#red light is trying very hard to prevent the civilian from getting hurt
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How I imagine MC. Or even just most of the local population, really.
Haha, yup!
Daily life in Nickelport isn't good for the sleep schedule. Chronic insomnia is one of the city's true villains.
#answers#you know theres that one drunk dude on the street trying to fistfight red light#red light is trying very hard to prevent the civilian from getting hurt#but also dealing w whatever villain he's fighting too#its very stressful and he just ends up holding the guy by the collar like a wet and angry cat
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warnings: sfw, comfort, light cursing, slight angst, and it’s a little cheesy at the end, sorry lol.
@anonymous asked:
ur amazing at writing monoma. i just really need some cuddles with him, him being insecure and thinking he isn’t good enough for us so we just cover his face w/ kisses and play with his hair, saying sweet nothings and telling him about how he’s perfect.
a/n: thank you! i really appreciate it! ♡ as i was writing this, i forgot to re-read the request, so this is much more depressing than intended... i accidentally misread a crutial part, and had to adapt to what i had already written. i’m sorry! i hope you don’t mind!
monoma’s warmth pressed against your chest as he listened to the gentle beating of your heart. it soothed him, sort of like a natural lullaby. the slow rise and fall of your chest, and the gentle brushing of your fingers through his hair gradually lulled his mind toward a quiet slumber.
the single thing preventing him from succumbing to his exhaustion, were his very own intrusive thoughts. the same ones that had been inching their way into his head for days. his insecurities had been piling up for a while, and you’d failed to notice their affect on him sooner.
it was hard to blame yourself, though. the two of you were working your life away as pro-heroes. with crime rates dramatically increasing, the work load increased for all heroes as a result. it was starting to overwhelming the industry, and therefore overwhelming the hard working, dedicated people like the two of you.
it had already been over two weeks since the initial spike, and at this point, there wasn’t one person who wasn’t utterly worn out. everyone was running on empty, including the two of you.
especially monoma. everything was just piling up on him. as if his self-esteem wasn’t low enough, he began to question the efficiency of his own abilities. he thought that he couldn’t be self-sufficient, even if he tried, and it was slowly ripping away at his confidence.
over the span of fifteen days, he was forced to face this realization in a brutal way, when he was unable to save some people from harm. with all of the other pro-heroes busy, he was forced to fight on his own. while he is capable in general, the circumstance he was in felt like every single aspect was set to be against him.
the villain wasn’t even all that strong, but since it was a mutation quirk, he couldn’t copy it. nor was he able to get close enough to them to begin with, resulting in a couple people getting injured. if another hero hadn’t come at the last second, there most likely would’ve been casualties, and he couldn’t seem to get over that fact. how was he supposed to protect you if he couldn’t even protect a couple civilians?
thankfully, the abnormal rise in crime, and villain activity had plummeted just as quickly as it came. almost over-night, in fact. after a few days, everyone could finally catch a much-needed break.
this was the first time in two weeks that the two of you were home at the same time, and immediately after seeing neito, you noticed the change in his demeanor. you brushed it off as exhaustion, but you still couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something more. the both of you had worked your asses off, pretty much non-stop for weeks, but this was a different type of fatigue.
monoma was finally able to catch a tiny break, thinking that cuddling with his one true-love would make him feel better about himself, and he was right. partially. he felt much better in your arms, but he still felt the insecurities scratching at the back of his mind as he tried to rest.
there was something very calming about his body laying still in your arms. the weight of him on top of you wasn’t uncomfortable in the slightest. in fact, it was pleasant. like a big teddy bear. of course, he’d squirm every now and then trying to adjust himself, but even that wasn’t a bother.
the chilling air brushed swiftly over your exposed arms, causing goosebumps to emerge from your skin. you continued to run your fingers through the strands of neito’s blonde hair, soothing both him, and yourself. you liked the feeling of his steady breathing pattern battling with yours.
“who’s your favorite hero?” monoma asked, breaking the silence. your heart jumped. his ear was pressed to your chest, catching the sound of your pounding of your heart. he uttered a quick apology for startling you. “hm... out of every pro-hero that has ever existed?” he nodded.
tapping the tip of his nose, you continued. “you.” monoma took a deep breath as he sat up, facing you. seeing the sad look in his eyes broke your heart. it was physical pain, too. “neito?” your body shot up immediately, desperately wanting to comfort your husband.
“how can i be your favorite hero if i can’t even protect you?” he asked. neito’s genuine tone struck you like dagger. the pain and honesty in his voice hurt to hear, especially coming from the most precious person in the world.
you let out a deep sigh as you sat in his lap. you situated yourself, brushing the hair away from his face. “look at me.” you made eye contact with him, exposing the vulnerability behind his ocean-colored eyes. you cupped his cheeks in your hands, caressing the soft skin with the pads of your thumbs. “honey, there will never be an instance where you can’t protect me.” he leaned his forehead against yours.
“you are fully capable of saving me if need be. you’re strong. i trust you with my life. please don’t doubt yourself.” you started, “…but if it came down to it, i’d rather be the one protecting you. nothing would hurt me more than seeing you in pain. it may be selfish, but there is nothing in this world i wouldn’t do for you…”
neito didn’t respond. thinking you said something wrong, you sighed. “nothing you wouldn’t do for me, huh?” the energy in the room completely shifted. he smirked, wrapping his arms around your waist, and leaning back onto the bed. “how about a kiss, then?” neito’s smirk spread wider into a smile.
you giggled quietly, peppering kisses all over his face without hesitation. with every kiss, his insecurities dissipated. “here too?” he pointed to his lips, pouting a little bit. “there too.” you say, leaning in.
there was nothing like the feeling of neito’s soft lips connecting with yours. it was comforting, and for some reason, it felt like your first kiss all over again. the blush on his face was just barely visible in the moonlight, but it was there, and it was beautiful. upon pulling away, you couldn’t help but stare into the mesmerizing blue of his eyes, the moonlight only accentuating their color, like ocean waves.
“you’re so perfect, you know that?” you stated, causing the redness in monoma’s face to flare up more. his cheeks burned to the touch. “i know.” his response made you smile, happy to have a part of him back. “so perfect.” you repeated under your breath, leaning in for another kiss.
the two of you resumed your previous position. neito’s head was once again, situated on your chest. this time, his body was a lot warmer, and with every brush of your fingers through his hair, he drifted further and further to sleep. the burden of his conscience just barely lingered, and you were just thankful to have your favorite cocky bastard back.
“i love you.” you whisper, kissing his forehead. “i love you more.”
“…impossible.”
@ultimate-astridwriting here u go simp
1/18/21
#anime headcanons#bnha headcanons#mha headcanons#bnha#mha imagines#my hero academia headcanons#my hero academia#mha monoma#neito monoma#bnha monoma#monoma fluff#monoma imagine#monoma headcanons#monoma neito#mha neito#neito#bnha neito#boku no hero imagines#boku no hero headcanons#sfw
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Could you do good things and bad things about datiang the Bat boys and Bruce? I ask you for bad things because relationships aren't perfect. Please
This is my first time ever writing for Bruce sooo pls be kind it has been a rough day
•First of all of them are vigilantes which means that they might have some issues separating his hero life with the normal one no matter how hard thet might try.
•They have seen the worst part of humanity and after you have witnessed those kind of horrors there's not turning back. Every imperfection in buildings, locations that have a questionable reputation and people who seem mightily suspicious will trigger their vigilante senses.
•what I'm trying to say here? They can get protective without even notice. After being the one in the line for to long you're afraid those you love might get hurt so you'll try your fucking best to prevent it, right?
Bruce Wayne
•Bruce has a hard time accepting the love and care of others, even if you have a long term relationship Bruce might be cold and distant towards you.
•He usually doesn't care about his scars since they're consequences of trying his best to help others, but when the time to get naked in front of you comes he's slightly worried you might get disgusted because they're too many.
•Bruce gets silent when you show him pure kind love, a gentle caress on his cheek will make him snap out.
•He'll stare at you without knowing what's the right thing to do, the only thing clear onnhis mind is that he wants this to keep going.
•Sometimes you wish you could wake up or fall asleep with Bruce beside you more often. It makes you feel forgotten. Bruce has tried to stay there when you wake up, even if that means rushing home to take off the suit, slip in the cover and pretend he's sleeping.
•Bruce can be pretty romantic when he wants to. He will take you to fancy places and bought you the most prettiest things in the world, Bruce will be comfortable in those situations, talking smoothly and secure since he's trying to put a little bit of his playboy persona into this to not ruin it.
•But silly things like cooking your favorite dessert or buying a pretty thing he saw nd know it will useful to you, will get him slightly flustered. The man is afraid he might fuck up.
•If you're a mere civilian then Bruce would be petty fucking protective of you, at the point that sometimes make you wonder if he's being paranoid.
•He will install a security system in your house and car, maybe a tracker too because you never know what criminals might do to the partner of Bruce Wayne.
I•t's hard for Bruce to express his emotions and talk about them, he feels like it makes him seem weaker. But when he opens up he will pour his heart into his words, maybe he wouldn't say much, but everything that came out from his mout he meant it with his soul.
•Your fights are horrible, it leaves you both broken and wondering if this gonna be the end. Bruce is too stubborn to back down and you don't want to be the one who goes to apologize first, so you'll end up treating each other with the cold shoulder.
•It's not the type to say "I love you" constantly, he reserves those words for important moments like when he has to go to a risky mission, your anniversary or he will blurt them out when he see you doing something adorable.
•Bruce is a mysterious man and that aspect is not going to change once they start dating. You will feel that he is hiding things from you, which is true, but it will take a lot of persuasion and confidence for him to tell you what is happening or why he does not tell you things.
•Much of his reason is that he thinks that if he doesn't say anything to you you may be safe and happy in ignorance, however, he also does not want to link his romance to his work.
•Connecting in an emotional way with Jason is hard and even when you're there he tends to close and keep a lot of things to himself.
Jason Todd
•Jason hates how being in touch with his emotions makes him more vulnerable, once they see the light there's nothing that can stop the overwhelming wave of feelings that comes to drown him.
•Once Jason becomes truly comfortable around you he will get clingy. He needs you in order to him feel alright, it's like you bring up a nice part of him he wasn't even aware of it was there.
•You're the nicest thing Jason has ever had so far and he's down to do anything to make you stay. He can stop being Red Hood and live a normal live, change his personality for one you like better, whatever you want in a man Jason can try to copy it, but please don't leave him.
•He's a really attentive and supportive boyfriend, this trait is driven by his need to prove you his total love and attention because that shows he's worthy of your love. But putting that aside, Jason truly cares about you.
•Jason is not really used to receive romantic affection so he might shy away sometimes when he becomes aware of what's going on. It's like his mind can't process that other person wants to be romantic with him.
•Jason can get really protective of you and this worsen a little bit more if you're a civilian who knows little to nothing about self defense.
•Jason is a cuddle monster, having you between his arms is soothing and lovable. He loves this little domestic things, but it's better if he's the one on top of you or hugging because he can get out of the touch easier.
•It's better to not fight with Jason, he's not going to hit you or anything, in fact he prefers to cut his own arm with a fork before landing a hand on you.
•However, he can say some mean and hurtful thigs because he wants to win the argument regardless of how bad the consequences might be.
•It might not look like it, but Jason loves to do the silly cheesy things with you.
•He will engulf you into a tight hug and then give a breathless kiss anytime he comes back from a long mission, having you to cook with him regardless if you know what you're doing just because he thought it would be cute, cuddling with you in the sofa and read a book or just watch a movie (Jason will fall asleep snuggled up to you because he feels safe)
•Jason has night terrors and he can turn pretty paranoid whe he just wake up from a nightmare, so it's better if you stand back for a moment until he calms down and realizes that nothing bad is happening.
•He keeps a gun close to him in case something happens and has night light because he can truly stand to have the whole bedroom in complete darkness, also he tends to keep you close to him when you're sleeping togheter because, even when Jason is asleep, he needs to know you're there.
Dick Grayson
•Dick is a sweet boyfriend, he's caring and charming to the point that sometimes you wonder if you're dating a prince.
•Dick's supportive of your interests and will cheer you up if he feels like you're lacking motivation. He will praise you and give you a compliment whenever he notices you did something good or when you go to tell him a good new.
•It's hard to have some alone time with him thanks to his busy schedule. Dick can't stay still, he needs to work and protect the city, because he cares about the others but also needs the action to live.
•Dick is a cheerful man, the occasions were he hits rock bottom are odd but they happen.
•And he tends to close himself to the world and drown in his own sorrows for a while. It's hard to see him like this and the worst part is that he doesn't want to ask for help until his mind is a little less darker.
•Dick is a really affective boyfriend, he will grab your head and pepper it with kisses as he says how much he loves it, also he has the habbit to put an arm around your shoulders or waist whenever you're walking together.
•Another thing he always do is pulling you back to the bed and put himself on top of you so you won't go.
•Dick would nuzzle his head in the crook of your neck and give it a kiss before going back to sleep.
•Dick is a man low-key scared of commitment, but will still idolize you.
•It's hard for him to settle down and decide for one thing, he will overthink everything and try to look at your current situation for every single angle possible, however, in his eyes you're a great person, sexy and just amazing.
•He might even twist everything and think you're already dating when nothing really has been confirmed.
•Okay so this one goes for his Titans version: I don't know why, but I feel that sometimes Dick can manipulate your needs and turn them into his own desires, to be more concrete emotional blackmail.
•He could do this unconsciously and without really wanting it, because once he realizes what he did he will feel very bad about himself, which would lead him to isolate himself from you for a while to think about everything he has done and then apologizing .
•It's hard for Dick to do so because being aware of what he has done to you, but he needs you to know he feels deeply fucking sorry and he understands if you want to broke up.
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#bruce wayne imagine#bruce wayne x reader#bruce Wayne headcanon#jason todd imagine#Jason todd x reader#jason todd headcanon#jason todd#bruce Wayne#dick Grayson x reader#dick Grayson imagine#dick Grayson headcanon#dick Grayson blurb#jason todd blurb#bruce Wayne blurb#dc imagine#titans imagine#batboys imagines#batboys x reader#batboys
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Whumpmas in July: Day 9
@whumpmasinjuly
“Look at me.”
Read on AO3 My house, my rules, my ko-fi
Even through his paladin armor, the fire was far too hot. Shiro could swear he could feel the flames of the burning walls licking against his skin as he raced by them, and was certain he would be covered in blisters by the time he got back to the castle. His helmet – especially the crackling in his ear reminding him that the comm hadn’t been working since they’d entered Viuter’s atmosphere and would be no help to him now – was irritating him, making him feel trapped and claustrophobic and plastering his sweaty hair against his skull and preventing him from wiping his bangs out of his eyes. Still, it was protection, enough protection to keep him upright and moving, and even though smoke clouded his line of sight, the visor of his helmet kept it out of his eyes, and the oxygen actuator mostly kept him from breathing in the ash.
Which meant Keith’s armor was giving him that same protection. Which meant he was fine. Wherever he was.
Keith shouldn’t have been in the building in the first place. He’d been blocks away when the explosion had occurred, the paladins all having separated to confer with different members of the Viuteran council. It had made sense, getting more done in less time and everyone getting to stick to their specialties, and it had resulted in Keith being all the way in the infantry armory building at the time of the blast. Shiro, though, had been right near the explosion, in the next building over where he and Allura were meeting with a group of military strategists. As he’d been wearing armor and Allura hadn’t, it was only natural that Shiro was the one to take the initiative of running into the building and taking charge of evacuating as many Viuterans as he could.
Sure, it would have been better if the comms had been working and the paladins could all coordinate together, but that wasn’t really any more than a flickering and quickly dismissed thought in Shiro’s mind. He would focus on rescue now, find his teammates when he was done.
It took longer than he would have liked to reach the point when he could look for them, but it came eventually. Once the building was deeply engulfed in flames and there was too much risk of it collapsing in on itself for it to be safe for Shiro to go back in and keep up the rescue efforts. He handed off an unconscious Viuteran to an emergency worker and looked around to find himself in the midst of a dizzying scene. Sirens were wailing, soldiers and civilians alike were running amok, some trying to escape, some trying to help contain the spreading fire. And all of it cast in an eerie red, the thick smoke in the sky blocking out all light except for that of the fire.
Pidge was the paladin he spotted, her green armor sticking out boldly against all the red and gray, and her face flooded with relief when spotted him approaching. “Oh thank fuck!” she cried, rushing to meet him. “When Allura said you were in there I – I didn’t know if – God, kept hoping the comms would magically start working and I could make sure you were – ”
“Is Allura okay?” Shiro hated to interrupt, but now that he’d found one of his teammates, he was more than eager to find the rest, make sure everyone was okay.
“Right, right, follow me,” Pidge said, and she hurried to lead the way, winding through the chaos. “Allura’s this way, they’ve got first aid stuff going so that was the first place I looked, to see who was hurt. Lance and Coran – they left ages ago. Before this bomb, apparently a different one went off on the other side of the city. Like, one minute difference. My guess is they were planned to go off at the same time, but they weren’t coordinated quite right. Anyway, they went to get Blue and they were heading that way, so I don’t know when they’re gonna be – ”
“Shiro! Shiro, you’re okay!” A voice cut across Pidge’s rapid speech as they approached what appeared to be a makeshift triage center in the square, and Shiro turned to see Hunk clambering in their direction as fast as the armful of medical supplies he was carrying would allow. Behind him, Allura looked up from where she had been bent over an injured Viuteran, her glowing hands pressed against his leg. Relief washed over her face, and she started in their direction too the moment she had finished.
Shiro nodded in acknowledgment to Hunk. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“You sure?” Hunk asked. “You’re not hurt at all? Your armor’s looking kinda beat up, you might be hurt and not even realize it because of adrenaline! Do you feel dizzy at all? Do you need water? Do you need to sit down?”
“Hunk, I’m fine, really,” Shiro reassured him, turning his attention to Allura as she joined them. “How’s everything holding up here?”
“As well as we can hope for,” Allura said. “Everyone’s been too busy trying to get people to safety to investigate, so I don’t know where the bombs were, who may have been behind it, what the intent was – I take Keith was able to reach you? Where is he now?”
Shiro frowned. “What?”
“I thought – surely by now he would’ve – ”
“Allura,” Shiro said, voice tight. “What do you mean? Where’s Keith?”
“He was here, but he – I told him where you’d gone, and he took off, didn’t even let me finish the sentence. I thought he was going to help you with the evacuation.”
Keith had gone after him. Shiro had gone into the heart of the fire, and Keith had followed him in, and he hadn’t even realized. It hadn’t even occurred to him until Allura mentioned his name that he hadn’t yet seen Keith anywhere, but now…
Shit.
“I’m going after him,” he said, turning on his heel.
“What?” Pidge said. “Hang on, you think he’s still looking for you in there?”
“I know he is.”
“Wait, Shiro,” Allura said, “It’s certainly not safe! Surely Keith would have had the sense to get out of there by this point, we ought to – ”
“No.” Shiro shook his head. “No, he’s – I gotta get him. I’ll meet you all here when I’ve found him.”
One of them called his name again, as he took off running, but he ignored it. All his focus was on moving forward, his feet pounding the ground as he raced faster than he could ever remember having moved in his life, back toward the flames.
In any other circumstances, Shiro would agree that, yes, Keith had the sense to get out. He could be rash and stubborn and even foolish at times, but Shiro at least liked to think that Keith had been getting better about knowing when it was better to retreat than to dive headlong into danger. His failed battle with Zarkon, at least, had knocked that lesson into his head.
But he knew Keith, and more importantly, he knew Keith’s past. As little as Keith liked to open up about his life, he had at least let Shiro in on a bit about his dad. And how he’d lost him. Shiro had seen the look in Keith’s face whenever his dad had come up, the emptiness and desolation when he’d explained how that fire had taken him.
And he had seen the desperation and determination in his little brother’s eyes whenever Keith made it clear that he couldn’t go through a loss like that again. Whenever he insisted that he’d never have to take on the role of team leader because Shiro wasn’t going anywhere. He’d heard about Keith’s expulsion from the Garrison, the explosive lengths he went to in order to get Shiro out to his shack.
When it came to family – when it came to Shiro – all logic and reason was out the window.
And now Keith might very well meet his end because of it.
Making his way through the burning building required him to shut out all of his natural instincts pointing him to safety, screaming at him to get out of there before he wound up seriously hurt, or worse. He had to turn on the shade of his visor to keep the brightness of the flames from blinding him, and even then it was hard to be certain where he was going. Halls were blocked by burning debris, pieces of the building falling around him and some coming dangerously close to taking him out with them. Shiro jetpacked through a singed hole in the ceiling when the hall behind him folded in on itself, blocking his route to the main entrance, and every step on the second floor was accompanied by creaks and crackles that had him bracing himself to fall right through at any second.
Still, he kept going. Pushing through the heat and the sparks and the roar of the flames, yelling Keith’s name over the noise and through the billowing smoke. None of that was important. All that mattered was finding Keith.
He had to find Keith. Had to find him. Had to find him. Had to –
A crack sounded above him, and around the corner and along the hall, flaming shards of ceiling toppled down, and that’s when he spotted it: the distinct blue light that accompanied a shield activating from a paladin’s armor.
Keith. Ducked under his shield, fire and rubble tumbling around him, the red and white of his suit gray with ash. Alive, and moving, and okay.
He was okay.
Shiro dived into the wreck, knocking falling debris aside with his sword hand and, voice breaking in sheer release, shouting out, “Keith!”
Keith’s head shot up at the sound of his name, and although for a brief moment he stumbled from the battering against his shield, there was no mistaking the way his exhausted eyes widened the moment he spotted Shiro across the hall, as if he were seeing a ghost, only for his face to light up in stunned relief.
He may have shouted something in reply that was drowned out by the fire raging around them, or he may have sprung up from his crouch without a word. Either way, Shiro got no warning before Keith was practically flying across the hall to tackle him in a hug.
Shiro stumbled back, startled. It wasn’t as though hugging was completely out of Keith’s character – once he knew and trusted the person giving them, he practically reveled in them – but he was never the one to initiate the embrace. A means of preemptively shielding himself from being turned away, perhaps; a fear that the gesture may be misinterpreted, may be mistaken as something romantic or even sexual; maybe simply a matter of making sure he never set off any discomfort related to touch that Keith was often prone to himself. Shiro had never known for certain which was the case, but it all made Keith a distinctly non-touchy person. Even when they had first been reunited after Shiro’s disastrous return from Kerberos, Keith hadn’t hugged him with this much fervor.
It all spoke to just how terrified Keith had been, how desperately he’d been searching for Shiro. The embrace was a grounding one. He was pressing himself so firmly against Shiro, gripping his brother so tightly. As though reassuring himself that Shiro was really there. Like if he dared to let go, Shiro would vanish back into the smoke and flame.
“Hey,” Shiro said, trying to keep his voice soothing despite needing to practically shout to ensure he could be heard, arm wrapping around Keith’s trembling back. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m here.”
“I thought – ” Keith choked out through his helmet’s speaker. “Allura said – she said you – you’d gone into – into – ”
“I know. I know.”
“You went into the fire. Shiro, you went into the fire, I thought you – I was going to lose you, I had to find you, I couldn’t – I couldn’t just let – ”
“It’s all right, Keith, I promise. I’m okay.”
“You could’ve died! You almost died, you almost burned up and never said goodbye, I thought you were dead, I – ”
“Hey. Keith. Look at me.” Keith kept his face buried in Shiro’s chest, so he pulled back to hold him by the shoulders. “Look at me, okay? I’m right here, see? I’m not dying on you yet. Swear it.”
“Y-yeah. I see you.” His voice shook, and this close up, Shiro could see the redness of his face, the way his eyes seemed to be struggling to stay focused. As hot-blooded as Keith ran, even he was susceptible to fire like this. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m – I was just…”
“Scared?” Shiro finished for him, and Keith nodded weakly. “That’s okay. I get it. And hey, you found me. You found me, I’m here, and we’re okay. And now – ” A crackling sounded from above, and Shiro yanked Keith aside without a second thought, throwing up a shield as a beam collapsed right where the latter had been standing, showering the two of them in sparks. “Now we gotta get outta here, okay? We gotta run.”
“Yeah.” Keith took a trembling breath and straightened as Shiro let his shield fizzle away. “Got it, let’s go. Just – ” Shiro looked down to see Keith’s gloved hand wrapping around the gauntlet of Shiro’s armor. “No splitting up. Please.”
Shiro smiled. “Deal. We won’t let each other out of our sights. Come on.”
He activated his sword hand, and beside him, Keith did the same with his shield. Ready to race back through the flames, side by side.
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Reine Ruse Part 1
Okie Dokie everybody. Here’s the first part of the written out Reine Ruse AU. I’m sorry that it took so long, but I still get really nervous about posting my writing so I ended up putting it off a bit.
I do want to clarify that the way Marinette views herself at the beginning of this does not reflect the way that I view her. I know that the show forces her to apologize for almost everything even when it’s not her fault, so I’ve tried to reflect that mentality at the start of this by having her have this attitude.
I would also like to say that I’m sorry if this seems rushed or that it could be better. The fact of the matter is that I’m really nervous to post this, so I decided to just get the first part up when I was too sleepy to second guess myself... As a result, this hasn’t been betaed or edited, so I’m sorry for any errors that you might find.
That’ s enough rambling from me! Without further ado, the first installment of my Reine Ruse AU. Please let me know how I’m doing and if you’d like to see more!
____________________________________________________________________
Marinette
It had happened again. She’d arrived at school late, in a mad rush. She hadn’t been able to find her sketchbook that morning, but she knew that she’d taken it with her the previous day. She’d been working non-stop for the past three weeks on a new set of designs -- there was going to be another design competition at the collegé, conceptual designs this time rather than physical prototypes and the prize was a coveted junior internship at Agreste Fashions. It was everything she’d ever dreamed of and she’d poured her heart and soul into the designs she was going to submit.
