#shadow's not actively self-aware enough to worry about it

[lucky-clover-gazette]

i removed the "could be platonic or romantic" tag from the adaptation fic bc these bitches are gay as hell and it's way too interesting a dynamic to ignore

[winxanity-ii]

⌜I Love, Robot | Chapter 01 Chapter 01 | origins⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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You were once a child who knew nothing of struggle or scarcity. Life on the upper decks of the Weyland-Yutani starship felt like a dream. The air was clean, filtered to perfection, and your every need was met without a second thought.

Your parents were brilliant, their minds always buzzing with the latest programming codes and technologies. They were among the best, head honchos of the engineering department, and their talents kept them in high demand.

You, their prodigy, were a happy child, blissfully unaware of the harsh realities below.

But ignorance, as you would learn, could only shield you for so long.

As you grew, you became aware of your intelligence, a budding brilliance that mirrored your parents'. They often boasted about how you could write basic code before you could write your own name. Yet, with brilliance came curiosity, and with curiosity came questions—questions about the world outside your pristine bubble.

You remember a time when your family didn't have to worry about the smog suffocating their very lives. You could run through the gardens, feeling the warmth of artificial sunlight on your skin, never once thinking about what lay beyond the walls. But everything changed when your parents began to speak out.

They'd seen the reports, heard the stories from the miners, and it disturbed them. They became voices of dissent, advocating for those on the lower decks, the ones who toiled away in the filth and grime of the mines, who could barely breathe through the toxic fumes.

Their activism was a risk—a risk that cost them dearly. Accused of inciting unrest and defying company orders, your family was demoted, stripped of all privileges, and sent to the Weyland-Yutani mining colony, Jackson Star.

It was a far cry from the life you knew. Gone were the days of endless blue skies and breathable air. Now, you were surrounded by a world of gray, with the stench of sulfur and smoke clinging to your clothes and filling your lungs.

The fall from grace was swift and brutal. The once-respected engineers became just another pair of hands in the mines, their skills deemed useless in this new, harsh reality.

You watched as the light slowly faded from their eyes, their spirits crushed under the weight of their circumstances. Your father, once so proud and strong, became a shadow of his former self, and your mother, who always had a kind word, grew silent and withdrawn.

And then came the sickness.

The smog that choked the colony was more than just an irritant—it was poison. Day by day, it sapped the life from your parents, their health deteriorating before your eyes. You did everything you could to help, scavenging for medicine, trading anything you had of value, but it was never enough.

You remember those final days vividly. Your mother's labored breathing, the way your father’s hands shook as he tried to comfort her. They were wasting away, and there was nothing you could do but watch. One evening, as the dim light of the colony's artificial sun began to fade, your father called you over. His voice was weak, barely more than a whisper.

"Y/N..." he croaked, his hand trembling as it reached up to cup your face. You leaned in closer, tears blurring your vision as you tried to hold onto every word, every moment.

"Hold on to what's important to you," he rasped, his eyes searching yours, filled with a depth of sorrow and love you'd never seen before. "Never let go... no matter what."

You nodded, a sob caught in your throat, and clutched his hand tightly, feeling the frailty of his grip. "I promise, Dad..." you whispered, your voice breaking. "I won't let go."

He gave you a small, pained smile, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. "Good... that's good..." His voice trailed off, and you watched as his eyes slowly closed, his hand slipping from your face, leaving a chill that seemed to seep into your very bones.

You sat there, holding onto him, as the weight of his words settled into your heart. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the faint, distant sounds of the mining equipment outside.

You felt a hollowness festering inside your 12 year old body, a void that seemed to swallow everything. Your world had crumbled, and all you had left were his final words echoing in your mind.

In that moment, something inside you hardened. The innocence of your childhood was gone, replaced by a steely resolve. You would survive, no matter what. You would hold on to what was important. You would never let go.

☆

☆

After your parents died, you found yourself alone and lost, wandering the vast expanse of the mining colony. Without any clear direction or place to call home, you eventually took to the scrapyards, using what little you had—a keen mind and nimble fingers.

Every day, for the next 3 years, you sifted through the piles of discarded machinery and broken parts, looking for anything of value. You used your skills, the ones your parents had taught you, to piece together whatever you could: small trinkets, makeshift tools, anything that might fetch a few credits in trade.

You built yourself a makeshift hovel in the middle of the junkyard, hidden from sight by towering heaps of scrap. It wasn't much, but it was yours—a sanctuary in the middle of chaos. The days were long and hard, but the work kept your mind busy, away from thoughts of loss and the life you once had.

One day, while rummaging through a particularly dense pile of debris, you stumbled upon something unusual. It was an android, half-buried under a mass of metal beams and broken equipment. Its face was scratched and dirt-streaked, revealing a complex mesh of synthetic skin and exposed circuits beneath.

The android had a human-like appearance, with dark skin that was scuffed and cracked from years of neglect. Its eyes, though lifeless, seemed almost too real, capturing an uncanny valley between human and machine.

The android's limbs were twisted at odd angles, with wires protruding like exposed veins, and its clothing—a faded, grey jumpsuit—was torn and stained with oil and grime. Despite its rough exterior and the damage it had suffered, there was something about it that drew you in. Perhaps it was the way its expression, frozen in a state of calm observation, hinted at a life once filled with purpose.

You spent hours digging it out, piece by piece, until you could drag it back to your hovel. Even in its broken state, you could see the remnants of advanced engineering—smooth, precise joints that suggested strength and agility, and a flexible, durable frame designed to withstand the harshest environments.

You marveled at the craftsmanship, recognizing some of the programming patterns from your parents' work, and wondered what stories this android could tell if it could still speak.

For days, you tinkered with the android, trying to bring it back to life. You knew a bit about androids from watching your parents work, but this was beyond anything you had attempted before. Still, you were determined. You worked late into the night, using any spare parts you could find, trying to restore its power core, to no avail.

As time passed, you continued to scavenge for more parts, your father's words echoing in your mind: "Never let go... no matter what." Bit by bit, the android slowly began to look more presentable, but even then, it wasn't enough.

Until one day, it was.

You were digging through a pile of freshly brought scraps when you spotted it: a small, seemingly insignificant power regulator bulb. It was the kind of part that, while easy to overlook, was a crucial part to getting an android's systems up and running.

The bulb had been haphazardly tossed a few feet ahead of you by a group of scavengers, its glass exterior glinting faintly under the dim overhead lights.

Your heart raced, your mind running thousands of miles a minute. Zoning in on the piece, you slowly stood up, casually making your way toward it. You knew better than to rush; showing any sign of interest could draw unwanted attention. In this place, the second someone realized you wanted something, they would place a price and drive it up, child or not.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

You were just a few feet away when it happened. A man, covered head to toe in soot and wearing a worn miner's jumpsuit, trudged over with a small wicker basket. His shoulders sagged as if he carried the weight of the world, his face etched with deep lines of exhaustion. He reached down and picked up the bulb, turning it over in his hands.

You held your breath, praying he would dismiss it as junk and toss it aside. But instead, he placed it carefully into his basket with a few other scraps.

For a moment, your world seemed to collapse. That part was your key to finally completing the android, the culmination of all your hard work. Your father’s words surged back to you, steadying your resolve: "Never let go."

Determined not to lose this opportunity, you put your plan into motion; the distant hum of machinery a constant reminder of what was at stake.

You'd become an expert at blending into the background, a necessary survival skill your parents had once joked about, saying you could disappear in plain sight.

As you trailed the man, you kept to the shadows, watching his every move while he searched for more useful scraps. He finally set the basket down to dig through a pile of metal parts.

Seeing your chance, you moved in. Almost soundlessly, you walked over on the tips of your toes. The man glanced your way but then returned to his task, not seeing you as a threat. You slouched slightly to appear even less noticeable and then made your move.

Heart rattling in your chest, you crept closer. Instinct took over, and before you knew it, you’d swiped the bulb from the basket and slipped it into your pocket with practiced ease.

You turned to leave, adrenaline pumping through your veins, but the man was quicker than you anticipated. His hand clamped down on your shoulder—firm, but not unkind.

"Hey," he said, his voice calm but commanding. "Now what are you planning to do with that?"

You froze, certain you were about to be dragged off and punished. But there was something in his eyes, a curiosity that made you pause. "I... I need it to fix something," you mumbled, not meeting his gaze.

"Fix what?" he pressed, crouching down to your level. You could see now that his face wasn't unkind—worn, but not harsh. "Show me."

Swallowing hard, you decided to take a chance. Maybe it was the way he spoke, or maybe it was the loneliness that gnawed at you every day, but you found yourself leading him back to your hovel.

It was a small space carved out among the towering heaps of discarded metal and machinery. The majority of the space is filled with scraps and trinkets you've collected, tools scattered around like fallen leaves.

On the left, a table was piled high with what appeared to be completed gadgets and tech—your attempts at salvaging something useful from the wreckage. The man paused at the entrance, taking a moment to absorb the chaotic arrangement of your makeshift workshop.

His eyes roamed over the space, and before he could ask where you managed to gather all this, something else caught his attention. Among the chaos, there was one object that stood out—a small, pristine picture tablet sitting on a shelf. It showcased a beautiful family of three: a gorgeous woman, a handsome man, and a young child who bore a striking resemblance to you.

He would have brushed it off as just another trinket, but he recognized the faces in the photograph. It was hard not to on Jackson Star. The infamous Tallings family—once high-ranking members of Weyland-Yutani, who fell from grace after daring to speak out about the harsh realities of life in the colonies.

Suddenly, everything about your hovel started to make sense to him. Rumors had circulated for years about what happened to the Tallings' child, the prodigy. Many believed the child had died from sickness, just another casualty of the harsh conditions on Jackson Star or some other far-off base.

Seeing you here, in the flesh, was a surreal revelation. The man was snapped out of his thoughts as you moved further into the surprisingly deep hovel, heading towards a large tarp in the back corner.

With a determined look, you pulled it back to reveal the broken android underneath, its once smooth features now marred by scratches and dents.

The man let out a low whistle. "Well, I'll be damned," he murmured. "You found yourself an android. And you've been working on it all by yourself?"

You nodded, suddenly feeling very small under his gaze. "I don't really know what I'm doing outside the coding," you admitted quietly. "I just… I thought maybe I could fix him."

The man looked at you for a long moment, then at the android. "I think I might be able to help with that," he said finally. "Name's Marcus. And this here is a rare find, kid. N-D-255's were one of Weyland-Yutani's first artificial people. You've got a good eye."

Hope flickered in your chest. "So, you'll help me?"

He smiled. "On one condition. You let me take you back with me when we're done. Can't have a kid like you out here alone."

You hesitated, glancing around your makeshift home. It wasn't much, but it was all you had known for a while now. Still, the thought of a real home, of not being alone... "Okay," you whispered. "Deal."

☆

☆

Over the next few weeks, you and Marcus worked together to bring the android back online. It wasn't easy, and there were many late nights where you doubted it would ever work, but Marcus was patient and kind, always encouraging you to keep trying.

You grew to trust him, even look up to him.

As you carefully lifted the flash drive-shaped device, which Marcus called the "Reboot Key," he stood beside you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. "Alright, kid," he began, his voice calm and steady, "this is the moment of truth. Remember, it's okay if things don't go as planned the first time. Sometimes, you have to go back to the drawing board. What's important is that you keep trying, alright?"

You nodded, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling inside you. You were standing above the android's head, both of your faces level with one another.

The android had a gentle, almost puppy-like expression on its face, its synthetic features designed to seem approachable and non-threatening. Its lips, though motionless now, had a subtle pout, giving it an almost childlike innocence.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for this machine that seemed so lifelike, yet so fragile in its current state.

"Okay, here we go," Marcus said softly, guiding your hand toward the side of the android's neck. "You need to insert the Reboot Key right here, in this small port. Make sure it's aligned properly, then give it a twist."

With a deep breath, you carefully inserted the device into the port. Your hands were steady, but you could feel your heart racing in your chest.

As you twisted the device, a small spasm shot through the android's body, its limbs twitching for a moment. You gasped and pulled back slightly, but Marcus squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

"Just a momentary glitch," he said. "Let's see if it worked."

A second later, the android's eyes flickered to life. They were dark and deep, with a subtle glow that made them seem almost alive.

For a moment, those eyes zeroed in on you, and you felt a strange connection, as if the machine could see right through you. Slowly, you backed away, moving to stand next to Marcus as the android sat up.

It felt like an eternity as the android continued to stare at you, its gaze unblinking and intense.

Then, it blinked, its expression softening as it turned its head to look at Marcus before shifting its attention back to you. "N-D-255, Weyland-Yutani synthetic human with mining and guard functions."

You felt a surge of joy like you hadn't felt in so long. Your body trembled with excitement as you stepped forward, a smile spreading across your face. "What is your name?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

The synthetic's lips seemed to fall into an even deeper pout, and its head tilted slightly to the side, almost cutely. "I...I don't know."

You fidgeted awkwardly before turning to Marcus. "What should we do?"

Marcus looked as if he were holding back a grin, finding the entire situation funny. "I dunno kid, how about you name him? I mean, you did find him after all."

"N...Name him?" You began to suddenly feel self-conscious as you turned back around only to have the android staring intently at you. You glanced back over at Marcus, who gave you an encouraging nod, a warm smile on his face. "Uh… how about… Andy?" you suggested hesitantly.

The moment the name left your lips, you wanted to punch yourself. Andy? Really? What did it even stand for—android? How original… But as you looked back at the synthetic, you saw its lips curl into a slight smile, its head nodding in acceptance.

"Designation accepted: Andy," the android replied, its small. "Thank you for giving me a name."

With a happy squeal, you turn and throw your arms around Marcus in a rare moment of unguarded happiness. "We did it!" you exclaimed. "We really did it!"

Marcus chuckled, ruffling your hair. "Yeah, we did. And you know what? I think it's time I took you home."

True to his word, Marcus introduced you to his wife and daughter, Rain. She was about your age, a few years younger—three, to be exact. When you first met her, you were about fifteen, and she was twelve.

From the moment you arrived at her home, Rain was like a shadow, sticking to you like glue. She had a fiery spirit and a boundless curiosity that quickly became apparent.

Despite the age difference, she admired your resourcefulness and determination, and the two of you formed a bond that was hard to break.

Over the next few months, Rain was your constant companion. She'd be there every time you and Marcus worked on Andy, eagerly watching as you updated and built upon the android. Her eyes would light up with every new piece of tech you explained, her enthusiasm infectious.

Whenever you went diving for scraps in the junkyard, Rain would tag along, insisting on helping you find whatever parts you needed, her small hands surprisingly adept at sorting through the debris.

She was determined to learn from you, often mimicking your actions and hanging on your every word. There was something about her unwavering trust in you that felt both reassuring and heavy—a reminder of the role you’d inadvertently taken on, not just as a friend, but as a protector and mentor.

You found yourself growing fond of her fierce spirit and relentless curiosity, her presence becoming a bright spot in the otherwise grim surroundings of the colony.

As the weeks turned into months, the two of you became a team, navigating the scrapyards and working on Andy together. With every shared adventure, every quiet conversation under the stars, your bond deepened, forging a bond that would stand the test of time and adversity.

It was then you realized: you'd do anything to protect her.

☆

☆

One late night, Marcus came home from the mines, exhausted from a long day's work. The house was dark and quiet, with only the soft sounds of his wife sleeping in the next room. He expected to find both you and Rain asleep as well, but instead, he saw a dim light flickering from the corner of the workshop.

As he stepped closer, he spotted you hunched over one of Andy's arm panels, a single candle casting long shadows around you. Rain was fast asleep in a chair next to you, which you had padded with some old blankets to make a makeshift bed. She looked peaceful, her small body curled up and her face relaxed in sleep.

The android, still in a state of disrepair, stared intently at you as you worked, its dark eyes reflecting the soft glow of the candle. You were rambling softly to Andy, explaining what you were doing and why each piece was important, almost as if teaching him as you went along.

Your concentration was so deep that you didn't notice Marcus until the sound of his heavy boots on the floor pulled you back to reality.

Looking up, your face broke into a warm grin. "Hi, Marc. Can I get you something?" you asked, quickly putting Andy into sleep mode to not startle him.

Marcus just smiled and shook his head, walking over to where you sat. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Rain's forehead before settling into a chair next to you.

He didn't need to ask why you were still up; he already knew the answer. This wasn't the first time he had found you working late into the night, lost in your thoughts and projects.

The two of you sat in peaceful silence as you continued upgrading Andy's arm, the only sound being the soft clicks of your tools and Rain's gentle breathing.

