#the only thing I might be okay wear is a major fire hazard

[energon-with-a-curly-straw]

In light of scheduled in-person socializing later today, I am once again forsaking clothes and becoming a nudist

#sensory issues #nothing feels right #someone make jeans that feel (and stay) as soft as my pjs #do I need to wear a bra? I didn’t wear them during zoom calls #I haven’t worn leggings in a while. do I even have a top that would work? #the only thing I might be okay wear is a major fire hazard #I’ve been wearing only crop tops and my comfy joggers this whole time #energon complains about clothes again

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

For the BTHB, maybe friendly fire with hero x villain making a team together but somehow hero just go confused and stabs villain?

If you are uncomfortable, please ignore it! Be safe <3

Circle for completed, heart for requested

Thank you for the ask! I am comfortable with everything other than rape/sex things (being on a farm makes you see some very icky things). But thanks anyways!

This is an example of not doing the multiple parts because 1.) it is an event and 2.) the ask was anonymous.

Umbrakinesis

@badthingshappenbingo

Warnings: stab wound, unconsciousness, breaking in, major character death, family feud, attempted murder, grief, crying

*not edited*

~

Hero sat at the cafe, idly sipping at her hot mocha and watched as the costumers walked in and out. She didn't exactly pay attention to them for she was looking for someone with more notable features.

"Hey Hero." The person she was waiting for slid into the seat ahead of her.

"Villain," Hero nodded her head and took a long sip. Villain waited, his piercing hazel gaze glowering.

"Are you done?" Villain asked after a while. Hero smiled and swallowed.

"Yup," she replied, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"This is serious Hero," Villain groaned. "Supervillain has taken over half the city and is stopping my operations."

"Sounds like a problem for you to smooth out," Hero replied. "Not me."

"If Supervillain over powers me, the whole city is in peril."

Hero was silent for a moment, thinking of Villain's words. He was right- Villain might be ruthlessly cruel, but Supervillain was devilishly evil. To him, killing was a hobby, whereas Villain thought of it more as protection.

Not that Hero agreed with Villain's actions or sympathized with his reasons, but if she had the choice to choose between them, it would be Villain.

"Okay why do you need my help?" Hero pushed aside her drink.

"The power that flows through your veins is pure energy, not diluted or an off-brand. It is indestructible and unattainable. Between my ability to travel through the shadows and you, we can kill Supervillain in his sleep."

Hero scrunched her forehead. She knew that Villain wanted Supervillain off the streets, but not dead, and based on the distant look on Villain's face, it seemed that he wasn't entirely certain either.

"You sure about this?" Hero asked softly. Villain's eyes seemed to snap back into the present.

"Yeah," he said, pushing himself out of the wooden cafe seat. "Meet you tonight at the park."

《~~》

Hero found Villain leaning against the swings after ten minutes of walking around, searching.

"You could've told me when are where exactly," Hero pointed out in a joking manner. Villain looked at her and half-smiled.

"Should've, you're right. Look, the plan is to turn off the power to Supervillain's base. We need to get onto the room and shoot it down with your energy. That'll shut off all the electricity and open the doors also known as the Emergency Blackout Initiative. It's a safety hazard. Then, we knock out a couple henchman and change into their uniforms. We put the guards in a dumpster then galvanize it. Your powers should be able to melt the polyethylene. Should be, you'll have to get them up to 230 degrees. Can you do that?"

"Yeah, but give me some Mountain Dew afterwards."

"Check," Villain said, patting his backpack. "I know your preferences. Okay, next we are to need to get to the top floor. There are sensors throughout to record our molecular data and DNA, so we'll have to move fast. I can't take you through the shadows- you could get sick and that would be worse than getting shot by a taser. The doors to Supervillain's bedroom are fingerprint operative, but I met with Supervillain the other day to exchange surveillance data- apparently there was a breach in one of his laboratories. Anyways, I collected his fingerprints so we are good to go. Then, we..."

Villain's voice trailed off. Hero stepped forward a foot, confused. Villain seemed to be suffering from some sort of mental breakdown.

"Then we kill him. He has umbrakinesis which is sort of like mine, but he manipulates shadow. He can, and will, conjure an illusion. I will harness that energy and you, with your power, will use me as a reflector."