She hadn’t let the book out of her sight for the past few weeks except for the previous day when she’d needed to run across the building to pick up some documents for Miss. Bustier for her class representative duties -- documents that hadn’t even been there. She should have known that something was wrong, but between being Ladybug and the competition she hadn’t slept in two days and she was so tired. Given how things had been since Lila returned to school, it shouldn’t have surprised her to arrive to the sound of her classmates loudly congratulating the transfer student about her victory in the design competition and it really shouldn’t have surprised her to see her design book in Lila’s hands.
After that, her memory blurred. She’d been so angry and distraught and tired, and she had tried to explain, but no one had listened, berating her again for her jealousy and her hatred and she just couldn’t do it anymore. She’d run away, but as she left she saw Chloe Bourgeois, newly returned from a trip to New York with her mother, scoff and glare at Lila, speaking up to draw attention away from Marinette. She hadn’t even gone home -- she’d just shrugged off Tikki’s attempts to console her and transformed into Ladybug, spending the day running across the rooftops and saving kittens from trees and smiling even though her heart was breaking and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to put it back together again.
Before she knew it night had fallen. She didn’t want to go home -- not yet. There would be questions about why she’d run from school and her parents were so busy and she didn’t deserve to trouble them with her problems -- they worked so hard and they deserved a better daughter… She looked up from her musings as she felt the first raindrops of a storm on her face as the clouds broke open. She needed to get inside, the last thing Tikki deserved was to get sick when she already had to deal with a Ladybug that had so many problems.
She took stock of where she was with surprise. The last thing that Marinette Dupain-Cheng would have expected when she woke up that morning was to be standing on the balcony of the girl who’d bullied her for years, wrapped in Tikki’s comfortable magic and shaking, tears still streaming down her face. She didn’t know why her feet had led her to the Grand Paris of all places, but her mind kept stubbornly replaying those few moments when Chloe scoffed and actually questioned Lila.
Besides, she desperately needed to talk to someone. Her parents were so incredibly busy and she didn’t want to trouble them. Chat had been growing increasingly pushy since Frozer and, although she wanted to believe in the best in her partner, she was afraid he’d feel like she owed him something if she went to him for help. Tikki was wonderfully understanding, but she was an immortal god and despite all her years of experience there were some things she just couldn’t understand. Normally she’d talk to Alya, but… No. The fact was that she didn’t really have anyone to talk to or anywhere else to go. Making up her mind, she raised a red and black spotted hand and hesitantly knocked on the glass doors.
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Chloe
The last thing Chloe Bourgeois would have expected when she woke up that morning was for Ladybug to knock on her balcony door in the middle of the night. Nonetheless, she was nothing if not adaptable, especially for her idol. She adjusted her silk pajama robe and ran for the door to let Ladybug in.
“Ladybug! It’s so good to see you? Is there an akuma? Do you need my help? Did you stop by to say hello to your favorite civili---” Chloe cut herself off. The darkness had prevented her from noticing it, but the light that spilled out of her suite made it abundantly clear -- Ladybug was crying.
“Can I come in?” the heroine’s voice was unusually small.
Wordlessly Chole moved out of the way. Ladybug took short, sad steps past her, pausing listlessly when she reached the middle of the room.
Oh god, what was she supposed to do?! As far as Chloe knew, there was no established protocol for dealing with crying superheroes bursting in on one in one’s pajamas. And that didn’t even touch the fact that Ladybug’s eyes were so much more blue this close and Chloe was in her very short and very thin pajamas. She shook her head. It was apparent that Ladybug needed her, and if Queen Bee couldn’t help, then Chloe Bourgeois would have to do. She hesitantly walked over to Ladybug.
“Do you want to talk about it?” The words were uncharacteristically quiet and soft. Chloe rifled through her memories, desperately trying to remember how Adrien’s mother had consoled her after so many tears in her childhood. It hurt, to think back to then, but if anyone was worth it, Ladybug was. Ladybug believed in her when no one else did and she’d never admit just how good that made her feel inside.
Ladybug turned towards her, tears still leaking out of her large, bluebell eyes. Without warning, she shot forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Chloe, breaking into incoherent sobs. It felt like forever before the spotted heroine stopped shaking like a leaf, tears drying to sniffles. Chloe awkwardly kept rubbing circles onto her back the whole time, hugging Ladybug as best as she could even as her mind whirled at a hundred miles an hour. What in the ever-loving-fuck was happening? Who could have made Ladybug so upset? It was a good thing she didn’t have her miraculous or she’d venom whatever bastard did this to her… Then again, she could probably still claw someone’s eyes out outside of the suit as well… No, Ladybug needed a shoulder to cry on, not a homicidal sometimes-superhero on the warpath.
Chloe took a deep breath in and maneuvered them so that they were sitting down on one of the plush sofas in her suite. She moved to extricate herself from Ladybug and dammit if the way she tried to cling to Chloe with a small whimper didn’t give her feelings.
She awkwardly cleared her throat. “You need to stay hydrated. You’ve been -- I’m going to call for some refreshments. Did you want anything in particular?”
Ladybug wiped her eyes on the back of a spotted glove. “Cookies, if you have them,” she said quietly. “I’ve been out for hours, I need to recharge.”
Chloe nodded, not quite thinking of the magnitude of that statement and picked up the phone at the side of her bed. She didn’t even wait for whoever was on the other end to say hello. “Yes, I need a mug of warm milk and a plate of cookies as quickly as possible. Understood?” She hung up as soon as it was clear that someone had heard her and went back over to Ladybug. “It should be here in a few minutes.”
Ladybug nodded silently.
Chloe sighed and braced herself. Clearly, Ladybug needed someone to talk to and for some unknown reason, she’d come to her of all people, so she was going to have to do her best. This really wasn’t her strong suit. “Alright,” she said briskly, breaking the silence. “As many lovely qualities as I have, I have to admit that I’m wondering why you came here tonight. Clearly, you’re upset. Why not talk to that mangy alley cat about it? Or a friend from the other side of the mask? As much as it pains me to admit, I haven’t been… the best person in the past. It seems like there’s someone out there who could give you a hell of a lot better advice about whatever it is that’s bothering you.”
Chloe didn’t miss the way Ladybug flinched, first when she brought up Chat Noir and then civilian friends. Oh, something was definitely going on and somebody was sooooo going to pay for this.
Ladybug twisted her hands together. “I…. I can’t,” she said. “I… I don’t think I have any friends outside of the suit anymore.”
“What happened?” Chloe questioned, trying to make her voice as quiet and reassuring as possible. It felt like squeezing into a too-small shirt, but it must have worked because Ladybug continued.
“They betrayed me.” Her voice broke. “Rena Rouge, Carapace, I knew them both as civilians… I trusted them with the miraculous because they were my best friends. But they took the word of someone they barely know over me and they hate me.” She paused. “They were all I had. Before this year, I didn’t have any friends at all. They were my very first.” A watery smile broke over her face and vanished. “I tried so hard to be a good friend -- I didn’t want them to leave me alone again. I was just trying to protect them from being deceived and manipulated… Oh god, it hurts. It hurts so much.”
Fat tears rolled down Ladybug’s cheeks and Chloe’s heart about broke in her chest. If there was one thing that she understood so very well… She scooted closer to Ladybug and wrapped the heroine in as tight a hug as she could manage. She could feel as the shoulder of her robe was dampened by Ladybug’s tears.
“I’m ---- I’m so sorry,” she said. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that.” The emotion was getting too thick in her voice too oh god she could not cry right now keep it together Bourgeois. She took a breath and carried on. “From where I’m standing it sounds like you were a much better friend than they deserved and they didn’t return the favor all that well. I’m not --- I don’t have much experience with things like this. I wish that I knew what I could say to make it better, but I don’t. All I can think of are plans to hit them so hard they’ll fly right out of Paris and not bother you again, but you seem like the kind of person who wouldn’t really be okay with that -- I’m rambling, I’m sorry.”
Ladybug choked off a laugh into Chloe’s shoulder and raised her head. “Thank you, Chloe,” She said with a watery and tentative smile as she wiped the tears off of her face.
Just then a knock sounded on the door to the suite. “Miss Bourgeois? Your refreshments have arrived.” Chloe bustled over and opened the door just wide enough to grab the tray before slamming it in the face of whatever poor soul that had delivered it.
She offered the plate of cookies and the steaming mug of milk to Ladybug. “Here.”
Ladybug set the plate next to her on the couch and wrapped shaking fingers around the mug. “Thank you.”
As she sipped the milk, Chloe’s mind went back to something else she’d said earlier. She didn’t quite know how to bring it up in a way that wouldn’t hurt, but if she was right, she needed to talk to Ladybug about it.
“So… you said that things were pretty tense with your civilian friends. Why aren’t you talking to Chat Noir?”
Ladybug froze, looking down at her lap. “It’s probably silly,” she started and stopped. Chloe didn’t speak, only looking at Ladybug until the heroine continued. “He’s always been so flirty and I think that’s just the way he is, so I try to put up with it. It’s just... lately he’s been... different. When we were fighting Frozer he nearly quit because I wouldn’t return his feelings and ever since Oblivio he’s been acting like it’s a given that we’re going to be in a relationship and he’s getting so pushy and I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he’s been more and more flirty and handsy and I’m worried that the people of Paris will think that we aren’t taking our jobs seriously. I’m worried that if I’m too upfront about turning him down again that he’ll just disappear and we’ll lose to Hawkmoth because of my stupid feelings. He’s making me feel really, really uncomfortable.” She winced as she said the last part.
Chloe’s blood was about boiling in her veins. Being Adrien’s friend had given her a front-row seat to quite a few cases of stalking and sexual harassment. Chat Noir was a superhero, dammit. If Ladybug should have felt safe with anyone, it should be her partner.
Chloe softly rested her hands on Ladybug’s cheeks and held her face up so that she could look her in the eyes. “Listen to me. I know that you want to make excuses for him, but I want you to know that what he is doing to you is wrong. It is harassment and emotional manipulation. He’s holding your sense of responsibility to the city hostage to cater to his own ego and desires and that is not right. God, I don��t know how you can go about fixing that, but I want you to know that you shouldn’t have to put up with that shit ever.”
Ladybug’s eyes were blown wide in shock. “But he --”
“Shh. I want you to really think about how he’s been treating you. It sounds like you care about your friends a lot. What would you do if he’d been behaving this way towards Rena?”
Ladybug was still for a long moment and then let loose a watery chuckle and shook her head. “I’d probably kick his ass.”
Chloe smiled ruefully, “There you go then. Now, you said that you had to recharge. There’s a bathroom just down the hall. Go feed your kwami, I bet she’s worried about you.”
Ladybug nodded and grabbed the plate of cookies, slowly making her way down the hall.
Chloe sagged back into the couch and watched her, rage and sadness at what had happened to Ladybug and quiet awe and relief that she had somehow managed to help, to say the right thing as herself for once. She let her own tears fall and prayed for the first time in years for the strength to be able to continue to help Ladybug and to be somehow able to rescue her heroine as Ladybug had rescued her from herself.
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To all those who asked to be tagged in this, here you are. Thank you so much for your interest and support. I hope that it lives up to your expectations! (And I’m sorry if I missed anyone!)
@demydreamer-otaku-and-book-lover @anastasian-dreamer @donegonewrong @twinkletoes-rp
#reine ruse#reine ruse au#Fox!chloe#chloe bourgeois#marinette dupain cheng#chloenette#miraculous ladybug#miraculous ladybug au#ml salt
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In crushing au or any au what lantern do u think Jason would be? I personally would think Jason would be hope or love. if so how would the green lanterns or anyone would react to Jason being a lantern and him wearing a bad ass suit that combines his red hood gear with what ever lantern he is?
Okay now, I only knew sort of bare bones knowledge about the various corps, so I did some research…and I’ve come to a conclusion. You might say it plays into some misconceptions people tend to have about Jason, but I didn’t come by this decision lightly, I have real arguments. So how about I tell you why I think Jason wouldn’t be various lantern colors and then I’ll get to the ones I think are more likely. We aren’t counting white and black, because black is just death as in being dead, and white is a cop-out because it’s every color.
Orange Lantern: Greed. Jason is one of the least greedy characters there is. He’s selfless, he grew up poor, he does not have strong attachments to the material. He has been known to give up profit or money in various heroic efforts–he blew up weapons he could have sold for profit, used money to protect civilians, gave up profit to keep drug dealers under his territory from selling to children. He’s just not a greedy person. He wouldn’t be an orange lantern.
Yellow Lantern: Fear. While the Red Hood certainly inspires fear in many people, he doesn’t rely on it like Batman does (who was canonically a yellow ring bearer). In fact Jason’s entire agenda is that he believes there are those who are not inspired by fear to turn from their crimes and that such people need to be killed to protect their future victims. Also, Jason’s costume is not designed to make people afraid, it was mostly designed to be practical and to hide his identity from Bruce. So Jason being a Yellow Lantern isn’t very likely in my opinion.
Violet Lantern: Love. Now Jason is certainly a kind person who identifies with victims and wants to protect people, he’s a person who loves deeply. But the Violet Lanterns power does not seem to come from this broader understanding of love that includes filial or platonic or empathetic love. It seems to exclusively be about Romantic Love. And Jason? Putting aside that he’s a man and men don’t seem to be allowed to be a Violet Lantern for dumb reasons, he’s never had a real romantic relationship that lasted beyond a few dates. He does not seem to be especially interested in Romantic relationships in general and a lot of people even headcanon that he might be aro or ace because of his dearth of love interests. And even if he was in a relationship, it’s hard to imagine that he would be so overcome with emotion that he would put said relationship above everything else. That’s just not him. So no, I don’t think Jason would be a Violet Lantern either.
Blue Lantern: Hope. Those who are primarily chosen for this corps are not those who have a lot of hope, but are able to inspire people to fight. Now…Jason can and has done this. His Outlaws are a great example because everyone who has been on his team are there specifically to support him. They fight because and for Jason specifically, they aren’t there for prestige and some of them aren’t even there to be heroes or save people or do anything in particular, they just care about Jason and decide to support him. So Blue Lantern Jason…it’s viable. I think compared to someone like Dick, for example, he is not particularly good at this though, so I don’t think this is the lantern color for Jason.
Indigo Lantern: Compassion. Now at first I was like, oh it’s this one, it has to be. Jason is so compassionate, he identifies with victims so strongly that he feels the need to kill to prevent victims, so this has to be his ring color, right? Well…as it turns out, those who are chosen for this indigo tribe are those who actually lack compassion (sociopaths, basically). The ring seeks out people who have committed a great atrocity and causes them to feel remorse for their actions. If you already have compassion, it doesn’t work right, you can’t channel the Indigo light, it gets turned into some other emotion. Now Jason has certainly done things that some people think he should feel remorse about and which he does not, but… I think because those actions had justifiable reasoning behind them, even if some people might disagree, it would probably still make those not count. So, as for the emotion behind the ring color, totally Jason, but as the corps exist in the comics? Naw, he ain’t an Indigo lantern either.
Ultraviolet Lantern: Shame. This one I don’t know much about, it seems to feed off of negative emotion, specifically shame. Now Jason doesn’t have much shame. He generally believes even his more villainous actions to be justified. The only one of his actions he’s ever expressed much shame about was hurting Tim before he reconciled with the other bats, but Tim is okay so in the end it’s not much to be ashamed of, there wasn’t any lasting damage. Certainly if he ever changed him mind about killing then there would be a lot of shame to harness, but as of the canon we have? No, he’s not a person who feels much shame or remorse for his actions. So that being the case, I’m not convinced that Jason would make a very powerful Ultraviolet Lantern.
Green Lantern: Will. Now, green lanterns are those who seem to be able to overcome hardship and trials to accomplish their goals. They have a certain tenacity and practicality and ability to ignore fear. They also seem to be people who are imaginative/creative. Jason fits both of these criteria, he has gone against everything he was taught by Bruce, even given up the love of the man he considers his father, because he believed what he was doing was right and necessary. Jason does not give up, he keeps fighting, he doesn’t compromise on his beliefs, he doesn’t draw a line on how far he’s willing to go to protect people. He decides to do something and he doesn’t stop until it’s played out to it’s completion, he was beaten to death by the Joker and he still protected a women who betrayed him with his own body. He overcomes fear so completely that even in the face of hallucinations of his worst fears, he doesn’t break down, he overcomes. And we all know how damn dramatic Jason is, you think that comes out of thin air? He has imagination, he’s creative in his strategy. Jason could be a Green Lanten and he’d be a damn powerful one too.
Red Lantern: Anger. Red is the stereotypical choice for Jason when people try to assign him a lantern color because he’s ‘an angry person’. Now, contrary to what people tend to say and what Bruce and Dick themselves claim in the comics, Jason isn’t actually a very angry person. He rarely curses, doesn’t act recklessly out of anger, lose or use his temper on people who aren’t objectively evil or deserving of his ire except in a few instances that can be attributed to the Lazarus Pit’s influence or poor characterization…generally he acts very calm except for one, very specific subject–and that is Bruce refusing to avenge his death, and betraying his trust by (in his eyes) replacing him as if he didn’t matter. Jason is angry because he was wronged and damn is that anger powerful. Now this ties in perfectly with the type of people chosen by red lantern rings, who aren’t just angry people with tempers, but people with righteous anger, who have been subject to a loss or injustice. That describes Jason to a T. Furthermore, Red lanterns are basically immortal because their blood gets replaced with red lantern juice/power and coming back from the dead is Jason’s claim to fame. Also like…Red Hood? Red Lantern? Both red. It’s not my big argument, but that color wasn’t chosen because it had no association with Jason at all. He’s associated with red for a reason.
So, in conclusion, if I’m assigning Jason a lantern ring, he’s going to be either a green or red lantern, more probably a red lantern and Atrocitus better pray Jason never gets a red ring because he’d have that guy out on his ass in ten seconds flat, and anyone who got in his way would be fucked. I think his red hood gear would pair great with the Red Lantern uniform. I just imagine his black boots with bright red soles.
#I did research and everything#I really thought about the question#Jason Todd#Red Hood#Lantern Corps#Green Lantern#Red Lantern#Blue Lantern#Yellow Lantern#Orange Lantern#Ultraviolet Lantern#Indigo Tribe#Violet lantern#Star Sapphires#comics#dc comics#meta#headcanon
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Warmth (Twi X Empress)
Felt impulsive and stayed up until 4 AM last night writing a self insert fic with me and Empress.
I regret nothing.
(TW: Blood, scars, injuries)
It’s not every day that Empress retreats back to her old apartment. She mainly uses it as a sort of hideout, sneaking away solo if any of her plans ever spun out of control. Due to the nature of her position, that thankfully never happened. The complex was old and run down, dwarfed both in size and quality by a hotel occupying the land immediately next to it. The owner was simply relieved to have anyone in occupancy, it didn’t matter who they were. At most she’d use it twice per-year. But after the most recent heist, that tradition was forced to be broken.
Empress grunts with each flight ascended up the staircase, inwardly cursing that she never bothered to build up any muscle. She was never exactly strong in the physical sense, mainly relying on others to do the heavy lifting while she focused on the planning. She had been trained to see lackeys merely as tools, an extension of oneself, so she relied on them to do the hard work.There have been times in the past where she had to get her hands dirty, but the resulting scuffle was typically ended by a slash from her claws or a shot from her rocket launcher. They focused on precision, never strength.
So today, with a bloodied and injured dragon occupying her shoulder, she began to regret that.
“C-come on now… we’re almost, there…” The yakuza wheezes out as they reach the 4th floor of the complex, knees aching as they stumble their way along to her room. Twi only mutters a response, barely keeping a grasp on consciousness as they ascend. Puncture holes and dark red stains adorn his robe, which he clutched at while they climbed. The dragon was likely more concerned about the cleanup for his clothes rather than his actual injuries, muttering about how he’ll have to sew in some more patches for it later. His umbrella thumped against the stairs with each step taken while dragging it behind by his tail. Even after such a near-death experience, he still refuses to let it leave his side.
With a swift keyturn and a twist of the doorknob, the two injured combatants fumble their way inside, being met with a wave of dust that only weighed down their tired lungs. The apartment barely had anything save for the few given commodities, which were barely ever used even during the few times she visited. There were storage boxes that contained more dust than their actual contents, blanketing the stolen goods and other materials that were within them.
At last reaching her dust-soaked couch, the cat allows Twi to collapse into the cushions and groan from his injuries. Without wasting even a second, she undoes his robe’s belt and pushes the cloth aside to examine his injuries. In their most recent endeavor, the two were attempting to make an escape after stealing from the rival Mad Dogma gang. After a few too many slip-ups, the two were backed into a corner. It took some last-second improvising from the both to make an escape, but while Empress escaped unharmed, in the process her associate had taken most of the fire. She entrusted her gang to take the loot back to the safehouse while she brought him back here to mend his injuries.
“H-how’s it look doc?” the dragon blurts out, watching as his boss scans the different wounds with the slightest hint of a smirk. He can’t help but joke around, even at a time of crisis like this. The sphinx cat just shakes her head and analyzes his wounds.
“There are mainly three entry points across your chest, not much else along your lower body. Judging by the points of entry, none of your vital organs have been punctured and your bones only got scraped, and due to the strength of the Mad Dogma’s firearms the bullets managed to shoot clean through you.” She places a paw on his chest, making Twi’s tail instinctively curl up. “Simply put, you got lucky. Very. Lucky.”
“Hehehe…” The dragon points a peace sign up to the ceiling, barely able to get his arm fully extended before cringing again. “The d-dragon’s luck strikes again!!”
Empress takes his arm and forces it back down. “Just because the injuries aren’t fatal it doesn’t mean they aren’t serious. From your behavior I can already tell you’ve lost a fair amount of blood, which is serious in its own right. We’ll have to get these patched up in order to prevent any more. I’ll fetch some supplies, in the meantime, don’t move.”
Twi just gives a thumbs up in response, giving Empress all the confirmation she needs to search for medicine. She makes her way towards the bathroom and opens a box within the towel closet. Even after not returning for months on end, she still knows where every item is.
While she searches, Empress’s mind can’t help but wander to the events of that night. Everything had been going smoothly, everything had been going to plan. They snuck into their warehouse in hopes of taking some important documents relating to their future plans in an upcoming gang war, getting a jump on them before they’ve even begun. The two snuck through the air duct and snatched their documents right from under their noses. In their plan they would escape the same way, meet back up at the rendezvous then escape from there. It was such a simple mission that they had decided to do it only with the two of them, allowing the lackeys to handle another mission further into the metro.
That was their first mistake.
As they were making their exit, Twi had taken notice of a hostage that the Dogma were keeping as a means of interrogation. They had no affiliation to the Nyakuza, Empress was willing to just leave them there. But Twi and his unique stance with gang affairs persisted: no innocents should be involved. Even as she hissed at him to follow along or be left behind, he was already trying to figure out a way to save them. Empress had no choice but to assist, lest she abandon her most valued strategist.
In the end they were all able to escape, but Twi’s kindness had costed him yet again.
This wasn’t the first time his kindness had came back around to bite him. Whenever he developed a strategy, he tried to find a way that would involve the least amount of people getting injured, leading to an increased difficulty whenever he formulated a plan. At his best, the entire crew manages to escape without so much as a scratch. But at his worst, they leave with nothing.
‘One would expect to hurt others when joining the criminal underworld in any form,’ Empress thinks while closing the medicinal box, ‘it’s what many join it to do in the first place. So why does he insist on following this course of action?’
With a towel and several medical supplies in hand, Empress exits the bathroom and returns couchside, finding Twi fiddling with his robe with a blank expression. When she re-enters the room though he snaps out of his trance, his face lighting back up while his tail limply taps against the carpet.
“The queen of the metro returns! All h-hail!” The dust that lingered within the couch catches back up to him, beginning another coughing fit.
‘The blood loss must be affecting his ability to think.’ Empress thinks while kneeling at his side.
“I have all the proper materials here. These wounds will have to be cleaned and bandaged, so I’m going to have to ask you to bear the pain for a little while. Be thankful that they will not have to be stitched. Hopefully with the amount of blood you’ve already lost, you won’t feel too much of this.” The cat began to unscrew the cap of peroxide, dripping some onto gauze to prepare to clean out the wounds.
“Eeeehh, it’s you we’re talking about! It shouldn’t hurt that much!”
The owner wasn’t sure if he should call the police that night.
With all points of entry cleaned (and stuffing Twi’s robe into his mouth to muffle the screams), Empress set the gauze down and grabbed the roll of bandages to the side. Her ears were still ringing from the dragon’s outburst, but she pushed past it for now.
After sitting up Twi (currently on the verge of tears) to an upright position, Empress used a towel to clean the blood from his blue scales. She knew that she would also have to clean the blood from the carpet and couch in order to get rid of evidence, but that can be handled later.
“I swear, you joined my gang, one of the most feared criminal groups in the metro, and yet of all things… you lack even the slightest amount of pain tolerance.” She instructs Twi to raise his arms while she cleans him, guiding him just enough to where the pain from the wounds won’t surge again.
“I mean, I-I did take those three bullets like it was nothing.” The dragon was having trouble keeping so much as one eye open.
“You were fueled by adrenaline, it’s only natural.”
“Pure. Willpower.”
The cat rolls her eyes, unable to let out a small chuckle as she continues. While there isn’t so much blood that it turns into a sponge, there was still enough to turn the once-jade towel a deep crimson. For a moment she eyed the dragon’s robe, already slightly bloodied but still a bit dry. But Empress soon shook her head and continued mopping up the blood.
