.

[naitisteric]

Remember when I said I would post somewhat consistently due to my backlog of art?

Well that was a fuckin lie.

Anyways, here’s an animatic I made with MHA OCs. You’ll recognise Nova from my previous post.

The other shorter-haired girl is Yua Ping, an OC of one of my friends. Yua is a great cook, having learned from her dad who took her in since she was an orphan.

The other girl is Ayami Tanaka, an OC of another friend of mine. Ayami is a slime girl that likes making food abominations. Nova is also her girlfriend and so she fully supports Ayami in her culinary endeavours.

I’ll probably maybe have a SlimeStar (Ayami and Nova’s ship name) post soon-ish, based on how soon I finish a drawing I wanna do. I’ll explain Ayami’s quirk there, as well as some backstory on how SlimeStar met and eventually got together.

This animatic was also heavily inspired by an MHA cooking by the book animatic I saw a while ago that I can’t find anymore. It was in a similar style to this, with black and white, simplified representations of the characters. If anyone knows which one I’m talking about and could send it to me, that’d be greatly appreciated.

Okay thanks for reading, have a nice day! :3

[foxofthedesert]

"Pffffffttttffftfftftf..."

"Good, dear?"

Regina gazes across the kitchen toward the dining table from her perch on the counter, a bad habit she has picked up from one impossible to resist brunette. One corner of her lips quirks with both amusement and astonishment at said brunette, who is at present utterly unabashed with satisfaction.

Now half-lounging in the chair, one hand contentedly rubbing her tummy, Ruby is the picture of bone-deep satiation - all lidded eyes, blissful smile, and loose limbs. If any of the uninitiated were to stumble upon the scene, beheld the destructive capabilities a werewolf's stomach could visit upon the most well-stocked kitchen and marveled at the impressive portions one slender young woman had so enthusiastically consumed, they would likely assume a very, very long nap was in Ruby's immediate future. They would be wrong, of course, considering this meal was merely fuel for the night ahead.

Ruby is scheduled to work graveyard with Emma Swan and would be patrolling Storybrooke's streets, alleyways, and woods upon four legs within the half hour. That gargantuan meal would not last half her shift, Regina knew. Ruby burns twice the calories she normally does while running as the wolf, and the normal amount is not insignificantly greater than that of a normal woman her age and size. For that reason, along with the bonus necessity of Emma having in her own regard a very healthy appetite, she already arranged to have pizza delivered to the station around 4 am. The tip she had to pay for Tartaruga Brothers to deliver at that hour was quite frankly outrageous. Not to mention the elbow twisting she'd had to utilize to convince the hotheaded Raph Tartaruga to oblige her in the matter.

Ruby is worth it, though. Or at least she is seeing as Regina is a wealthy woman, otherwise between her girlfriend, Henry, and Emma she would certainly be eaten out of house and home.

"Oh, yeah," Ruby replies with a happy sigh, drawing Regina back to the present. "Nothing like your world famous asado de ternascoto start the day. Or night. Whatever."

"They are hardly famous, but I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless," Regina says, faintly blushing.

Ruby is always so free with compliments and so earnest in the bestowing that she has learned how to accept them with far more grace than she once would have. With Ruby there is no agenda when she comments upon Regina's performance as mayor or as a mother or as a lover, neither is there is sordid innuendo when she says that Regina is beautiful, or sexy, or desirable. Ruby does not do subtext. She is blunt with her thoughts and opinions and wears her heart on her sleeve, which makes loving her - more importantly trusting her - so easy that even a jaded, scarred soul like Regina can feel comfortable lowering her nigh-on-impregnable defenses.

Ruby's smile in response grows so warm and bright that Regina's inside's tingle delightfully.

"You're welcome, hon," she says, then stretches out yet a bit further in the chair. "Phew. I've said it before and I'll say it again, you're a better cook than Gran. Don't tell her I said that, either. She still thinks she's winning the battle for my tummy's favor."

"I wouldn't dream of it, darling," Regina says, smiling herself.

Long has her culinary skill been a source of pride, and it is no secret her ego is nearly too large to fit through a door, so it is only natural she feel validated by such a statement. After all, Eugenia is widely hailed as the best cook in town. If she were her old self, Regina would crow such a triumph from the highest peak.

"There is already enough competition as it is at Thanksgiving," she adds. "If your grandmother thought her position was legitimately threatened, she might 'accidentally' chop my fingers off while we prepare the meal."

Ruby chuckles. "I wouldn't put it past her. Last week, Leroy loudly let it slip he thought Nova's coconut pie was better than Gran's. I had to hide the crossbow from her."