After a while, you broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for everything, Marcus," you said, still focused on your work to avoid looking at him directly. "Really, I mean it."

Marcus chuckled softly. "You thank me nearly every month, Y/N. There's nothing to thank me for."

You sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I know," you replied. Your gaze shifted to Rain, who was still sound asleep beside you. "But truly, if you hadn't found me and taken me in, I don't know what I would've done…"

Marcus nudged you gently, his voice soft but firm. "You'd have done what you've always done—survive," he said, gesturing to the various trinkets and gadgets you'd built and sold over the months to help support the family. "You've got that spirit in you, Y/N."

You waved his words away, a bittersweet smile on your face. "I know that, but eventually, I think I would have lost the fight, ya' know?" Your eyes lingered on Rain as you spoke. "Life isn't really worth living if you don't have something—or someone—to live for."

The room fell silent again, but this time it was different. Marcus looked at you with a newfound respect, seeing not just the lanky teen he'd taken in months ago, but a young person who had grown and matured in ways he hadn't quite realized.

You were more than just a survivor; you were becoming someone with purpose.

"I'd like to code Andy with a specific directive," you said suddenly, breaking the quiet. "To always ensure Rain is safe…"

Marcus started to object, suggesting that both of you should be Andy's priority, but you cut him off gently but firmly. "If there's ever a situation where one of us needs saving, I want it to be her. No point in having a synthetic get confused by probabilities or choices. I know what I'd do—I'd always choose her. No matter the chances of success."

Marcus sighed, understanding your resolve. He knew that even if he wanted things otherwise, you would probably find a way to change it behind his back. With a resigned nod, he agreed. "Alright, we'll do it tomorrow," he said softly, standing up. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, a gesture of quiet affection, before carefully lifting the still-sleeping Rain into his arms with a small grunt.

As he turned to leave the room with Rain in his arms, you watched them go, a sense of determination settling over you. You knew then, more than ever, that you would protect her at all costs.

A/N: hi guys, this was a sort of deep dive into the backstory of Y/N and the growing bond with Rain, so others chapters won't be as long. see you guys next update; don;t mind the typos, etc..... AHHH I couldnt help myself, i fear I've fallen in love with a synthetic being 😩🫶🏾 Andy, my love~

[reclusiverisottonero]

Busts down your door hello Julie 👁️👁️

Could I request these two prompts because I’m special and I pay your salary in the hole (I don’t)

don’t worry, I’ll be here when you’re awake & sleep, darling. i’ll protect you from the nightmares.

With Dio, p1, 3 or 6 is fine whatever you vibe with and NB is a-ok with me 😘💖✨

Hi Melky! NGL I was really nervous to write this since I've literally never written Dio before but at the same time it was a fun challenge. I hope this is somewhere up to par with what you wanted!

💌 This request was for a Valentine’s Day Fluff event available to member’s of Papersiren’s discord server. Requests are currently closed.

Pairing: Dio (pt 3)/Reader (gn) Warnings: Semi-graphic/gory descriptions of nightmares, Dio being creepy, implied polyamory.

It’s hot as fuck in Cairo; which, duh, you knew that before coming out here. Though you didn’t truly know it until you took your first steps outside into that dry heat and could literally feel the sun’s UV rays cooking you alive. Needless to say, the second you made it to Dio’s mansion you refused to step outside again. Discovering the mansion’s limited air conditioning made you so close to turning around and going back home before even unpacking, but just like everyone else here you’ve been drawn like a moth to a flame by Dio’s charisma. Despite how that heat can singe your wings at any moment, you choose to stay. 

Well, that, and being one of the handful of people allowed the privilege to share his bed also helped in the decision. Being the one that is called on the most might have influenced you as well. Just a little bit. 

It’s another borderline unbearable night in the unfamiliar Egyptian heat, triggering a spike in your anxiety which has caused you to toss and turn in bed next to Dio. Your nightmares tonight range from being chased by shadows to startlingly vivid and bloody snapshots of your teeth falling out one by one. Awareness comes and goes in between them all, until you roll across bed enough to land face first into Dio’s bare chest. 

Realizing what you’ve done wakes you fast enough that the surge of adrenaline dizzies you, becoming worse when you see him just silently staring at you. Lying on his side and propping his head up with a hand the vampire gazes at you, green eyes studying you intently as you try to appear unaffected by his intensity. 

“You’re quite the active dreamer, aren’t you?” He quips in that velvet smooth voice, free hand coming to gently stroke his knuckles across your cheek. 

As spontaneous as you’ve been about following Dio, you’re not stupid. You know when you’re being put under a microscope, and the soft smirk on his lips while he continues to look down on you makes something irksome yet pleasant pool and simmer in your guts. 

“I suppose so.” You say casually and stretch your arms above your head, watching him as he watches you. Impulsively you ask, “What about you? Do vampires dream?” 

A series of emotions flit over Dio’s face before settling back into the bored smugness that he prefers to hide behind. He chuckles, the hint of sharp fangs peeking out from between his full lips when he replies, “My dear, I don’t have to sleep.”

How specifically worded that answer was is not lost on you, but you have enough self preservation not to push the topic. Playing it cool is the safer option, though you can’t help wondering why Dio would want to avoid rest if he’s still capable of doing so. 

“Lucky you. Ugh, the things I would do for a good night’s sleep right now...” You say through a yawn but the bitterness in your tone can still easily be heard. It only causes Dio’s smirk to grow wider, his hand sliding along the slight dip of your naked waist up to the meat of your hip. 

“Then sleep, darling. I’ll protect you from the nightmares.” He coos in that borderline condescending lit you’ve come to find comfort in. You’re pulled in closer to the solid wall of muscles that are his body and on instinct you scoot yourself into him, your back to his chest with a tired sigh. Sleep creeps up fast thanks to the weight of his arm around you and his voice rumbling in your ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you’re awake.” 

While cynical about his flowery words you do in fact sleep soundly through the rest of the night, naturally waking on your own mid-morning to surprisingly find Dio still wrapped up in you. His lips rest against the back of your neck, and once fully awake you feel the ghost of a smile take shape across your skin. 

You roll over to give Dio a proper morning greeting before the smug ‘I told you so’ that hangs in the air can be spoken by him out loud. He merely grasps your chin to coax your mouth open so he can take things further than you’d originally intended, but you’re more than happy to let your wings flutter amongst the flames for just a little while longer.

[d-d-disgusting]

In regard to hallucinations

Vincent experiences visual and auditory hallucinations, as well as visual illusions (Difference being that illusions are distorted/misinterpreted stimuli while hallucinations are conjured whole cloth) They began manifesting in his mid-teens with infrequent and relatively unobtrusive sounds. He didn’t recognize he was even experiencing hallucinations until much later as they became intrusive, and so he grew up with them unaddressed. His auditory hallucinations can be simple or complex, meaning that sometimes they’re short and meaningless like scratching, buzzing, or unrecognizable sounds, and sometimes they’re more complicated. Most commonly out of any complex hallucination, he’ll have audible thoughts, and he can have a tough time distinguishing an internal voice from an external one. Visual hallucinations are almost always simple, for him meaning unusual light or shadows, or movement in places there shouldn’t be rather than any lifelike objects or figures. He has very poor night vision, and when it’s dark enough that he can’t see, it can trigger visual distortions (For him, movement that causes a shifting sense of space) as gaps in sight are filled in incorrectly. He avoids traveling when it’s too dark, and if he must, will be very particular about where he’s focusing. It’s a vulnerable feeling to be kept sort of ‘activated’ by having to identify if movement is something he has to worry about. All of these can be exacerbated by stress levels. He’s very aware of the fact that he hallucinates now, but that doesn’t make any he experiences seem any less realistic. He may seem unresponsive or in his own head when faced with something he assumes isn’t real (He easily skews towards assuming such, that’s just internalized ableism), or conversely, he can overreact very badly when something that shouldn’t be real proves itself to be. He doesn’t trust himself, but feels an incredible amount of responsibility to make the right decisions, and so he tries very hard to self-police and reality check. It’s tiring.

[alias-sam]

Pierced by a Golden Soul

Chapter 22. Quiet Riot Part 1

Platonic Jojo's x Reader

Summary: Fate is a bizarre concept with countless more bizarre implications. In life sometimes such extraordinary events happen that the only reasoning left must be fate. The tragedies that constantly befall the Joestar bloodline for example may be the unluckiest series of cards drawn in human history, or perhaps the work of a greater power. There is no way to tell for sure. Had Dio Brando or Jonathan Joestar moved slightly on a divergent path the world itself would be left very different. The fate or luck of the noble Joestar bloodline has led to destruction of evil likes of the Pillar Men and DIO. This story is of a similar caliber to that of the other Joestars (as I am sure you are familiar with them). This is a story of lost souls, compassion, hope, and above all fate.

Word Count: 977

(Crosspost from Wattpad, full fic is already posted there.)

Cold.

That was always the best word people could come up with when referring to the elder Martez brother. It was simply what came to mind. Even In moments of fiery rage, he mostly managed to keep an eerie and unnatural calmness about himself. At the very least when in the company of others.

Frozen.

That's how people felt when facing his wrath. He was always able to watch the way someone acted and immediately know where their deseeded weaknesses were. He was a manipulator, everyone knew it, but no one was willing to point it out. If Blaze found out someone, an associate, or even a friend had crossed him, something bad always happened. The problem was how exactly he managed not to get caught...

Chilling.

No matter the damage, injury, or crime he committed, Blaze Martez had yet to be caught or convicted for any of his schemes. Perhaps it was because the police force in Saint Rosewater was miniscule and stretched thin, but one thing was clear: if Blaze wanted something, he could get it. He always did. Lock picking, breaking and entering, brawling, he did it all. He was never caught, making him Saint Rosewater's greatest, youngest, and least known criminal. He was dangerous.

Calculating.

Always watching. Always planning. Always there. Anyone could see the gears turning in his head as he stared blankly at a dispute or confrontation. He was self-aware and utilized his innate talent to control the people around him.

These were the aspects that made up the image of Blaze Martez. His brother was a completely different story. Learco had a spitfire personality, was quick to anger, and never thought ahead.

Despite the stark differences between the two, Blaze and Learco made a formidable duo. One was pure strength, the other pure planning. They balanced each other out, making it easy to become embedded in simple gang activity, and take it over.

Faces passed as Blaze entered the hospital. He ignored everything else while making his way up the stairs to his brother's hospital room.  He moved like a shadow, unnoticed, a simple face in a sea of people. Nobody had the time to care about him, and he didn't care about them. To Blaze, people were selfish stupid creatures that deserved everything that happened to them. No matter what. Learco's situation was worrying, but it happened for a reason, that being because you, Y/n Jones, were a threat.

Years ago, amongst the buzz of society, and the drunken ramblings of Mrs. Martez, Blaze found himself raising his brother by himself at the age of nine. Blaze was seventeen now, and a senior in high-school, he'd be eighteen in two months.

Two months. That's how long he had left to make enough money to take care of Learco and himself. Blaze was no stranger to shaking people down for cash, and hadn't been convicted of anything particularly illegal. He'd become embroiled in many violent crimes but gotten away with it thanks to his silver tongue and slippery nature. Despite that, the law was going to catch up with him eventually, Blaze was losing confidence in his abilities. That was, until he met one, Keicho Nijimura.

Taking the job was a desperate ploy to get money, but a lucrative one. Eventually Blaze convinced Learco to join in, and the two worked together as hired help. That's when the Martez brothers became stand users. They did grunt work, which really just consisted of the things Keicho didn't want to deal with. They were the ones to scope out Julius Rossi and Blake Greenmin after being shot with the bow and arrow. The brothers were left to deal with police or investigators sent by an organization called the Speedwagon foundation. The little operation was all run from a small abandoned neighborhood on the outskirts of town. If someone got too close, their lives would end. It was a thankless job, but they were paid enough to stay. The entire operation had been going on for a few months, with not so much as a hitch, until Learco crossed paths with you.

Y/n Jones, the name alone made Blaze's blood uncharacteristically boil. You had the gall to fight back against not only the behemoth of a stand that was Metal Health, you were trying to resist the abilities of Quiet Riot. Nobody fought back against the Martez brothers. Nobody. Blaze was going to make sure of that. There was something about your nature, or maybe it was your personality, that made Blaze unable to calculate. He had stalked you for a week now, following the defeat of Learco at your hand.

You were weak by every standard. You were inexperienced, clumsy, and acted without nearly enough caution, and despite that, you overcame your challenges seamlessly. You were lucky, and that was simply an element Blaze couldn't account for in any plan he could attempt making. It didn't matter though. He had backup plans and his stand was unstoppable, it wouldn't leave your body until he willed it. You would die a sudden and painful death any minute while trying to chase him. Nobody could break from Quiet Riot's spell, no matter how hard they tried.

Blaze's footsteps echoed against the sterile tiled floor. Rows upon rows of hospital rooms lined the hall. The Martez brother made a beeline for room 168. Before he knew it, Blaze was standing in front of the door. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the same sight he'd seen for the past week.

He slowly opened the door, only to find the lights were off, and the curtain around the medical bed had been closed. Did something happen? Nobody from the hospital had told him Learco was in need of surgery or a change of rooms...

Blaze ignored the light switch and approached the bed, quickly ripping the curtain open.

"Surprise bitch." You greeted, sucker punching the Martez brother.

[petrichorium]

Could you explain if sae's insecurites come from a place of being needed? And if so why? I'm just trying to understand your take better that's why i'm asking! It's okay if you don't want to dwell on it further!

Okay firstly i don't agree w the being needed thing at all. I’m v much of the opinion that his actions towards Rin have been a form of “tough love,” ie trying to force Rin out of his shadow and into being a good soccer player in his own right. And the thing about this interpretation of his relationship with Rin is that it’s the exact opposite of what you’ve proposed here—Rin did need him when they were kids, and Sae was downright cruel in the way he went about severing that dependency.

BUT SECONDLY i do know where u got to that so i'll explain that post a bit. when i talked about him wanting you to show/prove how much u need him, it's because he is actually needy but fundamentally has issues showing it, and is terrified of it being one-sided. and in that "bad boyfriend" stage will completely refuse to be vulnerable enough to show you AT ALL, instead choosing to again play those mindgames to force u into acting desperate and stuff to make him feel better about just how much he feels for u. it's shitty, it's bad, and again comes from a place of insecurity—he's worried you don't like him as much as he likes you, and he's unwilling to show you how he feels candidly bc he's terrified of a lack of reciprocation.

but when he grows n matures he becomes more aware of how his actions impact other people + their emotions; i see him as someone who has issues with empathy, and that's something that can be worked on so when i say he grows that's v much what i mean. it's not gonna be perfect! he's always gonna be quite callous and a bit inconsiderate, and he's def gonna slip up at times, but the shift is that he comes to care about the impact more. so he's not gonna be playing those mindgames constantly, and he's gonna be more willing to put himself out there and show you that your feelings rlly are reciprocated. like the insecurity is still there but now he understands that he's not the only one who has it. ig in essence he's just naturally rlly self-centered (independent to the lack of empathy thing, i must emphasize, bc i do not want to demonize that) and it's something he has to actively work at training out of himself in order to be a better partner/friend/brother to the ppl he cares about.

[minkhollow42]

WIP Wednesday

Some time-loop shenanigans, in which the entire PT team (aka 'full OG squad plus Shiho') have met up to take that first dive into Mementos for this round.

“Request’s up on the site, so we should be good to go,” Ryuji says.  Then he treats Yusuke to a startlingly guilty look.  “Did we, uh… ever tell you how we got on Madarame’s trail in the first place?”

“I know you talked to Nakanohara-san, and he was willing to say what I couldn’t yet.”

“Yeah.  So… there was a step before that.”

The rock plummeting into Yusuke’s stomach isn’t only because Akira chooses that moment to activate the Nav.  It stays there until they find the distorted pocket trying to bud off from the rest of Mementos, and Akira turns from Mona’s driver’s seat to face him.

“Fox, if you want to sit this one out, none of us will think less of you.”

Yusuke shakes his head.  “If I could face Madarame, I can face this.  Besides, I think I need to.”

Nakanohara-san, it transpires, has been stalking his ex-girlfriend.  His Shadow speaks about her the way Madarame speaks of his students, down to saying she has no right to be free of him and prospering on her own terms; the only difference is that he lacks the power to do more than terrorise her.  Somehow, he’s still self-aware enough to know that Madarame is the root of the problem, if not that he himself has become a symptom of the disease.