As more of the liquid was soaked up, the wounds became more visible, along with the rest of his body. Adorning his chest were various slash marks, bruises and other remains from past battles. Some were small and insignificant to the naked eye, others couldn’t possibly be ignored, spanning across his entire body. Not all of these were from his time in the Nyakuza, there were some scars that were just barely visible enough to be seen, obtained most likely before he even set foot in the metro. But the rest Empress can rememberl clearly.
Shielding some Nyakuza goons from enemy fire during an escape.
Protecting civilians caught in the war zone of two warring clans.
Challenging the mad cat of the metro, Goro Nyajima, to a duel despite being hopelessly outmatched.
All of these events stand firmly in her mind. Despite not having nearly enough fighting prowers to gain the upper hand, each instance he jumped in without hesitation, and each time he had to be treated afterwards. She has likely wasted enough materials on him to rival a regular medical clinic on the front lines. But despite having visited the hospital and being forced to wear his failures like a tattoo, he simply smiled and put back on his robe, asking what their next mission was.
Because in his eyes, each scar wasn’t a failure, it was like a medal.
He had protected the Nyakuza goons after a plan had gone awry, leading to only him earning fire.
The bystanders caught between two warring factions had managed to escape without a scratch.
The duel against the mad cat was to buy time as Empress escaped.
“Even if these scars will never go away…” Twi once told her. “It’s still a sign that I was able to help someone. So I’ll gladly wear it.”
Empress stares down at the scarlet towel, holding it as it drips onto the couch. She could hear him saying her name, but she was lost in her own mind as she recalled each injury.
‘If I-if you had just been more careful, you wouldn’t have to be…’
Empress waved the thoughts away as she tosses the oversized rag into a nearby hamper, reaching over for the bandages and preparing to wrap them around Twi’s injuries.
“To be frank, I can’t help but wonder why you even joined in the first place.” She tugged a line of bandages snug. “Your strategies may be beneficial, helping my gang thrive in intricate heists, but out of all those who pledge loyalty, you stand out like a dog.”
“Nu-uh, I’m a draegen.” Twi points to himself while saying that, as if it were a grand line of reasoning.
“Only proving my point even more…” She clips a string and ties the line tight, continuing for the other two wounds. “You gain the most shares out of the entire clan yet you never spend a quarter of it. You’re aware that the underworld is a ruthless place, yet you go out of your way to ensure none are injured. You don’t have a hint of pain tolerance yet you throw yourself into the line of fire. Some in the clan consider you a walking paradox, others worry you might have an agenda of your own.”
“Well, doesn’t e-everyone have an agenda though? The goons get paid, you get power, I’d say n-not having an agenda makes you weird…” With each word spoken it seems like he just gets more loopy, rolling his head from side to side either out of playfulness or an inability to keep it straight. Nevertheless, he just smiles all the way.
Empress just sighs, she knew it would be pointless questioning him in this state. But still, she couldn’t help but give into the curiosity that lingered within the gang. The dragon had simply appeared one day in the metro, no sign of where he came from or who he was. While exploring he found Nyakuza goons struggling to slip away from police, then without a second thought he assisted their escape. Even the most ordinary of civilians understand that police are “the good guys,” yet he proceeded to leap in without hesitation. Several of the goons find it suspicious even to this day.
His past, his mannerisms, his motives-they were all a mystery to her.
With the final line of bandages snug and tight, Empress rolls up the excess and places it behind her. The bullet wounds were covered with bandages on both sides, cleaned out to prevent infection. Now it would only be a matter of time for him to recover.
Rummaging through the kitchen, she comes back with an unopened water bottle and a protein bar. He happily munches on granola while Empress cleans up. She takes his sunset robe to the bathroom, hanging it on the shower curtain to clean later while swapping out bandages for hydrogen peroxide to clean the carpet. After coming back out with a mop and rags, she’s about to clean the splatters on the carpet when-
“You…”
Empress stopped mid-kneel, standing back up to face the dragon. He was still sitting upright, arm over the side while sitting cross-legged on the cushion. The water bottle was already half empty and only the wrapper of the protein bar remained.
“You… what?”
“You were wondering… why I joined the c-clan, right? Well…” He turned his gaze over to her. “It was you.”
For the first time in months, Empress was left genuinely confused. She waited a few moments for him to finish his sentence, but it took longer for her to realize that the sentence was already over. Submitting to her curiosity, she set the cleaning supplies down and sat down in front of him.
“I knew about you before… before I came to the metro.” His words were slow and cautious, taking care not to over-exert himself and cause any more unnecessary pain. “I heard ‘bout how cool you were… how powerful you guys were… was much more interesting than back home. Had to s-see for myself.”
“So…” all Empress could do was blink as she processed his words. “You joined my clan simply because you thought it was… cool?”
The dragon shook his head.
“Not the only reason.” He shifted a bit in his seat, uncovering his wounds as he figured out the right posture to be in while talking to her. “You remember… what I said about m-my home?”
Empress just nodded, eyebrows furrowed as she tried to figure out where this was going. He had only said vague statements before, about how he ‘couldn’t be in his home anymore.’ Twi had always dodged the question, sometimes giving different stories for those who insisted on knowing.
“Back home… everything was falling apart. My family, my town… sometimes it felt like the whole world. Everyone was fighting over pointless things, tearing each other apart until they didn’t even know why. It had been my home for… my entire life it felt like. But one day everything just… snapped. Too much tension built up. It wasn’t my home anymore, all the warmth had gone. So… I left.” Twi looked out the window of the apartment. Neon lights blinked on and off in nauseatingly bright pinks and greens.
“I wandered for… a long time. Didn’t know where to go, what to do. I wanted to go home, but I didn’t know what home was. I wanted to help people, but it felt like anything I did only hurt. It felt like I just walked forever, wandering aimlessly, not knowing what to do with myself. So when I came to the metro and saw your gang… I didn’t even know they were yours then… I didn’t even think. I wanted to do something useful… for once…”
Twi tried to pull his tail closer, dragging along the umbrella that he clutched tight the entire march home. Empress leaned down and picked it up, staring at the designs of the umbrella both inside and out. He had said before as a passing remark it was a gift, but never said who it was from. But with how he never let it leave his side, with how willing he was to run back into enemy fire just to reclaim it, it became clear just how much it meant to him.
Empress gave the umbrella to the dragon, his expression relaxing a bit upon doing so. His hands traced along the grains of the wooden pole, looking down at the object as if it was a familiar friend.
“When I realized that they were part of your gang, and you were the Empress… I couldn’t stop myself from asking to join. The stories I heard, the feats you did… they all amazed me. I had always wanted to meet you in person before, just to see what you looked like. And while I admit, you were certainly looked as cool as I thought you were,” the cat playfully rolled her eyes, “I think, back then... I saw you as my last chance. To not just become something… but prove I was worth something.”
Looking up from his umbrella, Twi turned to Empress once again. He was struggling to say this, she could tell from his eyes. When he was staring out the window, they were distant, hazy. In his mind, he very well could have been in a different place full of neon and saturation. This was, perhaps, the first time since his years of being in the gang he openly talked like this. But looking back to her, away from the artificial light outside, those eyes were focused again.
“This gang, your gang, you… means a lot to me. I was worried you would turn me away, scared that I wouldn’t be enough. But you… you saw something I didn’t see in myself. You let me in… a nobody… and gave me a purpose again.”
The dragon wiped a tear from his eye with a chuckle. “I thought that I was good for nothing, that I’d just be dead weight to everything you did, but look at me now! I’m lead strategist in the Nyakuza! I’m helping pull off heists that will go down in the history books right along the great Empress! In my wildest dreams I don’t think I could have imagined being here now, being blessed with this sort of purpose... it feels like it’s too good to be true.” He grips the wooden handle tighter, imprinting the grains into his hands.
“Sometimes I worry I’ll wake up one day, finding I never left home and nothing’s changed. That I’m still the person I was before. That all of the work I’ve done would just be for nothing.” Twi pulls his umbrella close, hugging it to his body like a childhood toy. “But even if I do wake up… even if this is all just a fleeting dream and I’ll just be right back to where I was…”
He takes a moment to steady his breathing, which slowly got more and more shaky with each word spoken. For a split second he looked away to prepare himself, unclogging the lump in his throat, then after a small sigh he turns back to her. Tiny streaks of tears remain, but he doesn’t let those stop him from revealing his wide, toothy smile.
“I’m still thankful that I could be by your side.”
For a few moments, the rain falling against the window is the only sound that fills the apartment. Twi taking a few moments to express his gratitude, Empress taking a few moments to process everything that was just said. She had speculated before about Twi’s reasoning for joining why he would go out of his way to do this when he gained nothing in return. Everyone in the gang had their own ideas for what he could gain. But out of everything they had speculated, none could have come up with this.
Empress’s training to become head of the Nyakuza had conditioned her mind to remain in a losses-to-gains mentality. Every action she did would cost something, in exchange she would have to gain something worthwhile or else the choice would be pointless. She knew how to manipulate, how to decieve, how to get into the headspace of others. But this was a mentality she never could have predicted. She never knew how much she could have meant to those around her. When Twi had first joined, she saw his ingenuity as a valuable asset that could be used. Even her using the dragon as a tool at first had meant this much to him.
‘No… he’s not a tool anymore.’ Empress thought. ‘He’s much more than that now…’
“Come now, I think it’s best you try to rest.” The Nyakuza boss put a paw on her subordinate’s shoulder. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, you need to let your injuries recover.”
The strategist nodded, eyelids starting to weigh themselves down. After the day he’s had and him pouring his feelings out like that, it’s only natural he would be exhausted. But as he brought a hand down to the couch cushion, it was met with a cold moist stain. In their talking, both had completely forgotten about the blood stains on the couch. Twi attempted to flip the cushion over, but found that it was stuck to the base.
“Ah… okay then.” With a smile and a shrug, he reached over for a pillow to cover it up. He was content with being uncomfortable for the night, it wasn’t anything too bad after all. He’s slept under worse conditions. In this moment, he simply wants to rest.
But as he fell to his side, Empress pulls him back up to where he was. He looks to her for an explanation, wondering if there was still anything he had to do or if he did something wrong. Empress’s eyes didn’t met his own immediately though, she stared down at the stain that lingered there. After ten ticks of a clock, Empress reached up to her shoulders and slipped off her coat, revealing the countless scars that were underneath. They were long, jagged, spanning from shoulder to waist. But all of them were old and faded, signs of the battles she fought and the wars she had won.
Gesturing for Twi to stand up for a quick moment, she spread her coat along the couch, acting like a blanket covering the stains. Due to the quality and material of the jacket, none of the stains would seep through, even if one side did soak up a bit of the blood.
“There are materials in here that can easily clean out blood stains from clothes. Rest up now, you need to let your injuries recover.”
Empress had turned away from Twi to clean up the water bottle and wrapper. The coat itself Empress likely had longer than Twi had his umbrella. It was what many used to recognize her in the metro if she ever decided to step out and handle business herself. She had it custom made from a popular tailor that had visited the metro, paying them to create it exactly to her liking. On its own it likely cost a few thousand dollars, perhaps even hundreds now that so many correlated it to her. So for her to offer it to Twi just like an everyday blanket, the dragon could do nothing but stare with open eyes.
He looked back up to her, seeing Empress from an angle that not many saw her at. While so many only saw her looking down on them, just another object in her path to be used, she had faced Twi directly. Both of them shared eye contact in that moment as if it was a miracle that could only be experienced one, lingering on it for some time.
Then, gripping the arm of the couch, Twi planted his feet firmly into the carpet and pushed himself upwards to her level. From the blood loss and fatigue he had lost much of his strength, making simply the act of standing up feel like a monumental feat. Empress tried to lower him back down, seeing that little red dots were beginning to appear through the bandages, but he persisted. His teeth grinded together like a saw cutting through a tree, his claws puncturing the fabric of the couch, but after a fifteen second eternity, he managed to meet her eye to eye.
Empress wanted to scold him for possibly opening his wounds up even more from the strain, but with this amount of determination despite just how much his body rejected pain, she could tell his efforts had drive behind them, so she let him see it through. Once more the two shared eye contact, looking into each other’s gaze for what felt like an eternity. His eyes were focused, but his lip quivered.
Then in one swift motion, Twi stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Empress, pulling her tight against him.
The sphinx cat’s reflexes yelled at her to claw and push away, screaming that something was wrong and she had to get away. But after the shock had faded away, Empress could feel just how tight Twi was holding her, along with drops of something cold falling onto her shoulder. He was trembling, but somehow Empress knew it wasn’t from the injuries.
“T-thank you…”
For her entire life, Empress had never seen kindness as something useful. She had been conditioned to be ruthless by her own mother. Any sense of compassion towards others was a weakness, which would only be exploited. But with Twi hugging her close like this, feeling his warmth, those thoughts slipped away. She didn’t remember the last time she just let herself be held, or even if she ever had been. Empress never thought before she would mean this much to somebody. She never thought before somebody would mean so much to her.
Empress wrapped her arms around Twi, pulling him tight and allowing him to be close to her. The feeling was… alien to her. But with the warmth that it brought to the two of them, simply letting themselves be held in each other’s arms, she was content.
The two of them didn’t let go for a long time.
#my writings#my F/O#my F/O's#romantic F/O's#Warmth in the Underworld (Empress)#a hat in time#ahit#a hat in time empress#ahit empress#empress#the empress#sona#my sona#dragonsona#fursona#self insert#self ship#self shipping#self shipping comunity#Through Time and Space (AHiT Verse)#TW blood#TW injuries#TW Scars#((Sometimes a romantic fic doesn't need to have kissing#it can just have a tender hug#And that's valid))
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Plot - Triskaidekaphobia
Summary: Marco has lived many lives. Lives as a civilian, lives with the Marines, lives as a pirate and the smallest butterfly effect makes each adventure new. But each death has him waking up after eating the first fruit of his life.
Another chance, another life.
One more shot to make things right.
Characters: Marco the Phoenix, Monkey D. Garp, Bell-mere, Donquiote “Corazon” Rosicante, Coby, Gol D. Roger, Silvers Rayleigh, Shanks, Benn Beckman, Makino, Monkey D. Luffy, Edward Newgate, Thatch, Portgas D. Rouge, Portgas D. Ace, Sabo, Monkey D.Dragon, Buggy, Straw Hat Crew, Kureha, Nico Olvia, Marshall D. Teach, Trafalgar D. Water Law
Pairing: Rouge/Roger, slight Makino/Shanks but mostly Gen
1-8
The first life Marco lives is boring and normal. He passes peacefully, a respected but simple village doctor, flames flicker even as he’s eyes fall shut for the last time. Only for that not to be true, as he opens them once again to hands the size of a child and not an old man.
The second life he travels the South Blue. He wants to see what the sea has to offer him and he makes friends and learns so much. He dies this time by drowning, and decides he doesn’t like it very much.
The third time, he starts figuring things out. Each death has him wake up right after eating the worst tasting fruit of his life. He’s grown use to the blue flames that heal and the obsession with cinnamon but the healing is a gift enough.
Marco travels further, learning skills of a sailor. He enjoys navigating the most, for the stars are the only thing that seem to be consistent with every redo.
His third adventure ends, accidentally being eaten in the calm belt. Another mistake he swears to Never Make Again.
The fourth one comes and he realizes he needs to learn how to fight and joins the Marines.
He’s not very good at first, more often than not, he fumbles and fails and it stuck in a lower position for some time. He only hears later of the Summit War and even then it’s just boring news that doesn’t matter on the blues.
One drowning later and Marco becomes a Marine again on count 5. His ‘talent’ is noticed. He’s sent to the Grandline and trains with other fresh recruits. He is in awe as he catches sight of the admirals and of the legendary hero Garp. The Marines try to figure out what fruit he ate but have as much luck as he has in the past. He makes it as far as Captain before dying tragically protecting his men.
6 and 7 are much the same. Joins the Marines and is satisfied with the rank of Captain. He enjoys having the spunky Bell-mere under his tutelage til she is transferred and quit soon after. Marco enjoys seeing Rosicante grow from a brat he babysat to a fine Marine although still a walking disaster.
Marco always takes different posts and assignments, never wanting to have the confusion of knowing something he shouldn’t. It doesn’t stop him from befriending a few of the same people over and over again, but those are just some binds he’s not willing to let go.
But 5 to 7 are also where Marco really starts to notice something wrong with the world. He never noticed on the Blues, too isolated from the Grandline and the Red to pay much mind to it.
There was corruption, Marines taking bribes or turning a blind eye to the pleadings of the people who begged for help. The admirals were bias, unable to get pasted their own convictions to just help.
It caused Bell-mere to leave and Rosicante’s death.
It hurt.
8 seems to hurt the most. He was put under the care of Garp. He learned so much about the Vice Admiral, Garp yelled about his brat grandkids and Fists of Love were a daily occurrence. Regardless of his violence, Garp was what the Marines should have been. Heroes. Marco could see it in the boy and his friend that Garp adopted, made all too clear when the pink haired boy jumped in front of a cannon.
He and Bogard would watch from a distance as the two chore boys trained. Fought for the right to be Marines. Bogard taught Helmeppo, the tall blond better with blades, while Marco taught Coby the basics of hand to hand til Garp took over their training.
Marco always made sure to patch the young men up at the end of the day, a doctors work never done, even after they picked a fight with Garp’s grandson.
“Dumb Brats,” he joking at Garp as he checks over Coby and Helmeppo after their fight.
Marco got a good look at Garp’s grandson, Monkey D. Luffy. He was much like his grandfather, even as they both fell asleep in the middle of their own fight.
But Marco hasn’t seen pirates like these since Roger, despite the Marine propaganda, his cabin boy Shanks, or Whitebeard. Considering the rookie pirate had Red-Haired Shanks’ old straw hat…. Who if all the praises Coby said were true, saved him and a whole town, was more hero than a pirate had the right to be.
Monkey D. Luffy who dreamed of being King of the Pirates. Well, Marco could admit to himself he wouldn’t mind seeing the boy become the second King.
Even if the crew couldn’t handle a few cannonballs from Garp at the moment.
Then Marineford. The stories he had heard in passing before, if he lived long enough to hear them, paled in comparison to the actual event.
It was a massacre. Garp fell and so did his grandson. Whitebeard died on his feet seeing his adopted son and blood son of Gol D. Roger perish under the executioner’s blade. And there impaled on a molten fist was Coby, the boy Garp hoped would continue his legacy.
Marco died, a screech echoing over the battlefield as he flew to attack the lava man, with ice and light ripping through his body.
9 and 1st Time Pirate
9 he wakes to wings not hands and realizes just exactly what the fruit did to him.
Marco does not join the Marines this time, preferring to not think about all the blood and death he still had nightmares about.
This time, he flies and travels. The seas no longer limit him and stars will always be his guide. He doesn’t tire but can just fly for what seems like forever.
The blond witnesses Gol D. Roger’s death, spotting the would be faces of many soon to be known names. It’s curious but Red Hair asks if he wants to join his crew.
“Why?”
“You look interesting!”
Needing something new and knowing full well what kind of pirate the young man is from endless rants from Garp, Marco accepts. Not like he has anything better to do.
It’s maybe the worst decision he’s ever made as the seemingly endless parties usually leave it up to him to keep them on course, unable to get drunk without the help of seastone.
He’s grateful when Benn joins, if not just to keep Shanks somewhat in line for a pirate. There are questions about his knowledge of the Marines and he makes no point to hide that he ‘quit’.
“Being a pirate suit you more?”
“Seems so Cap.”
If more pirates were like Red Hair, he ponders, watching the man make a fool of himself for a pretty green haired girl, then there wouldn’t been so many issues in the world.
Marco meets a young Monkey D. Luffy, still as mischievous as before, and laughs at the reaction Shanks has when he learns the kid he’s taken a shine to is related to Garp.
“He’s got his Grandfather’s smile.”
“I’m concerned how you know that, Marc.”
It goes much like canon, Luffy is kidnapped and is taken to the middle of the bay and Marco is actually the one who flys Shanks out there.
Marco has a first hand experience of watching Shanks lose his arm. He apologizes for not being faster but Shanks just smiles.
“He’s worth it.”
Shanks becomes Emperor, Marco and Benn both arguably first mate but Marco gets his first bounty poster.
“The Phoenix?”
“Pretty on the nose with that one.”
They have many clashes, with pirates and other Marines alike. Marco finds he enjoys the meetings with the man called Whitebeard the most. At worst, they have a fight but usually they are all too hungover by the time it gets to that.
The morning after a rare party between Shanks and Whitebeard, the air was full of the smell of breakfast and hint of something else. It made Marco pause his berated tairaid against Shanks’ stupidity and abruptly walks away. He followed the smell, leading him to the Moby Dicks kitchen where a man in a chefs suit was elbow deep in kneading bread. But the smell. He breathed it in barely noticing Shanks and Benn following.
The chef looks up and smiles.
“Hey! You’re on Shanks crew, right? I’m Thatch, head chef and 3rd commander! Nice to meet you… hey hello? You in there?”
Thatch looks confused as he holds up the cinnamon and Marco’s eyes follow. Left, right, up, down. Thatch eventually hands Marco a fresh roll and he literally coos with joy.
Shanks LOOSES it. Marco screeches, launching at Shanks with a kick. They run out of the kitchen and Thatch is just so confused and Benn is amused.
The Red Force is then on always stocked with Cinnamon and Thatch always gifts Marco with new cinnamon treats to try, a personal challenge of his.
Marineford comes again, Shanks having tried to prevent it but failed. It was hard to hear that Thatch had been killed but Marco keeps focused as they fight Kaido to make it in time to do anything.
By the time they arrive, it’s much the same nightmare as before. Garp survives but both his grandchildren have fallen, Whitebeard stands dead once again with much of his children at his feet. Shanks was able to save Coby, the boy just inches from having a face full of magma. The Marines scream victory but Marco can only feel hollow.
He’s been on both sides of that battlefield now and neither feel like a victory.
The Red Hair pirates help with gathering the dead, Marco keeping watch on everything as much as he can. Garp looks at him with such mistrust it hurts more than anything.
He offers his condolences, something he couldn’t offer a corpse previously. Garp is somber but accepts. The true sadness is when he gives Shanks the straw hat telling him that Luffy would have wanted him to have it.
It’s not til after the funerals that Marco sits with Shanks and Benn. He’s got a sea stone ring on as he drinks and drinks.
He tells them the truth. He’s old and seen this before and nothing changes. Death seems to be the only result.
They talk to him about the Marines, about the first time, about everything.
“I see these things and don’t know how to fix them. All the paths seem to lead to that blasted war.”
Benn looks at him, “Have you really tried?”
Marco stares into his drink. Has he? He’s taken different roads but never really did much to change things did he?
The phoenix finds new determined and confidence in the faith that both of them have in him to fix things. They won’t remember him, no one does, but they were proud to call him nakama for all these years.
“If you ever need us, find us again, tell us something that only we would know and a bottle of booze. We’ll drink together again.” Shanks tells him before stabbing Marco through the heart.
10 and the Guardian
10 and Marco awakes on a mission. He grows just old enough to be accepted as a cabin boy and flies. Flies far, far away from his home to the Grand line. Where he find the Roger pirates, a budding crew well on their way to greatness. He learns from the best, gaining first hand experience on why the Pirate King was so formidable.
Haki is a well worth nightmare to learn from two of its greatest users. Even if it meant that he had to babysit a younger and somehow even more reckless Shanks and fellow cabin boy Buggy.
Marco watches with a whole new level of sadness at Roger’s passing. Shanks again asks for him to join his crew but Marco declines stating that he’s going to travel for a bit and figure out where life takes him.
Where it ends up taking him, is more preset than he would have Shanks believe. He follows Garp to a small island in the South blue where he see Rouge give birth to the little boy named Ace.
Garp confronts the man but Marco has kept his powers a secret from the Marines this time, a fall back for if things got dicey. He follows Garp, bird shaped so know no one is the wiser.
He spends years watching over the boy. Raising him in ways that Garp couldn’t. He’s there for when Garp brings Luffy to the town for Makino to care for. He watches over these boys that are so, so important.
And he meets Shanks again when the Red Hair Pirates come to town.
Marco lets Shanks meet Luffy and pulls him aside to take a walk. They walk to the forest where Shanks feels eyes watching. Marco remains calm and jovial even as two young boys attack him with metal pipes.
He easily defeats the two and leaves Shanks stunned for once. He watches as both brats yell at Marco for beating them again as Marco scolds them right back for their poor technique.
The tall blond introduces the two brats as Ace and Sabo, his charges shared under Garp.
“Garp?! That old fart?!”
“Hey! Don’t you call gramps an old fart, dye job!”
“What did you just call me brat?!”
Shanks and Ace bicker with each other as Marco and Sabo watch amused.
Shanks spends most of the walk back grumbling about pain in the ass kids.
“He takes after Roger but I see more of Rouge in him.”
“Ugh he’s just as stubborn as the Cap.. tain.” Shanks pauses… and stares at Marco then back at the forest and the back at Marco. “He- That’s?!”
“You have to swear never to speak of this Shanks… Garp and I have protected him for this long. I would hate to think we failed because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”
“Never. For the Captain and Rouge’s son never…. tell me more about him Marco.”
“Let’s go talk over drinks.”
Marco still enjoys getting a shocked face out of Shanks.
For the whole year he’s in the East Blue, he splits his time between Luffy and the two boys on the mountain.
Shanks shares stories of his time as a cabin boy on Roger’s crew, which causes Ace to get mad but then he’s pacified when hearing other tales of his mother.
Ace doesn’t hate his father quite as much this time but still has enough of a stigma to still be angry with him.