"You shouldn't have," Regina replied, brow raised. "Eugenia's coconut pie is simply divine. To suggest otherwise is a crime punishable by severe means indeed."

"In that case I'm glad you weren't there to egg her on. Damn stubborn old woman is still strong as an ox. I had to wrestle it out of her hands before I could hide it."

"I'm sure she took that well."

Ruby crosses her arms sullenly. "Let's just say I won't be getting coconut pie any time soon."

"That is cruel and unusual," Regina says, grinning now. "Would it be equally cruel and unusual for me to mention she dropped one off at my office yesterday?"

Ruby perks up at that.

"Unfortunately I had to eat it all. The minions were sniffing around the refrigerator. I couldn't permit them to devour my prize, now could I?"

"Ooooo, you bitch!" Ruby says, her eyes twinkling even though her tone was anything but playful. "I ought to turn you over my knee for that."

"I don't believe that would suffice as adequate punishment," Regina replies, letting her voice go low and husky.

Ruby's eyes glint at that. "No? What did you have in mind?"

With slow, deliberate movement, Regina trails the tips of her toes up and down her bare calf. She notes with pleasure, exceedingly glad of her choice in skirts, as Ruby's entire body tenses as if preparing to pounce, and that judging by the set of an impressively handsome jaw and the sensual lick of a long, wet tongue over full lips that the voracious appetite that had just been quelled has returned with a vengeance.

"I was thinking I might offer you dessert as penance," she says, then allows her legs to fall open, revealing her lack of undergarments, and her own glistening hunger.

In response, Ruby's eyes flutter shut, her nostrils flare, and the telltale rumble of lust audibly rattles through her throat. When her eyes open once more, the lush forest green of her irises are streaked with iridescent gold.

"Well, how could I say no to that," she says, and Regina shivers at the raw power leaking into her voice. "What is it they always say in this realm? There's always room for dessert..."

question: wouldn't Ruby's accelerated metabolism force her to eat almost constantly to maintain her energy?

That's part of the package of a supernaturally fast metabolism!

That increase in her metabolic rate would also increase her appetitive and the ease with which she burns the calories off. That would mean feeling more hungry more often than normal (human) people.

I don't know about constantly, but surely she'll notice her hunger quickly, as her body demands the energy to maintain her notable strength, speed and senses; and/or transform into a different form. The amount of energy spent on transforming, alone, must leave her famished!

And, naturally, if not addressed, that hunger eventually starts to take a a toll on her human mind, making her groggy, unfocused and irritated — which is a condition that, if inflicted on a wolf, can make it more erratic, more dangerous... It's important to not let hunger get to her head.

Ruby will probably never leave the house without a snack, or something practical she can eat from time to time without having to put a full-on stop on her day to have a feast.

Picture her snacking on berries every five minutes as she walks around the diner, or having elected a favorite food spot on the way back from her morning runs to have her second breakfast. She'd be great as sniffing out trees that she can steal some fruit from — Granny has already yelled at her not to steal fries from customers plates as she walks them from the kitchen to the table.

At family dinners (when she's invited to them...), she's never the rude one to refuse food or leave a plate unfinished. She will eat what is served and she will have seconds and thirds, if they'd let her. It’s never a competition, though Leroy often tried to make it, to see who will eat more. It’s always Ruby, and it’s always infuriating, because as soon as everyone is stuffed and satisfied, they’re all laying around, heavy and useless, and Ruby is bubbly and light, asking what is for dessert. 

[creamecream]

Random Lyna stuff because I just want to talk about my main girl.

-Lyna and Nemuri met in college. Lyna was already married at the time and Nemuri did not like Cassius when she met him. they just clicked and have been best friends ever since.

-Lyna met Aizawa through Nemuri. Midnight dragged Lyna with her to a “night out with friends” and Lyna and Aizawa happen to both just drift off into the corner of the bar to be quiet.

-Lyna sung Mercurius to sleep when he was little, now she does it for Eri.

-Lyna may not be a “typical” pro hero, but she is on call to quell crowds and villains if things get out of hand. as her quirk is pretty perfect for that type of work. she basically gets all the drawbacks and none of the benefits of being a pro hero.

-Lyna’s quirk “Gossamer Wings” is made of a hard light construct that flows from Lyna’s back. the constructs can change form if Lyna chooses, be shattered while in use, and give off a faint amount of light.

-Lyna never took Cassius’ last name, Markandeya, because he told her it was too dangerous to be associated with him, thus why their son, Mercurius, hyphenated his last name, to be Mercurius Aymaya-Markandeya, and it’s not just one of their last names.