The battle is swift, and the Shadow shows no signs of recognising Yusuke.  He’s not sure how to feel about that, especially knowing he told the others last time that he was worried for Yusuke’s own sake as much as he was about Madarame’s wider pattern of abuse, but it does make for fewer distractions in the moment.  Besides, he has had a bit of a growth spurt since Nakanohara-san left the atelier.

With that unpleasant deed done, they press as far down into Mementos as they currently can.  Yusuke is trying not to think about what’s lying in wait for them at the very bottom, and he suspects everyone else is, too.  They’ll have to discuss it eventually, if only to go in with a better plan than ‘see what happens’ come December, but it may first be helpful to know why they’re repeating the year, if they can.

“That’s a wrap,” Akira says, when they reach a barrier door that won’t budge.  “Good work today, guys.  I’ll be staying home to study every night until midterms are done, and anyone who wants to come over is welcome.”

“And none of you have any excuse for failing,” Makoto adds.  “Fury, if you’re still feeling behind because of the volleyball practice schedule, we’d be more than happy to help you catch up, but everyone else has done this once before, so I expect passing grades when the lists go up.  Understood?”

Ryuji visibly wilts as he nods, but Ann looks determined to meet the challenge.

[cdroloisms]

uhhhh ,, , hi ??

i feel bad bc i havent been here in. LITERALLY forever lmao - hope you guys r all doing good!! ive been working on some stuff but it’s been pretty slow going, and school is also A Thing, so i definitely havent been writing as much as i’d like. 

as an apology, have this? really self-indulgent feel-good syndicate + c!dream centric oneshot bc i felt like writing this so u know. why not. 

tws: implied torture, abuse, self-harm, disordered eating, starvation mentions, prison arc themes - overall everything’s just blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mentions, not too much angst here for once! c!sam and c!quackity critical, sorry guys but we r still in the prison arc and they still r on their “fuck human rights” arcs. 

Dream leaves.

 It’s a surprise - or maybe it isn’t one, Niki isn’t quite sure. She’d never grown to quite trust the man, she knows, and she can’t really tell if the bitter twist of emotion that swells up her chest when Phil comes to her city with the news is betrayal or resignation - what can she say. She’s gotten more than her fair share of broken promises. They don’t exactly faze her anymore. 

 None of them seem all that surprised, save Techno, who entirely fails to hide the worry that flickers over his face when he calls the Syndicate meeting to officially inform them of what’s going on. She shares quick, careful glances with the other members when his back is turned - despite how many times he’s been burned, Techno still seems so adamant at holding onto every thread, trusting all too easily those who would use and leave him behind without a second glance. He can handle himself, she knows. Still, that’s not going to stop her from slapping Dream upside the head for being yet another worthless person to betray her friend’s forgiving nature. 

 Nothing much changes in the next few weeks. Niki has to admit, it’s strange without Dream around - he’d not been an ally, much less a friend before dipping completely, but he had been some sort of constant - and Niki is self aware enough to know that she misses him, a little, the same sort of way you might miss an old routine once it’s gone, if only for the familiarity. She still visits Techno and Phil with various baked goods, knowing that Phil would have his hands full just keeping Techno from running himself ragged - makes sure to check on Ranboo, whose nerves have inevitably returned with Dream’s disappearance. To be honest, she doesn’t worry as much as he does - ally or not, she’s spent enough time with the Dream that had left prison to expect that he won’t exactly be able to get himself very far should he come for the four of them, and doesn’t particularly care about he might pull with the rest of the server - if things get bad, she’s sure Phil and Techno will have it handled. She asks Phil, once, what happened, and he shrugs. 

 “I don’t know, mate,” he heaves a chest to the side, pulling out a stack of stone blocks that Niki gladly holds for him. “One day we woke up and he was just- gone. Everything. Was like he wasn’t ever there at all.” 

 Niki hums. “Why’d you think he’d do something like that?” 

 “If I could understand half of why Dream does what he does, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?” He smiles at her from behind a crate. “Shall we bring these things upstairs and start on dinner?” 

 Niki laughs, knowing that the conversation about Dream is over. “Of course, Phil.” 

Dinner is a welcome distraction; all of them have gotten better at cooking in recent months, between her baking and the veritable library of recipes Phil knows that she’s never even heard of, but Phil is still the only one she really trusts to hold his own behind the stove - Ranboo is still a little too nervous around water, and fire, and much of everything, and though Techno can be a perfectly capable cook, he’s been distracted as of late. She has a strong feeling that left to his own devices, he’d just grab a stack of steak and disappear for another few weeks, searching the server for information. 

 Honestly, she’s a little thrown off by his behavior - he’d not done anything like this with Tommy, if she remembers right, and had hardly seemed affected by Wilbur’s betrayal on the Sixteenth at all (then again, she was a little too lost in her own head to notice if he was.) She tosses her head over to ask Phil, who’s leaning over a few carrots he’s slicing to throw into the stew he’s making, and the man pauses, frowns. 

 “From what I know,” he starts, words slow, careful, “they’d spent three months in there together, and the conditions weren’t exactly- stellar. According to what Techno said, I’d assumed they had come to some sort of understanding.” He goes back to the carrots, expression dipping into shadow and out of sight. “Guess I was wrong.” 

 Niki hums. She can see it, sort of - spending months together with someone, no matter how insufferable, probably would end with some degree of attachment - she thinks back to plotting through sleepless nights with Jack, anger and grief leaving them simmering, crabs in the same pot of boiling water, remembers looking into his dead-eyed gaze and seeing her own stare back - and feels a brief pang of guilt. Besides, Techno is Techno. She’d never met someone so willing to forgive, understand, reach out despite everything that’s happened - for Dream to take advantage of that feels almost too obvious. Of course he would - what were they all thinking?

 “He’s Dream,” she says as if that explains everything, flipping open the oven door and feeling a wave of heat blast her face. Phil hums lowly, understanding. “I hope Techno will be alright.” 

 “He’s tough,” Phil cracks a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “And he has us on his side. He’ll get through.” 

 Niki opens her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by the front door slamming open. Outside their quaint little cottage, the wind howls - it sounds like the beginning of a blizzard out there, flurries painting the world in a thick blanket of white. In the door, Techno strides into the entrance with loud, decisive movements, shutting the door loud enough to make the walls shake. Inadvertently, Niki finds her eyes drawn to the small pile of snow that he’s tracked into the house - Techno’s usually so careful to kick it all off on the porch, never liked it much when there was a pile of melting ice and snow dampening the floorboards and soaking into his shoes. He huffs harshly, stripping off a snow-dusted scarf from his face - a long, multicolored abomination that had been the product of her attempting to teach Ranboo how to knit. Phil has reached his side, hands splayed over his upper arms, eyes soft in the corners from concern. 

 “Techno, mate-” his tone is chiding but his movements gentle as he brushes snow off of Techno’s signature cloak, “you’ve gotten snow everywhere. What were you doing, dueling a blizzard?” 

 Techno shakes his head, not meeting Phil’s banter as usual, fur sticking up from the snow melted into it. His voice is gruff and holds little humor - unconsciously, Niki feels her shoulders tense. 

 “Phil, call a Syndicate meeting.”

 ---

 Phil, per usual, is unrelenting, so it’s not until a quick dinner and some hurried messages to their final member later that the Syndicate is gathered in their meeting room, Techno pacing the length of the room as they wait in their respective seats. He looks less frazzled than he did when he first entered the house, in part due to Phil’s sitting him down to eat and picking through his fur to smooth it out of its windblown spikes and tangles - Techno had grumbled at him to stop preening him, but looked a lot more relaxed by the time they were all finished with their food. Still, his ear flicks periodically, twitching toward ssome sound that Niki can’t hear, movements tighter and jerkier than she is used to. He’d always been a little flightier after the prison, but not quite like this - everything here feels like that but dialed up to eleven. Inexplicably, it reminds her of Dream. 

 “Techno?” Phil gestures towards his seat, prompting, and he settles into it with an obliging huff. 

 “Y’know, Phil, the code names are kinda pointless if we never use ‘em,” he says, words carrying no real heat - he looks back at the rest of them, lips thinning into a line. “Anyway. I called this meeting because I found a couple leads on Dream.” 

 “O-oh,” Ranboo stutters, tail lashing behind him. 

 “You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, mate,” Phil reminds him gently, a sentiment that Niki affirms with a determined nod. 

 “There’ve been some reports- rumors, really,” Techno says, calling their attention again, and they all turn towards him, “of increased activity around the prison again. The Warden spending more time on its grounds, movement seen around the walls and around the portal- so I decided to go check it out for myself.” 

 Niki frowns, and watches as Phil does the same beside her - Techno had seemed to avoid the prison if he could help it, save for when he went on the initial mission to break Dream out. It was no secret to them that he didn’t exactly like the place. 

 “We could’ve helped if you asked,” Phil reminds him, and Techno shakes his head. 

 “I know, Phil. It’s just- that place is bad news. I’d rather keep you guys away from there if I can-” his hand goes to his head with a poorly hidden wince. “Sorry, Chat’s a little- worked up, at the minute.” 

 “Sorry, we’ll stop interrupting you,” Niki says, cutting off Phil before he says anything else. “So you went to the prison?” 

 Techno takes a second to gather his thoughts, mumbling quietly in the way that usually means he’s telling off Chat. “Right- I decided to stake out the portal. The rumors were right- Sam has been hanging around there, entered and left the prison four times yesterday. And today-” he hesitates, expression visibly darkening. “This morning, about an hour after the Warden arrived, Quackity came to the prison and went through the portal. He left the grounds about six hours later.” 

 “Quackity?” Niki frowns, eyes flicking over to how Phil has stilled in his seat. “What is Quackity doing at the prison?” 

 Phil ignores her question, reaching towards Techno, something indiscernible in his gaze. “Mate…”

 “He smelled of blood when he left,” Techno says, words sharp, and Niki feels her heart skip a beat. “Warden left about half an hour after, and I came back here.” 

 Ranboo clears his throat, sounding tentative. “Okay,” he drums his hand on the table when they turn towards him, eyebrows drawn, “but what, exactly, does this have to do with, uh, Dream?” 

 Techno and Phil trade glances, one of their bouts of unspoken conversation that Niki’s grown extremely used to. They seem strangely hesitant, she notes internally, Phil looking towards Techno with a question written clearly in the planes of his face. Techno sighs, a long puff of air through his lips as he closes his eyes and turns his face towards the table. 

 “You know how Dream was- injured,” he starts slowly, looking back up at them. Niki shifts uncomfortably - of course she noticed, it was impossible not to - if not the bandages that peeked under his sleeves and the cuffs of his pants, then how skinny he’d been, all skin and bones curled up uncomfortably in a pile at the corner of Techno’s couch. She’d not know the extent, by any means, and had always assumed that they’d been self-inflicted - she’d been in a bad enough place on her own before to know how your head can make you want to hurt, sometimes, how eating food can feel like choking on sawdust and the world could feel so much smaller when focused into delicate pricks of pain. Phil’s eyes are trained on Techno - on his face, then on the pinkish raised skin of a still-healing scar along his forearm, and she feels understanding settle like a rock in her gut. 

 “The Warden had apparently been lettin’ Quackity into the cell to torture Dream for the revive book,” Techno trails off, eyes narrowed and seemingly fixed on a random point of the opposite wall. “By the time I go there, it’d been goin’ on for months.”

 “But wait,” Ranboo’s tail moves even more erratically behind him, “You mean you think he’s back- there? How?” 

 “He has to be back in the prison,” Techno points out. “I can’t imagine anyone besides him that the two of them are goin’ to just start torturin’- Sam had been iffy about the whole thing when Quackity started in on me. It has to be Dream in there again.” 

 “But how did he get in there, then?” Ranboo asks, visibly confused. “Last time it took the entire server to lock him up!”

 “There were no signs of a struggle,” Niki points out, matter of fact. “I believe you, Techno, but I don’t really know how they managed to drag him back so easily. I can’t imagine he was jumping at the chance to go back in there.” 

 Techno shakes his head with an uneasy sigh. 

 “I have a feelin’ of what might’ve happened,” he says quietly. “And I really hope that I’m wrong and he’s less of an idiot than I think he is.” 

 ---

 They set out to investigate - and maybe attack - the next day, Techno and Phil taking on the bulk of preparations as Ranboo stays behind. He’d been understandably uneasy about the whole mission, so they’d left him back by the Syndicate room to set off their pearls in case anything went wrong. (“By the end of the day,” Techno had said, giving Phil a look with the corner of his lip quirked upwards, “don’t be like Phil here and think I meant the end of the month, alright?”) They’d all be supplied with armor and weapons, thanks to Phil, but she’d been handed the bulk of their potions, arranged neatly in her inventory by type in case they’d be needed. She lingers in the back of the room as Phil and Techno chat amiably over the sound of making last minute repairs on their armor, listens to Techno’s ceaseless reminders for Phil to be careful, watches as they make sure that their stasis chambers are properly prepared should they need them.

 (She watches as Phil nudges Techno’s shoulder when he lingers behind a certain chair, empty as long as she’s been part of the Syndicate, the fountain behind it bubbling quietly without a pearl inside. Techno sighs, expression strange. 

 “Should’ve set him up with one,” he says, quiet, and Phil pats him on the back. 

 “You couldn’t have known, mate. We wanted to wait a little before telling him about the Syndicate, remember?” 

 Techno hums, noncommittal. “Still.”)

 They Nether travel to the site of Techno’s lookout, which ends up being a little shambling thing with dirt walls dug into a small hill looking towards the prison portal, having hardly enough space to fit the three of them. Phil looks at it with no small amount of apprehension, and Techno shrugs lightly, wearing an expression that makes Phil turn to him with a look that makes Niki break into giggles. Techno crosses his arms- “in my defense-” and Phil looks up at the dirt ceiling with a long-suffering sigh. 

 “You couldn’t have made this a little roomier, mate?” Phil asks, voice dry as kindling, and Techno raises his hands by his head. 

 “Hey hey, it’s discreet, it gets the job done, it’s perfectly structurally sound-” the sound of the leftmost wall crumbling, along with the cloud of dust that puffs from it and fills their tiny space, undermines the tail end of his statement and leaves him sputtering, Niki falling into another fit of quiet giggles. Underneath it all, Phil sighs again, raising his wings behind him. 

 “...these are going to take so long to clean out.” 

 To his credit, Techno looks sheepish. “Sorry, Phil.”

 They sober up quickly; Techno turns around to the opposite side of the hill, where he’s hidden some peepholes inside the dirt - Niki settles herself by one, leaning forwards to put her eye to it and catch a glimpse of the prison looming over the water. It’s been repaired since the breakout, she notes, the gaping hole in the roof completely gone and replaced with obsidian, as intimidating and undamaged as it had been before, if not more so. Phil makes a considering sound from behind her.

 “Same plan as last time?” He asks, and Techno shakes his head. 

 “They’ve probably reinforced it, and Dream’s blueprints won’t include anything new the Warden’s added. I wouldn’t be surprised if they moved Dream to a different location completely. We don’t want to draw too much attention, either, we were cutting it pretty close during the breakout.” He narrows his eyes. “I was thinking we’d try something a little stealthier, this time. “ 

 He gestures at Niki, who blinks back at him with wide eyes. 

 “You got a couple of invis potions for us?”

 She distributes the potions among them all, one regular and two splash potions of invisibility each, and Techno points towards the prison once she’s done. 

 “The most important thing is to get through the portal,” he says with a grim expression. “Worst comes to worst, once we’re inside we can always blast our way through - but gettin’ through that portal is our first priority.” 

 Phil narrows his eyes at him. “The portal is locked, though. We’ll need to follow someone else inside- and I’m pretty sure Sam uses pearls, so he’s out.” 

 Techno nods. “Which is why I’m bankin’ on the prison gettin’ another visitor today. We’ll just have to wait.” 

 Niki swallows. “Do you mean-”

 “Quackity?” Techno turns away, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m not totally sure, but he’s not exactly the type to just give up on his goals. He’s pretty predictable- an empire needs an emperor, always needs something new to rule- you know the type,” he says, tipping his head towards Phil. “He’ll be mad at Dream for disappearin’ on him and won’t miss the opportunity to prove he has the upper hand again. I’m not sure that he’s going to come today-”

 “-but you wouldn’t really be surprised, either,” Phil finishes for him, eyes steely with cold determination. “I trust your judgement, mate. Just stay safe- from what I’ve heard, Quackity has been...erratic.” 