But canon has a way of happening and Shanks once again loses an arm for Luffy. Marco watches with sadness knowing his friend will be sailing from the Blue permanently. He bids them a safe journey and for Benn to keep his sanity. Shanks just laugh and they share a hug.
Garp returns, furious that Marco lets his brat grandson be influenced by that damn Red Hair. Marco just shrugs, knowing full well if Garp meant it he would have come back sooner. News of Red Hair being in the East Blue wasn’t hard to find, Marco could clearly remember Garp complaining about it while he was in the Marines. The Phoenix does inform Garp that Shanks knows about Ace and the grandfather sighs.
“He’s got his mother’s freckles as clear as day.”
“Suits him.”
“Aye.”
Luffy befriends the boys who become brothers then canon canon canon. Marco can only do so much good saving Ace and Dudan, and then going to search for Sabo. He finds the boy on a ship in a coma in the hands of…
“Ah, hello Dragon.”
The two talk, Marco explaining who the boy is and his… situation. Marco holds off on moving the boy till he wakes, his injuries far too severe to move him right away.
So Dragon and Marco talk. Marco is kind enough to share stories of Luffy growing up, something the father smiles at. It’s a peace offering.
Sabo awakens with amnesia. He reacts poorly to going home but seems to take pause at the mention of brothers.
“Ace? Luffy?”
“Yes. Those are their names.”
“I have brothers.”
Marco and Sabo go back home, with Dragon leaving Marco with his den den number in case there’s something Garp can’t handle. Ace and Luffy barely let Sabo out of their sight for days but help the boy relearn things and heal.
Years pass and both Ace and Sabo are the age to set sail. Marco stays with Luffy as they watch the boy’s two older brother sail away together. Marco tells them to watch each others backs and keep their wits.
“More than anything stay safe, stay alive.”
“You worry too much Marc, we’ll be fine.“
"I’ll keep him out of trouble Marco.”
“Hey!“
There Marco remains hearing about the two’s adventures with brief updates via the mail. He’s pleased to see both have taken up with Whitebeard. The old man would keep the boys safe.
The day Luffy sets out, Marco goes with him. Luffy pouts but he’s pleased that he’ll have some of his family with him. Marco flies high above enjoying the sun and completely misses the whirlpool until it’s too late. He can only watch as Luffy bobs in the water stuck in a barrel.
Just great.
East Blue basically happens with a plus one Marco. He tries to stay out of the way as much as possible, he’s not Luffy’s crew, these aren’t his fights but seeing all these familiar faces is both nice and painful.
He watches Coby’s beginning and the strength he got from Luffy plus how much Helmeppo changed.
Seeing Buggy, Roger’s other cabin boy, again was interesting.
"Buggy!”
“Oh damn, a flashy idiot from the past.”
“You know this clown?!”
“We were part of the same crew.”
“Did he have the nose then too?”
“ah… ”
“HOW DARE YOU?!”
They travel from one island to the next, picking up a first mate, navigator, and then a sharpshooter. Marco was sad to hear about Usopp’s mother passing, he hadn’t been aware of her death while still traveling with Shanks and as a doctor, it was probably something he could have prevented.
Marco left the Baratie early, flying after Nami with the other boat following his lead.
Marco pats Luffy on the head before he goes, “Stay safe.”
“Yosh~!” He nods at Hawkeye and flys off.
Learning exactly how Bell-mere passed was hard. She died like a hero protecting her girls and he could respect that after now raising so many kids, so many times, himself.
Still he honors Luffy’s claim of dibs but does destroy the Marine ships nearby, earning his bounty to raise once again.
Lougetown was interesting. He has no wish to see the site where Roger died, he’s seen it too many times as is and walks towards a familiar presence on the other side of town. He finds Dragon in a hole in the wall pub and they have drinks.
Small talk is exchanged and the leader of the revolutionary army has some good gossip… and some bad.
“Ace and Sabo have been seen leaving the new world for paradise… its said they are tracking someone named Teach…”
“Damn…”
Their talk is cut short when the wind picks up from a storm rolling in… and a person barges in yelling about an execution in the square.
“Looks like your son found trouble again. Does he get that from you or his mother?”
“No comment.”
Marco rushes ahead, allowing Dragon to slip away into the shadows. He doesn’t do much but does strike some more fear of god into Buggy for messing with his chick.
“I FORGOT HOW PROTECTIVE YOU GET JEEZ.”
They escape with a shared nod between Dragon and Marco.
When they start sharing their dreams on the way up reverse mountain, Marco has a vague one to share “To prevent the future.”
Que the beginning of the Alabasta arc. Past knowledge has always been limited when it comes to Luffy’s journey. It was filled with misinformation and other hole so he was honestly not expecting for there to be a GIANT WHALE. Oh, hi Crocus.
“You know this flower?”
“Reluctantly, yoi.”
“Brat!”
“My name is Crocus, the lighthouse keeper of Twin Capes. I’m 71 years old, a Gemini and type AB blood.”
“ YOU’RE A CAPRICORN YOI.”
They sail away from the capes, experiencing the strange weather of the Grandline for the first time. “It feels like coming home.” The Blues no longer felt quite the home, like the Grandline.
They arrive at Whiskey Peak and Marco is instantly suspicious. He joins the drinking with merry joy. They could try to get him drunk all they wanted but even with a seastone ring, he’s partied with Roger, Shanks and Whitebeard. This was nothing.
He fake passes out with Nami and Zoro, both having caught on to the plot.
Baroque Works reveals themselves and Marco fights the Millions. They are weak even by Grandline standards but their numbers prove to be the most annoying.
As Vivi explains what’s happening to her country and Mr.0 being Crocodile things are starting to become clear on how the Navy originally covered the whole mess up.
Little Garden is basically identical expect Marco is with Sanji as most of this goes down. So he’s not involved with any of it.
When Nami comes down sick, Marco tries to cure her but is unfamiliar with her illness. His memory reminds him of a long since wiped out Disease that it could be but he doesn’t have the ingredients. His flames help keep her fever down but are unable to do much else.
When Marco isn’t looking after Nami, he’s taken over navigation getting them safely to Drum… Mostly, til this hippo gets on deck. Marco has the sick satisfaction of seeing Luffy send the little gremlin flying for eating a chunk of Merry.
Marco would fly Nami all the way to the top but its too snowy and windy for him to make the flight safely with a passenger, especially one as sick as she was. He joins Luffy and Sanji in carrying her up to the top, the cold not really an issue. Luffy tries to fight him on it but Marco hits him on the head with his own Fist of Love.
“She’s Nakama, Luffy. I’m going, yoi.”
“…Fine.”
Marco is the one to carry Sanji to the top while Luffy still has Nami. He’s exhausted but awake when Chopper finds them by the cliff. He heals naturally, bundled up in a blanket by a fire. He hears Dr. Kureha’s story about Chopper and the island, casually wondering if it would have been the same for him had he known from the beginning he could shift into a flaming bird.
Wapol’s arrival at the castle is unwelcomed in his opinion and short lasting at least. He, as always, stays out of the fight, but assists the Doctor in keeping Sanji out of it as well.
lucky:i like how he’s present but not changing things
Wapol is defeated giving Kureha and Marco a chance to chat. It turns into this and that, the will of D., and…
“Your eyes look old.”
“I bet.”
“How many cycles have you gone through, Phoenix?“
”…what?“
"Rebirths? Is that what you call it? Bah. no matter… not everyone can age as gracefully as me.”
She admits that she read about it once briefly in an old medical tomb. A previous user went insane on their 13th rebirth.
“I’m on my 10th, yoi. I don’t even know why it keeps happening.”
“Well you might want to figure that one out soon.”
“Any hints?”
“The book mention they went crazy and burned to ash, nothing about a cure.”
“Fantastic.”
They leave, both merry and somber. Marco won’t abandon Luffy to go hunt for a solution he may not even find.
So the Strawhat crew is finally almost to Alabasta. Mr.2 doesn’t get Marco’s face cause he was in bird form looking down on the shenanigans.
The dock and Marco feels the two familiar presences with a large smile. They meet back up with Ace first then Sabo who was spying as Ace got into trouble with Smoker.
Luffy introduces his two brothers much to the crews shock. Two Whitebeard pirates and they are Luffy’s brothers?! Marco laughs glad to have his boys back in one place if not just for a bit.
Ace and Sabo inform him they’ve been tracking a traitor named Teach. Marco actually pulls them both aside and tells them to be careful and don’t underestimate him.
“Do you know something Marc?”
“…I don’t like this. If he’s underhanded enough to stab a crewmate, who knows what else he has planned.”
“We’ll be careful.”
They travel across the sand and dunes, Marco switching between flight and walking. The heat is aggravating but manageable.
They seem to be on a wild goose chase when the rebel army moved and the rain base is also a dead end. They race to stop Crocodile, Luffy and he crew taking care of the fights while Marco flies the bomb into the middle of the sky to explode.
They rest and recover, Marco getting scolded for once for his recklessness, and finally set sail on Merry on to discover a new crew mate.
Marco isn’t sure what to think about Nico Robin. But she doesn’t seem to have any ill intentions so he accepts her easily enough.
When the log post points up to a sky island, Marco offers to fly up and set it so they can just continue on but Luffy pouts at him, rejecting his proposal to no one’s surprise.
Marco stays on the ship at Mock town, avoiding the encounter with Blackbeard and his crew.
The Skypedia arc goes as well as expected. Marco briefly explains the basics of Haki as Enel tries to strike them again and again with lightning.
Luffy wins, Marco comments on Enel’s poor luck of finding the one man in all the seas immune to his attacks.
Marco can tell something is wrong with Merry. At night he can hear a hammer tapping away. His worst fears are confirmed at Water 7.
The Phoenix can only watch as the crew learns of Merry broken keel and then of Luffy’s fight with Usopp. He can’t condone Usopp’s behavior but understands why the long nose felt so deeply about it.
Because he going to miss Merry too.
Things are only further complicated when Robin leaves along with the arrival of CP9. In his lives, Marco never encountered the Marines spies but had heard enough about them to realize they were bad news. With the reveal of the blueprints for Pluton, Marco is on high alert.
Marco follows the escaping CP9 with the captured Franky and Usopp, flying high above to not be seen.
The crew is all reunited as they approach Enies Lobby. It’s through his travels, Marco has learned a great deal of the corruption of the Marines, but hearing of the truth for the buster call on Robin’s home is sickening.
One by one, the Straw Hats beat CP9, Marco taking care of many of the minions running around the place.
As the buster call arrives, Marco destroys many of the Marine ships until Luffy defeats Lucci. The crew escapes on Merry, Marco watching from the sky’s over head. Even he can’t help but cry when they give her a funeral by fire.
Marco is elated seeing Garp, Coby and Helmeppo again. It’s on friendly terms for the first time since he had been a Marine and he missed their shenanigans. Luffy’s father is no surprise to him and Garp calls him out, Marco admitting he’s met him before.
“Damn annoying brat.”
They set sail on the new Thousand Sunny, Marco knocking away some of Garps cannonballs. Somethings never change.
Thriller Bark is interesting, Marco had heard of Moriah’s island ship but had never seen it and now was wishing he never had the chance. His shadow was never personal stolen from him, Haki keeping it safe from Moriah’s grubby hands.
Brook is about the closest thing Marco has ever seen to his own rebirth powers but quickly discovers that’s not quite right as he could only do it once and he never looped.
Still Marco can’t help but sympathize that the skeleton spent so long by himself.
For all their attempts, the one to finally take down Oars is Marco. He had waited and watched and seen them give it their all but the truth is clear. They can’t quite manage.
But he can.
Still the first time in a while he’s been able to let loose, becoming far too lax this loop to have any time to fight. But Oars falls and Marco feels refreshed.
He worries as Luffy takes so much damage from Moriah and the with the arrival of Kuma he has to step in. Marco is the one to take all of Luffy’s damage instead of Zoro. He knocked both Sanji and Zoro out to do it. Kuma looks at the fallen young men and then at Marco who just smiles.
“You’ve helped raise Dragon’s son into a fine man with a good crew.”
“He did that all by himself, yoi.”
Marco awakens to the worried looks of the Straw Hat crew, all wondering what happened.
He smiles and says it was nothing as both Sanji and Zoro look at him blankly, the area covered in his blood. They can be mad at him all they want, he’d make the same choice every time.
They sail to Sabody and Marco ditches the crew at Shakky’s bar, talking with her over drinks for a bit. He’s informed that Ace and Sabo were not as careful as he had hoped, they were captured and sent to Impel Down.
“Damn those brats. I warned them.”
“It gets worse Marco-kun. Ace has been scheduled for execution.”
“Of course he has.”
Marco is still at Shakky’s when the Straw Hats and Ray return.
“Welcome back Ray-san.”
“Ah Marco! Been a while!”
It’s revealed that Marco was also on Roger’s crew along with Ray much to the shock of everyone, including Luffy.
“How was I supposed to know?!”
“I’ve told you enough stories that you should have figured it out, yoi.”
The crew has to make a run for it as they are outclassed and outnumbered by gathering Marine forces. Between Kuma, Pacificas, and the Admiral Kizaru, they stood no chance.
Marco tries to protect the crew from Kuma but fails as he too is blasted away, unable to break out of the paw bubble.
Marco is sent to the Red Force to the shock of its crew. He’s fucking furious, fighting Kaido and flying as fast as he can directly to Marineford but arrives too late.
Now not only were Ace and Luffy dead, but Sabo as well. Marco collapses in grief, dying as magma melts him.
So ends loop 10, probably the harshest yet on his poor heart.
11 and Canon at last
Marco is at a loss for what to do at the start of 11. It feels like he’s missing something and can’t quite figure out what.
He travels to the not yet destroyed island of Ohara, still known for its vast knowledge and thousands of books.
Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to find a single one on helping him. Marco had located the medical book Kureha mentioned but it listed more of what happened should he fail than succeed. Doomed to ash, it seemed was his fate.
While there, he befriends a woman named Olivia, now knowing that this woman was Robin’s mother.
They talk only a handful of times before he departs, but he warns her that Ohara was already suspected to be researching the void century and to be careful.
He flies to Roger, the man still young and not yet a pirate. Roger humors Marco as he asks questions, generally amusing as the boy, still a boy, takes a small comfort in huddling into the man’s side.
“I don’t know how to save them, yoi. Every time I try, they die worse than the last.”
“Maybe it’s not about saving them, but giving them the best chance at survival?”
“What Ray said! I know I’d give up everything to save my crew!”
Rayleigh offers that if what he’s tried so far didn’t work, maybe he could try something else. Marco thinks and there’s one crew directly involved he hasn’t tried yet. He thanks the two and promises they’ll meet again someday and flys to find a young Whitebeard.
Marco joins Whitebeard’s crew, watches as it grows from a handful of men to multiple divisions. It’s hard to call him Pops, having been enemies and only sometimes allies, but Newgate is just as stubborn as Roger in many cases and looks so proud the first time the name slips from his mouth.
He never fights against Roger and his crew, usually brushing past the bewildered pirates with a bottle split between him and Ray, even if he has to deal with the ‘you’re too young for drinking’ comments.
Marco is promoted to first mate and is stunned as that spot has always been Diamond Jozu’s position. But the crew voted and they trust him and he’s their big brother. It makes Marco feel warm.
Marco is the one to recruit Thatch, young and bright not yet with his iconic hairstyle. But his cooking is just what they need on a growing crew and Thatch thrives.
Life continues, and things come to pass just like before. Roger dies and Marco sees first hand the decline of Whitebeard. The realization time is killing his old Captain’s rival is hard, not even his flames can heal old age.
He probably enjoys the fights with Shanks crew the most because he knows what they want, a good drink and maybe a fight. As Pops and Shanks yell and clash he walks up to Benn as offers him a drink and a safe place to watch from. He’ll take every chance he gets to enjoy the company of his friends before its slips away.
It’s been years but it also passed in a blink of an eye as reports of Jinbe fighting an upcoming rookie reaches the deck of the Moby Dick. Marco lets out a breath. Ace.
Marco never saw how Pops took one look at this brat and wanted him on his crew.
Never saw how Thatch’s eyes lit up as Ace snapped back sarcastically and knew he found something fun.
Never saw how the crew slowly adopted this angry child as their own and he gradually accepted them too.
Never saw how Luffy’s first bounty poster made his whole world and how it was all torn down when one of his own division kills Thatch.
Now Marco sees how the once happy family fell, all because of one devil fruit. They only later identify it as the Dark Dark fruit, and reading the far too short description of its powers, leaves Marco wondering what other secrets it had.
So we have canon, Ace goes after Teach despite Marco’s warnings and pleas. He does and Marco can only mentally prepare himself for the worst. Shanks distracts Kaido as they head to war. It’s planned a bit differently than he’s seen it in the past, but that’s what past knowledge gets you.
He goes to war like canon and the war ends like canon. Ace and Pops are dead but Luffy escaped with the help of the up and coming supernova, Trafalgar Law.
It feels like a fever dream as Marco stands in front of the two graves of Ace and Pops, shoulder to shoulder with Shanks once again.
“I could use a drink.”
“Get me a seastone ring and I’ll give you a story too.”
Marco and Shanks drink in quiet in the Captain’s room on the Red Force. It looks nearly identical to the times when he’s been on the crew, even has his wanted poster on the wall.
“Why am I on your walls, Shanks? Trying to get me to join more than just your crew?”
“You know, I put it up when I was smashed and never felt like taking it down. Seemed to belong there.”
“You don’t say.”
They drink and drink til bottles litter the floor. Marco is the only one still going, drinking and talking about everything. Shanks slowed when the bird mentioned his multiple pasts and stopped when Marco said they had once been nakama. It was sobering and he started comforting the man when the tears got to be too much.
“I got so close Shanks. I only have one try left, yoi.”
“Sounds like you got close this time Marc… just… whatever you do next time, do what you want. Make the changes that matter to you.”
Marco waits til Shanks is asleep before taking a nearby knife and plunging it into his heart.
Triskaidekaphobia
12 and one sane life left, Marco awakens on a mission. If this is going to be his last chance… then he’s going to make sure all the people he cares about survive.
He joins Edward Newgate as the very first member of his new crew, easily calling the older man ‘Pops’ and man decides he likes the sound of that.
There’s nothing he can do for Roger, his illness incurable even to his healing blue flames (it was something he tried very early on), but before the man’s death, they drink and Marco tells him all sorts of stories about a boy named Ace and his brothers. Roger laughs till he cries.
“You know something Phoenix, if I ever had a son, he would be named Ace.”
“It’s a good name.”
“It really is.”
He’s sure Roger realizes the truth in the end, telling the Phoenix to look after him and his mother for him.
It took some planing and a lot of luck but after Roger’s execution Marco was able to lead Garp to Rouge faster than previously. It took secret letters and a few other bribes but the Marine was able to smuggle the woman off Baterilla, taking her and the baby she carried to the East Blue where she would be safe.
Marco handled the business on Ohara personally, but when Olivia failed to listen to his warnings, he knocked her out. Shoving her at Saul and Robin, the group escaped the Buster Call but were still tracked by the government for years to come.
Years later, he arrives in the North Blue just in time to save his old ward from several gunshot wounds, helping him and the crying boy to the next town over.
He sends money and a letter to Bell-mere telling her she’s worth more to her girls alive than dead.
Marco clears Tom’s name before Spandam can kill him, Cutty Flam is still presumed dead after attempting to stop the sea train.
The Phoenix sends medicine to Usopp’s mother and prevents the death of Chopper’s mentor Hiluluk.
Marco easily befriends Ace, welcoming him into the new crew. He saves Thatch from death, but for all his careful planning Teach still escapes.
With the war still on, Marco plots and toils.
Upon Shanks’ visit he has both crews agree to be close at hand incase something goes wrong, which it will and does.
Completely cuts the whole confrontation between the two captains having seen it too many times.
“None of us have time for your squabbling, not our crews or Ace, yoi.”
Hearing of the execution, Marco sends out orders to all their allies and just one more.
He calls a number he had memorized long ago. It didn’t pick up the first ring or even the second but on the third…
“Hello Dragon.”
It’s all set as Marco stands on the Moby in the middle of Marineford. He’s done all he could in planning for this.
He watches as Luffy predictable falls from the sky, challenging anyone who dare stands in his way. He watches as the Marines pull out all their tricks to stop Whitebeard. He watches and waits and there.
Ace’s true weakness that he was always too kind, Marco thought as the fire man would not let the taunt go. He stops and that’s all the chance Akainu needed. The admiral attacks but Akainu’s fist impaled not Ace but him. There was a just hiss as flames tried to heal, gasps of Ace and Luffy watched in horror.
“Run, damn brats.”
Marco falls but it’s the first time he’s satisfied. He laughs and fixes a stare at Blackbeard.
“It will never be your age.”
The Phoenix lives and dies in cycles. It brings the dawn, the coming of a new time.
Marco hopes that with his death, it will be their age, Luffy’s or Ace’s or Sabo’s. That’s what he wishes to see. Them to live, them to be free.
Broken Hourglass
Marco awakens to what he assumes with be 13, where he will slowly go mad and lose all sense of reality till he turns to ash.
Instead he’s surrounded by crying faces.
“What?”
“You big feathered idiot!” Cried Thatch rubbing at his face, attempting to hide flowing tears. “What were you thinking?!”
“Wh-“
“I think we all know he wasn’t thinking anything good.” Answered Shanks appearing with a grin just in eyesight.
Marco took the moment to get good look at all the faces surrounding him. There were his boys, Luffy, Ace, and an all grown up Sabo just as much hugging each other as they were to clutching on to his sash.
There was a tall blond man in a pink hat crying next to a much smaller boy with pink hair, a man with a spotted hat giving them awkward comforting pats on the back.
Pops was over to the side with Garp and Rayleigh, the old guard watching over them.
Marco sat up, noticing no hole in his chest and that they were no longer on Marineford. “What happened, yoi?”
“You kinda exploded. Sent Akainu flying back and the battle almost continued if it wasn’t for pinky here. We thought you were dead till the ashes came together and there you were Marc, bird form and all.”
Marco gulped looking at Shanks. “M-Marc?”
“Yeah. We all remember. Some of it? Most of it? Ehhh how did you ever keep it all straight???”
Marco laughs and laughs. Because no one died and that mattered more than anything.
Epilogue
Bell-mare remembers and sees the note and is absolutely gonna punch him when she gets the chance.
#marco the phoenix#fushicho marco#one piece#monkey d. luffy#monkey d. garp#monkey d. dragon#bellmere#donquixote rocinante#corazon#coby one piece#gol d. roger#silvers rayleigh#shanks#benn beckman#makino#edward newgate#whitebeard#thatch#portgas d. ace#portgas d. rouge#Sabo#buggy#kureha#nico olvia#marshall d. teach#trafalgar law#m3h plots#a what if that grew into this monster#I meant to have it down sooner but wanted art to go with it#i like how it turned out
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The Farm Sucks
Name: Léon Bellandini | Puppet: Simba | Villain name: Pride
Daring/arrogant/fighter/lots of contacts/gang leader.
Warnings: Mentions of animal cruelty/death, mistaken for suicidal, implied past sexual abuse and general abuse, memory problems
You were always a bit more defiant than the rest.
It got you punished, and you reveled in it. Because any attention was good. Because it stopped them treating you like you were nothing to them, you would rather being scorned and hated than to be nothing. They were everything, they were your world because you had nothing else and you wanted so badly just to matter.
Every time you tried to escape, they would take you and wash you down with a hose. They took pleasure in forcibly shaving your head and branding you where people couldn't see, like livestock. To prevent lice, they said. There's a patch at the back of your head that doesn't grow hair anymore because of the way they hurt you for their amusement.
A toy isn't satisfying if you can't get emotionally invested in it, after all.
You hate them for everything they've done to you, all the ways they used you and took joy in your suffering. You're never going to be a nobody again.
To complete your transformation you had enlisted Ortega's help in picking out a wardrobe. It meant enduring his delighted teasing and questioning about if there was someone in your life you wanted to impress but you think it was worth it. If he's going to be vain, you might as well take advantage of his expertise.
You're gonna dress well and look good in it, dammit.
And look good you do. Even Ortega was impressed, you certainly have cleaned up nicely since you started working out again and taking care of your appearance. Sharp tailored suits and tasteful, bold signet rings, just the tiniest hint of something a little wicked and dark lurking under the surface.
Now you look like someone worthy of respect. Someone dangerous. Someone who has the money and power to make life very difficult for people who dare crosses you.
Maybe it's a little over the top, but you even got a nice throne gilded with gold leaf put into your base to lounge upon. What's the use of having everything if you can't indulge?
Besides. All the gold and velvet makes your inner child happy.
You certainly look the part of a mob boss by now with treasure hoard of jewellery and enough jewelled rings on your fingers for your minions to kiss they can choose from every colour of the rainbow.
You've got decades of being a tool to overcompensate for and really indulge your vanity. Growing your hair long in a middle finger to The Farm- no more uniform military cuts for you, no exposed barcode on the back of your head.
No more denial of your individuality.
---
It's not all easy. Los Diablos is built on suffering and you refuse to be the victim any longer.
If they won't fight fair, why should you?
...It shouldn’t bother you. Doesn’t, really. They mean nothing to you, these people. They exist only to be something to envy - didn’t someone say once that ignorance was bliss?
It must be nice to be so thoughtless and empty-headed that you can’t see the poison that runs through the city. It’s in the streets, the very veins of Los Diablos - this whole filthy place is sick.
The footbridge creaks as you step upon the rusted metal panels, otherwise deserted. Humans like mindless ants swarm the trains below, a steady flow, a pattern that goes unbroken and unquestioned.
It makes you snort.
How easy it would be to crush them all, just like the ants they look like.