-Lyna never wants to get married again. she and Aizawa are quite happy together and have absolutely no plans to get married or have any kids together, and that will most likely not change.

-in universe, the shape Lyna chose for her wings is based on butterflies/moths she used to draw in her childhood.

-while Lyna’s quirk may be reminiscent of an animal mutation quirk, it is structurally not, and she takes on no traits of butterflies or moths.

-the name “Lyna” means light, and I based her light blonde hair on that meaning.

-I pronounce the name “Lyna” like “Lie-Na” but I believe it’s supposed to be pronounced “Lin-A”? it doesn’t really matter to me tbh.

-Lyna met Allmight during a time where she was called in to calm a crowd, this was before she met Aizawa but after she met Nemuri.

-Lyna has a fondness for bees and beekeeping, thus why it is her job, she has had a fascination with pollinating insects since she was a young child, thus her wings.

-Aizawa found her fascination adorable and listening to her jammer away about bees when she wouldn’t talk about pretty much anything else intriguing, and he found he enjoyed the sound of her voice, especially when she was excited about something.

-Lyna and Aizawa have been dating for a long, long while by the start of the series. they are already living together by then (with Mercurius and their cat, Nova) and have had their relationship exposed to the rest of the U.A. Staff.

-yes, the students were very confused when Lyna popped in to bring Aizawa something, calling him “Shota” and actually making him smile genuinely. it was very confusing for all of 1-A to see, and they had to try to badger who she was out of their teacher. (they didn’t get to learn who she was until they actually asked Lyna herself, Aizawa’s lips were sealed)

[thelongestdamnreviews]

Mega Man X4

Every few years, I get the urge to play Mega Man.  This time I only restricted it to the PS1 X titles instead of starting with the SNES X games, or even going back to the NES with the original series.  I've had X4 for forever given I got it not long after it released.  Like with other emulated titles, I played this under Retroarch with an Xbox 360 controller.

A Maverick attack at Sky Lagoon brings the floating city down upon another on the ground, resulting in severe casualties.  The Colonel of Repliforce, responding to the attack in order to save his sister caught in the crossfire, is detained and requested to return to Maverick Hunter HQ for questioning.  He refuses to disarm and leaves, causing the entire Repliforce to be labeled as Mavericks.  Repliforce then stages a coup in order to establish an independent nation for Reploids only.  And someone familiar is behind the scenes, pulling the Maverick Hunters' and Repliforce's strings to bring them into conflict...

The X series got several enhancements that came with jumping from a 16- to a 32-bit platform like bigger and more detailed spritework, more detailed environments, fully-animated voiced cutscenes, higher-quality music (that doesn't loop on the PS1 but does on the Saturn), pre-battle boss banter, as well as making Zero fully playable in a style completely separate from X.  It is also somewhat of a step backwards from X3 in terms of the "things to do" department.  There are no roaming hunters to defeat/destroy that change future bosses, there are no Ride Armors to collect, no armor chips...it's more straightforward like X1.  You have eight bosses to kill, eight Heart Tanks to collect, etc.  One thing that stands out is that the Fourth Armor has two different arms parts that can be swapped out if you revisit the capsules containing them. 

If you've never played any of the games in the series, these are side-scrolling platformers.  You warp into a stage and are tasked with getting to the other end of the area alive by destroying or avoiding enemies and stage hazards like fire bursting out of the ground or spikes that instantly kill you when touched.  This applies to pretty much every game that's not part of the Battle Network, Starforce, or Legends series, but the X games stand out from the Classic series with the original Mega Man due to the higher speed you traverse levels through an on-demand burst of speed called 'dash' that can initially only be triggered on the ground.  There is also the potential to explore with the wall-kick feature, where you jump at a wall and keep holding that direction while you jump repeatedly.  X is also able to find armor capsules hidden away in the stages that enhance his abilities such as body armor that reduces the health lost when hurt, or leg parts that allow you to do a dash in mid-air.  Destroying one of the eight bosses at the end of the standard set of stages earns you a limited-use special weapon that also is the weakness of another boss.  There is a pattern you can learn and follow to tackle bosses in a set order so you always have the best weapon ready when you face them down.  When you finish the initial eight stages, you move onto the final leg of the game where you face the true antagonist of the game as well as have rematch fights against the eight bosses you killed already. 

Ride ‘em, cow...robot?  There’s only one Ride Chaser-only stage in this game but I remember X8 had two. 