 “When is he not,” Techno huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine, Phil. Just be careful, both of you. Don’t get too close. And if things get messy- which is what we’re tryin’ to avoid, by the way- then don’t do anything too risky. Our priority is gettin’ in and out alive.” 

 “We can handle ourselves, Techno,” Niki reminds him with a small smile. “And Ranboo is there in case anything goes wrong.” 

 “Alright, then. Here’s the plan.” 

 ---

 It takes quite a long time for Quackity to arrive, long minutes that Niki spends fidgeting in the corner of the room, brushing her hands over seams of the netherite plates that Phil had shoved into her hands, back at the Syndicate room. The set is inexplicably light - not weightless, by any means, as it is still netherite, but not nearly as bulky as any set of netherite armor she’s owned or seen in the past. The runes are precise, lines thin and exact, written with graceful strokes of lapis. 

 “Phil’s the best metalworker I’ve ever met,” Techno tells her with a small grin, catching her in the middle of tracing what she can make out as an Unbreaking rune along the metal strapped to her forearm. “But then again, he’s had the time to practice.” 

 “Are you calling me old again?” Phil huffs, and Techno flashes a smile her direction before looking at Phil with a slight grin. 

 “Well, Chat is,” he says, lips twitching when Phil glares back. 

 “You can’t just blame Chat every time you insult me, you little shit,” Phil groans, and Techno only grins wider. 

 “Phil, my ad revenue,” he complains, a dramatic lilt to his voice that has Niki stifling a snort, and Phil’s glare only grows deadlier. 

 “You’ll have more than your ad revenue to worry about if you keep this up,” he mumbles, going back to keep watch at one of the peepholes and stilling as he does. “Shit- Techno, Quackity’s here.” 

 Techno straightens up, hindered slightly by the low ceiling of their room. “Alright- we all know the plan, right?” 

 Niki nods in the affirmative, pulling out a splash invis and letting it settle in her hand, the glass cool beneath her fingertips. She reaches into her inventory and lets her armor fade into it, takes a deep breath and watches as the two across from her do the same. She doesn’t wear armor often, but so close to the prison, feeling mining fatigue settling deep into her bones - she’s never missed the security it offers more. Techno keeps watch, waiting- drops his arm in a signal. Now. 

 Niki throws the potion at their feet, flinching back at the sound of shattering glass and feeling its effects seep into her skin. When she opens her eyes, she can’t see anything but the inside of the room that they’d holed themselves in and the faintest of wisps rising from where their feet must be, curling around the grass. 

 (Please let this work, she begs to no one in particular as they walk towards the prison. And if you can hear me- please keep us all safe.)

 She hardly breathes as they follow Quackity across the path, holding someone’s hand in her own - Phil’s, by the feel of it - careful to muffle her footsteps in the grass and stand still whenever Quackity’s eyes come a little too close. Thankfully for them, he seems focused, hardly stopping or looking around at all as he walks towards the prison’s portal, movements stiff as he walks forward. He punches the button on the wall particularly harshly, and Sam’s voice comes crackling through a speaker a second later. 

 “I’m here for my visit,” Quackity says, punctuating the sentence with a snort of laughter that doesn’t sound particularly sincere. Niki hasn’t seen him in a long while, not after everything that happened in Pogtopia, and she feels a chill worm down her spine - this man looks nothing like the one that had laughed and danced and sung at her birthday party what feels like an eternity ago. What happened? 

 Sam sighs, the sound turning into a sharp burst of static through the speakers. “Hello Quackity,” he says, voice deep and tired. “Please step into the portal after I tell you to and then wait on the other side.” 

 “I know the drill, Sam,” Quackity rolls his eyes. “Just because the bastard was gone for a few weeks doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how this damn place works.” 

 “Just going through protocol, Quackity,” Sam replies, and something about this response has Quackity exploding into a brief fit of laughter, the sound grating against Niki’s ears. She feels her grip tighten on Phil’s hand, air caught in her throat. 

 “Protocol- ha. Whatever you wanna tell yourself, pal.” Quackity smiles, cold and cruel, and Niki tries not to think about how she’d seen that same grin on Wilbur, eyes sparkling from the light of the lanterns hung from the bridges and walls of their ravine, remember how she’d looked into them and realized her old friend wasn’t there, anymore. Quackity disappears into the portal, and after a second, the hand around her own pulls her inside of it too.

 On the other side, Quackity taps his foot impatiently, crossing his arms and waiting- Sam’s voice comes through the speakers again, words clipped. 

 “Go through the portal,” he says, and Quackity does- once again, they wait for a second for his body to disappear, then go within it themselves, pressed close enough together within its frame for Niki to feel the warmth of a wing wrap around her shoulders for a quick second before they’re out of the hot, stifling air of the Nether and into a large, neatly made lobby of blackstone and quartz. They duck into a corner, watching as Quackity moves towards the front counter, the Warden waiting there with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks- tired. His movements are slow, footsteps loud against the floor, shoulders tense and back hunched. He walks around the counter, sword strapped to his belt, and Niki feels her breath hitch at the sight of dried blood still stuck to the blade in patches and splatters.

 “He ready?” Quackity asks, holding his hands out - Niki catches a flash of metal as Sam drops something into them, watches as Quackity raises what ends up being a pair of shears, dangerous-looking and gleaming with enchants, to the light. 

 “Yes,” Sam says, side-eyeing Quackity with a small glare. “You know, it’s supposed to be your job to clean those things off when you’re done with them.”

 “I told you, busy day back in Las Nevadas yesterday,” Quackity waves a hand- “I’ll do it, alright? Don’t get all pissy now. What happened to being partners?” 

 “You said we’d be done with this months ago, Quackity,” Sam sighs, and Niki feels a light tug on her arm as Quackity and Sam begin to walk towards the wall to the right of them, breathes in slow and deep as she follows Techno and Phil towards the others. The wall yawns open with the hiss of redstone firing and pistons pulling blocks upwards, opening into a dark hallway that feels like entering the maw of some sort of giant, insatiable beast. They step inside as one, and the door shuts behind them. 

 “We’ll be done soon enough,” Quackity says, and Niki feels hairs rising on the back of her neck. “Trust me.” 

 They stalk forwards through a labyrinth of blackstone, Niki brushing the palms of her hand against her clothes when it goes clammy from adrenaline. Halfway through, she pauses to tip back a second potion of invisibility, careful to keep her movements slow and steady as not to make a sound - the liquid is silvery, cool and light on her tongue, and she lets the effects wash over her with her breath caught in her lungs before moving forward. The tunnels are simpler than she’d expected, bearing little obstacles or checkpoints - Quackity makes a wry comment a second after (“Guard tunnels today, huh? Appreciate the hustle, pal-”) that confirms her suspicions. Despite the potion particles still whirling around their bodies and the sounds of their footsteps, too loud in her own ears, they manage to make it forwards without much trouble, entering a large room with a doorway filled completely with a curtain of lava. 

 “Set your spawn,” Sam says, still stoic, and Quackity rolls his eyes again before doing as told. Niki keeps looking back at the lava flowing past the wall, its heat filling the room and making her already slick palms even worse, and Sam moves to the side to flick a lever, eyes trained on the lava slowly bubbling in front of him. 

 “Give me your tools?” Quackity asks, and Sam sighs before doing so - Niki watches as he hands over a netherite axe, then potions, then a few raw potatoes that Quackity accepts and puts into his inventory. Sam raises an eyebrow once he’s done, hand tight around the handle of his trident. 

 “You bring your own sword, today?” He asks, seeming irritated, and Quackity shrugs. 

 “Sorry pal, I need to make a new one. Guess I’m borrowing yours again.” 

 Sam sighs again, louder, and hands over his sword as well, watching as Quackity swings it a few times experimentally. The blade skims a little too close to her on one swing and she can’t quite help the squeak that escapes her lips as she throws herself out of the way, feels her heart hammer in her ears as she backs up against the wall. Please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that-

 “Quackity, wait.” Sam raises a hand, ear twitching as he looks over in her direction with narrowed eyes. “I think I heard something.”

 Oh fuck.

 “Well, guess show’s up then,” Techno drawls, and both of them whirl towards his voice, giving Niki enough time to pull her armor back on, scrambling to get her sword and shield in her hands as Phil does the same besides her. Pieces of armor appear where Techno is standing, then a bucket of milk- oh, why must her friends be so dramatic- and Techno’s standing there, smiling sharply, with Orphan Obliterator held loosely at his side. “Let’s get this done, then.” 

 As one, Techno and Phil blur into action - Techno moves forward to catch the prongs of Sam’s trident on his blade as Phil parries Quackity’s blows with his own sword- they move fluidly, easily covering each other’s backs as the room devolves into chaos. Niki remembers their guidance as she flits in and out of the fight, scoring quick hits to keep the Warden and Quackity off balance while remaining out of range from their weapons, and it’s not long before both of them have fallen with a spray of items and experience orbs scattered all over the floor. 

 Techno moves over to block off the exposed face of the bed with a block, looking over at the two of them with an uncharacteristically severe expression. “They’ll be back soon- we have to move fast. Niki, you have those fire res, right?” 

 She nods as she reaches into her inventory, finding the potion’s orange-pink glow and smashing it at their feet. They dive into the lava together, Niki scrambling to keep up, her arms struggling to move through the thick lava, loses sight of both until she flails into something directly in front of her and hands are pulling her up out of the lava. 

 “There you go, mate,” Phil smiles down at her as hauls herself to her feet, making a face at the feeling of the lava clinging to her clothes. “Yeah, swimming through lava isn’t exactly fun. You good?” She flashes him a thumbs up, and he laughs- “Niki, you’re still invisible.” She flushes pink- right.

 A few sips of milk later, she gives him a proper thumbs up, and he laughs, loud and bright. She looks past him to where Techno’s crouched over something- someone, she realizes with a start, in the corner. Dream’s back in prison clothes, ragged and ill-fitting, and he’s curled up with his back towards the front of the cell, shaking enough to be obvious even from where she’s standing. Techno speaks lowly, voice barely more than a deep rumble in the air, almost inaudible.

 “You there, Dream?” 

 She watches as Dream turns his head, looking up with wide, bleary eyes. His hair flops in front of his face, and something within her itches to brush it out of the way. “T-Techno?”

 “Yeah nerd, who else?” Techno smiles, and Dream seems to blink awake, drawing himself up with a shuddery breath. 

 “Techno- it’s a trap- what are you doing here?” he hisses, and Techno gives him a look, deadpan.

 “Yeah, yeah, it’s a trap- come on, Dream, we’ve been over this by now, bro. You have to know that their traps aren’t goin’ to do anything to me by now,” Techno rolls his eyes, reaching forward to steady his hands on Dream’s shoulders when the other man sputters and struggles to breathe. “Easy, now. Geez, you wanted to prove me wrong about being homeless bad enough that you came back here? We could’ve just made you a house, you know. You didn’t have to go this far.” 

 “I- they were gonna kill you,” Dream breathes, face twisted up uncomfortably, and his eyes flick past Techno’s face to where Phil and Niki are standing at the opposite wall of the cell. “All of you- they said-”

 “And that’s what I thought you’d say,” Techno groans. “Come on, you idiot, I thought you were smarter than this-” 

 “They were right there, Techno!” Dream fires back, eyes alight. “You- they were right there, what were you thinking, they could’ve-!”

 “And my best friend is a necromancer, remember?” Techno shakes his head. “Come on, Dream- Sam and Quackity? You know we can handle them in a fight, especially when you can just revive us if anything goes wrong. You don’t have to do this whole self-sacrifice thing, bro- there’s only so many times I can break into the same prison, y’know.” 

 “You’re so stupid,” Dream huffs, but he leans in anyway, head just barely settling against Techno’s shoulder. “I- I can’t believe. You’re so dumb.” 

 “Hey, don’t be sayin’ that to the guy that’s breakin’ you out of prison,” Techno laughs, slinging Dream over his shoulder with an easy motion and laughing harder when it makes him yelp. “That’s just bein’ ungrateful. You’re making Chat sad, man, and when they’re sad they don’t subscribe-” 

 “I regret this entirely,” Dream says, voice muffled against Techno’s shirt, tone completely flat. “Put me down- you idiot- I’m staying here. You’re worse than Quackity.” 

 “Rude. Now you’ve really made Chat mad. I demand an apology-” 

 “Boys, boys.” Niki can’t help giggling, watching the way their gazes snap towards her, rolling her eyes as she moves forward with a few potions held loosely in her hand. “Dream, do you want a health pot?” 

 Dream seems to deliberate for a second, before nodding at her, expression slightly strained. “...sure.” 

 “You two can finish your argument after we’ve broken out of the biggest maximum security prison on the server,” Phil drawls from behind her, arms crossed at his chest. “Come on, now, before Sam gets back.” 

 “Isn’t this the only maximum security prison on the server?” Techno asks aloud, an amused expression on his face - one that only gets worse when Phil glares at him with one ice-blue eye. 

 “Shut-” he sighs, shaking his head. “You two are chaotic little shits, you know that?”

 “Don’t compare me to him, Phil,” Techno complains, Dream mirroring his words with muffled protests of his own, and Phil breathes another drawn-out, long-suffering sigh as he rubs at the bridge of his nose. 

 “Niki, give us some fire res please?” 

 She finds the potion bottle between giggles, throwing it to the ground as she tries to choke down the laughter rapidly bubbling up her throat. “Of course, Phil.” 

 She looks back at Techno and Dream before jumping into the lava, the two of them once again lost in some sort of argument, Dream draped over Techno’s shoulder. He’s breathing easier now, she notes, and Techno looks looser too - a little less tense, leaning back with a perpetual quirk to the corner of his lip as they fire insults back and forth. This is familiar, she recognizes with a soft twist in her chest, the same way that Phil and Techno can finish each other’s sentences and look at each other with laughing eyes sharing the same memories of the past, the same way Ranboo watches Techno’s every step as he adjusts his stance and lifts his sword and Techno laughs and calls him a main character in turn, the same way she and Phil will settle together on the porch over cups of tea and sit at each other’s sides for hours. The rhythm between them is one well-established, the road well-worn - she imagines them, huddled in this dingy cell for months together, and breathes in slow and deep. 

 “Come on,” she smiles, making sure to keep it on her face when Dream meets her eyes with wide, startled ones of his own. Dream still isn’t an ally, and isn’t a friend. 

 But - she watches as he smiles back, something inexplicably warm in her chest - maybe, one day, he could be.

[ddarker-dreams]

Yan Childe, Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli, Beidou & Ningguang / Courting Darling.

Warnings: Stalking, implied blackmail, kidnapping, and gaslighting. Note: this is a bit of an amalgamation from different asks i’ve gotten, put into one thing bc i thirst for these six characters so hard .

Childe:

“What’s life without a little adventure? You can stand to miss work for a day or two, it’ll still be there waiting for you when we get back. People have even gone so far as to say I’m an absolute joy to be around. You want to know who said that? Sorry, that source is staying a secret.” 

Childe is an erratic whirlwind of highs and lows. You never know what to expect from him, and he likes it that way, always keeping you on your toes. He doesn’t bother with having his friendliness appear genuine. If you want to doubt his goodwill, then so be it, he won’t stop you. It just makes it all the more interesting to keep you around should you be wary of his presence. 

He doesn’t care for the traditional conventions surrounding romance. It isn’t his thing, and he’s used to being considered the odd one out of every crowd, so why stop now? Childe doesn’t tone down any aspects of his bloodthirsty personality in your presence. It’s difficult to tell how serious he’s being since most of it takes the form of jokes or other lighthearted jests. In his mind, the fact he’s even spending so much time with you should make it obvious he’s interested. Whether that’s good or not. 

You’re going to be dragged all over the place. Childe’s stamina is seemingly an infinite well, as he takes you from activity to activity. By the end of the day, you’ll be exhausted. Unfortunately, he doesn’t take no for an answer, weaseling his way into your schedule despite your protests. Childe is particularly fond of getting into situations where a fight is inevitable, purposefully taking you to areas with monsters to show off his combat prowess. 

“Did you get a look at that, [First]? Aha, I haven’t had this much fun in ages! You already want to head back? Hm, I don’t know, the night is still young. Stop dragging your feet or I might just have to carry you. Not that I’m complaining, should that be the outcome. It’s up to you. Oh! Now that’s the spirit! I’ll try not to be hurt by how fast you’re moving now.” 

Diluc: 

“Ah, [First], I take it you’re doing well. I couldn’t help but notice you eyeing this book at the market earlier. I’ve had a copy of it for ages, but with how busy things are, rarely do I have time to read. I’d be appreciative should you accept this and give it a better home.” 