How easy it would be to find someone unscrupulous enough to rig up a bomb with your contacts. How easy it would be to talk your way into restricted areas and plant them all under their very feet.
You’ve had enough experience to know that while explosions and destruction are amazing and fun in the moment, somehow the victory feels hollow. Because it doesn’t matter in the end. There’s just no real point in the short-term serotonin rush that comes with petty destruction, especially if no one of actual worth is watching.
Besides, you...you have standards. You’ll only kill those who get in the way, not innocent civilians.
There’s a strange feeling of dread when you think about it. Making your first kill. Makes you hold your breath as you lean against the shaky railing and watch the giant metal murder machines go by underneath you. Or, well, trains, but they could run someone down just as well as you could just because someone got in the way.
And yet. And yet all you want to do is ravage the world that fucked you so hard.
Who knew it would be so hard to remain cool and collected with power when all you want to do is bring the city to ruin and delight in its ashes?
To see them bow and cower before you as you take over this hellhole?
Fuck, that’s a sexy thought.
“Hey, you doing alright, man?”
You’re startled out of your thoughts. Who?
A man stares at you, dark hand extended out and barely visible in the fading light. He’s treating you like a stray cat that he doesn’t want to scare off.
Oh.
He thinks...he thinks you’re going to jump.
The sigh that escapes you doesn’t fail to catch his attention. “I know life can be hard, but this isn’t-”
It’d be so much easier if he weren’t trying to help. That’s why you swallow your annoyance and impatience and paste on a charming smile. It’s almost reflexive by now to twist his confusion and concern into remembering he was going to be late for his train, why did he just stop just now?
You watch the man sprint down the stairs and miss it by seconds, cursing his inattention. Something in you drives you to reach across mentally, to push that frustration aside. Push it into awe and surprised appreciation at the setting sun behind you, it’s been so long since he stopped to appreciate the world, he knows how it feels to feel hopeless and alone, that’s why he stopped to help-
Help who?
-A silhouette bathed in red, gazing down at the tracks below-
No! you frown and push harder, concentrating on a proper distraction. Fix this problem you just created for yourself. Send out your senses - who could you use? Hm, there’s a young lady by the ticket machine, failed her nursing exam and doesn’t know how to break it to her family. Yes, strengthen that thread - what is she going to do with herself, they’re going to be so disappointed in her. If only she had someone to talk to, a friendly ear, someone who didn’t know her, wouldn’t judge.
Tears, she visibly droops and starts trembling. There’s no one else around except the retiree who’s fallen asleep and the cleaner who’s already disillusioned enough with life that he would just tell her to suck it up.
Yes, that’s right. Sob loud enough for him to hear. He blinks, suddenly taking notice of the girl behind him and losing hold of the muddled confusion that he’d just forgotten something.
There’s something very satisfying in being able to do something like this, you think, watching the girl break down in tears as the man comforts her. As they both are strengthened ultimately by the interaction despite the circumstances that brought them together. The way she tearfully leaves her number in the phone of the blushing man.
It’s all played out just like you imagined.
How...predictable.
---
4am is perhaps more familiar to you than 4pm.
The world is quiet. A still moment in black and white, just like out of those film noir clips.
You breathe in the smoke and imagine your life was as romantic as the films made it out to be.
You have the tailored suits. The tattoos on your knuckles, the underlings to do your every command.
They don't talk about the messiness of seeing life leaving the world in your hands, evaporating like the heat of a cooling body in the snow. A morbid picture, painted in red.
They don't talk about the distasteful things, like evacuating their bowels, the frightening things people will stoop to when brought to their lowest. When you see what people are when you strip away the veneer of civilisation from them and you're left only with a terrified beast.
The way their bodies jerk to the ground reminds you of it, sometimes.
Snowball, you called her. You'd been curious, wary of her at first. Her twitchy nose and soft ears fascinated you but the handlers were watching and you didn't want to risk messing up so soon after last time.
Your mission was to take care of her. A trial bodyguard mission for a defect-filled asset that wasn't much of an asset at all. They were starting to get impatient with you, you know - it was a thin line between daring enough to get away with it and ending up being made 'redundant'.
So you just stood there. Stared at her, munching contently at her carrot.
"It's not going to bite you." The new handler is different from the others. You call her Red for her hair, it's not like they ever identify themselves to you. She doesn't scream at your uselessness when you don't react to their satisfaction, she doesn't get distracted by a colleague and leave you abandoned in a dark room for nine hours because she forgot to put you away.
You still hesitate - does she want an answer? Does she want you to take the initiative? Does she just want you to follow only her stated orders, is this just a test?
You can't tell and that frustrates you.
Reading their minds is forbidden unless expressly stated, but she's tapping her pen impatiently like she's expecting you to draw the real orders from her brain.
What to do. What to do?
Remain obedient and only react to what she commands you to do? Or make a move, taking the guess that it's what she actually wants from you? It's a gamble on what will get you punished.
...To hell with it. You don't care anymore.
Wordlessly, you step over to the rabbit and kneel down.
Looking back up at her gives you no clues - no changes in expression that would reveal approval or disapproval. That...you're probably okay for now, it seems.
Probably.
Her fur is so incredibly soft under your hand. It feels like you could break her if you accidentally mishandled her.
It's the first thing you ever have for yourself and you love this little creature that is so dependent on you and looks up at you with such dark, trusting eyes.
---
Red encourages you to get familiar with the clients.
So you make sure to practice her orders. And, well, if you spend more time than you need brushing her fur and calming her when she's stressed, that's confidential information between you and your 'client', isn't it?
---
The newest training mission briefing reads as follows:
Your client is revealed to be a mole working for the enemy. Dispatch of them personally.
You're punished severely for acting out and getting caught in the middle of the night sneaking out of the facilities, but Snowball gets safely past the fence once you distract the dogs into attacking you instead of her.
---
For your disobedience, you're made to dispose of newborn rabbits while they watch.
---
They punish you for sobbing afterwards.
---
They also punish you for assaulting Red for putting you through that.
---
The dogs always get you when you run. You're not as fast as a rabbit.
---
You lose track of the punishments.
---
Sometimes you forget. You can't help it, they teach you lessons and you keep forgetting and they just get so angry at you
It's better than the darkness
It's better when they're mad, because it's better than being forgotten
You hate being forgotten and you hate forgetting, one day you are going to forget yourself and that's the worst thing of all
You don't even know why they're angry with you but you wake up one day with dried blood on your hands and that handler that touched you never appears again
Red is so pleased with you though that it doesn't matter. "That's right, little one, you are mine," she tells you. "No one else will ever touch you in my care."
No one else.
---
She makes sure of it.
---
They keep teaching you lessons for all your disobedience and you, you keep on doing it all over again
---
Red's not so new a handler anymore, but they never give you their names. Why would they introduce themselves to a thing?
She's still just Red. She says she loves you and asks you to say it back.
It feels weird on your lips.
---
She gives you a kiss on the forehead for following orders and being good for once.
You despise her. You love her. She's the first one who ever cared about you as a person - even if only to be cruel to you.
---
You're not a rabbit. You can't run.
No. You are a lion, you will be the one others run from.
Red's the first one you ever kill, you let her live up to the name you gave her and she is just as red on the inside as on the outside
And you cry, cry, and keep on crying because you're so relieved and so heartbroken and you will never understand why you still love her. You don't even know her real name.
"I didn't mean to," you whisper into your pillow, because without her you're so lonely.
But you do. You did. You still do, because you hated her as much as you adored her.
---
You let yourself forget. Let yourself smile, smirk, put all your ruthlessness and charm that they taught you to good work.
You don't want to remember and yet. You still don't want to forget.
---
Your past seems to be catching up to you these days. This time you won't ever be so weak as you once were. They broke you, reforged you, made you into a weapon of their choosing.
And now that very weapon will be turned back on them.
"So. Pride. You are newest rising star in town, I hear."
You let yourself paste on a serene, pleasant smile. "Oh? Have people been talking about me?" you inquire. That's good to know, it pays to know your position within underground circles so you know where you stand. Where you can bargain from. "Why, I'm flattered."
His own answering grin is too cruel, too rough, unrefined. Not as proficient in the whole act of it like you are. "They also mentioned you were a vain narcissist who talks too much."
Your mood shifts to irritated annoyance internally; your face is placid. Friendly. It wouldn't do to show any weakness to a potential enemy. "How strange," you murmur. "Perhaps they have me confused with someone else."
"Yeah, I don't think so, buddy." And now to the threatening tone already. How predictable. "You see, we wanted to give you a little welcome, from us locals here. Want us to be good neighbours, yeah?"
Your noncommittal noise encourages the guy to continue. "Just wanted to let you know that we're the ones in charge of this good ol' neighbourhood here, but we're a little old and traditional. Don't want anything shake up what's nice and settled."
"I see."
Because you do. They're warning you not to mess up the status quo.
Too bad you were always a rebel. "Was there anything else you needed, or were you just going to drone on about your Master's stale old knitting club?" You drone out the words, bored of this already.
The smile he returns to you is a little stiff. "Look. We were hoping you were going to join our... Homeowners Association. You'd have to contribute a small monthly fee, but I assure you it'd be worth it. To keep our front gardens lookin' all pretty, see."
"Not really," you tell him, because this little game of coded words and phrases is beginning to bore you.
There's something of a twitch in his eye when you glance over, but the man actually tries to just pretend you didn't say anything and continues. "Right, so, as our newest member of our little association-"
"I didn't say I was joining."
That truly takes him off guard. "I- What?" he blinks. "Mr Pride," he begins, and you have to laugh at the way they haven't even been able to find out your actual name. "You agreed that by moving into this neighbourhood that you would join the , erm, housing association. It's not optional."
"I did no such thing."
You actually manage to break the man's composure. "You do realise if you don't go along with this, there will be consequences?" he hisses.
"I'm not stupid," you tut, peering at your manicured nails. "I'm aware. I just don't care."
The man ends up leaving with a thunderous look on his face as you greet Ortega. A genuine smile to match Ortega's wave.
"What's that? Are you actually talking to people other than me now?" he teases.
"Just a business associate. He kept trying to sell me a scam." You frown a little. "But that doesn't matter. Let's go have lunch, shall we?"
---
They make good on their word.
You aren't going to roll over and show them your belly like their pet dog. Let them think you're nothing but an arrogant little upstart. Let them think they can put you down on their command. Just because you’ve never killed someone personally doesn’t mean you’re not a threat to contend with.
They see the man at the top with the smart suits and the rumble of purred threats, deep and low. The King of the Lions, Pride.
They won't be suspecting the panther stalking the shadows.
---
Simba isn't loud or boastful or broken like Léon is. Not so angry, not so easy to fall to passion.
Simba watches. Simba is patient. Once he's got a target in his sight, he never stops hunting it.
Your mind is quieter when you are Simba, and so are you. You don't need to keep talking to drown out the thoughts in your head.
Silence suits Simba. He doesn't need words to assemble his sniper rifle, his dark skin blending in with the shadows. Doesn't need feelings to peer down the sights and wait for your moment.
Now the only question is, is Simba the puppet here or Léon?
Because you're not sure if you know anymore. You're starting to become unsure of who you really are. In the end...are you nothing more than what you made you?
You really don't know. But Simba doesn't care. All he needs to do, is, well, his job.
A man walks in front of your vision and seals his fate.
You fire.
---
It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to be visiting her boyfriend.
---
There is a distant gunshot ringing in your ears but you are the one holding the still-smoking pistol.
Which would be all good and well if you could remember why you're here. You try and keep the confusion from appearing on your face as you take in the scene in front of you.
A neat little bullet hole straight to the heart. The woman is scrambling wide-eyed as she attempts to plug the hole. Unable to comprehend what's just happened.
With the amount of blood pooling, it'd be over soon enough from blood loss. But you're not cruel and because of that, you aim your gun once again at her head. At her frozen face, mouth wide open to beg-
And fire.
She falls to the ground like a rag doll.
You don't even know who she is. Was. But you must have shot her for a reason, right?
Couldn't let her suffer. Had to finish the job. You don't feel any hatred for this woman, she must have just gotten in the way. Somehow the blood on your hands doesn't look real when you're wearing your puppet. Simba's hands are darker, more delicate, more slender than yours. Shake less.
Sometimes it bothers you, these little gaps in time. You keep coming back to awareness like this and it's starting to get a little frightening.
You're not supposed to be the one losing control.
It makes your head hurt. You've fought so hard to be something, be a person and then…
You can't even remember half of the things that made you, well, you. You have emotions and fragments and half-remembered bits stripped of their context. A man without a past, like you were plonked down in the world one day half formed.
A puzzle with all the most important pieces missing.
But for now, you have a mess to clean up. Dirty work for a dirty man like you, but Simba doesn't hesitate like Léon does. Doesn't mind the blood crusting under those ragged fingernails, so unlike your own polished, clean hands.
---
You keep waking up in a sweat. Terrified and with no idea why.
.
..
There is-
There is blood under your carefully manicured fingernails.
---
The dog park is quiet this early in the morning. Just stare down at your book. Headphones on. Classic 'don't disturb me' look.
It's been ten minutes, you should probably turn the page.
The dogs keep away from you. Maybe they notice your heart rate spiking when they come near. You're not...you're not afraid of them anymore. It's fine.
It has to be. Just...just take in their pure thoughts. There are no dogs, just thoughts, just-
Your first thought is that you're being attacked when you feel something make rough bodily contact with your knee and your body just reacts.
Spoon gives a surprised whimper as your foot makes impact, you’re just trying to stem the panic. It's okay, it's just Spoon, he's not the giant German Shepherds that haunt you.
"Spoon!" Chen barks out, alarmed, a little bit angry. You're not usually this jumpy, you're not usually this bad, you should have seen him coming.
This is too raw to be able to show your face to Chen. That's why you leap up and back off. "Leave me alone, Chen!" you shout, and you hate that you can't control the way you genuinely sound terrified. The unusualness of it makes even Chen frown and look slightly taken aback.
"Léon, what was that just there?"
This is no time to have a panic attack. This is no time to break down. "Just leave me alone, Chen!" you shout. "Stay away from me, keep him away from me!"
You don't turn around to look if he actually does as you ask. You're just trying desperately to flee, over and over and over again, just waiting for the teeth to grab on and bite harshly down on you.
---
You're still waiting for those jaws a few hours later.
---
It's better when they hate you. It's better because you can hate them back, you can lash out and hurt them because you hurt and you just want it to go away
That's why you push them away, because they care. You keep on hurting the people you care about and you're too proud to say you're sorry.
Ortega with his worried eyes and questions left on the tip of his tongue.
Herald, little fly-boy, oh-so-trusting and oh-so-oblivious.
Your crew, your little family you've built up all on your own.
Smirk. Tease. Twist them around your fingers and move them as your pawns. That's how you keep from getting hurt.
You will never, ever, let someone control like that again. Not unless you had planned for them to, not unless you could trust and predict them.
...Stop thinking about Ortega. Stop thinking about how betrayed he'll look if he ever finds out. Stop thinking about how it should serve him right for betraying you and leaving you to die.
Stop thinking about how everything Daniel knows about you is a lie. That you only agreed to train him for your own ulterior motives before he wormed his way into your heart.
Stop thinking about Anathema and the disappointed look on what was left of Themmy's face after…
No.
No, don't.
---
Anathema’s stupid, dumb face won’t leave you alone. Not in your waking hours, not in the silent hours.
Fuck. Fuck’s sake, Themmy. Will you go away if I go and visit you?
No answer. You don’t know what you expected.
---
Anathema’s grave is well tended. The flowers are still fresh.
Your grave is next to his, you know. Your name looks so solemn engraved in such a sober, formal font. Like you were some sort of honoured pillar of the community instead of awkward smiles and messy emotions that spilt out everywhere. Before even those attempts at smiles faded away and all you were left with were the sharp edges that cut into other people’s skin.
The rush of fury at all, all, all this - whatever this is - drives you over the edge. There’s a certain satisfaction in stomping over to your grave and kicking over the flowers. Crushing them underneath your feet.
The same way they crushed you. The same way your bones were crushed on impact.
You’re only vaguely aware of a sense of unease as you pant, too out of it all to focus. There shouldn’t be anyone here to notice you making a scene, what does it matter that you lost your temper?
The mangles mess of stems and petals feel like your life. Something about about it makes you stare. Pause.
Lilies. Your scowl fades away into a genuine frown. Who…?
Ortega knows you’re alive.
That just begs the question, a painful realisation on the tip of your tongue. Who could hav-
-Someone is watching.
Someone is watching you.
The flash of alarm and shock screaming through your brain is the only warning you get.
They knew you were coming-
---
…
….
…..
Anyone watching Simba sleeping wouldn’t notice anything amiss to signify his awakening, no change in breathing pattern, no facial twitches to give him away. For all intents and purposes still all but dead to the world.
The sound of the magpies fighting again outside is too familiar - you recognise them. Feed them on occasion, it gives Simba a reason to be sitting around outside watching the world.
So. Unmoved from his apartment then. Unless they’d gone to the trouble of kidnapping the exact same birds, you recognise their own distinct bird calls by now. The one with croak you named Harry. Harry is currently arguing with his rival, Barry, and isn’t as distressed as a bird would be if someone had indeed taken him from his home by force.
Your breathing is steady, keeping your ears peeled for any signs of an intruder. Letting Simba ‘wake up’ naturally like any other day.
...Good enough.
Fling the bedsheets aside and walk to the window, to the blackout curtains. Stop for a moment to observe. No visible threats - but that doesn’t mean anything in this day and age.
The skies are too blue, it makes Simba’s forehead crinkle. Take in the position of the sun, consider the implications of it all.
This can’t be allowed to let stand, after all.
No one will ever get the best of you again.
#fallen hero rebirth#fallen hero retribution#spoilers#fanfic#Léon Bellandini (OC)#character study#fic#Pride (OC)#mob boss#what are titles pffft#FH:rebirth#fh:retribution
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This post is full of misinformed, misinterpreted and out of context shit.
· There is NO hard canonical timeline for Peter’s ages for when he began acting as a hero. At best sources stating he was 15 upon getting his powers and ASm #400’s backup strip claiming that he was 16 the night he caught the burglar is how you can arrive at the conclusion he aged into being 16 by the time he began acting as a hero. But it’s vague as fuck and both 15 and 16 are retcons. Originally Peter was written to be a senior in the Ditko run. However it makes more sense if Peter was 15 both when he got his powers and when he began acting as a hero as Mysterio (debuting in ASM #13) claimed in ASM #24 that he’s hated Spider-Man for years implying at least 2 years elapsed between that issue and his debut
· Spider-Man circa the time this post was written was not 30 years old. He was actually older than that if you do the math properly. Do not be fooled by Learning to Crawl’s assertion he was merely 28 circa 2014 he was actually 30 years old circa OMD in 2007. So no he has egregiously more than 14 years worth of experience.
· The list of characters Peter’s been active longer than is highly flawed due to the inclusion of Captain America, the Guardians and Jessica Jones.
Whilst the essential sentiment is accurate it’s misleading because Jessica Jones first appearance was not when she canonically began to be active in the silver age (the 1960s). Captain America of course was active in WWII and then put on ice until the early days of the Marvel Age where the F4 debuted meaning he was most experienced by like decades ahead of Spider-Man. And the Guardians debut date listed is in reference to the ORIGINAL Guardians of the Galaxy. These Guardians were not Gamora, Star-Lord, Groot, etc. These were a group of heroes from the far future of an alternate marvel universe.
So great research there.
· The post states that 5 years real time = 1 year for the MU. Actually it’s 4 OR 5 and more commonly 4
· Yes Spider-Man was indeed widely disliked by most heroes but the OP idiotically claims it was because he was a jerk.
No. It was because Jameson slandered his name. Spider-Man’s jerkish behaviour was the result of three major factors.
Firstly it was the fact that many heroes outright disrespected him. for instance the Avengers not only insulted him verbally and antagonized him but they had the audacity to try and test his worthiness to join their team after only recently accepting former criminals Quicksilver, Scarlet Witch and Hawkeye onto their team. As a reminder the former two were affiliated with mutant terrorist Magneto and the latter with Communist spy Black Widow. None of them were ever tested, the Maximoffs just wrote a letter asking to join and that was it.
Secondly in the Silver and Bronze age ALL heroes in Marvel were jerks to one another. It was a conscious effort to differentiate themselves from DC. It isn’t something to be taken too seriously.
Thirdly Peter was well beyond most other heroes straining under immense pressures which would serve to make ANYONE uptight. These were pressures most other heroes simply never dealt with.
· The OP claims Peter picked fights to prove how tough and manly he was. This is not only ignorant of 1960s societal standards for the time but is also an overly comdemnatory reading of the character
See these for more on that
https://hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger.tumblr.com/post/163322233001/in-a-recent-exchange-i-had-with-somebody-they
https://hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger.tumblr.com/post/168252199132/fyeahspiderverse-ask-me-ask-me-ask#notes
This poster takes an oversimplified and highly pretentious sociological approach to the character that is ignorant of the character’s proper in context psychology or how many real life people would think, feel or act.
Noticably (and this is much later on in the post) she talks about the character revelling in violence when MOST superheroes are just like that and more poignantly the ‘revelling’ involved is a character harming objectively evil people the overwhelming majority of the time.
He gets brutal in the course of a brutal life dealing with brutal people doing horribly brutal things.
Does he lose his temper from time to time?
Yeah...but EVERY PERSON ON EARTH DOES THAT...and most people on Earth are not coping with the insane levels of personal stress being placed upon Spider-Man.
The OP I am willing to bet does not deal with anything CLOSE to the amount of horrible experiences and stresses Spider-Man himself does.
· The OP paints Peter is a disgustingly negative light. Listing how he is oudmouthed, proud, independent, stubborn, touchy, cocky, judgmental, and he has one hell of a temper that he typically can barely keep under control. He has a firm sense of justice, of what’s right and what’s wrong, and if he’s made up his mind, he will not budge.
This is BS because not only are there numerous instances of Peter having his mind changed but Peter being ‘touchy’ is usually owed a fuckton more to the situations he finds himself in and the stresses he’s coping with. FFS Peter for the first 18 years of his life has no friends and was bullied and ostracised. OF COURSE HE’D BE TOUCHY!
Similarly his’ barely controllable temper’ was a feature more during the silver and bronze age when writing standards for many superheroes was very different from what it’d later evolve into and the character was a lot younger too.
YES Peter has had moments where his temper breaks in later stories but they were situational.
But what’s gross about the OP is that she lists of all this stuff as part of Peter’s personality and then lists nothing else.
Nothing else.
Peter’s kindness?
Peter’s sense of loyalty?
Peter’s sense of you know...responsibility?
Peter’s sheer decency?
Peter’s ‘never say die’ attitude?
Peter’s sense of humour?
Peter’s fondness for learning?
Peter NOT being as judgemental as the OP is grossly pretending he is considering he never once held Flash Thompson once assaulting his girlfriend, Betty cheating on her husband or many other bad things his friends have done against them?
Which showcases an incredibly forgiving nature to the character.
· The OP claims Spider-Man REVELS in violence and loves fighting.
No Spider-Man loves blowing off steam with action which MOST superheroes do. It’s not a Peter thing it’s a genre convention thing and needs to be properly looked at WITHIN THE CONTEXT OF THE GENRE CONVENTIONS of the series and Marvel in general.
Does Spider-Man love beating up bad guys?
I think he certainly gets a certain thrill out of it, but he rarely seriously injures them unless the situation is serious or else he’s been pushed hard.
In the 1980s the violence Peter was witnessing in various street crimes actually served to seriously affect him and he wanted to quit.
Shit he’s wanted to quit COUNTLESS times and it’s his sense of responsibility that keeps him in the game.
That is NOT someone who just ‘loves’ fighting or ‘revels’ in violence.
· “He punches first and asks questions much, much later. ”
Again bullshit. Not only have there been instances where Spidey has asked questions first but this interpretation of Spider-Man is extremely flawed not only because it doesn’t properly contextualize genre conventions of the superhero genre (Daredevil and Batman are as ‘guilty’ of this as Spider-Man) but also because 99% of the crimes Spider-Man ‘punches first’ he catches red handed in the middle of the act.
He doesn’t need to ask questions if he sees someone in a ski mask with a gun holding up someone screaming in an alleyway.
He doesn’t need to ask questions when he sees what is obviously a bank robbery in progress.
He doesn’t need to ask questions first if the Rhino is rampaging in Times Square.
It’s OBVIOUS what is happening so his immediate intervention is neccesarry.
· The OP claims Spidey “goes out every night LOOKING for people to beat to a bloody pulp. It’s like his therapy, where he works out his many anger issues (I could write a whole essay on where those come from).”
First of all the OP couldn’t write a whole essay on where Spider-Man’s anger issues come from since she patently misunderstands Spider-Man.
Secondly beating up criminals isn’t Spider-Man’s ‘therepy’ it’s Spider-Man’s way of helping people by reducing the crime rate and protecting innocent civilians.
See ASm #50 where he retires briefly and crime rates spike.
See ASm #500 where he chooses to not prevent his younger self from becoming Spider-Man due to how many people wouldn’t be saved by him.
See EVERY SPIDER-MAN STORY EVER!
Spider-Man doesn’t go out every night looking to beat people to a bloody pulp.
I’m a Liberal and even I think that’s overliberalized bullshit.
If you actually pay attention Spider-Man rarely draws blood when going out on patrol let alone causes any serious physical trauma whatsoever.
More importantly going out on patrol looking for ‘people to beat up’ isn’t his fucking hobby. That’s him using his powers to help people by fighting crime...like the kind that got his Uncle Ben killed perhaps. Fucking idiot.