 X plays pretty much the same as always.  The legs armor upgrade allows air dashing (only left/right, no more up) as well as a temporary hover with the option to slightly move forward or backwards at the cost of flight time, the body part reduces damage and charges up an invulnerable tackle Nova Strike, and the head part gives special weapons unlimited ammo when using their uncharged versions.  The arms part either allows you to store up four charged shots or lets you release a massive shot that lingers when it strikes an enemy to deal extra damage, and both let you charge special weapons as always.  I found the Stock Charge Shot to be pretty underwhelming.  It takes a little longer to charge but for some reason it doesn't fire when you let go of the button, and that threw me off quite a bit.  Four charged shots on-demand should sound really good, but you can't combo bosses with them and their smaller size makes them a little harder to use in the stages.  Plasma Charge Shot on the other hand releases a gigantic blast and the lingering damage tears up regular enemies.  And will grate your ears with the repeating 'ting' sound when you hit something invulnerable. 

Zero has given up his buster and instead uses the Z-Saber exclusively.  He's geared more for experienced players since he has to fight up close, but he has a damaging three-hit combo to decimate enemies.  He collects Heart Tanks and Sub Tanks and all just like X, but he has no armor capsule upgrades so his game is harder overall.  He has a three-hit saber combo that will ignore the boss' invulnerable grace period until all the hits land.  Zero later gets a double jump and a Giga Attack of his own, but I largely felt like the devs didn't really know where to take Zero in this game given two of his eight won techniques aren't actual attacks, just upgrades like an air dash or destroying shots with the saber.  Zero also has a personal stake in the story given Iris is somewhat his girlfriend, and her brother is Repliforce's Colonel.  And if you didn’t catch the hint in X2, this game spells out who made Zero if you’re familiar with the Classic series. 

X has a variation of the Fourth Armor unlocked when you use a cheat code at the character select screen.  Use it and access an armor capsule to be granted the entire Ultimate Armor at once.  The only differences between it and the Fourth Armor is that it can only use the Plasma Charge Shot and it has infinite use of the Nova Strike Giga Attack.  Zero has a code too but it only changes the color of his armor to black--a reference to the fake Zero from X2--and this doesn't have any gameplay impact unfortunately. 

X5 and X6 at least change the color of his dash afterimages with Black Zero active. 

I thought that the stages felt a little longer than in older games, but that also is helped by every stage being split into two parts separated by a loading screen.  At least each half has some different features, like Cyber Peacock's stage having time trials in part 1 and gravity puzzles in part 2, or Storm Owl part 1 seeing you traverse smaller floating ships to taking on miniature laser cannons in part 2.  Jet Stingray is the only stage that's entirely autoscroll on a speeder bike up until the boss fight, and for some reason, Frost Walrus part 2 has a completely different background music from part 1.  The stage graphics change between both halves too and I thought that was nice for a change of scenery at least. 

There aren't many animated cutscenes but they're not bad for the later 90s style you may or may not remember.  Zero has a pretty nice one on his path that shows his and Sigma's first encounter before the events of the first game that's worth watching, though there's a sad one right before this.  People derided the voicework and I can understand why since it's okay at best.  They for some reason reused Mega Man's voice actress from Mega Man 8 to voice X, apparently to reinforce the idea that Rock is somehow also his little brother, X.  There are a few voice clips during gameplay, though it gets a little annoying since they're tied to jumping or attacking, like Zero's three-hit combo (hoo hah HOOOOH forever). 

You want to know how I got these scars?  It depends on if you’re thinking of the original continuity or the one where Day of Sigma takes place and Sigma gets Shining Finger’d by X. 

The controls felt great and the PS1 games allow X the use of his X-Buster as well as special weapons by putting them on Square and Triangle by default which really helps flexibility.  Sometimes you want to keep a special weapon readied while you have the buster charging or whatever.  The PS1 games have an interesting quirk with the dash feature in that if you hold down the dash button, you can get the momentum and afterimages of a dash jump when you jump, even while standing still or just running.  It doesn't have much practical use but repeated short hops with this can be one way to speed across relatively even terrain.  It seems to be an on-ground implementation of dash walljumps that appear in the other games. 

Overall, X4 isn't really a bad game.  The big draw for a lot of people was to finally play as Zero without him being a one-life wonder like in X3, and he can actually take on bosses this time.  The game's not really too hard even though the number of Sub Tanks got cut in half (but there's now a Weapon flavor and another item that bumps you to four lives when starting a stage if below four), and it's nice that you can fill the Sub Tanks even if your health isn't maxed.  Difficulty is pretty average with a couple of bosses being more annoying than outright difficult, though Sigma is one of them.  It's worth playing twice so you go through with X and Zero and see their side of the story, but for some reason there's no real mention or interaction with the character you're not playing. 

Stuff about to blow up.