Diluc is self-assured in many areas of his life, romance is not one of them. He knows how to carry himself in the company of businessmen, staying polite and vigilant, but this rigid method doesn’t work in his favor when it comes to wooing you. To soften the blow on his side, Diluc tells himself that it was never about a relationship anyway. That his main priority was and will always be to ensure your safety. He tells himself this, but... isn’t sure if he really believes it. 

He’s a perfect example of pining from afar. Subconsciously, he’ll drift towards areas you tend to linger around, hoping to spot you amidst the bustling crowds. Each time he tells himself that this’ll finally be the time he approaches you. The opportunity is set before him, waiting to be taken advantage of, but he rarely follows through with his desire. 

It frustrates Diluc to no end how easily others flock to you. He’ll stand there, still as a statue, eyes boring into whatever pest currently holds your attention. This would be the push to finally send him your way. It’s a surprise to you both when Mondstadt’s wine tycoon materializes by your side, politely asking to speak in private. Truth be told, he just can’t stand the thought of another person holding your attention that isn’t him. 

“I apologize for my abruptness back there. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about for some time, and well... would you consider having dinner with me tonight? I’d appreciate your company.” 

Kaeya:

“It’s a funny thing, really. How we keep bumping into one another like this. Ah... that suspicious expression, it wounds me deep, sweetheart. When did you start looking at me like that, I wonder?” 

There’s no doubting Kaeya’s interest in you, from the first time he sauntered over to you and started a conversation. The problem you have is deciding how genuine his advances are. While Kaeya might not be the textbook definition of a heart-wrenching playboy, you’re familiar enough with the many rumors surrounding him to be wary. It doesn’t help that he’ll point this out to you when guessing the source of your apprehension. 

His methods are, oddly enough, effective. Kaeya balances the various aspects of seduction with ease. He reveals just enough about himself to draw out your attention, before focusing the conversation back onto you. You’ll never get to stop and realize how little you know about the man sitting in front of you, he makes certain of that.

Kaeya might hide certain aspects of himself, but his dubious morality is never concealed. He has you entirely wrapped around his finger, words validating his actions falling from his lips with the utmost ease; he’s a force to be reckoned with. You’ll start a conversation heated about something you’ve learned, only for it to end wondering why you were ever upset in the first place.

“Now, now, there’s no need to get all riled up over something like this. Don’t you trust me by now? When have I ever given you reason to doubt me? You need to take a look at the bigger picture. Hey, take a seat. I’ll sit here all night explaining to you if it’s necessary.” 

→[More underneath the cut].

Zhongli: 

“There must be something that I can assist you with. It may not look it, but I’m familiar with many fields of work, even obscure ones. Please allow me to lend a hand.” 

Zhongli, despite having been around for many centuries, is somewhat clueless in romantic pursuits. He’s aware of his fondness for you, but doesn’t know what to do with it. This leads him to becoming your shadow for some time. He focuses on what he knows best: observation and processing new information. Your every little movement will be analyzed and tuck into the back of his mind for later usage. 

Zhongli’s soft over the idea of you coming to rely on him for everything. He prides himself on his wealth of knowledge and work ethic, believing it a strong appeal, one that he puts on full display when you’re around. It’s not rare for you to overhear neighbors and friends speak highly about Zhongli. They’ll mention in passing how they were having difficulty with something, only for Zhongli to come around and help without asking for anything in return. 

This is exactly what he’s been hoping and waiting for. Zhongli has patience and sets himself up to be a desirable partner in your eyes, the efforts from his labor coming into fruition. Before you even speak to him for the first time, you’re likely to think highly of him, having heard all the ways he’s helped people close to you. Now that the stage is properly set, he’s ready to make his interest in you more evident. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you, [First]. Oh? You can say the same for me? Well, I hope I can live up to your expectations. I had just been on my way to Yanshang Teahouse, would you care to join me? My treat, of course.” 

Beidou: 

“You haven’t lived until you’ve experienced a voyage with my crew and I. I’ll set up a nice cabin just for you, how does that sound? Hm? Special treatment? Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, lass.”  

Beidou’s attention is overwhelming and oftentimes dangerous. Traditional social conventions are nothing but a waste of time for her, meaning that common courtesy is disregarded in favor of always speaking her mind. Which might not be so bad if she wasn’t so amorous. Even the most oblivious person couldn’t miss Beidou’s overt favor towards you.

This reverent display of affection is only exacerbated when she’s drunk, face flushed and an arm swung tightly around your shoulder. She doesn’t care who sees, who’s judging, or what gossip will be born from her actions. Beidou makes a point of showing everyone in the vicinity that even if you aren’t officially partners yet, a claim has been staked on you. 

Whether it be coercion or some other unsightly method, Beidou is intent on bringing you on her ship at least once. Or that’s how she initially phrased it to you. Imagine your surprise, that when you finally caved so she’d drop the subject, her crew was untying the ropes keeping the boat at port. 

“The fun’s just getting started, you haven’t seen anything yet. Don’t get all teary-eyed yet, sweetheart, I know you’ll come around. This’ll be a story sung by sailors for generations to come.”

Ningguang:

“If I’m being honest, not many are given the opportunity to speak to me outside of business-related ventures. I never thought I’d find it this... pleasant. I hope you’ll continue to entertain me as you do now.” 

Ningguang starts off her wooing in a subtle, almost coquettish manner. She is confident in her charm and brilliance. Not many have been gifted in the art of conversation to the same extent Ningguang has, her silver tongue paired with quick intellect making it difficult for you to escape. She’ll corner you verbally without you even noticing it. 

Ningguang finds amusement in how you stumble over your words, pure of heart and not chained down by special interests. Your forthright but considerate demeanor intoxicates her. She’s used to people cowering in her presence or trying too hard to pursue their goals. You might even earn a rare compliment or two, disguised as politeness, that doesn’t register for hours. 

She is a lady of fine taste. The sky’s the limit when it comes to her wealth, which is unrivaled throughout Tevyat, and you’ll be quick to notice this. Ningguang is most partial to sending you traditional Liyue adornments, believing the rich culture behind each piece suits your beauty. She’s also fond of the fact that when you wear her gifts, everyone in the vicinity will know it’s from her, due to its extraordinarily high cost. 

“Do you like my latest gift, little dove? It was made custom with you in mind, an unrivaled display of craftmanship, if I may add. Wear this and carry me with you... always.” 

[marauderundercover]

Late Night Trips (Day 3: Bats)

This is a continuation of Day 2. Read it here

Marinette walks around the Halloween section of the store, giggling into her phone.

“I don’t know why you’re so against it!” She teases, adding a bag of bat window clings to her little basket, despite Jason’s grumbling on the other end of the phone.

“Because the vigilantes are known as the Bats, M. Just feels weird for our windows to be covered in tiny bats.” He grumbles, and she snorts, glad that he can’t see the way her face reddens when he refers to the windows as theirs. Sure, he hadn’t officially moved in, but he stayed at her place more than the manor lately. She loved it.

“Okay, Jay, if it really upsets you that much, I won’t get them.” She promises, taking the bats back out of her basket. She really did think they were cute though, but she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“We could get ghosts or pumpkins instead.” Jason suggests and she grins, switching the bats out with the ghosts.

“Hmmm, the ghosts have top hats, so I’m definitely sticking with those.” She says. There’s silence on the other end of the line. “Jay?”

“Marinette, are you at the store right now?” He asks, and she can hear the concern in his voice.

“Yeah, but I’m at the little one down the street. I’ll be fine, Jason.” She reassured him. She loved him, she did, but he got way too paranoid about her going out at night sometimes. Sure that was when more Rogues and criminals were active, but she could take care of herself. Which she clearly showed him last weekend when she punched that stupid Scarecrow in the face.

“I- please, M. Just, please be careful.” He says, not lecturing her like he’d half expected.

“I will be, promise. See you when you get home.” She says. He worked nights most of the time, but she was still able to see him since she kind of made her own hours when she was working on commissions. Or, she just stayed up all day and night. It was honestly a coin toss.

“I love you.” He says, and her smile widens.

“Love you too.” She says, hanging up and heading to the registers. She quickly checks out and leaves, pulling her jacket closer as she steps out into the cold night. That was the only thing she didn’t love about Gotham. The cold. Once the sun was down, it was like it was winter, no matter the time of year. Sighing, she continues her walk back to the apartment, careful to make sure she stays aware of her surroundings. Sure, she could fight off a mugger, but she didn’t necessarily want to. She just wanted to get home and half a nice cup of coffee. Or hot chocolate. Something warm. She hums under her breath, almost to the apartment, when the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Immediately, she tenses. She starts to move a little faster, grimacing as she hears the footsteps behind her quicken as well. Of course the streets are empty. She’s the only one stupid enough to actually be out this late. Crap. She yelps in surprise as the person- man, she realizes- that had been following her grabs her wrist and twists her around.

“Come on sweetheart, doncha wanna spend some time with me.” The man says, tugging her close and letting his reeking breath pour over her face. She grimaces.

“No thank you.” She says, trying to tug her wrist away from the man. His eyes narrow and his grip tightens, more than she’d been expecting. He turns them so that they’re just inside the alley instead of on the open street. Oh hell no.

“C’mon babe-” He starts before she cuts him off with a punch in the face. He groans in surprise and stumbles slightly, still not letting go of her wrist. “If that’s how ya wanna be.” He says, his eyes darkening. She huffs and drops her bags, bringing her knee up and kneeing him in just the right place. He doubles over and lets go of her wrist. Now having both hands, she’s able to grab him (he’s too busy groaning in pain) and ram his head into the wall. He crumples almost instantly and she lets out a huff. So maybe Jason was right and she shouldn’t go shopping so late at night. But he didn’t have to know about this, right?

“Are you alright ma’am?” A voice asks. She whirls around, her fists up in defense until she sees who it is. She sighs and relaxes her posture.

“Hello Nightwing. Um, yeah, yeah I’m fine.” She says, glancing at the man on the ground. “Though, I’d feel a bit better if you had something we could tie him up with.”

“Of course. Robin?” He says, and she blinks in surprise as a hero who couldn’t be older than fifteen steps out of the shadows. Obviously she’d done her research on the heroes, but she was still a little taken aback to see a teenager in costume again. She just nods at him in thanks as he pulls out...zip ties? And cuffs the man’s hands behind his back.

“You were quite efficient in taking the man down. We approached just as you got out of his grip.” Robin says, and she smiles awkwardly.

“Yeah, uh, there were villains in Paris when I was a kid so I had to learn some basic self defense.” She says, not telling them everything, but not exactly lying either.

“Still, you know it’s really dangerous to be out this late at night, right? Even for someone who took down Scarecrow as well as you did.” Nightwing says and she flinches back, frowning.

“Uh, sorry, that day is a little fuzzy. Were you there?” She asks. Sure, Red Robin could’ve just told the others, but the look on his face? How he said it? Makes it seem like he’d actually seen the fight.

“No, but we watched the body cam footage from Red Robin.” Nightwing says with a wide smile.

“Mon Dieu.” She mumbles, shaking her head. She could tell Jason that some of the Bats thought she was a good fighter, but then she’d have to admit what happened tonight. And she really didn’t want him to worry any more than he already does.

“We will assist you in getting home once the police arrive to pick up this cretin.” Robin says, and she puffs her cheeks out, trying to figure out a nice way to tell them ‘thanks but no thanks’. If they had to wait around for the police, there was a chance Jason would be home by the time they got there.

“I’m sure I can get home just fine by myself.” She reassures them, and Nightwing frowns.

“Probably, but it would be kinda rude of us to send you along after something like this and not make sure you made it home safe.” He says. She sighs.

“Look, is there any way you can follow from the roofs or something? If you guys escort me home and my boyfriend is there, I’m gonna have to look at him and tell him he’s right and I shouldn’t go to the store late at night and he’s gonna panic and freak out that I could’ve been hurt which is super sweet, but then he’s not gonna be overprotective for a week and that makes it hard on him because then he doesn’t concentrate at work and I know he thinks I don’t notice but every time I get hurt, he comes home from work hurt and I know it’s because he’s distracted and I hate seeing him hurt and-” She rambles, only stopping when Nightwing puts a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widen in surprise and she winces in apology.

“We’ll trail you, but you should still probably tell him.” He says softly, and she frowns, nodding. This was gonna suck.

---

Marinette waves at the roof of the building across the street before walking into the building and heading up to the apartment. She can hear the low hum of the tv, letting her know Jason is already home. She takes in a deep breath before unlocking the door and walking in.

“Hey M.” Jason calls from the couch, a smile on his face. She smiles back, silently noting that his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He was either fighting with his dad again, or something went wrong at work. And now she was about to drop the whole ‘I took down a guy who tried to yank me into an alley’ thing on him. She sets her bags on the table and kicks her shoes off before walking over and sitting on the couch, instantly curling into his side. They sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes and she relaxes.

“You okay?” He asks softly, and she sighs, sitting up and looking at him, wringing her hands together.

“So, don’t freak out.” She says, and he frowns. “Um, you were right about the whole shopping at night in Gotham thing.” She says, thankful that he seems to understand immediately.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, eyes scanning her, pausing on her wrist. She frowns. Her wrist was definitely currently hidden by her sleeve, how did he know it was bruised? She sighs and pushes her sleeves up, grinning at him awkwardly.

“Just a little bruise.” She says, and he frowns.

“A little- Marinette, that bruise is all around your wrist. Are you sure it’s not broken?” He asks worriedly.

“I’m sure, I know what broken bones feel like. I’m a clutz, remember?” She teases, smiling softly at him. She breathes a sigh of relief when he wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. He shifts so that he’s practically laying on the couch, moving her so that she’s laying on top of him.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He mumbles. She rolls her eyes, burying herself into his chest.

“I’m fine, Jay. I won’t go shopping so late next time. Besides, some of the Bats showed up.” She says, giggling at his scoff.

“As if those idiots did anything.” He snarks.

“I mean, Nightwing and Robin both commented on my fighting skills.” She teases, laughing as he reaches up and turns her face to look at him.

“M, Marinette, love of my life, what exactly did Robin say?” He asks and her face heats up at how easily he calls her the love of his life. Did he mean it?

“Uh, something about being efficient in taking the man down?” She says, finding it hard to think with how intense Jason’s stare was. He laughs, a wide smile on his face.

“Ya know, Robin is supposedly the least easily impressed. Apparently he can be a bit of a pain.” He says and she grins before laying back down.

“Well then, at least we know I can take care of myself.” She says, feeling him sigh. He doesn’t disagree though, just kisses the top of her head. Warm and safe, she slowly drifts off to sleep.

---

BONUS

Jason smirks as he walks into the Batcave the next night.

“So Demon Spawn, my girlfriend is an efficient fighter?” He asks. Damian scowls.

“Shut it, Todd. Just because I think she is an efficient fighter does not mean that I believe you are.” He says and Jason snorts. “Don’t laugh Todd, I truly believe that she could knock you on your ass.”

“Language, Little D.” Dick says, walking in with his suit on, but mask off. “He does have a point though. I think she could probably hold her own against any of us, even for a couple minutes.” Jason just grins widely. Oh yeah, his girlfriend was a badass.

Next

***

Taglist: @maribat-october-rarepairs @stainedglassm @kittenmywaythrulife @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @queenz-z @deathssilentapproach-blog @literaryhiraeth @unoriginalmess

[starlingflight]

Welcome to the Family.

A/N: This started as a joke on discord and now, apparently, it’s a one-shot. I hope you all enjoy learning Charlie Weasley’s deepest, darkest secret. 

Charlie couldn’t sleep. It was always the same his first night back in The Burrow. The house was loud and, seemingly impossibly, more cramped than usual. Mum and Dad were on the sofa, having given up their room to the Delacours. Hagrid had been forced to sleep in a tent in the neighbour’s field and in a strange way, Charlie thought he might have felt more at home if he’d joined him. 

The Burrow was full of noise but it was all the wrong ones. The wind that whipped through the trees which lined the reserve in Romania was missing as was the distant rumble and roar of the dragons. Instead, he could hear Bill’s soft snores beside him and a suspicious pattern of banging coming from the twin's room on the floor above. 

It was no use. The clock had rolled all the way past midnight and Charlie was no closer to sleep than he had been two hours ago. Knowing that he was risking his life if his mother caught him, Charlie sighed heavily and rolled out of bed. 