· “He is not afraid of the unsuperpowered criminals he hunts down because they literally CANNOT LAY A FINGER ON HIM AND HE KNOWS IT AND ALWAYS HAS.”
Yeah.
Remember all those times ‘unsuperpowered criminals’ like the Kingpin or the Enforcers or the Foreigner or Captain fucking America never hit him once?
· “The criminals are terrified of HIM. ”
Some are, some are not.
He isn’t Batman, it’s more they know they have little chance of avoiding capture if Spider-Man’s there. They aren’t actually afraid of him in the way the term ‘terrified’ implies.
They are afraid of him the way they are afraid of Superman. They know Superman isn’t going to hurt them much if at all but they know they’re in for jail if they cross him.
· “He is unstoppable when he’s angry.”
Is that why Daredevil was able to defeat him in the Death of Jean DeWolff when he was angry?
· OP uses Peter complaining how normal crooks are boring as an example of Spider-Man inherent personality and as an example to again paint him in a negative light.
This is BS because the issue is premeditated upon building up his pride before Doc Ock kicks his ass and humbles him.
He rarely if ever displays that kind of attitude towards regular criminals again.
This is also a TEENAGER displaying TEENAGE pride. There is nothing damning about that.
Oh but the character must’ve just inherently been that forever more obviously.
· OP uses Untold Tales #13 as an example of how ‘toxically violent’ Spider-Man is.
Again ignores context.
Spider-Man is a teenager who recently lost his Dad who’s school peer who was his own age violently died very recently and so he was grieving and lashing out.
I knew kids who were children of divorce who lashed out.
That was cause for understanding by my teachers and fellow students.
Peter was dealing with worse but he’s painted negatively and as though this is something inherent to him in this very extenuating circumstance. And he’s comdened by the OP for it. Gross.
Also the OP pretends Spider-Man almost killed the villain in question. He didn’t there is no indication of that. Spidey used too much force after he’d already won but he was never implied to be inflicting any really serious physical trauma.
· The most disgusting thing in the post so far, OP tries to pretend there is a problematic and inherent ‘pattern’ of Peter’s violence by citing how Peter almost killed Norman Osborn after Gwen died.
First of all there was no pattern because Peter didn’t almost kill the Untold Tales villain.
Second of all Peter was DELIBERATELY trying to muder the Green Goblin.
Third of all both instances involve Peter grieving.
Fourth of all the GG incident was when his almost fiancée had just been MURDERED before his eyes by the target of his anger.
Literally ANYONE would’ve felt the same way Peter did.
The OP treats people becoming violently angry against objectively evil people when they have or are very seriously threatening to do horrific things (like murdering innocent people, particularly those Spider-Man has an emotional investment in) as ‘problematic’.
It’s problematic in so far as we shouldn’t ALLOW people in society to go around doing that.
It isn’t problematic in so far as it speaks to inherent negative traits within those people who want to or actually do do those things.
Because let’s not lie to ourselves here.
If someone murdered someone you loved...you’d be angry. You’d want to hurt them. And if they were right in front of you shortly after they’d murdered your loved one and you could you’d inflict pain upon them.
Real talk every parent ever would agree if they’re child was hurt or god forbid abused or murdered they’d want to kill the person who did that.
And the OP disgustingly ignores how Peter DIDN’T kill the Goblin and acknowledged how he almost crossed a serious line having already gone too far.
· OP brings up ANOTHER instance where Spider-Man gets angry and violent to again unsubtley imply it’s so problematic.
Yes in this instance Spider-Man used force unnecessarily whilst angry.
He however inflicted no lasting damage and the person he used it on had just murdered an innocent man who had a family.
· “ASM #177, where, as you can see, he’s downright contemptuous of other people’s attempts to harm him”
Contemptuous was an interpretation of the OP, not something hardcore without a doubt the emotion Spider-Man was going with.
Frankly in the panels showcased i’d say Spidey was more surprised and mocking towards the guy who was again...a huge asshole.
He believed it was his friend Harry who was from Peter’s POV betraying his friendship, had tried to harma dn murder him, Aunt May, Flash and MJ in the past, had hospitalized MJ and at that PARTICULAR moment in the story was wasting Peter’s time as Aunt May’s life was hanging in the balance.
So yes Spider-Man mocked him and hit him.
Shockingly you are allowed to hit people sometimes FFS.
Oh and btw the issue number wasn’t even correct.
· OP uses ASM #189 to further support their case. This is one example where I WOULD agree that the panels legitimately support the agenda they are trying to push.
The problem is that the panels are also OOC.
Spider-Man had never to my recollection ever acted this was towards a doctor before and only particular situations had served to spur him to act this way.
This was part of the Marv Wolfman run where to be brutally honest there was more than a little OOC writing of many characters and an over all regressive approach to Spider-man in particular.
He’s MORE rash and MORE aggressive and MORE of a jerk than he’d been in a long ass time even under Stan Lee’s tenure.
And this made sense because Wolfman pretentiously regarded himself as a Ditko ‘purist’ who believed Spider-Man should never have left high school. And so he wrote Spider-Man in a regressive way to the point where often times, like in the referenced panel from ASM #189 he acted in ways that didn’t make sense for a 22 year old written for 1979 standards vs a teenager written for 1963 standards.
Further proof can be observed in how his writing for Mary jane in her rejection of Peter’s proposal played as though she never developed from the silver age onwards.
· “ASM #193 – this is VERY 616 Peter. He’s frustrated with his personal life, so he decides to take it out (violently) on a bad guy:”
Again...Wolfman’s run, but in this case he is not doing anything particularly wrong within the genre and societal conventions of the time.
Genre conventions dictated that in superhero comic book land hitting criminals is 100% okay because they are bad guys.
Therefore since Spider-Man does that anyway, venting his frustrations into something productive is also okay.
Societal conventions dictated that this was the late 1970s and early 1980s...in New York.
70s and 80s New York was ROUGH and had problems with street crime that got more violent into the 1980s, at least according to the media.
You know how in the Daredevil Netflix show they said because of the Battle of New York Hell’s Kitchen had gone downhill?
That was because they were trying to justify modern day Hell’s Kitchen resembling the kind of dark crime ridden place it was in the 70s and 80s at the height of Daredevil’s popularity.
NYC was ROUGH and that was attributed a lot to crime and so a crime fighter like Spider-Man getting rough would’ve been regarded as fine as would him doing it to vent anger.
The angrier he gets the more criminals he beats up meaning the more go to jail meaning the streets are safer. So all the better.
That was the logic of the time period.
Remember this was the decade that spawned DIRTY HARRY!
This was a decade where Vietnam wrapped up in abject failure and Watergate broke out. People were fucking angry and disillusioned.
And to add further context Marv Wolfman wrote Superman in the 1980s post-crisis era as getting rough with criminals too because Wolfman was a child of the era where both superheroes and crime/gangster stories involved that sort of mentality. His Superman was the Golden Age one who got rough a lot and it was seen as fine because criminals were bad and therefore deserved it.
Now bear all that shit in mind when reading ASM #189...where Spider-Man in hunting down a dangerous super villain who could endure blows from him and whom he’d need to find and stop anyway...whilst he’s coping with Aunt May being in a nursing home, his relationship with MJ whom he is in love with disintegrating, his relationship with Betty also disintegrating and having just taken a punch to the jaw from Ned Leeds his old rival.
YOU CANNOT REMOVE SHIT FROM THE CONTEXT OF THE TIMES THEY WERE CREATED IN!
· More of OP being a disgenuous jerk by pretending Spider-Man losing his temper in confronting the man who murdered Uncle Ben is problematic.
“…notice how a mask seems pretty unnecessary here, despite the fact that his opponent is armed. Peter doesn’t even hesitate. He is out for blood.”
A) The Burglar was not initially unarmed he lost his gun in the scuffle depicted in the panels from the OP
B) Real talk...who WOULDN’T lose their temper confronting the guy who MURDERED THEIR DAD to the point where they’d come close to seriously injuring them?
C) Peter believed Aunt May had recently DIED and that it was at least partially his fault
D) The OP conveniently neglects that the Burglar was threatening Spider-Man with a gun a panel before Peter attacked him and that Spider-Man doesn’t have his powers in this instance. In other words shortly after his mother figure’s death an unarmed and helpless Peter Parker was confronted by an armed known killer who killed his father figure in cold blood and was threatening his life. And he’s ‘problematic’ for assaulting him angrily and threatening to kill him. Can you spell ‘self’defence’?
OP is also disingenuous because she paints Spider-Man’s rage and scary demanor as the fault of the Burglar’s death when it was just the Burglar working himself up.
Spider-Man made it explicitly clear he was NOT going to kill or maim the Burglar but the Burglar was just too worked up and had a heart attack.
· OP brings up Spec v2 #10 where Spider-Man is beating the shit out of Doc Ock....but conveniently doesn’t include the panels prior to that incident where Doc Ock pointlessly murdered an innocent police officer violently and then threatened to murder someone everyday for a year...after he nearly deliberately instigated a war between Israel and Palestine! I am NOT making that up Doc Ock nearly set off a war between Israel and Palestine just to force Spider-Man into revealing his secret identity
FFS is Spider-man REALLY this violence revelling brute for punching the shit out of him for that!
Doc Ock took an innocent life, threatened to take more and was willing to risk MILLIONS of people dying in a war that could’ve lasted years because of his own stupid ego and obsession.
Like fuck dude WAR CRIMINALS have been executed for less than that but SPIDER-MAN is a violence addict because he punched Doc Ock a bit and humiliated him?
Look real talk Spidey making Doc Ock ‘ask him nicely’ was OOC (the OP doesn’t seem to realize such a thing could ever possibly happen) but even if it wasn’t it doesn’t prove the OP’s point because the CONTEXT OF THE SITUATION MATTERS.
· “ASM #522, where he loses his temper and throws Wolverine out of a window:”
Yes.
First thing in the morning after he’s been woken up abruptly by the worrying and mind boggling news that his wife has been sleeping with Tony Stark the guy who’s been insulting him on and off for awhile and who is now very directly insulting his pride and his beloved, long suffering wife (who’s lived through hell for him and has saved his life a million times too).
And he does the equivalent of punching the guy.
How ‘problematic’ and ‘toxic’ that must be.
Gimme a break.
Also remember Spider-Man doesn’t normally randomly punch people, even those who insult him despite the bullshit picture the OP is trying to paint.
· “ASM #539, the first issue in the “Back in Black” arc where Aunt May is shot on Kingpin’s orders, and Peter PUNCHES, INTIMIDATES, AND THREATENS HIS WAY THROUGH THE UNDERWORLD trying to figure out who was responsible. I would recommend reading this arc for a good look at Peter when he’s beyond furious”
OP disingenuously pretending that Peter when he is beyond furious is Spider-Man’s default setting as opposed to Spider-Man under extenuating and/or exceptional circumstances.
You know like when someone has shot his mother who is now dying and might pose a threat to yet more of his friends and family!
Like FUCK how are you so dense as to not properly contextualize shit.
· “Notice, again, the lack of a mask. Peter’s not even slightly frightened by the thought of diving into a room FULL of criminals armed with machine guns where he’s outnumbered by what looks like about 7 to 1.”
OP seemingly conveniently ignoring that in Back In Black (the story being referenced here) Spider-Man identity was public so it doesn’t matter that he didn’t have his mask
· “I find these panels more telling than Peter vs. Norman in #122 – in that one, Peter lost his temper momentarily but quickly snapped out of it and realized he didn’t have it in him to commit murder. Here, he’s completely cool. He genuinely plans to murder Kingpin. He’s thought about it. He wants to do it. He will do it without a moment’s hesitation if the need arises, if that’s what it takes to protect his family – that’s what 616 Peter does. He protects everyone around him. He takes the punishment they cannot.”
I find this part the most mind boggling of all because the OP’s statements here are not untrue but also make no sense in her characterization of Peter as toxic.
· “I could keep going with this all day, because this is who he is in the comics, but I’ll stop there. ”
Again no.
This is who Peter is at TIMES in the comics under certain circumstances and at particular points in his history. That isn’t what he is like at his regular default setting when horrible or seriously stressful or emotionally triggering things are not happening to him.
He ISN’T like this for instance in the Digger arc of JMS’ run.
He ISN’T like this in ASM #301
He ISN’T like this in ASM #41
He ISN’T like this in the Kid Who Collected Spider-Man
· “Does this angry, vengeful man who REVELS in violence really seem like he’s scared of, I don’t know, ANYONE? Don’t let the jokes fool you. Peter’s not someone you want to make angry. He is terrifying when he’s angry.”
Again OP speaks bullshit because
a) Peter doesn’t revel in violence. That’d inply real enjoyment. He at worst vents using it
b) Peter isn’t scared of anyone huh?
Sister let me introduce you to Spider-Man’s ex...and her new man.
Their shipper name...is Venom....
#Spider-Man#Venom#Eddie Brock#Green Goblin#Doctor Octopus#Peter Parker#MCu#marvel cinematic universe
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I love prompt 78, can you do it ?
Alright, think back to the joy of your very first migraine, and imagine Peter Parker trying to deal with it all on his own…
Yes, another migraine fic. But hey, you requested it, and it’s kind of my jam. I’m not in love with the way it turned out, though, (because I wrote the dialogue all out of order) so, well…hopefully it’s ok.
___
Peter’s home alone on a Wednesday night, picking thorough his homework and waiting for May to finish up her evening shift. He’s been nursing a headache since lunchtime, and Peter’s used to that. Food and ibuprofen usually put a damper on things, but not today.
A throb flickers in Peter’s right temple, and his vision shifts weirdly, making the sheet of notebook paper in front of him appear faintly magenta, streaked with pencil marks of hunter green. He blinks hard, and everything goes mostly back to normal. Except for the cluster of stars working its way in an arch from one corner of his right eye to the other.
It’s distracting as hell. And screwing with is depth perception. Peter starts scratching out another problem from his math assignment, but the numbers are all lopsided and hanging off the line, so he pauses. Stares at them for a second. Then fumbles for an eraser.
Good thing this assignment isn’t due tomorrow. He’ll never finish at this rate. Peter heaves a frustrated sigh and lets his hand slacken over the resulting pile of rubber shavings. A wash of apathy comes down from Peter’s head just as the ache in his temple decides to ratchet up a few marks. He drops the eraser and shuts his math book. He’s starting to feel too ill to work anyway.
As he looks for the proper folder to stow away his homework, Peter’s head gets heavier and heavier. He nearly slides out of his chair because the left side of his face seems to be leaden and drooping while the right just hurts. It vaguely occurs to him that this isn’t good. This is all wrong. People…people go to the ER for things like this. The exact word escapes him, but Peter wonders if he’s suffering a brain bleed, about to die in a pile of homework.
Peter considers calling May, but his stomach clenches at the thought of sending her scurrying home early and losing precious hours of pay. Either that or he’s just nauseous. Regardless, his imminent death somehow seems less important than his aunt’s finances.
But, god, he can’t just sit here. The inside of his head feels like Bohemian Rhapsody, but the disorganized offshoots of electrical activity floundering in every direction are full of every kind of pain. Peter unlocks his phone and scrolls through his contacts. Ned can’t help. He’s already decided against calling May. He doesn’t know why he even has Flash’s number. Whatever’s next on the list is too blurry to read…
He needs help. He scans the list as best he can in his partially obscured, quivering visual field. Then he comes to a promising name and presses the call button.
Peter waits, breathing through vertigo as the phone rings out.
“Mission reports go to Happy,” Mr. Stark’s voice says. “Thank you and goodnight.”
“Wait, don’t—don’t hang up,” Peter gasps. “I need…I can’t…”
Mr. Stark’s tone changes at the panic in Peter’s voice. “Ok, kid, slow down. What’s going on?”
“Something’s—” Something’s wrong. But…how the hell to articulate that word? What letter does it start with? How does that sound fit into his mouth?
“Kid?”
“I’m, I’m…” Peter’s lost in aphasia.
“Are you drunk?” Mr. Stark asks.
“No. My head,” Peter groans. “My…I can’t see, I can’t…”
“Slow down. I don’t get it.”
He sighs. How to articulate in elusive words that this is the problem? He can’t think. He can’t concentrate. “I…my head hurts. There’s…there’s lights, my face is falling off…” Peter slurs. “I don’t…wanna die.” He doesn’t mean to say it. But it’s starting to feel like an increasingly plausible fear.
“Oh, kid,” Mr. Stark breathes. “I think…have you ever had a migraine before?”
Peter shakes his head. Then he remembers the gesture is no good on the phone, and he exhales, “No.”
“It’s a lot to experience,” Mr. Stark says. “But you’re not gonna die. I’ll be right there, ok? You’re at home? By yourself, I assume?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok. Hold on a minute.” The phone clicks as Mr. Stark hangs up. Peter drops his forehead to his desk, hoping he can keep his stomach in place.
It turns out he can’t, and it’s all he can do to fling his homework and textbooks out of the way before he brings up a rush of sick over the scuffed tabletop in front of him. Vomit runs off the edge and onto the floor, and Peter shoves his swivel chair back a couple feet to avoid getting a lapful of the mess. He balances his elbows on his thighs and buries his face in his hands, relying on the pressure to prevent his head from exploding.
Time passes. Or maybe it doesn’t. Peter just sits there, swallowing hard so he doesn’t retch himself into a new level of brain-crushing pain. There’s a tapping sound from outside his window, but he can’t make himself lift his head.
The rusty metal tracks scrape as the slightly open window is pushed up. “Kid? Pete?” Mr. Stark’s voice asks, slightly distorted by his ironman mask. The red and gold suit flies head first through the window, sending the dusty blinds rustling. Peter can hardly spare a lift of his head before he’s gagging again and spilling acid and spit down the front of his t-shirt.
“Aw, geez, kid,” Mr. Stark says. He hovers upright for a second, then releases himself to the floor. His suit origami folds itself into a band around his forearm, leaving him looking unimposing and almost small in his civilian clothes. He sinks down to his knees beside Peter’s desk chair. “Not feeling good, huh?”
“Nuh,” Peter manages, swallowing impending nausea as best he can.
Mr. Stark slides his fingers under Peter’s sweaty bangs. “Well, no fever. That’s something.” He surveys the mess on the desk and floor. “You think you’re done hurling?”
Peter shrugs.
“How ‘bout you spend a minute in the bathroom anyway? It’ll probably be good to sit in the dark.” Mr. Stark helps Peter to his feet. “You know, I remember the first time this happened to me. Was about your age. At MIT. Puked right in the middle of the physics lab,” he chuckles.
Peter squats, letting his weight leave Mr. Stark’s arm and drapes over the toilet seat instead. “Ok. You chill,” Mr. Stark says. “I’ll, uh, clean up your room a little.”
Peter can’t will himself to say anything. Mr. Stark pats him gruffly on the back and leaves, snagging a towel on his way. Peter breathes deeply, practically feeling the scent of the bleach on the toilet water seeping into his head, running down his throat, and turning his stomach again. He throws up a little bile, and the sound and the smell and the taste compound under his face and make him feel sick all over again.
It dies down, though, eventually. When Mr. Stark reappears to drag him to his bed, Peter’s not prepared to stand up, but at least his stomach’s mostly back where it belongs. “Alright, just lie down,” Mr. Stark instructs, removing his hand from Peter’s shoulder once they’re a foot or so from the lumpy mattress. “I’ll be right back.” He bends to pick up Peter’s small trash can, which is overflowing with the now sick-sopped towel he’d taken from the rack.
It’s a relief when the mess leaves the confines of the small room and Peter can breathe in clean air again. The deeper and slower his breaths, the less static there seems to be around his eyeballs. He drops his jeans and crawls into bed in his t-shirt and underwear, blissfully burying his head in his pillow and blocking out the rest of the world.
“Alright, one last thing,” Mr. Stark says, his footsteps annoyingly loud as he approaches again. He drops the empty and freshly-lined bin beside the bed, then produces a bottle of pills, a water bottle, and a straw. “You’ll thank me when you’re doped up.”
Peter squints in the semi-darkness and holds out his trembly hand to accept the white tablets Mr. Stark offers him. “That’s called Excedrin,” he explains. “You’ll probably want to buy some.” He drops the straw into the bottle of water next, holding it so Peter doesn’t have to move in order to gulp down a swig.
Mr. Stark leaves the bottle on Peter’s bedside table. “Ok. You all set? I owe you a towel, but I’ll deal with that later.”
“Thanks,” Peter murmurs.
“Alright, see you later, kid. Not tomorrow, just, whenever you feel better—”
The sound of a key turning in a lock stuns Mr. Stark to silence. “Your aunt?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah,” Peter sighs. He starts to sit up, but hits a wall of dizziness and has to press his face back onto his pillow.
“No, stay put,” Mr. Stark says. “I got this.” He moves into the doorway of Peter’s room and poses, leaning languidly against the frame.
Hardly a moment later, Peter hears May pad down the hall and give a little yelp of fright. “What? What’s going on?” she demands.
“Well, Pete here called and said he wasn’t feeling good and didn’t want to worry you, so I just thought I’d pop by. I was…in the neighborhood.”
“Is he ok?” May asks. Peter can see her concerned face peering around Mr. Stark’s frame to get a glimpse of him curled on his side in bed.
“Yeah, he just has a headache. You know, like one of those stress migraines. I gave him a little bit of Excedrin and put him to bed,” Mr. Stark says. “Well, I told him to go to bed. I didn’t put…he’s not a little kid, and I’m not a creep, so.”
“Well, thank you,” May says, sounding grateful and still a tinge confused. “What…Is there something I should do? To make sure he doesn’t get another one?”
Mr. Stark shrugs. “Let him skip school tomorrow. I don’t expect him back at my office until he’s feeling better. I can cut his internship hours if that’s adding to the stress.”
“Hey, no, you don’t, please don’t do that,” Peter mumbles.
“Go to sleep, kid,” Mr. Stark says. He turns to face into Peter’s room. “It’s taken me a long time to figure it out, but a solid two and a half decades of working too hard kind of makes you realize it’s not worth it.”
Hot tendrils of prickling nausea flare from Peter’s stomach to his throat to his face. He tries to think of a decent response, but settles on just keeping his mouth shut.
#fanfic#fanfiction#sickfic#mcu#marvel#spiderman#spider-man: homecoming#peter parker#tony stark#aunt may#migraines#emeto#emetophilia
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Even Now We Feel The Shape Of Your Absence
I blame @camsthisky and @comicroute for this. If you are not them, I am sorry, this is very angsty, and things aren’t getting fixed afterwards.
Read on Ao3
Damian swung through the Gotham sky.
He was alone, that wasn't in any way particular now, he'd grown tall and strong enough that no one particularly worried for him anymore. And he had been avoiding crippling or killing for long enough that they didn't particularly feel the need to protect Gotham's disreputable nightlife from him either.
But even without that, this wasn't a night where his family felt like monitoring him anyway.
Every year, when the anniversary came around, no one felt like butting in on anyone else's business, each one of them much too preoccupied with guilt and grief.
This was the night for mourning.
All of Gotham knew it. They knew this was the fifth year anniversary of one of their vigilante’s death. They knew it was the night when none of the Bats felt particularly benevolent. Some had tried to use the memory of their loss against them, maybe they thought the heroes would be sloppy on the anniversary. They weren't. They were furious and easy to anger because that was an easier emotion to process than the crushing guilt.
No one tainted their lost member's death anniversary with crime nowadays.
The streets were eerily calm as a result.
A full body cast didn't particularly appeal to people after all.
The outside heroes didn't contact them either.
They either understood and shared their pain and loss (and some of the guilty feeling); or at least were wary of setting of the Bats' tempers by disrupting their gloom.
Damian landed down on The Street.
It was bare of anything or anyone.
It hadn't been like that at first.
There had been candles and flowers all along the sidewalk and on the roofs around for the whole week after they found the body.
People had come by to pay their respects on the first anniversary too, left tokens.
But it had been a long time since the tragedy, other things had happened to push that one particular death away from the Gothamites' minds. Other deaths, other problems.
But not for the family.
Not for any of the Bats.
Or Robin.
The sidewalk was grimy but intact.
Damian felt there should at least have been a dent on the sidewalk to mark all the hurt this place had inflicted on his family.
But it wasn't the sidewalk's fault. Or even the rooftop up above's.
It wasn't even their departed member's fault.
It was their fault. Collectively, as a family. As allies.
They should have seen this coming, but they hadn't.
They had all been too absorbed in their own selves and their own problems that they hadn't seen the obvious. Hadn't predicted the predictable. Hadn't prevented the preventable.
Damian remembered the moment he'd discovered the tragedy. The moment they'd discovered they were one short.
How could he not?
It was engraved in his memories like an unhealing brand.
He remembered with shame how he'd first scoffed at the inquiry for his older ally. How he'd then said something insulting about his then already dead ally.
He remembered the tension mounting, the dread seeping in on their com channels.
He remembered the ping on the untriggered emergency beacon, the Batpeople converging toward This very Street.
He remembered the gasps, the questions, the mayhem.
He remembered Alfred asking if he needed to prep the medbay for emergency medical treatment.
He remembered the chocked up "no" that had felt like someone just announced the end of the world.
No.
No, no emergency medical treatment.
Nothing could have been done to save their lost partner.
He remembered the reality hitting him in the face like a sledgehammer along with the grief filled negation.
He remembered his own numbness as he made it to one of the surrounding roofs and saw the confirmation with his own two eyes in the form of a dislocated body painting the sidewalk... Not red, no, not on a black ground, just, glistening moisture and sparse reddish reflections where some light managed to reach the puddles.
He remembered the crowd of civilians gathering, curious and horrified.
He remembered the tentative way Father had reached for the prone form then lifted it.
He remembered the horror of having to do an inventory check amongst the blood.