What he needed was some relaxation. A way to unwind after the long hours spent travelling and the responsibility of socialising with so many people in one day. With that in mind, Charlie headed for the bathroom, passing carefully over the second step on his way up to the third floor, which he knew from many years of experience creaked loudly if you were foolish enough to step on it in the middle of the night. 

He was only mildly surprised to find a faint trace of light coming from the gap beneath the bathroom door. With this many people in the house, it was near impossible to find the bathroom empty, even in the small hours of the morning. Charlie leant back against the faded floral wallpaper of the landing, the hallway illuminated by the glow emanating from the tip of his wand and waited. 

The minutes crept by slowly. Charlie checked his watch. Five minutes passed, then ten. After fifteen long minutes, Charlie frowned at the bathroom door, unsure who could possibly be taking so long in there at this hour. 

After twenty minutes his patience had completely eroded and Charlie knocked softly on the door. 

A moment passed and nothing happened. Charlie reached out and placed his hand on the cool metal of the door handle just as a shadow flickered across the gap below the door. It opened and Charlie found himself face to face with Fleur. Her usually immaculate silver hair was piled messily atop her head and her sapphire blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, casting her eyes to the tiled floor beneath them. “I didn’t realise anyone was awake.” 

Charlie, thoroughly unprepared to deal with a crying woman he hardly knew at almost one in the morning, froze for a moment. Fleur began to shuffle awkwardly around him in the doorway. She was almost past him when Charlie finally came to his senses and gently placed a hand on her arm. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, concerned. 

Fleur nodded wordlessly but even as she did so, more tears began to slide down her cheeks. “It’s very stupid,” she said, swiping at her face with the back of her hand. “Please don’t worry about it.” 

Charlie had always proclaimed that he was better with dragons than people but even he knew that if you found a woman crying in the bathroom just hours before her wedding you should probably be at least slightly alarmed. 

Without considering how strange it might look to anyone who happened to pass by, Charlie tightened his grip on Fleur’s arm just slightly and gently guided her back inside the bathroom, placing a silencing charm on the door as he closed it behind them. 

Fleur immediately perched herself on the edge of the bathtub and covered her face with her hands. “It’s just terrible timing!” She exclaimed. 

Charlie frowned down at her. “What is? The wedding? I know it’s not perfect but Dad told me about all the security measures and -” 

Fleur finally looked up from her hands, the sharp expression on her face was enough to silence Charlie instantly. “Not the wedding! This!” She pointed at her cheek. For a moment, Charlie was utterly perplexed at what he was supposed to be looking at. He crouched down and squinted and finally saw a small, red blemish upon Fleur’s otherwise flawless face. 

“A spot,” he said. 

“Yes!” Fleur said, her voice so loud she may have woken the whole house if not for the silencing charm Charlie had thought to cast. “I have never seen anything so hideous! It must be from the stress!” 

Charlie didn’t bother to clarify if she meant the stress of the war or the stress of the wedding, he had a feeling he already knew the answer to that. 

“I have tried everything!” Fleur continued. “Maman’s potions, Fred and George’s Wonderwitch products, even some Muggle remedies!” 

Fleur looked frantic. Her eyes were wide and wild with panic and a hot, red flush had begun to creep up her neck and across her face. 

Charlie hesitated for a moment, shuffling nervously from foot to foot. He barely knew the girl sat in front of him. He’d seen her compete in the tournament years ago and he’d been impressed with how she’d handled the Welsh Green. He’d witnessed less elegant handling on the reserve by wizards who’d worked with dragons for years. 

And he’d agreed to be Bill’s best man. Charlie supposed a good best man would do everything in his power to help the bride if he stumbled upon her crying the night before the wedding. 

“If I tell you something, do you swear to keep it a secret?” 

His question seemed to catch Fleur off guard. She stared at him for a moment and then slowly nodded her head. “I promise.” 

Charlie sighed loudly, still not sure if this was a good idea. He waved his wand in front of him and a second later a glass bottle appeared out of nowhere, landing securely in the palm of his hand. 

“What is that?” Fleur asked, peering curiously at the bottle. 

“This,” Charlie said. “Is for your face.” 

Fleur leant back over the bathtub, eyeing the bottle suspiciously. “What is it?” She asked again.

“It’s my secret recipe,” Charlie said, aware of the heat rising in his face. “I make it in Romania. Put it on your face for twenty minutes and I guarantee that spot will vanish.” 

Fleur reached out and tentatively took the bottle for him. She inspected it closely before rising to stand before the mirror above the sink. “You use this on yourself?” She asked, the reflection of her eyes meeting Charlie's. 

“Yes,” he admitted. “I er- I do self-care Sundays.” 

Fleur smiled as she tapped her wand to the top of the bottle, removing the stopper. With no further hesitation, she began to smear the rosy pink paste liberally across her face. “It smells incredible.” 

Charlie nodded. That would be the vanilla extract he added to activate the dragon’s blood. Not that he was prepared to share that with Fleur. 

She finished applying the mask and held the open bottle out to Charlie. For a moment he wavered, this had been his plan when he’d first made his way to the bathroom but he’d expected to do his pampering routine alone. Still, he supposed he’d already told Fleur the worst of his secret, what harm could it do at this point? Tentatively, he dipped a finger into the mask and began to spread it across his face. 

“I think we are going to get on very well!” Fleur announced happily once Charlie had finished applying the mask to his face. 

“Just don’t tell anyone!” Charlie said urgently. 

Finally, the minute hand informed Charlie that twenty minutes had passed. He nudged Fleur gently on the arm and then gestured to the sink. She washed the mask off eagerly, the pink mixture mingling with the water and disappearing down the drain. 

Fleur nodded dismissively, turning her attention to the stack of magazines beside the bath. She selected a copy of Witch Weekly for herself and tossed an old, battered issue of The Magizoologist to Charlie. They sat perched on opposite ends of the bathtub and began to read. The only noises inside the bathroom were that of Fleur and Charlie’s magazine pages rustling as they flipped them and the tick of Charlie’s watch counting down the minutes until they could wash their faces. 

Charlie handed her a towel and Fleur began to pat her face dry whilst he took her place at the sink, washing warm water vigorously across his face. 

It was impossible for Charlie not to smile at Fleur’s squeal of delight as she looked in the mirror and discovered the spot had disappeared just as he’d promised her. 

“Merci! Merci! Merci!” She cried, wrapping Charlie in a firm hug as she jumped up and down in excitement. 

“It’s alright!” Charlie said through a chuckle. “What are brothers for?” 

Fleur stopped jumping and looked Charlie in the eye, a dazzling smile upon her face. “I’ve never had a big brother before.” 

“Yeah, well, I have a little sister and I can already tell you’re going to be just as much trouble as the other one already is.” 

The smile slid from Fleur’s face. “Thank you,” She said earnestly. 

“Don’t mention it,” Charlie replied. “Ever.”  

[allyzion]

Don’t mind me

——————-

Matt Murdock x Reader

Warning : angst and weird sentences. English is not my first language so please be indulgent.

——————

As usual, Hell Kitchen’s nights were dark and cold. And as usual, lurking in the shadow, here he was. The one and only Devil of the city was walking through empty streets, but tonight, like many nights before, his mind was elsewhere.

He felt like he was going to a drowse, like an addict. He needed her. Craved her.

He could only focus on their last fight.

The moon was high in the sky when he came back from his night patrol. That’s probably why he was convinced she would be sleeping by now. But he was mistaking. He should have stop to sense her pulse to check prior to coming in, still he did not.

In all truth, he knew she was growing more wary of his nightly escape. But he was avoiding the conversation as much as possible.

“Where have you been ?” He could hear her tongue click from irritation from the other side of the loft. She was sitting on his bed, fully awake.

“Doll, I’m tired, let’s talk about it tomorrow please”.

“ No ! Not tomorrow ! Now ! You always try to run away.I can’t keep worrying about where you go every night when I fall asleep… and don’t give me some lame excuses, I want the truth, Murdock!” she desperately pleaded, tears in her eyes.

“Oh, please save your tears for another day ! It’s nothing Y/N !” he growled.

She dry laughed” Yeah, right. Sorry for being too dumb to ask where you go as soon as I fall asleep. You surely are working at the office at 3 am. I’m definitely in my feeling right now”

She got up and picked up a bag with all her belonging. “I’m totally overreacting”

“Y/N…”

“Then if you please, i’ll be in my feeling elsewhere. Don’t mind me, you can go back to your night activity.”

He sighed, yet didn’t say more. In a twisted way, his brain told him it was the right thing. It was better than having her learn he was the Daredevil. So he just stood there. Even after sensing that his lack of reaction hurt her more.

Without another word, or a sound, she left.

In the whole year after this, he didn’t try to reach her. Self-guilt and the feeling of being unworthy held him back.

If he kept on saying it was for the better that she left, it didn’t keep him from slowly falling apart.

“Time will mend it”, had said Foggy after he found him lying drunk on the floor of the office one morning.

But earring this truth wasn’t going to make him feel any better. On the contrary, even one year after she left, she haunted him as much. Every time the thought of being home alone crossed his mind, he felt a sour taste in his mouth.

Maybe that’s why he developed the bad habit to look for a one-night stand in a nearby bar.

It seemed a good enough motive to fuck random girls who remotely felt like her. Sure, that was a rough method, but with tough luck, perhaps, he could get his mind off her.

Deep down, he was well aware that he loved her and could never fill the gap she left. None of the dozen adventures he had was a match to the intoxicating passion she could rise in him.

But yet again, she was better far from him. Even if it killed him slowly.

[libermachinae]

Jupiter

Also on AO3 Summary: A quick walk around the neighborhood. Notes: Bit of prowlcoswave written for day 1 of @soundwaveweek! Prompt was ‘together.’

---

Cosmos gave the tether an experimental tug. Soundwave’s solid form meant he did not move, but nor did the harness pop off, which was exactly what Cosmos wanted to see.

“Looks good,” he said, stepping back to cast a quick final check over both him companions. “Feel ready to go?”

Soundwave stood quite confidently, arms at his sides, a familiar tilt to his head that could have meant he was thinking or listening. He nodded easily, field sparkling with confidence, which could have been entirely for Prowl’s benefit, whose own field was sodden with an excited dread. He was trying to stand with poise, but next to Soundwave it was all too obvious the way his doorwings quivered and his biolights flickered. Cosmos felt his spark sink.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, stepping as close as he felt Prowl’s anxiety would allow. “It’s just supposed to be fun, but I don’t know if it will work if you’re…” Was there a way to say ‘terrified’ that wouldn’t offend Prowl’s pride?

Cosmos spent too long thinking about it. Prowl’s doorwings hitched up, his gaze sharpening though his biolights continued to waver.

“I want to do this,” Prowl said. “Faulty risk analysis, that’s all. Not worth a delay.”

Cosmos doubted Prowl’s programs were at fault: he was the only mech Cosmos knew who made algorithm tuning a part of his regular maintenance, and what they were doing was potentially very dangerous. Before he could make a mistake of trying to reason Prowl into fear, though, Soundwave put a hand on Prowl’s shoulder, the ring of hand meeting plating indicating that Prowl had been shivering.

“Cosmos: accomplished in interspacial rescue,” he said. “Soundwave: can locate Prowl at any distance. Prowl will be found, if you want to be.”

“Of course I would want to be,” Prowl snapped, but it seemed like Soundwave’s words had done the trick. Prowl had calmed under his touch, not trying to flick the hand away, and after taking a moment to cycle a ventilation he looked back to Cosmos.

“You’re ready?” Cosmos asked again, and this time Prowl nodded, grim but certain.

“Ready,” Soundwave said, his light tone an intentional contrast to Prowl. He stepped closer to Cosmos, his hand dropping down to Prowl’s to gently encourage him forward. He surveyed them, not searching for anything specific now but just as a general final check. And to steal an opportunity to look at them.

“Okay,” Cosmos said. “You know the drill. I can hover for a few seconds, but the sooner you grab on the better. Then, just… hang on.” He’d done this in the past, but usually it had been an officer delivering the instructions while he and a crewmate or two waited for the signal to go. He knew the process well enough, but instructing someone else (and perhaps instructing these mechs specifically) was a different feeling.

They both nodded, though, betraying their confidence in him, so he stopped himself before he could start overthinking it. He did a short hop up into his alt mode, the last panels only just sliding into place when he felt two hands wrap around his grab bars. He almost hesitated, but the reassuring brush of Soundwave’s field propelled him forward and up, launching out and away from Sanctuary.

There was only a moment of conscious drag before his systems recalibrated to accommodate the additions to his undercarriage. Prowl and Soundwave were doing exactly as instructed, holding on tight to him with their free arms wrapped around each other. For his part, Cosmos tried to keep his acceleration even, adjusting his velocity by hundredths of a degree to avoid jarring his passengers. He didn’t talk for a full minute, focused on escaping Sanctuary’s artificial gravity bubble, but as the pull finally dwindled to a negligible enough force it stopped factoring into his propulsion algorithms, he allowed the iron grip of self control to relax.

“And that’s all there is to it!” he said, maybe a little pridefully. He was, after all, pretty good at his job. “How are you both doing?”

“Status: impressed,” Soundwave said.

“And Prowl?”

His answer was not so forthcoming, and without being able to see his expression Cosmos wasn’t sure whether it was because he was thinking or too frightened to get any words out.

“I’m okay,” Prowl said at last. “It went… exactly as you described.”

“Well, good,” Cosmos said, even if that didn’t tell him much about how Prowl actually felt about the experience. “You want to go back any time, just let me know and I’ll get us straight back home.” He felt a bloom of warmth in Soundwave’s field, the same he always did when one of them called Sanctuary home, and even Prowl released a couple gentle blossoms at the word. “Otherwise, we’re going nice and easy: a quick tour over Jupiter, maybe do a couple passes over an upper atmospheric storm, and then back. Sound good?”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave said. Prowl didn’t say anything, which would have worried Cosmos had Soundwave not been there, monitoring the things Prowl wasn’t ready to say out loud. He pushed confidence at Cosmos, who returned it with his own, swooping over Jupiter’s orbit.

Flying over objects as large as planets was never without risks. Cosmos’ fuel tanks, though standard for interstellar class shuttles, were still finite, and dip too far into a large gravity field could result in overtaxing his systems trying to break free again. He had spent enough time near Jupiter to be familiar with its unique quirks, though, and as he’d said, the flyby came easy to him now: he could put one part of his processor to handling the flight while another gave voice to an ongoing commentary about the gas giant and its role in the solar system. Prowl and Soundwave listened obligingly as they passed over orange clouds marbled with white and ribbons of charcoal shadow. Soundwave was a rapt listener, asking indulgent questions that allowed Cosmos to spin off on tangents about the chemical makeup of the clouds and the gravitational interplay of the planet’s many moons.

This, though, they could see easily from almost any window on Sanctuary, so Cosmos angled south, taking them to the planet’s underbelly. There, cumulonimbus whirlpools roiled in shades of blue, spitting lightning just visible to Cosmos’ specialized sensors. He took pictures and sent them across the link to Soundwave and Prowl, explaining as he did so the unique makeup of Jupiter’s clouds and the forces behind its raging storms.

“It reminds me of the electron storms that started after the Gatterus Assaults,” Prowl said, the first time he’d spoken beyond the occasional hum to indicate he was listening.

“Precisely!” Cosmos said. They were still well within the safety zone, so he angled them slightly closer, searching the clouds for a better example of the phenomenon Prowl was referring to. “I haven’t had time to read all their literature, but some human researchers have proposed—”

He was cut off as he was startled by a particularly explosive burst from the planet, bright enough even his companions could have seen it. Whether it was the lightning itself or the electrical feedback or Cosmos’ sudden movement, he didn’t know, but Soundwave’s grip loosed and he slipped away, sinking rapidly into the void.

“Whoops!” Cosmos reacted instantly, transforming and pulling Prowl to his side with one arm while he activated the jet propulsors in his pedes. Prowl was rigid against him, his field a mess of jagged fear, but Cosmos projected back all the calm certainty he truly felt as he held Prowl tight.

Though the tether kept Soundwave from drifting far, uncontrolled drift was disorienting and unpleasant; Cosmos caught up to him rapidly and snagged him with his other arm. He pulled Soundwave into his side and shut off his jets. Soundwave, in turn, made a grab for Cosmos, clinging to him tightly in a way that was nonetheless not unpleasant. Though his motors were buzzing with activity, his field wasn’t projecting high stress, which was a huge relief.

“Alright, Soundwave?” Cosmos asked, old training keeping his tone lighter than he felt.

“Affirmative,” Soundwave responded. He loosened his grip momentarily, though clung on again almost instantly. Cosmos, for his part, kept his grip firm. “Soundwave: flight capable.”

“I know.” Cosmos wouldn’t push the issue though. For the moment, Soundwave appeared calm. There would be time to delve more into things once they were all back on the station. Cosmos gave Soundwave a quick squeeze before turning his attention to Prowl, who had not released his hold on Cosmos and was perhaps clinging even tighter now. “What about you?”

“I was enjoying it,” Prowl said, tone clipped, “up until that.”

Not unexpected. Cosmos kept his disappointment to himself (as much as one could in Soundwave’s company).

“Prowl: not reassured by Cosmos’ demonstrated retrieval proficiency,” Soundwave said.

“I was already well aware of it,” Prowl said. “In case you’ve forgotten, I was his commanding officer. I’ve seen his records.” Prowl shuffled, freeing one hand to reach across the short space and grab Soundwave’s elbow. “I’d just… never seen it happen before. I wasn’t ready to see you… floating.”

Soundwave took Prowl’s arm in turn, perfecting the trio’s huddle.

“Soundwave: unharmed,” he said. Their voices were getting quieter, the buzz of motors dampening as they calmed down from the brief fright. Cosmos angled his propulsors to keep them on a safe trajectory, but otherwise didn’t interrupt, focusing on holding them close to himself and each other.

“I know,” Prowl said. “Don’t coddle me.” He was, though, still holding tightly to both of them.

They drifted in silence for some time, in no rush to get back to the station. Cosmos could have flown them back in his root form, but it would have been an uncomfortable ride for all of them, possibly more off-putting than what had already happened. Instead, he waited, and eventually Prowl spoke up again.

“Next time, we’ll add an additional tether,” he said, “between Soundwave and myself. That way, if one lets go, the other has a better chance of holding on.” He looked at Cosmos, intentionally keeping his gaze off Soundwave. “He slipped away from me.”

Ah. The pieces fell into place, and Cosmos held Prowl a little closer.

“Sure,” he said. “I can also look into changing the angle of the grips to make it harder to let go.” It would take some time to find the tools for a mod, but Cosmos wasn’t in a rush to bring them out here again. Not until they were both ready.

“Soundwave: ready.”

Cosmos’ field brightened and he extended it to blanket them both. Despite the fact that he wasn’t ready yet, he was glad to hear Soundwave say that. He might have loved the universe, but space itself felt at times too big and too lonely, its many curiosities interesting but not as fulfilling when there was no one to share them with. Even just pointing out clouds from above, Cosmos felt at peace with his work in a way he hadn’t known in years.

High above Jupiter, Cosmos rolled along, holding his two favorite people close.

[n-miri]

More Tommy-Purpled friendship content!! CW for: brief mentions of corpses and death (via being struck by lightning) 

Word count: 1610

On rainy days, Purpled polishes his sword. It’s a good weapon: netherite, with Sharpening V, Unbreaking III— the usual overpowered enchantments. He isn’t complaining though; the stronger he is, the better. He goes through a collection of blades, from the one he knows best to the oldest one he owns, on the verge of being grinded into dust. Wipe, sharpen, steer clear of rust. Keep the blade clean and dry. It’s easy to get lost in the repetitive motions. 

Dogchamp lies by his side, close to the fire, hind leg poking at his thigh through the soft material. Their ears perk up, and their tail begins to wag. Back, forth, thumping on the floorboards. 

A door slams open, followed by a myriad of curses. It’s the usual rainy day, after all. 

“Don’t let my floor get wet,” Purpled says immediately. His voice rebounds within the house, a meagre two rooms decorated with torches. A temporary base, if you will. One that he’s planning to blow up soon. 

His UFO was… 

It just isn’t the same. 

“Fuck you,” the trespasser immediately responds. The house is unbearably empty despite its miniscule nature. “I’ll do whatever I want.” 

A beat. He probably found the towel Purpled placed on the counter earlier, specifically for this scenario. Footsteps, sharp against the falling of rain—white hair peeks out from the door. Tommy sneers at the other derisively, before crossing the room in five long steps and dropping down on Purpled’s other side. 

This has become a ritual of sorts, with the two blondes (or, in Tommy’s case, ex-blonde) seeking refuge from bad days. Sometimes it’s sunny out, or the middle of the night; most of the time, it’s raining. 

The day they met, it was raining too. Wide eyes meet each other in the solace of darkness. The past is unforgivingly cruel, and whispers mockeries into their ears. Tommy looked so small, in the Church Prime’s pew; Purpled was sure he looked equally as haggard, hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. 

So, Purpled invited Tommy to his base. It’s warm despite being unfamiliar, and Dogchamp is amicable towards traumatised teenagers who need way more therapy than life is willing to give. They talked a bit about the stupidity of other members. Rarely, there was a glimpse into their lives, what they missed and have lost. Neither of them actively asked and, in a sense, it was comforting. 

Then it happens again. And again. Tommy pulls out his sewing kit on the third visit and demands to patch up his hoodie. Purpled teaches Tommy how to shear sheep, wool coming off in lines of blue. Just like this, they help each other. There’s too much left unspoken and no expectations to be had. There is no debt to be repaid, or a favour to be granted, or a profitable exchange. 

It’s just that. It’s just them, crossing each other’s path sometimes. Seeing how the other has changed from their previous meeting. 

“It’s stupid,” Tommy says suddenly. His shrill voice pierces through the haze of thoughts. Pale eyes flicker around the room, with shadows from corners pulling faces. “This is what you do in your spare time? Fight, prepare to fight, fight some more?” He scoffs, not even sparing Purpled a glance. “Idiot.” 

Much to the mercenary’s bemusement, Tommy proceeds to pull a cake out of his inventory. As in, a full-blown, home-baked dessert. 

“.... Huh?” 

An embarrassed scowl creeps onto his face. “Don’t be like that.” He drops the plate loudly onto the space between the two. “It’s edible, if that’s what you were wondering. I know how to cook shit. Niki…” Tommy’s eyes grow distant, fingers twitching, as if moving to punch the treat into oblivion. “She used to bake. A lot. Back in- y’know, back in L’manberg. I learned a bit from her,” he finishes lamely. All the bravado has left him. 

“That’s cool, dude,” Purpled replies. “It looks good.” 

“Wh- of course it does! I’m poggers at everything I do. That’s why the women love me.” Carefully, the boy flicks strands of white hair away from his eyes. “I’m astonishingly charming.” 

There was a time where Tommy’s hair imitated the sunlight, gold and yellow and bursting with happiness. He smiled more. Laughed more, too. Was more brash and insolent; was so willing to see the good in everyone he met. 

Now his hair is completely white. His dull eyes flicker around the room and his hands are always, always trembling. Tommy is different from who he was before. 

The Tommy and Purpled of before would never have become friends. 

“Hold up, let me cut it.” Saying that, the mercenary raises his newly polished sword. Tommy sputters, holding a hand out to stop him. 

“Why can’t you use a knife like a normal person!” 

Purpled shrugs. “Technically, a sword is a very big knife. It’s… stabby and shit.” 

Exasperated, Tommy gets up from his spot in a tangle of long limbs and half-hearted glares. “I’m going to slice this cake like a normal person. It deserves to be treated with respect.” 

“We’re going to eat it anyway,” Purpled points out. 

The other sniffs indignantly, turning heel to find cutleries. Dogchamp lifts their head in his direction, turning to Purpled, then back again. Slowly, the wolf raises from their sitting position and trots out of the room. Traitor. 

From the closed window, lightning streaks through the sky, followed closely by a clap of thunder. It’s loud, Purpled winces. He had expected it but- the sound still makes him jumpy. Rainy days in general are terrible. 

The patter of rain against the dirt and harsh concrete pulls out a vivid scene from his memory. Soldiers, rising out of graves, burdened by shiftless armour, heaving up weapons twice their arm span. Thunder imitates piercing shrieks, the blast of an explosion. Raindrops sound like corpses hitting the ground. 

Everytime it rains, he recalls that scene with bitter reminiscence; greets it like an old friend who came back to haunt him as an afterthought. It’s not the best way to spend his day. 

“You know,” Tommy says, having entered the room when he wasn’t aware, “I got struck by lightning once.” 

Distantly, Purpled thinks of raindrops rolling through hair and a shock so bright it electrifies the body. The event he construes in his mind, like always, paints his own death in a morbid way. He wonders if he died, would anyone come visit him? Would there even be a grave? 

“That sucks,” the blonde replies. 

Tommy gives a non-committal hum, shifting the objects in his arms. In one hand the boy carries a kitchen knife and in the other, a blanket. It’s the one with a UFO print on it—too childish for the purple boy’s tastes, yet too precious to be thrown away. 

Once again, the two -three, counting Dogchamp- are back in their original positions. The blanket is draped over Purpled’s lap and he watches, warily, as Tommy’s shaking hands raise the knife. At this point, Purpled would have offered to do it. He nearly does, too, but- 

Ten minutes have passed. Eyebrows scrunched, a bead of sweat against his forehead, Tommy tries to steady his grip and cut the cake in equal slices. It doesn’t work. It’s uneven at best, falling apart at worst, but- 

None of that matters. He did it. 

A ‘good job’ or ‘gg’ sticks on Purpled’s tongue, sincere yet worried of coming off as patronising. Instead, he gives a silent thumbs-up and hopes that conveys all the things he wishes he could say. 

Tommy grins. “Eat up before it gets cold, purple boy.” Neither of them mention that it’s definitely not warm anymore, with how long it’s been and how cold the weather is. Obediently, the teenager picks up the tiniest chunk of cake and pops it into his mouth. 

Sweet is the first thing that touches his tongue. Honestly, it shouldn’t come as a surprise— Tommy started over-seasoning his food after the prison visit, the same time he came back with a head full of white hair. That, paired with the fact Awesamdude said he had died, creates a sinking feeling in Purpled’s guts. It doesn’t take an idiot to connect the dots. 

“Yummy,” he comments. “Delicious. Uhh, what other synonyms are there? Delectable, tasteful-” A choking laugh cuts him off, too loud and too worryingly breathless all at once. “I’ll give this a… hm. Maybe an eight out of ten.” 

“I should have gotten full marks,” Tommy says sarcastically. “Glad you like it, though.” Underneath the amusement is the barest form of sincerity, and that’s enough for the both of them. 

“Uh-huh! I do.” 

Once the rain lets up, the two will part again. Purpled will wash sugar off his fingers, keep the polishing kit in a chest and carry on with his life. That’s how this has always been. 

But for now, light from the fireplace casts a glow across their faces, painting a sunset upon Tommy’s self. It’s reminiscent of older days, better days; ones that have long since passed. They’ll never get any of it back—family, homes, the people they once were. All they can do is yearn for what has been lost and move on. 

So for now, Purpled stops focusing on the what-ifs and could-have-beens. For now, he relishes in the warmth in his sides as he laughs himself silly. Dogchamp dozes off contentedly. A blanket is shared, covering his and Tommy’s laps, barely offering heat. The half-eaten cake lies between them and his friend is threatening to smash it into his face. 

Outside, rain drums against the earth. Neither of them pay it mind. 

[fawnhunter]

Lincoln Clay SFW A-Z

- written with a chubby reader in mind, but that’s not the main focus at all.

!: possible suggestive themes. nothing too serious tho

A= activites- what do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

When Lincoln does have time to spend with you [ Aside from any missions he takes you on] he likes to take you out to do things. He will take you to areas and districts he has already claimed so that it’s safe for the two of you. And then he leaves it up to you. You want dinner? You got it. You wanna go to a show? You got it. You wanna have a night in with just you and him? You can have that too. But he wants to show you off.

B=beauty- what do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Lincoln enjoys his s/o’s shoulders/chest. He thinks that your collar bones are beautiful, and he enjoys a sweetheart neckline. When he sees you during the day, his arms always find their way around your shoulders. And at night in the bed, he wraps his arms around your shoulders and crushes you against his side. His face finds its way to your neck and chest by the end of the night

C=comfort- How would they help their s/o during hard times or when they need it most?

When you come to him with an issue, and it so happens that you ended up getting hurt or threatened. Then he handles the issue right away, he may have other things to do but you are at the top of his list. He will make sure you never have to deal with this issue again. If the issue happened to be more emotional, he may not be as much help. But he will hold you until you pull yourself together and assure you that he has your back.

D= dreams- how do they picture their future with their s/o?

All Lincoln knows is that he wants you for as long as he can keep you. He will continue to fight to keep you, but he knows some day soon his story will come to an end. The thought that his life is not guaranteed is the only reason why your future is iffy.

E= equal- are they the dominant one or are they more passive in your relationship?

As much as my switch ass hates to admit it, he ends up being the more dominant one in the relationship. He leads the way day in and out. Let you know when to go and where. Stands in front of you when you go places, and nudges you behind him a little for most conversations. Checks in on you all the damn time, and does most of the stuff for you when at home, even when you insist you can handle it.

F= Flirting- how often do they flirt or tease their s/o? How smooth are they?

He is flirting with you every chance he gets. Sly little things whisper into your ear when you try making breakfast. Lingering touches when you begin getting dressed for the day. Filthy things said over the dinner table, just to startle you a little. Smoother than he should be. Every move he makes has the ability to lead into a quickie somewhere. A dangerous man indeed.

G= Gratitude- How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o does for them?

Lincoln is very grateful for you. He knows he can be considered scary, he hears it enough from the people on the street. But his heart swells every time he returns to your shared Apartment and all of you are still there. He Doesn't know how he would patch himself up if you were there as well, you keep him clean and healthy after a long day.

H=Honesty- do they have any secret that they keep from their s/o or do they share everything

Lincoln doesn’t talk about the things he did during the war, he will talk about his time, and about the activities he did with donovan. But he leaves out the gross gorey details, he doesn't want to come off as a monster

I=Inspiration- did their s/o change something about them or is it the other way around? (it could be personal issues or just trying new day to day things)

You have reminded him that there is still a little heart within him. When he comes home, he tries to remind himself that this is you. And that you love him. And he tries to put that hardcore, Sal killing mindset away, and just tries to relax

J=jealousy- do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

I don't think that he is given many chances to get jealous. I think he knows that the two of you are in a relationship, and I think that he would have trust for you. If he ever does get jealous, he will bring it up and maybe ask a question. But he really just wants peace of mind not to create problems for the two of you.

K=kiss- how do they kiss? What was the first kiss like?

Well for starters Lincoln alway kisses you when he sees you, and when he's saying goodbye. These kisses are short and chaste, just enough to give a taste of you for good measure. His other kisses are always more intense, his hand squeezing your waist or thread through the hair on the back of your neck, just to hold you in place while he kisses you. Breathes in the scent of you deeply and doesn't let you go until he’s done kissing you

L=Love confession- How did it go down?

He was hurt pretty badly after a mission. It seems like all the adrenaline shots in the world couldn't help his case. He was hurting real bad, but all he could think about was coming to you, and making you the last thing he sees, before his time is up. But your home appeared closer than he thought it would, and before collapsing on your doorstep he knocked on the door. [Ever the gentleman] And After hearing your concerned gaps and the watering of your eyes and felt safe enough to sleep. And when he woke up, the first thing he saw was your form right next to him. He had to let you know how felt, before he never got the chance again

M=Marriage- do they want to get married? How do they propose? Wedding day description?

Marriage may seem like a far off dream for Lincoln. The only thing he sees set in stone for his future is Sal Marcono’s death. I think Under different circumstances, with Sammy still alive, he would be a married man for sure.

N=nicknames- what do they call their s/o?

Puddin

Peaches

Darlin

Honey

O=Obsessed- how protective are they of their s/o? How much are they worried about them?

Lincoln is as protective as one can be. When at your home, he is alway in the same room as you. He may be doing something like reading a file, or fixing his guns but his glance always finds its way back to you. When he is out with you he is your shadow, right behind you or almost flanking you. He worries about you sometimes, when he has to leave the area of your home, he finds himself calling you, or asking Donovan to check up on you.

P=PDA- are they obvious about the relationship? Do they talk a lot about his s/o? Are they okay with affection in front of others?

Lincoln does not just go running around yelling about you. That being said his immediate crew does know about you, sometimes with you coming with him on missions you run into them. Cassandra and Vito are favorable to you, And Burke is.. well.. Burke. PDA in front of the other is rare as when you two are out together there is rarely time for that.

Q= Quirk- some random ability they have in a relationship

Lincoln is just a little touch starved, the human contact he receives is associated with pain and lies. So i think he won't ever need any space, sit next him, on his lap, look over his shoulder when he reads. Just touch him he loves it

R=Romance- how romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o smile? Are their ideas rather original or creative?