He remembered the even bigger dread at hearing the words "intact grapple" and "spare line". At reviewing all the ways their ally could and should have saved themselves from the fatal end to their fall.
After that... After that was hard to remember amongst the haze.
They had needed to disguise the death, craft cover stories...
Father haunted the Wayne graveyard for months. In fact this was where he was this very night.
Damian... Didn't want to intrude, or otherwise disrupt any of the other's grieving, so he had found his own place to pay his respect.
So while Alfred cleaned the deceased's bedroom and Grayson sat in from of the costume cases and looked over pictures, hurting himself by seeing all the way in which he should have seen the decline in cheerfulness as a warning sign, Damian came here.
It didn't feel as intrusive this way.
Damian stalked to the small altar he had made here years ago.
It was modest, two plexiglass sheets as walls and a couple of clear glass roof-tiles to protect burning candles from the weather. The departed's two crests; the one they died in, and the one they had once worn; secured in a little cement slab on the ground under the shelter, so people passing by could know who was being grieved here.
After a cursory glance to confirm no one would be brash enough to try and attack him in this very place the day of his ally's death anniversary, Robin bent to his knees, then sat on the dirty sidewalk. He riffled through his utility belt to get his candle out. It was a big one that should burn on for hours, Damian had engraved his lost comrade's emblem on the side of it earlier in the day with a heated blade, as a preparation for this night.
The engraved emblem and sitting down was a special, annual thing. The candles were not, he swung by to light one at least once a month, usually a smaller one.
Damian took out his lighter and lit the candle then carefully placed it in the center of the altar, then he took out his other offerings.
The bouquet of blood red roses went with a bit of water in the small acrylic pipe he'd included to the side of the shelter to serve this purpose, then he artfully wrapped the black satin ribbon over it.
The drawing of the young (at the moment of their death) hero, being made on a cardboard drawing sheet, could stand on it's own at the back of the shelter without risks of becoming a fire hazard, though Damian took care to tape it securely for this exact reason anyway.
Now that the objects were out and arranged, there was no reason to keep putting back the next bit...
"They all miss you." Damian whispered, touching his fingertips to the old Robin emblem set in the altar. "They all..." He didn't choke up, but he had to take a deep breath. "I miss you too. I never thought this would happen, but you made it happen anyway, didn't you?"
Damian thought back on all the insults and attacks. He didn't drown in guilt for it anymore. Five years was a long time to learn to swim in one's guilt without going totally under. "Hireath. That's a Welsh word. It's a type of nostalgia for something that is forever gone and can never be recovered again. I miss the opportunity to have gotten a bond with you. I also miss the time before you left. They changed without you. They are always sad. They fight more too. Even Alfred has started to be irritable and confrontational toward Father. And Black Bat never comes by anymore. I think she feels guilty that she was on Hong Kong when it happened."
Damian didn't cry, that wasn't something he did. "She's not the only one. Everyone feels guilty that they missed the signs." I feel guilty that I was part of what might have pushed you to jump, he didn't say. "Nothing is the same anymore. I don't think I have to tell you about Father and Nightwing, I bet they're already apologizing to you. Oracle has become even more paranoid and controlling. I don't like her that much, but I'm starting to worry for her. She's overworking herself. Always tracking us, always demanding updates."
Damian rubbed at his brow. "I don't mean to whine, but. I wish you were back."
And they would never be.
Not only because no one who loved them was selfish enough to force them to come back to this life after they committed suicide, but also because there was no body anymore.
Damian went up to his knees, then climbed to his feet.
They could all thank Jason for that last one. And Damian in fact did.
When the death had been confirmed, Gordon had sent the family the vigilante version of their will; that had been left with her for safekeeping. It stated clearly to cremate their body so nobody could revive them.
Father had stalked off after hearing that, Damian didn't know whether Father would have respected that last wish, because Jason had stolen the body and cremated, then buried the ashes at different locations himself, before anything else could happen.
The lack of a body, thought problematic at first, had been a reason why they managed to disguise the simultaneous deaths by declaring them missing in a private plane accident rather that looking for a cover story with a body as evidence.
It also meant that that they had needed to wait for a whole year before they could hold the burial of an empty casket. That had not helped with Father's temper.
There was a flash of purple in the corner of his eye, and Robin turned to see the other hero who preferred to pay her respect in This Street. She tended to come by a bit later than him, so it didn't bother him.
He wondered if he was the one who ran late, or if she was early, but shrugged it off. He was done, he could let Batgirl have his place.
He prepped his grapple to fly away again, keep protecting this city, in their name as well as his own.
"Please rest in peace, Red Robin." He whispered as he took flight again over the rooftops of Gotham.
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“All my Friends are Heathens, Take it Slow~”
Hazzah! I’m finally finished with these guys! I’ve been working on them since October ^^
@doomkittypumpkin @crossroadsdimension @sugarpea7 @happy-fazzbear-ponies2 (Hope you guys don’t mind me tagging you in this)
Time for me to introduce Blank’s group of friends!
The one with blonde hair is Sol Larron, a wizard who uses souls for his magic, the one with black hair is Rue Aika, a healer with a dark family secret, the one with silver hair is Darnel Wright, a man who can bring things to life with a not so good family and lastly, the one with pink and green hair is Fia Ligado, a woman who casts flames and hunts demons, faes/fairies and ghosts for a living.
Here are their bios! Putting them under read more since it’s pretty long.
Name: Sol Larron
Sex: Male Gender: Male
Age: 26
Height: 5’2 Feet Tall
Sexuality: Bisexual, Aromantic
Appearance:
Has spiky blond hair tied into a ponytail by a white band, fair skin, and light silver eyes with a scar underneath the left one. Wears a brown dress shirt with black buttons and golden cufflinks, has a dark brown leather vest with lapels and light brown designs, over it; the golden buttons are connected to each other by chains, there are another two buttons attached to the left lapel, they too have chains connecting to the first button, brown suspender pants, a black belt with a soul container on the middle, black and gray boots, a short black cloak with a golden round clasp and light gray designs on the bottom. Around each of his wrists are two black leather straps with a soul container on each one and lastly, wears two diamond shaped obsidian earrings.
History:
Was originally born in a poor family of Soul Magic Users; Soul Magic Users weren’t very well liked due to their ability of using souls of nearly any living being to enhance their spells. Since they were poor and couldn’t support him, they decided to put him up for adoption when he was just 3 months old.
Sol was then adopted by a gay couple. During the first 10 years of his life with them, it was pretty great until they started to distance themselves from him due to their type of work, which is Assassins since they are Blood Magic Users. Sol did not know about this and grew resentful of them.
He discovered his magical abilities when he had accidentally (Or maybe not) killed his pet hamster. Its soul swirled around his hands much to his amazement and started to learn more about his powers and ancestry.
Personality:
Sol is a rather aggressive and hostile person. He has a short temper which is easily set off if you insult him about his height, isn’t very much of a people person as well, usually acting rude to them unless he knows that they are in a much higher position and power than him. While if you were to actually befriend him, he’ll be a bit nicer to you.
He can be harsh and blunt of the way he speaks, wanting to say the painful truth instead of a lie. If a person’s life is always told with lies just to keep them from being hurt, how would they learn?
As a Soul Magic User, he tends to be insensitive and ruthless as well like his ancestors before him. Since he needs souls to enhance the power of his spells, he would go “Hunting” for some. When he killed his hamster and got its soul, he didn’t felt all that horrified or disturbed. Eventually, he went on to killing humans for their souls and mostly the ones that are criminals, since not many would miss them and murders of civilians would draw too much attention but has killed some due to either witnessing him kill a criminal or just because he really needs to replete his soul containers if he ever runs out. He tends to be wary of others and when startled, he would most likely attack you with a magical blast; this behaviour is due to his “Hunts”. They have made him wary and tense nearly all the time now since he had to be aware of his surroundings when he was hunting down souls.
While he does find Blank annoying sometimes, he does consider her a great friend since she was the first person to discover his Soul Magic and caught him in the act of killing someone yet wasn’t horrified and instead interested. Sol also feels the same way with Fai, Rue and Darnel.
He has a secret room where he keeps other souls he had collected in and try out spells, since it can get loud when he does that, he would play VERY loud heavy metal music so his parents would not hear and place ear muffs so the music would not distract him. He actually dislikes the music and prefers J-Pop and K-Pop more, he considers it an embarrassing secret of his and keeps his collection of it in a tight and secured place.
Abilities/Powers:
.Magical Capabilities: Is able to cast spells ranging from powerful blasts, cause a ring of fire or even knock someone to sleep. However, there are some spells that require him to chant, a lot of them are hard to pronounce so it may take him a few tries since he needs to pronounce it correctly for them to work.
. Soul Magic: Is capable of collecting souls to enhance the power of his spells. Also has some spells made by him involving the use of souls alone, but it depends on the number of souls. Like a spell to look into 5 minutes into the future, it would require around 50 souls, a spell to teleport: 6, and an additional six for any passengers, can look into a soul to see who are their relatives, etc. Still has much to learn though.
Heightened Senses: His senses are far better than most because of years of hunting.
Weaknesses:
. Gagging his mouth is a good way to prevent him from casting most of his spells.
. Taking away his wand wouldn’t do much since he could still use his hands to fire spell, however he will have trouble directing his spells the right way.
. Rue’s Gloves would be capable of preventing him from casting spells.
Name: Rue Aika
Sex: Female Gender: Female
Age: 24
Height: 5’5 Feet Tall
Sexuality: Pansexual, Panromantic
Appearance:
Has black curly and fluffy looking hair with neatly cut bangs, pale skin, and yellow eyes. She wears white overalls with yellow linings, a yellow box with a white flower on the middle design, ruffles on the bottom, a red ribbon wrapped around her waist and yellow circles on the straps. Underneath her overalls was a yellow shirt with a white collar, and gray ruffles on both the collar and the sleeves. On her head was a black headband with cat ears and white flowers on both sides and bottom of the cat ears, wore long white and silver gloves that hides her markings and scars on her biceps, and lastly had black doll shoes with white socks that reached above her knees.
History:
Rue was born in a family of great healers. Her family had a secret though. In the ancient times, her family once had the ability to manipulate time but has long since become diluted throughout the years. There have only been two other people known to be born with it. One was her great great grandfather; he had the ability to perceive ones past.
The second one was the most memorable....Her aunt, who had the ability to age things. However, she did not use these powers for good, she used them for her own purposes and caused much crime and death with it until she was finally captured and died by lethal injection.
Both of them had yellow eyes, exactly like hers. So when her parents saw she was born with those eyes, it was a sign that she had the rare power of her family, causing both of her parents to become shock and horrified. Unlike her aunt, Rue was born with the power to make things younger. Her parents kept a very close eye on her, afraid that she might become like her late aunt.
It was until she was but 10 when she was happily playing with the family pet, but when she was going to pet it, it suddenly disappeared when she touched it. It was there and then the true extents of her powers were revealed, her powers can rewind a thing’s or being’s time to the point before they even existed.
Her parents were now more horrified and decided to take action. Her mother made special gloves that would contain her time powers and kept telling her over and over again that she should never remove these gloves for her powers were far too dangerous to be free.
Personality:
Rue is a kind woman who can be a little shy. She will treat strangers with friendliness but dislikes it if they are too overly familiar with her or rude. If you were to startle her, she’d be a little shy but will get over it albeit she’ll be wary of you now without showing it.
She is also a patient woman, having to deal with her cousins whenever they came to visit and her friends that have violent tendency. But it wouldn’t be nice to test her limits, anger her enough and she might just threaten to erase you from existence. Her wrath even scares her friends sometimes. Swearing is no problem with her and tends to do it when frustrated or in a bad situation.
Isn’t the most social in the group because of the fear she has for her powers. After years and years of her parents constantly telling her that her powers are a danger to others, Rue has grown to fear them incredibly and would instantly panic of her gloves were removed by someone other than her. Emotions can cause a reaction from her powers, so panicking or becoming angry would make them lose control. Before, she was much shyer and often avoids others or even stays inside her house for months because of her powers. When her friends came into her life, they gave her more courage and confidence, making her more social and willing to talk with others now. Though when she discovered some of them have killed and still do, she was of course horrified but didn’t want to report them since they are her friends. Eventually, she got used to it and now would get irritated when they chose murder when the option of talking it out is available.
However in a point of time before her friends came, her fear over her time powers got so bad that she tried to cut her own arms off. While she did succeed in doing so, her powers, both healing and time, reacted to it quickly and regenerated her arms without her consent, leaving two scars on where the cuts used to be.
Even though it doesn’t look like it, but Rue finds most monsters attractive. Not too monstrous but not too human as well. Because of this, she is often teased about it by her friends, much to her embarrassment and annoyance. It’s most likely she’ll have a monster lover in the future. Has a love for plants, especially flowers since her parents run a flower shop.
Abilities/Powers:
Healing: Is capable of healing others if she touches them or if they touch her. She is able to heal bruises, wounds, sicknesses, amputated fingers and even poisoning. However, she is only capable of healing those made of flesh, beings made from things such as metal, wood, etc. Would have no effect, and she can only cure sicknesses and poisoning if they the person isn’t close to death. While she may not be able to regenerate limbs, she can heal them enough to stop the blood loss.
Time Reversal: Has the power to reverse the state of a being to the point before they were even born. But due to lack of practice and fear of this power, it tends to lose control. If she were to practice this more, she’d be able to reverse either the physical form, mentality or even the state of time a being is in.
High-Speed Regeneration: This will only apply to her arms. It’s kind of a mixture of both her time and healing powers, if any amputation will occur, then they will regenerate back immediately while leaving a scar where the amputation was. For now, it happens automatically and she has no control over it.
Weaknesses:
. Isn’t the most physically the strongest, so overpowering her physically should do the trick.
. Her gloves contain her time powers, keeping them on her would best move to do. They are made out of a very strong fabric with a spell that could contain most abilities, as long as they manifest through the hands.
. Beings that have control over time itself would not be affected by her Time Reversal powers.
Name: Fia Ligado
Sex: Female Gender: Female
Age: 29
Height: 6’1 Feet Tall
Sexuality: Bisexual, Demiromantic
Appearance:
Has black skin with scars on her limbs and back, sea foam green irises with pastel pink pupils shaped as four pointed stars, and dyed sea foam green and pastel pink hair that looked very fluffy. Wears a white sleeveless turtleneck with silver accents underneath a silver jacket with black hems, flame designs on the bottom and pink diamond shaped pins were pinned on her lapels and attached to silver gray buttons by a strap of black leather; one of her sleeves is rolled up and reveals the scars on her arm, around her waist was a white belt with a metal buckle, deep green pants, and silver pointed shoes. Her accessories were a necklace with a metal cross pendant and pink circular earrings.
History: She was born in a wealthy family. Fia got her fire powers and eyes from her mother’s side of the family. Things were going great until her parents died in a car crash, thus leaving her in the care of the many workers in the mansion but mainly two demonic beings that are bound to her thanks to her parents as a safety precaution in case both of them died. The two demons are not able to hurt her physically and mentally and must protect her if she was in danger within their sight.
However, the two aren’t very fond of the girl, they in fact hate her and really hate that they can’t hurt her, but it never said they can’t hurt her Emotionally right?
Fia in the other hand was ignorant about this and became attached to them; eventually she caught on to the hurtful words but laughs them off as joke and is in denial about them disliking her. She then started to play as bait for them to lure unsuspecting and unfortunate people to her guardians clutches.
Personality:
Is deemed as the Cool and Hot one due to how calm she can remain in most situations and that her appearance tends to attract a lot of attention. However, if the situation involved personal matters, then she’ll take it much more seriously, especially if it involved her two guardians. Her cool composure would start to crack if it was a personal situation and she was failing it.
Her cool and confident composure along with her unique looks tends to catch many peoples’ attentions. She likes having people around her; it gets boring and unnerving when it’s all silent. The servants back at her home didn’t really give mind to her and do what they just do silently, this only started to bother her when her parents died. Whenever there’s nobody around and it’s all quiet, she’d either hear music through her phone, watch some videos, hum to herself or leave.
While at first meeting, she does seem friendly, but remember that she was raised by a pair of demons who are quite sadistic. Fia can become cruel and brutal when needed to be, especially if you manage to provoke her. If you do so, you’ll be burnt slowly and painfully. She isn’t at all bothered by killing since her guardians do it a lot of times due to their nature. It rubbed off a bit on her so she’ll sometimes get excited when hunting down pray. It’s easy for her to manipulate others, mostly the gullible and nice ones.
Her skills in hunting demons, faes and ghosts came in when her guardians started to teach it to her so she’d be able to defend herself better. Whenever she’s out in a hunt, she’d be sure to bring the necessary equipment to defend herself. Such holy water (Either taken from a church or tricked a priest into giving it to her), weapons that have holy symbols etched on them, iron objects and salt. Sometimes she’d take bounty missions for these three species to gain some extra cash.
Despite of how her guardians treat her, Fia is extremely loyal to them. She may like to annoy them from time to time, but loves nothing more to impress them, going as far as acting as bait for them when they wanted a new plaything. The reason why she’s so loyal to them is because when her parents died, her guardians were the closest to being parental substitutes since all of the servants in the house were always emotionless to her. When they would make hurtful comments and freely say that they hate her, she’d freeze before laughing it off and telling to herself that it was a joke.
She finds her friends an exciting bunch, especially Blank. They get along the best since they are kind of similar in a way and sometimes hunt together. Fia cherishes them since she also considers them family and would protect them. Maybe even from her guardians.
Abilities/Powers:
Fire Manipulation: Has the power to conjure up powerful flames, just enough to melt thick walls of metal. Can use this to glide over gaps but not fly, turn the bottom of the ground underneath her to lava and if she were to concentrate just enough, she’d be able to create swords and other weapons out of her flames.
Demon Sensing: Due to living with demons and hunting them for most of her life, she is now able to sense them quickly if they were near her. It would be a little harder if they’re possessing someone though.
Hunting Skills: Fia has been hunting demons, faes and ghosts ever since she was 16. Her knowledge expands even more when she met Blank, leading to her to discover other kinds of demons/faes/ghosts with different weaknesses. Is capable of killing, banishing and even binding a demon temporarily to her (It depends on how powerful said demon is), uses iron for traditional faes and sometimes uses a certain type of crystal and spell to trap them, and finally uses salt, anti ghost technology or spells that she is capable of performing on ghosts.
Weaknesses:
. Water is the opposite element to fire, so using it would be a good thing to counterattack her fire manipulation.
. Rue’s Gloves would be able to cancel out her fire abilities, but only on her arms. Other body parts not included.
Name: Darnel Wright
Sex: Male Gender: Male
Age: 27
Height: 6’0 Feet Tall
Sexuality: Asexual, Demiromantic
Appearance:
Has a short messy silver hair, pale skin and his sclera is light red, irises are red and his pupils are colored dark purple. Wears a light royal blue sweater that hides his muscles, and black pants tucked underneath blue gray boots.
History:
Is an accidental child born from a short lived affair; his father left his mother when he found out about the pregnancy. This made her grow resentful of her unborn child. When Darnel was born, she treated him more of a servant than her child. His uncles, aunts and cousins that live with him treated him the same way, though his step father didn’t and treated him like his actual son. However, his step father died in an accident when he was fourteen leaving him in the care of his family, who only continued to treat him badly because of his parentage and that he had inherited his father’s eyes and ability to bring things to life while the rest of the family had the simple ability of telekinesis.
Personality:
Due to the treatment his family gives him, he is terrible shy and nervous when meeting people. He doesn’t like to stand out too much since his family would insult him if he does. His family pretty much criticize everything about him, from the way he looks to the way he talks. This made him a bit of a perfectionist as well.
Darnel doesn’t go out very often, mostly to buy something he is ordered to do or tend to the gardens. When he does interact with people, he is would be very nervous and stutter a lot. He likes people who are nice but not overly happy ones since those types of people make him uncomfortable. If he were in some sort of cafe or restaurant, he’ll probably be seated on the farthest table or the one closest to the exit. He generally prefers to seat alone but would allow someone to seat with him just as so long they don’t make him uncomfortable.
He’s less nervous around his friends though, and happier as well. The reason why is because they’re one of the few people who are nice to him. He loved his step father dearly while he felt nothing for his biological father. Was once close to one of his cousins before until he brought their pet back to life, it was supposed to cheer them up but ended up scaring them and made them hate/fear him instead.
The pet is still with him and kept in his room. Darnel keeps a lot of stuff in his room and sometimes brings them to life as well, only when he feels lonely though. Most of the items are made by him. He is skilled in making small things such as wooden dolls, glass figurines, etc. He does have a severed hand from the time he first met his friend. He kept it when he accidentally brought it to life and keeps it in a mini refrigerator in his room along with the pet whenever their temporary life spans are up.
Has a love and talent for driving/car racing. He got it from his father who would tell him all about the races he had been before he died. Rarely, Darnel would sneak out of the house and participate in car races; he keeps a car in a cabin in the woods not far from house. Thanks to his step father constantly talking about cars before, he knows how to fix a car as well.
When he first met his friends, he was pretty shocked and horrified to find out that some of them have killed and still are like how Rue reacted. He was tempted to tell on them but decided not to since they are his friends/people who actually like him. Darnel eventually got used to it but is still gets squeamish at the sight of intense gore and tries to avoid it as much as he can.
Abilities/Powers:
Life Giving: Is able to bring inanimate things to life. They sometimes act as zombies and would only listen to his commands. The larger the item is, the more energy he needs to bring it to life. If it was a doll of some sort, it wouldn’t drain him at all, but if it was a small house then he’d faint and be asleep for three days. This ability can also be applied to corpses. It doesn’t last forever though. In normal circumstances, it would only last up to five hours, but if Darnel were to add a bit more energy, it can last up to a whole day in max.
Weaknesses:
. Binding his hands together with energy cuffs or something living would be a good way to prevent him from using his powers.
. If you are nice to him, then you’d be able to gain his trust making him more vulnerable for a surprise attack.
. Cannot bring curse objects, and objects that contain a soul or a piece of it, to life.
#original art#Original Ideas#original character#my art#my designs#Sol Larron#Sol#Rue Aika#Rue#Fia Ligado#Fia#Darnel Wright#Darnel
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FIC: Dance with the Devil (4/7)
Title: Dance with the Devil Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Genre: Angst, H/C, Action Synopsis: The truth got stuck in his throat, like Theron had forgotten what it sounded like to not pretend. Warnings: See Part 1
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Crossposted to AO3
Sitting up wasn’t quite the ordeal that his caretaker had thought it would be, but a trickle of sweat rolled down the side of Theron’s face all the same. Between the perspiration and the general funk that developed after three days in captivity, he had to have reeked. He distantly wondered if she was plugging her nose with the Force or something as he finished sipping the water she had given him. He probably could have chugged several liters if she gave him the chance.
“What are my chances of stealing your sonic shower?”
She just gave him a look. “You’re hardly sitting up as it is.”
“Sponge bath then?”
She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, actual exasperation breaking through her veil of worry. That was at least a step in the right direction. “Is that really your main concern right now?”
“I feel like I just rolled around in Zakuulan swamp muck. And probably smell like it too.”
“Our first priority is to finish addressing your injuries.”
“Then a sponge bath?” He bobbed his eyebrows lightly, although his heart wasn’t quite in it.
She sighed wearily. “I will see what I can do, after you’ve rested some.”
Normally she had a seemingly endless well of patience when it came to his antics and sarcasm, but he sensed that it was probably a good time to not push her any further. Her angry outburst from earlier was still fresh in his mind, and he didn’t want a repeat of that. Especially since Valkorion was apparently taking an interest in the proceedings. Her attempts to disguise her true feelings from the ghost were likely futile, but at this point it was probably more of a coping mechanism than anything else. Theron wasn’t the one with a monster trapped in his head, and he wanted to be as supportive as he could. Sometimes he just felt like collateral damage in their never-ending war for control.
The empty glass was taken away before she retrieved more kolto. He would have worried about how much she had in stock, but that was one thing he had made sure the quartermaster knew to keep in abundant supply on the Defender. She might have been the heaviest hitter in the galaxy, but she wasn’t invincible no matter how hard she tried to project that image.
She gently applied another patch of kolto to one of the deeper bruises that started at his ribs and wrapped around his back. That had come from a particularly angry outburst from Dirai. It was possible Theron might have said something sarcastic in response to one of his questions. (That sounded like him.) He was surprised that the scan revealed they weren’t cracked, but he’d take what he could get at this point. Her touch was light, but not enough to prevent his flinch. She caught the movement and flashed him an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry, I’m almost done.”
“Just do what you got to do, don’t worry about me.”
“It’s a little late for that at this point, don’t you think?” Her tone had an air of forced levity, but the wrinkling of her brow let him know it wasn’t really meant as a joke.
“Poor choice of words.”
She seemed to busy her hands with very, very gently applying more kolto to the large section of mottled skin, but the frown was still in place. “What were you doing on Skeressa?”
“Looking for Arcann. It turned out to be a bogus lead.” He’d hoped that perhaps if he left it a bit vague, she’d let the subject drop.
“Exactly how did Dirai and his followers factor in, then?” Then again, he’d neglected to factor in that he was dating a particularly stubborn breed of Jedi. “I am not naive enough to believe this was purely Alliance business.”
He pressed his lips together, staring over her shoulder so he didn’t have to look her in the eye. “Things didn’t quite go as planned.”
“This isn’t the only time something hasn’t gone to ‘plan’ though, is it?” She straightened up, looking him square in the eye. “Like the time you and Torian came back from Tatooine looking like you’d fought a minor war?”
“That was… complicated.” Theron was trained to withstand any interrogation, had just survived three days of hell without breaking once, but found his resolve crumbling as he stared into her stormy blue eyes. “In my defense, we brought back Gault and Blizz in one complete and unbruised piece.”