Lincoln takes any chance he has to be romantic.When he isn’t trying to get things done, he likes to spend his time with you. Dates outside of your home are not a common occurrence, he just doesn’t feel like he can really keep you safe. His romance has more of a catering feel. He shadows you a lot so you find yourself not needing to grab things or reach on your own, he’s already one step ahead of you. He likes to make you laugh by being his cute butterbean self.

S=support- do they push their s/o to do better? Do they believe in them?

lincoln isn't the type of person to get to involved in his S/o’s personal life, i mean we all know he is a busy man. If he does push his S/o to do better it's because he knows it's something his S/o is passionate about. He wants the best for you and believes in you as well, he just isn't overbearing about it and may need to be reminded to express that verbally sometimes.

T=thrill- are they okay with a certain routine or do they need some spice every once in a while?

Lincoln needs routine in his life. He has spent most of it away at war where nothing is ever the same. And when he attempted to rebuild his life the first time, everything went sideways. Knowing exactly what going to happen when he comes to see you is something that make him feel stable, and it is something that he craves

Understanding- how well do they know you? Are they sensitive to your emotions?

If Lincoln has committed to being your S/o then he knows you like the back of his hand. He knows when you have good days and bad ones and is always ready to step in and lend a hand

V=Value- how important is your relationship compared to other things in their life?

This question is a little tricky for Lincoln because he has a job to do . He loves you but he also knows that this is a thing he needs to get done. And in order to do that sometimes his job may have to come before you. In the names of people on his list, you are at the top. If you are not his first thought then you are the second.

W=Wild card-Random Fluff bomb!!

Lincoln finds great pleasure in being helpful towards you any time he can get involved in something you’re doing, he wants to be the one who helped you finish.

X=XOXO- how affectionate are they? Are they a cuddle bug or do they like their space?

Because he can always see you, he tends to be very affectionate with you. In his day to day life he doesn't get much healthy skin to skin contact, so any chance he has to get some love from you he takes it. He is a cuddle bug, when you take a seat on the couch he sits next to you but much closer than he should be. When out in public his arm finds its way around your waist and shoulders on its own.

Yearning- what happenes when they miss you

When he misses you he finds anyway he can to reach out to you and tell you that he loves you. He most likely has a memento that you've given him in the past that he keeps on him for moments like this. Other than that he gets really solemn, he punches a little harder so he can have a reason for you to clean him up.

Zzz- how do you both fall asleep/nap

When sleeping you both are engulfed in each other. His arms wrapped around you pressing you to him as tight a possible. One leg thrown over his side and your arms around his neck keeping him close to your chest. ITs hot and sticky and gross but you can hear his heartbeat and the sound of his breathing and decide that it's worth it.

[maxwell-grant]

Ok, but how would the Shadow get along with Superman?

I'm gonna try something a little different with this ask, because I couldn't really find the right words to answer it the way I usually do. So instead I took the more complicated route and ended up writing a fanfic of sorts, about potential interactions between these two I could think of.

I don't think I'll make a habit out of answering replies through fanfic but, I don't know, something about this question kinda demanded from me a different type of answer. I never wrote Superman before but I do need to get back to writing.

So here you go, the Shadow - Superman fanfic I wrote to answer this. Hope you enjoy.

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They were not friends. They were not enemies. They had their separate worlds to watch over, and rarely did they cross each other. Rarely did they meet under desirable circumstances. 

 The Shadow, as Superman knew him, was not a part of Superman's world. In more ways than one.

Clark knew that he was a man who was mainly active during the 1930s and 40s, that he had been a crimefighter active in the United States during that time, that he has some connection to Bruce and other heroes he knew, and that he has an associate related to Lois named Margo, but somehow, Clark could never find him on his own accord.

Even when he time traveled to said period, he could never find him. Lois and Margo share a bloodline, but Lois does not recall what exactly of what sort, not even under Clark's machines. When he asked some of The Shadow's associates, they could not recall him, and Clark knew for a fact they could not have been lying. Some of them existed in this world but with "ordinary" lives, and others didn't.

Although he seemed to come from an alternate world,there were times when The Shadow appeared to have history in this world as well. Real, tangible history, that seems to be willed out of thin air and to dissappear when Clark goes looking for it. Even Bruce seems to not remember him, and Bruce's the one who seemed to have spent the most time in his presence.

He couldn't quite say he looked fondly on his meetings with The Shadow, if he could be honest with himself. He was cold, remote, harsh and manipulative. He murdered criminals without remorse, something that even he admitted had soured his relationship with Bruce, and terrorized those he fought to a much greater extent than even Batman, who Clark already thought was going too far at times.

Clark knew he was not an evil man, he was certain of the compassion within him that thundered to protect the innocent, but Clark could hardly be certain of how much he knew about him in the first place. Clark, who could see through crowds and make a shopping list out of what each person had eaten for breakfest that morning, could not identify The Shadow's face through his mask, could not see what was behind his eyes.

Clark is extremely aware of the standards he must adhere to in order to operate as Superman, the ways in which he must be held accountable as someone operating above and within society. He understands the importance of his friends and allies that can stop and defeat him, the family he must look after, the reputation he must uphold, the control over his powers and a lifetime of experience in holding himself back. At times he was even grateful for the existence of Kryptonite as a desperate measure. He knows that Bruce goes through a lot of measures to keep himself in check as well.

But he knows little about The Shadow, who works for him, why they do so, who can hold him accountable, who is going to help him when he can't help himself. He worries about what his world must look like, to create a man like him, brainwashing people and gunning down criminals in the streets while laughing. How much good can such a man do if this is what his approach to justice looks like? What is the toil that such a grim approach to life has taken on this man's life?

He knows that overthinking is one of his worse flaws, but Superman can't help but dwell sometimes on the worlds he cannot save, on those that must take on such realities. He only wishes he knew how to find The Shadow of his own accord and try to bring peace to the man, even if he knows better than to assume peace is what he's looking for.

It is the nature of Superman to never stop trying to bring everyone to a world beyond death, darkness and sorrow, and to blame himself for those he cannot save even from themselves.

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It was a well-known fact that The Shadow always worked alone. And like most known facts about him, it was not entirely accurate.

The Shadow strives to cultivate the image that he's alone, untouchable, that all who work for him do so because he forces them to. That he always tells those he saves that their lives belong to him, that they are trembling slaves to a monster sniffing blood in gutters.

Distractions, lies, smokescreens he must create, to allow his agents to operate as spies, and spare them from the wrath of the police and the criminal underworld alike, too busy hunting a legend to notice the flesh and blood people working under their noses, people they would otherwise be all too happy to neglect or stomp on.

Misdirection, the secret of any magic trick. The true secret of The Shadow's invisibility.

There are days where the only positive thought in his mind is that his agents cannot join him wherever he goes.

The success of The Shadow depended heavily on the vast networks of agents and allies he'd gathered over the years, people from all walks of life who trusted him and had chosen to join him. Every courageous move, sacrifice and pivotal role they played was carefully recorded in his files, and never forgotten. They had skills and capabilities The Shadow did not, and The Shadow was proud to see the ways in which they would cultivate those into the betterment of the world around him.

And though the bridge between them was unassailable, though his ways and actions were secret and mysterious to them and they could never know more than he allowed, they received constant signs of The Shadow’s appreciation of their reliable cooperation, and at many points The Shadow had made said bridge less unassailable for their sake.

But they were not his friends. His allies were distant and occupied with fights The Shadow could assist, but not fight for them. His agents were subordinates rather than equals, expected to play the necessary parts and leave the scene for their own safety just as quickly. His friends were few, and often dead. And when it was the moment of danger, The Shadow fought alone. The protection of others came above all else, and on field, although they were expected to think and strategize for themselves and work together, The Shadow's word was final.

There could be no distractions, no hesitations. Those had cost him more than enough on the battlefields of the Great War, mistakes he would never repeat again. The sacrifice of companionship, his own personhood and self-preservation is an acceptable loss for the sake of those he must protect.

There are occasions when The Shadow is forced into circumstances beyond what logic and physics should allow, and in some of those occasions, Superman had been involved in them. There are occasions also where he has to work side by side with other vigilantes, and sometimes, they also include Superman.

He couldn't quite say he looked forward to working with Superman. His arrival almost inevitably carried chaos into the inner workings of reality. The existence of an omnipotent being able to crack planets with a footstep and liquefy crowds with a gaze, held back only by his human personality, was a danger that thankfully did not exist in The Shadow's own world, but was a worrying prospect regardless.

Few of his experiences with aliens and superpowered warriors could be said to be positive ones, and a lifetime of knowing the evil in the hearts of men had taught The Shadow how easily even the best of intentions and the most solid of morals could be corroded and destroyed. It didn't help matters that this being was also a public crusader and celebrity passing judgement on criminals, even while secretly holding a private dimensional prison to throw them into should they be sufficiently dangerous. Someone completely unstoppable and unaccountable, even to death itself.

The Shadow understood Superman to be a good man, a moral man who had been raised well to be the best he could. The Shadow respected and treasured the existence of those like him, men and women and everything in between that could breathe in the sun and uphold mankind, while he dwelled in the underworld to make sure those more like him would not rise to attack them.

But whatever the rewards of these partnerships, he was glad when they were over. His work requires full control. He cannot tolerate the loss of it.

Others can dream of better tomorrows and work to make them happen, his is the task of clearing the darkest paths so others need not tread them.

Hope, light and comfort are noble gifts, but they are not his to give.

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The first time they met had been the result of Vandal Savage's Hypertime Collider, a trap designed to keep Superman running circles through the timestreams, cycling through alternate versions of himself. He had landed in the 1930s, somewhat depowered, in a world where some allies of his existed, but superheroes were nowhere to be found (although some people reacted in terror at him, shouting "IT'S DANNER! HE'S COME BACK TO KILL US!", the significance of which was lost on Clark).

He had met a woman named Margo Lane when looking for this world's Lois, telling her he was a farmboy from Kansas lost in the big city looking for a friend with the same last name. Margo didn't recognize anyone named Lois, and Clark could tell she was only pretending to believe his story (even though it was true, in a sense), but through her, he met a tall, gaunt and hawk-like millionaire by the name of Lamont Cranston, a name Clark recognized from an old radio show Jonathan used to listen.

He had an idea of who The Shadow was. An old detective from a radio show or pulp magazines, sure, Superman's been to worlds he used to think were fictional before, some people still think he's as real as Santa Claus (who was going to join him and the Easter Bunny for checkers next Sunday).

Their conversation of platitudes was cut short, as it wasn't long before the Hypertime Collider was soon transporting him to a different time period, but before he was ejected, he remembered the moment their conversation ended.

Shortly before he could feel the Collider breaking and warping time and space in a chokehold around him, he remembered an eerie silence fall on the room. Though his hearing senses in this world were diminished, he could still pick up minute sounds from miles away, and it was a strange sensation to hear the sound of nothing. A sound that did not exist but silenced everything around it with deafening precision, a sound that Clark had not heard even in the deepest recesses of space, when he could still hear his body's metabolism at work. For a moment, though he did not need it to survive, Clark worried his heart had stopped working, for he could not hear it.

It surely was the Collider's effect at work, he reasoned.

But in that brief moment, whatever surprise he expected to find on Cranston's expression was nowhere to be found. Instead, scattered shadows slashed across his face as the air around him changed and he closed his eyes. He was still wearing Cranston's face when he opened them, and once again, they did not match his face.

The last thing he remembered before his ejection was a voice that cut through the air and the meters separating them, that sounded like a python hissing in Clark's ear, from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"This is not your world."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The second time was in another dimensional sojourn, this time of his volition.

Having borrowed a portal from Cyberwear Enterprises, Clark was rehearsing a speech intended for the Reginellian people of the Bohren System, one he was expected to give through blinking in reverse morse code, and in order to ensure the atmosphere of their planet would allow them to hear him, Clark intended to pay them a visit. But instead, he was transported somewhere else.

Before he could properly register the time period and location he had landed, he had encountered The Shadow in the middle of rescuing a steamship on fire from sinking.

He was clinging to the side of it unseen from the panicking passangers, drilling bullet holes to the bottom of the ship so it would fall to the side and steer clear from a passing fireworks yacht. He was holding a rope attached to a nearby tugboat with one hand, and with the other he was clinging to the boat's window. The tugboat was moving outside of the steamship's range, and as it moved, it would drag The Shadow and tilt the steamship as he gripped it, just enough to prevent the steamship from colliding head-on with the coming barge.

The tugboat had three men within it, one piloting it and two holding on to the rope that The Shadow had attached, working along with The Shadow to try and pull the steamship. One of these men had a missing eye and was dressed in aviator gear, presumably the pilot of the autogyro atop the tugboat. The other was a tall, muscular black man in suspenders, who dwarfed the pilot in both size and strength.

The strain of their pull could dislocate The Shadow's arms at the very minimum, if not outright kill him, his plunge would carry him 20 feet into the water and potentially under the sinking steamship. Still, they pulled with grim determination, although the boat driver had his eyes closed, and Clark recognized the Yiddish mutterings coming from his mouth as a desperate prayer.

Though they did not see him, these men were extremely thankful when Superman had blown out the inferno with a single breath, and pushed the boat all the way necessary for it's passangers to land on the barge safely, and rescued The Shadow.

Of course they knew the Chief was gonna pull through, he always does.

If The Shadow was thankful for Superman's interference, he didn't show it. In the second he had regained enough strength to talk, he rattled off dozens of names, of passangers in the steamship that had been bruised, by either the flames, the panicking crowd, or the criminals that The Shadow had stopped. People that needed to be taken to medical assistance faster than the ambulances could carry them, of family members that had to be contacted.

He did so without looking at his rescuer, for he remembered Superman, who expected his presence in this timeline to have been erased after he'd destroyed the Hypertime Collider.

Nothing indicated it hadn't been.

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Their most recent encounter was the outcome of an accident where Vandal Savage had trapped Superman in the Arctic and rebuilt his Hypertime Collider, in the hopes of contacting alternate versions of himself so they could all gain Superman's powers and conquer their worlds.

One of said versions was hunted by The Shadow through the portals. The adventure ended rather quickly as the Savages all turned on each other in their tried-and-true method of solving problems with large rocks, but amidst the chaos, a final burst of energy had granted The Shadow a temporary access to Superman's powers.

Thoughts passed through Clark's head of the last time Bruce had accidentally gained access to Superman's abilities, and how despite his best intentions, Bruce couldn't help but overestimate his own ability to wield said powers responsibly. Of how many times he's come across iterations of Bruce who've gained superpowers and used them poorly or tyranically.

He thought of how often he needed to reign himself back, and of the man in black who stood before him, with eyes like thunderstorms ready to break.

The ways in which he is like Bruce, and the ways in which he is decidedly not.

But before Superman could take any sort of action or even ask how he was feeling, The Shadow turned around silently and started walking, straight in the direction of the Fortress of Solitude.

Upon reaching it, he took the million-ton key from beneath the rug that spelled Welcome in a million languages, opened the door, and walked straight into a high security anti-Superman cell within it, designed specifically as a desperate measure against rogue Kryptonians, only stating Superman was going to have to watch him so he couldn't escape.

Clark had never even told him about the Fortress.

He stayed there for the next 12 hours, as Superman ran tests on him to ensure his body wouldn't be negatively affected by the transformation. Clark chose not to remark that some of the bone-deep injuries he had spotted on The Shadow's body previously had healed, as he knew it wouldn't take long for him to acquire new ones after this was over.

They talked briefly at points, and for much of it, The Shadow assumed the façade of Cranston. Sometimes he remembered to breathe and blink, things he forgot to do with startling ease once he no longer needed them.

Clark understood it to be a diplomatic gesture, a façade over the untameable and fearsome Shadow who was frankly unnerving to be around. Even a kind gesture, an effort to address Superman as a man asking for help. Not different than how Superman would prefer to be Clark Kent in order to approach people and ask questions and say things that Superman could never say.

There was a discomfort, of course. There would always be one between the two.

Still, Superman took it as a victory when, after the 12 hours were over, he heard that familiar hiss, with equal intensity but no aggression or even contempt, spell out a "Thank you", as he turned around and was unsurprised to find The Shadow no longer there.

They were not friends, they were not enemies, they belonged to different worlds. They were opposites in their battles for truth and justice.

But truths are often opposite. It is a truth that not all opposites are opposed.

Truth is often as chilling as it can be comforting.