“What is going on with you, Theron?” She gently cupped his chin, gaze softening. “You have disappeared like this more than just twice recently, but it’s getting worse each time.”
“I don’t really think worse is the right—”
“You were just held captive and tortured by a death cult filled with Dark Side users who routinely practiced blood sacrifice and old Sith traditions actually banned by the Empire.”
This was probably the wrong time to ask her how she had found out about those rumors. It had taken him several days getting acclimated to the locals to hear those tales. Exactly how long had she been on Skeressa looking for him? From the dark circles under her eyes, it was possible that she had been on the planet longer than just the time it took to walk from her ship to the warehouse.
“Am I really supposed to believe this had something to do with Arcann?” As she continued, her stare did not soften, but the naked concern shone through. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He shut his eyes, unable to take her staring at him with such open worry and care. If he wanted to, he could give her some excuse. Even as muddied and unorganized as his thoughts were right now, he’d probably be able to think of something that would satisfy her curiosity and ease her mind. He could lie to her face and she probably wouldn’t even realize. It was what he had been trained to do after all. It was a hallmark of the profession he’d chosen after the one he’d been raised for didn’t pan out. But if he were being honest with himself, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want any of this. He just wanted this damned dance to stop. Wanted things to go back to how they’d been before Valkorion. But more than any of that, Theron just wanted her. That’s all he had wanted for a long, long time.
When he looked at her, he didn’t say anything immediately. The truth got stuck in his throat, like he had forgotten what it sounded like to not pretend. He tried again and opened his mouth, but the first word died on his lips when he realized there was an extra set of incorporeal ears listening. A cold sensation ran down his spine as he contemplated for the first time exactly what Valkorion’s reaction might be to learning that Theron was actively trying to find information to eliminate him. Would it matter? Would he even care? If he did, would his reaction tend more towards detached amusement or anger? If it was the latter, would he be able to act on it and lash out as his intended target, or would he just find some new and worse way to torture the Jedi he was haunting? Theron couldn’t suppress the chill that ran through him.
She frowned, a look of disappointment and hurt stealing across her face as she assumed he was clamming up on her again. He shook his head fiercely, reluctantly catching her eye again as he very slowly and deliberately traced the shell of his ear with his thumb. He may have hated their secret gesture at this point as it had become a symbol of what kept them apart, even if they were standing side-by-side. However she needed to know that he really wanted to tell her what he had been trying to discover while on Skeressa, but he didn’t want Valkorion to overhear. It took her a few moments to put together the signal with her previous question, but she connected the pieces together quickly enough. From the way her eyes slowly widened in understanding, it seemed she might have also started to guess the type of information Theron had been searching for when he’d gotten captured, and who he’d been conducting his investigation on behalf of.
She let out a horrified gasp, hands flying to her mouth as she shook her head violently, unshed tears forming in her wide blue eyes. Watching her reaction was not quite unlike feeling like someone had just punched him in the gut. He knew there was probably something reassuring that needed to be said, but he had difficulty swallowing past the lump that formed in his throat.
Amazingly, she was the first one to find words. “Why?”
He wanted to ask if it was obvious, but he couldn’t get a sound out. In all his life, no one managed to tie him up in knots the way she could with just a single look. He would think it was unfair, but it was far, far beyond just that.
“Why would you…”
The words had been exchanged years, hell, almost a lifetime ago. But they were still fresh in Theron’s mind as the day they had first been uttered. He could still feel her fingers digging trenches into the red leather of his jacket as she brokenly asked what would happen if she fell again to the monster that had forced her to murder civilians, locked her in her mind as she tortured her crew. The words had left him before he’d even had time to think them through:
“You’re not going to fall,” he had said. “Because I’m going to catch you.”
The words were nonsensical, but he hadn’t been thinking. Just… acting on instinct. Maybe he should have just held her and let her cry, but he’d needed to let her know she wasn’t facing that fear alone. They should have just been words of comfort, but he’d meant it as a promise. Even if he hadn’t a single clue how a Force-blind Padawan-washout-turned-spy would ever be able to stop a Jedi Master from sliding down into darkness.
With everything that had happened since Yavin, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she didn’t remember exactly what had been said up on that crumbling plateau with only the stars as their witness. But he couldn’t forget, no matter how hard he had tried. And he had tried.
Theron forced himself to look at her, managing to fight past that damnable lump that made his voice sound far too rough with emotion. “I made you a promise a long time ago.”
“I…” Her brow crinkled into a frown, before her eyes widened. She did remember. “No…”
“I don’t want to be someone who breaks promises to you. Not then, and not now.”
“Please… I’m not worth—”
“You are.” Heedless of any damn Force ghosts listening in or injuries he grabbed her hand, fiercely squeezing it. “Nothing is going to change that for me.”
“Maybe it should,” she whispered and tried to pull away. “I would rather have you alive than dead with your word intact.”
Perhaps it was the cocktail of painkillers and whatever drugs were still left in his system, the distant ache and searing pain, or the fact that thinking straight was like swimming through the muck — but he couldn’t force himself to let go of her hand. They’d always had a silent understanding that when either of them needed space, they’d respect that. Normally he didn’t have this much difficulty, and was usually better at not holding on too tightly both literally and metaphorically. But her hand was too warm in his, and everything around them was so cold. Had it always been this frigid? Maybe he should ask her to check the environmental settings.
She looked at him with a torn expression, but whatever she was going to say was drowned out by a shout in the hall from their friendly neighborhood Mon Calmari. Grey let out a long breath, and the mask of the Alliance Commander slid back into place as she stepped away from the cot. Theron’s fingers loosened his hold on her and slipped around the edge of the bed. He hoped that the quick motion and white knuckled grip looked more like he just needed to hold onto something for support than a guilty reaction for his moment of weakness.
“Commander! Good news!” Guss’s face popped into the doorway a second later. “I think we’ll be able to shave off an extra few hours if we—oh, it looks like he’s awake. Feeling any better, Theron?”
“Oh, yeah.” He swung a miserable look at the latest interloper into their conversation, feeling a prickle of gooseflesh raising. Someone really needed to check the thermostat. “Ready to run the Coruscant 5K.”
Theron’s other half let out an annoyed breath, but Guss continued on as if the sarcasm didn’t phase him at all. “Oh, that’s good to hear. You were pretty out of it for a while there. I had to carry you back to the ship in my strong arms. Swaddled you in your jacket, just like a little baby.”
It was possible the angry noise Theron made in the back of his throat could have been more articulate (he had planned on asking for his blaster), but that required more coherency than he seemed to possess at the moment. A calming hand was laid on his shoulder, almost blazing in its warmth.
“Perhaps you can give us a moment, Guss?”
“Ah, of course,” the Mon Calmari said conspiratorially, tapping the side of his face knowingly. “My old captain would always turn up the music in his cabin very loudly when he needed a moment or three with his lady. Or ladies. Do you prefer classical music or synth rock?”
She blinked before her cheeks blazed red as she caught onto his meaning. “Guss!”
“What?”
She shook her head, trying to keep a hold on her composure. Theron briefly thought about trying to repeat his suggestion on finding his blasters (with the added benefit of actually saying that this time around), but she cut that off with a stern look. “I believe that bath you asked for will have to wait a bit longer.”
Bath? That was the last thing he needed right now with the temperature around them plunging like it was. He slid his glance over at his dirty, grimy jacket longingly. It was too far to reach, and the thought of standing up and walking even that small distance seemed like a monumental task. A gentle pressure on his shoulders gained his attention and he looked up to see her staring at him with that same look of concern.
“I think you should lay down for a little while.”
“But…”
“Come on, I’ll help.”
With an offer like that, how could he refuse? Not that he had much strength to fight back if he wanted to. He might have held on to her a little tighter than needed as she guided him onto his back, and his hold on her lingered far longer than necessary. She gave him a reassuring smile before extracting her hand to accept a blanket being handed to her. The action of her carefully draping it across him was strange. He wasn’t used to someone to treating him so tenderly, and he wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about it.
Her fingers began to card through his hair again, the small action sending a small measure of warmth running through him. Not enough to chase away the chill completely, but it warded it off enough to where his eyes began to feel heavy.
“It’s time for you to rest now,” she said quietly, the soothing note seeming to break through his muddy thoughts as if carried through on a wave. “I’m going to step away for a minute, but I’ll be right back, I promise.”
He watched her, trying to fight the sleep threatening to pull him under. She continued to run her fingers through his hair, staring at him with that gentle smile. It was possible he was already dreaming, because he could have sworn that she was bathed in the most beautiful light. It was far too easy to get lost in the sensation of it all, and before he knew it his eyes had begun to drift shut.
Satisfied, she gave his head one last pat before extricating herself. As she stepped away, the cold began to creep back in like a slow rising flood. It was a struggle to crack his eyes open, fatigue trying to drag him under, but he managed to spy her form walking away from him. She was still haloed in light, but the further she got, the dimmer it glowed.
The chill surrounding him intensified as an angry purple haze seemed to leak out from the fading light, coiling around it like a serpent moving in for the kill. Theron tried to get up, but his limbs refused to cooperate. He could only watch on helplessly as the hazy darkness filled the room. It snuffed out the light completely, leaving nothing but dust motes in its wake.
It was too late, but Theron tried to reach out all the same, his voice catching in his throat. This action only seemed to gain the attention of the darkness, which seemed to shift and turn before suddenly rushing forward and overtaking him completely.
#swtor fanfiction#fanfic#theron shan x jedi knight#Theron Shan#Jedi Knight/Hero of Tython#otp: adorkable#oc: greyias highwind#swtor#theronangstywhumpfest2k17#greyfic
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Consequences Part 4: Rabbit Punch
Uriel and Raphael make sure that Dean pays for his insubordination… with Sam’s bout.
Characters: Reader (Y/N), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Uriel, Raphael, Cas, Virgil
Warnings: Boxing Violence, gun mention, blood mention, hospitalization
Word Count: 3200 (Sorry. Worth it.)
Note: Sorry this got out a little later than usual. If you can believe it, even this isn’t the climax to everything. Let me know how you like it by commenting, reblogging, and liking my fic. I hope you guys enjoy it!
Dean was buttoning up his shirt when Sam burst in.
“Jeez, Sam, can’t you…”
“Uriel’s goons are coming down the hallway.”
Dean and Bobby shared a glance. “Bobby, take Sam and get to the ring; don’t let him out of your sight. They won’t hurt him before, they might try afterward. Sam, watch Bobby’s back while he watches yours and get out of here. They don’t need to see you warning me.”
Sam nodded and waited for Bobby by the door, keeping an eye on the hall.
Bobby clapped Dean on the shoulder, “Be careful, boy. Get out to the crowd if you can.” He and Sam left.
Dean finished his tie. He wasn’t going to rush. Maybe a little. He grabbed his hat and coat and almost made it to the arena entrance before they caught up to him, one running up behind him and two blocking his path.
“Come on, Winchester,” the back one said, poking something hard into Dean’s spine.
“I hope that’s a gun you’re packing back there,” Dean grumbled.
“No,” one of the front guys said pulling out his own pistol, “he’s just happy to see you.”
From her seat on the second row, Y/N twiddled her thumbs and bounced her knee waiting for Dean. He’d won, like what was agreed. Dean wondered on their way over if Cole was going to fight for real to go to the finals himself.
“You’re making me nervous, Y/N,” Cas chuckled.
“Oops. Why isn’t he back yet?”
“It takes a while to shift into civilian clothes. There’s a lot of cleaning to get the ring stench off.”
She sighed. “I’ll appreciate it… when he gets here.” She didn’t stop twiddling and bouncing.
Uriel pulled Dean into Raphael’s office, pistol whipping him to the floor. “You’re done breaking contract, Winchester.”
Dean rubbed his jaw and stood to his feet. “You said the win was mine, that Cole would take a dive. If anyone’s broken their word, it’s you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Dean,” Raphael growled from his desk, “you have been nothing but disrespectful. Uriel told me what happened this morning. Yes, you took your win fair and square, but you can’t leave the ring without paying your dues. Since Cole didn’t finish taking it out of your hide, our visitor is going to take it out of Sam’s.”
Uriel had the gun pinned to Dean’s ribs before he could launch forward. “You want me to pay? Then let Cole finish it out back. Sam stopped being part of the deal…ugh.” Uriel jabbed the muzzle further into Dean’s side.
“Just shuddup and watch. We’ve even got a perfect seat for you.” He shoved Dean towards a bar stool set up by the window. Dean looked down over the crowd and into the ring. Bobby was double checking Sam’s gloves. Dean took a split second to find Y/N and Cas, letting out a relieved breath to see her safe. Uriel forced Dean to sit down, then laughed, “enjoy the fight.”
The final people rushed to their seats as the announcer stepped into the ring.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our stadium’s trumpeter will play our National Anthem.”
Everyone in the stadium stood. Dean shot a look at Uriel as he stood too, but he didn’t turn his attention to the flag. He was too busy boring a hole into Castiel’s head, hoping that somehow he could get his attention.
As the Anthem finished with applause and whistles, Castiel looked up towards the office, growling to see Uriel backlit, and hovering over Dean’s shoulder in the window. He caught Bobby’s eye and directed him towards Dean, then turned to Y/N. “I don’t know how much of this you know, but Dean’s not going to sit with us.” He nodded up to the office, making Y/N gasp. Cas barely caught her in time to help her into her seat as her knees buckled. “They won’t kill him, he’s got to attend finals. They can still make money off him, but be ready to run just in case.”
The announcer spoke into the mic, “the officials appointed by the State Athletic Commission are: the attending physician attending at the ringside, Dr. J.D. Houston, the timer at the bell, Bill Stapleton, counting after knockdown, Bill Doty, the judges, Mike McAddams, and Captain A.R. Dowdy, and the referee, Balthazar Smith. The contestants: 10 rounds at 158 from Kansas, wearing white trunks with a black tracer, and weighing 183, Sam Winchester, the defending Cruiserweight Champion. And his opponent,” the announcer pulled a card out of his pocket and began to read, “from St. Louis, Missouri, weighing 182 and one-half, and wearing black and red trunks, Virgil Akins. Referee Balthazar Smith will now give the contestants their instructions.”
Balthazar stepped to the middle and ushered Sam and Virgil forward. He looked anxiously between them. He laid out the rules like he always did, but somehow the words “I want a clean fight” meant more. “Now go to your opposite corners, and at the bell come out fighting.”
The bell rang and the radio reporter in front of Y/N and Cas launched into action. “This is the opening round, and this is the chance of the spectators, as well as the fighters, to study style. This is a brilliant audience on hand, half of Chicago must be crowded into the space, and the other half listening at home. Movie stars, politicians, and of course the fans all squeezed into the hall here. They’re all watching Virgil Akins use his unique jumping-jack style. Referee Smith cautions him for a kidney punch Akins lands on “Law Breaker” Winchester. He shows no fear of Winchester; in fact, he’s bullying him around the ring to say ‘I’m the boss in here.’ They are matched nearly pound for pound, and looking like one of the greatest fights this ring as ever seen.”
Sam was taller than Akins, giving the smaller man plenty of space to hit him. Y/N couldn’t help but see how the smaller man used it. She could feel Cas’s nervousness, and she could see Dean watching them from the office.
“Akins landing punches like he’s the boss and he knows it. Winchester biding his time, learning his opponent. Beautiful long left by Akin. But he’s doing the most damage while in Winchester’s clinches. Winchester digging for the body, trying to lower that guard as he towers over Akins who carries his gloves high. Protects his chin well. Glancing right off the cheekbone of Sam Winchester. There might be blood early, folks.”
Dean tensed as Sam staggered back, stunned. He kept the smile to himself as his brother then dove back in. Every second he was watching Sam, he was hyper aware of the firearm in his back.
“Winchester digging with light left jabs. Akins using an up and down elevator style, now each pushing leather gloves into each other’s faces in the clinch. Beautiful right and a left hook, making Winchester coming back on his heels then; that was a stiff punch. Those thumps are the punches in close that Winchester had a great deal of trouble smothering. A champion, Winchester, but up against a very unorthodox boxer. And that’s the bell ending the first round.”
They sat in their opposite corners. Sam showed Bobby his mouth. It wasn’t gushing yet, but Bobby and Cas knew it could become a problem. Cas explained how it could possibly even choke him around the mouth guard if it got too bad.
Y/N watched Virgil sit in his corner and noticed him glance up to the office behind Sam. Virgil shrugged at something his coach said and stood up, sending up a quick prayer as the next bell rang.
“Akins relaxed in his corner, whether it’s phycological warfare or not, we don’t know. But he’s acting like this is just another outing. He doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s crossed himself as the gong sounds and comes out ready for round two. Winchester has suffered some cuts inside his mouth. He keeps circling clockwise around Akins’s best punch and his stiffest hand. The one that does the most damage is the left as Winchester staggers back again. Winchester is angry now, nearly puffing smoke like a bull ready to charge. Winchester, maneuvering to land his combination punches, steps back but Akins moves in swiftly. Gives him no chance to take a step.
“Come on, Sam,” Dean mumbled. “I know we’ve worked on this.”
Uriel chuckled behind him.
“Winchester bends down in the same kind of a bob as Akins. But Winchester is mostly fighting standing up while Akins bobs up and down as a very difficult target. Akins is a natural middleweight, but he’s gained some heavy muscle to fight at the cruiserweight level. Winchester reaches out and lands on Akins’s face, snapping his head back! The crowd cheers for Winchester!
“Akins grins through his mouth guard, clearly enjoying himself. Winchester disinclined to fight too much in the clinches. Referee Smith keeps cautioning against the whipping punch over Winchester’s shoulder. A blow to the neck is a strong reason for disqualification and for being disbarred from boxing altogether. Winchester has very little success blocking that. Both men are now trying to out-feint each other. Winchester keeps reaching down for Akins, who backs away out of reach of the taller boxer. Akins uppercuts, but misses him by a mile. And that bell is round two.
Y/N kept her focus on Virgil. Something about him seemed off. She watched him as he shot a look towards Balthazar, who nodded back.
“Cas, something’s wrong.”
The bell rang over her worries, preventing her from sending any kind of warning to Sam.
“And here we go, round three, still at the start of this match but it’s been hot. Winchester has held his own against the bouncing Akins, and Akins is not being kept down due to the height difference. Akins is out maneuvering him at every turn. Of course, what he has is a good punch in either hand and a lot of strength in those clinches. Akins really pounds Winchester with that left hook; you can see Winchester’s back jarring from the blow.”
Y/N turned with a shout into Cas’s shoulder as Sam was knocked into the ropes. She peaked out and whispered, “come on Sam. Hold him off.”
“Winchester still in the fight, but a little feeble with that right, shoulder hurt. Akins paying no attention to Winchester’s cut mouth or shoulder pains. He has his man really studied. Akins swings in with a right lead just as Winchester was feigning with his shoulder. Winchester steadies himself on Akins’s shoulders, rolling them into the ropes. The ref separates them, but no rest. As soon as Winchester steps back to ready himself, boom, Akins moves right in on him. Winchester needs a little bit of a moment to prepare an attack, and that’s when Akins takes the moment, breaking his opponent’s flow. Winchester over stretches his stance, cinching Akins’s arms where he can, but Akin reaches up to beat him around the head. He almost hits the ref that time. Akin seems to back just out of punching range, then Boom, shoot in.”
Dean laughed as Sam’s glove made contact with Virgil’s waist, sending him jerking upwards from the force. “This guy is definably yours.”
“What makes you say that, Winchester?”
“All cheap shots and no gut. Sound familiar, Uriel?”
Uriel replied with a low growl and tightened his grip on the pistol.
Y/N was not listening to the reporter anymore but heard it all as background noise.
“Akins is remarkably hitting powerfully with each hand, favoring neither the right or left. Winchester sets himself to move around and hit with a hard right only. Now he’s moving in retreat. He hasn’t had a hard shot at Akins’s head other than one or two times so far, and it looks like Akins is going to keep it that way. And of course, Akins is not cut up or marked in any way. He keeps back just enough to make Winchester overreach, then leaps in, giving him a little pat in the ribs. Getting in the closing minutes now of the round. There’s a champion in that ring, only time will tell which man it is. Winchester still pounding away, right down to the last second. His face is bleeding, and he looks groggy already, but he’s still rapping away at the body. Oh! And down goes Referee Balthazar Smith!”
The audience and judges leapt to their feet as Balthazar went over the ropes and apron. Everyone’s view of the boxers was obscured by the person in front of them, and the front row people were craning to see Balthazar. Virgil took the moment of distraction to hit Sam in the back of the neck, then upper-cutting him to explain the fall.
Sam fell to the canvas with a thud. The counting ref swooped in and made it to ten and could have made it to thirty before Sam even groaned, but there was too much pandemonium to get him off the canvas. There’s was a deliriously happy crowd circling Virgil’s corner, already celebrating the win.
Bobby jumped into the ring and pushed everybody back as the announcer lifted Virgil’s arm high. The crowd’s cheers died down as the doctor followed him in, cracking Sam’s eyes open. The doctor shook his head and motioned for the cot to haul Sam to the hospital.
“Well that was some fighting, wasn’t it Dean?” Raphael said, relaxed in his office chair.
Dean was fuming. He stood, even as Uriel pressed the pistol to his temple. “You won’t shoot me. All those witnesses down there? And how are you going to explain why the semi-finalist is dead, no matter which way you throw it?”
Raphael nodded and motioned for Uriel to lower his gun. Uriel sneered and twisted it. “Uriel. Put it away,” Raphael commanded. When it was out of sight, Raphael poured himself another shot of bourbon. “Even with what’s unfortunately happened to Sam, you are still owed a congratulation. You’re going to the Amateur Finals, well done.”
“What’s your play, Raphael?”
“Michael Mulligan. Smart kid. Young in the face, I admit. But he’s got a fighting wisdom about him. Beat our darkest prodigal to meet you.”
“Do you ‘not own’ this one too?” Dean mocked.
Uriel piped up, “you are correct. Not even the heat knows we control that canvas, and we are going to keep it that way.”
Raphael down the last of his drink then walked to tower over Dean. “You are going to lose one last time, then retire. Make it look good and you can leave with a shred of dignity.” His voice dropped, sending an uneasy shiver down Dean’s spine. “You will throw it, Dean, or I will personally pay a visit to Sam and your girl to prove my point.” He grinned. “Now go see your brother, I think he’ll want to be seeing you.” Raphael turned away like nothing happened. Uriel stepped out of the way begrudgingly.
Dean was off like a shot.
Y/N considered her stomach to be a strong one, but when she finally caught up with Sam at the hospital, she almost fainted dead away.
“How is he?” Dean croaked, catching her as she swayed on her feet.
“Dean, you’re alright.” She embraced him, shivering against him. She met his gaze, holding his face in her hands. “He's really beaten up, Dean. The doctor hasn’t said how bad yet.” Y/N felt her heart shudder in her chest as he closed his eyes in defeat.
“This is all my fault.”
“No, it isn’t.” Y/N surprised herself with how strong her voices sounded but kept going. “It’s not your fault. Or Sam’s fault, or anyone who is held under your bosses’ thumb. They are the ones deciding who lives and who dies. You have fought against their power and they are doing everything they can to crush you. They are afraid of you, Dean. You can’t stop now.”
“Y/N,” Dean choked, “they’ve threatened to come after you next if I don’t do what they say. I can’t keep doing this if you are at risk. I thought Sam would be able to hold his own, but they stooped lower than I ever thought possible. I can’t let them take a jab at you.”
Dean moved to walk away, but Y/N grabbed his vest.
“Don’t you walk away from me, Winchester. You need all the friends you can get right now.” She poked him in the chest, flicking it into his nose when he looked down at her. “Do you think they’ll leave me alone because you broke up with me? They may be a lot of things, but they are not stupid. I am safest with you, and Castiel, and Bobby, and Sam.” Y/N sighed and wrapped his arms around her before wrapping her arms around his waist. “You are strong with a support system. Sam knew what he was walking into, and you need people to watch your back. Don’t push us away.”
Dean chuffed and squeezed her closer. “How did you learn me so good, so quick?”
Y/N laughed into Dean’s chest. “Cas ratted on you. He’s worried you’ll do what you always do when trouble comes.”
“That jerk.” Dean rubbed his hand up and down her back. He kissed the top of her head, whispering into her hair, “thank you.”
The doctor stepped out of Sam’s room. “Mr. Winchester?”
“Yes, sir.” Dean let go of Y/N, but held onto her hand, focusing on not crushing her delicate fingers with his stress.
“Sam is going to pull through.” He gave Dean and Y/N a moment to let out a sigh of relief before continuing. “We’ll need to keep him her for a while, and we won’t know the full damage till some of tonight’s boxing wounds heal, but I really think he’s going to be alright. If I could confide in you, though,” he looked passingly at Y/N. Dean nodded for him to go on. “It is of my personal, and professional opinion that this man’s injuries were not caused by an upper cutting punch. If you have anyone you can trust, I have enough evidence to prosecute his opponent.”
Dean thought for a second. “Thank you, doctor. I’ll keep that in mind and in my pocket. Thank you.” The pair watched the doctor as he left.
“You’re going to try, right?” Y/N asked.
“No. Not yet. It’s enough for Virgil, not for the top level.” Dean looked at her, taking in how her focus listed to one side. “No. Y/N you can’t go to the police. Not yet. You promised.”
“And your boss promised you’d win with no ramifications too,” she snarked. “Fine. I won’t go. But the second we have something I’m the voice. You guys are too close. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Bobby peaked his head out of the room. “Dean, he coming too.”
For a split second, Dean held back. Then he stepped forward, Y/N at his side.
Part 5: Prizefight
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