"Won't you die?" Hero asked. Villain shook his head, a real smile dawning on his lips, as he tapped his chest.

"I'm wearing an absorbing vest to dull your powers the second they hit me," Villain replied.

"I thought you said mine couldn't be obtained?"

"They can't be, but they can be absorbed and used. It's really their only fatal flaw."

"That's the same thing," Hero crossed her arms, eyes twinking, but Villain didn't seem to be in the mood for light teasings.

He just shrugged and adjusted his backpack.

(Skipping the break in so it won't get too long)

"Okay," Villain said as he ran the piece of tape over the small, black box. It illuminated into a neon green, showing the crevices and swirls of the scanned fingerprint, before disappearing with the lock clicked.

Of course Supervillain's room wouldn't be unlocked during the Emergency Blackout Initiative. Just had to make things so much harder.

The pair stepped into the clinical room, weapons raised. Hero held a dagger while Villain was equipped with an electric gun.

The supervillain was slumbering on his bed, snoring softly, with his whole body splayed out. He looked so comfortable that Hero felt like it was illegal to wake him.

"Okay, maybe if he doesn't awake we can just-" Hero made an extravagant gesture with her hands that awkwardly symbolized a gorey kill.

Villain shrugged and holstered his gun, walking up to the sleeping figure.

It wasn't until Hero saw them side by side that she saw it.

The exact same, brown hair with the same tanned complexion. Slightly crooked nose and wide, bushy eyebrows.

They were twins.

Villain knelt next to Supervillain and ran his hand over his sibling's ear. "Hey bud," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "I hope you realize that I am only doing this for the city's sake; not that I hate you. Oh boy, I don't hate you, I love you. I love you so much!" Villain broke down into sobs, cradling his twins head.

"Villain?" Supervillain asked blearily, trying to pull away. "What are you-"

"Hero now. Do it now, please," Villain begged.

Like she was in a dream, Hero drifted over to the bedside. Supervillain's hazel eyes darted to her.

"What's going on? What's, what's..." Then he saw the glint of metal, the dagger in Hero's hand. "No, no, no... Villain what are you doing?" He thrashed in his twin's hold, gasping for breath.

"I'm sorry," Villain cried, pressing his lips to Supervillain's head. "So sorry."

Hero dove in, but where Supervillain's body was, there was just the mattress.

Suddenly she was hit back, flying in the air until she met with a hard wall. Groaning, she laid there stunned. When the spinning was vanquished, she saw that Villain was in the same predicament.

"Are you okay?" Hero asked. Villain nodded, but he made no effort to stand.

A shimmering figure appeared beside her and Hero lunged for it, but only swiped at thin air. It then appeared at her other side, so she tried again.

She tried until she was leaning against the wall, dizzy and out of breath.

"He's making an illusion," Villain muttered, rubbing his eyes. He looked so tired and so sad that Hero just wanted to poof them both out of there.

But that wouldn't help the situation, or the direness of Supervillain's ruling and power.

"Can't you do what we discussed?" Hero asked.

"Yeah," Villain replied, slowly standing up. He then waited, pupils darting about, until suddenly he reached forward and grabbed something seemingly invisible.

Another figure then appeared next to Villain. A woman, mid-aged leaning towards elderly, stood by him, caressing his cheek.

"My dear, dear son," she spoke, voice soothingly hypnotizing. "What are you are doing dear? You know better than to play with your brother's powers."

Villain's hazel eyes seemed to cloud and he swayed. "M-mom?" He croaked, leaning heavily against the wall.

"Yes, it's me dear. Give me back those shadows." The woman extended an unnaturally smooth hand, not lidden with garbles and veins that an older lady would have.

Villain held out his hands, then snapped out of it at the last second. But the woman smacked Villain's head so hard that it snapped back and smashed into the wall behind him. He fell into an unconscious heap.

The woman's body shimmered until it was out of existence and Supervillain stepped out from a door-like portal. Out of the shadows, Hero realized, stepping back into a corner.

"Oh dear brother," Supervillain crouched down and grabbes Villain's limp head. "It's not you who should be sorry, it's me." Supervillain wrapped his hands around Villain's throat and squeezed.

Hero's heart started pumping rapidly. No, he was going to kill Villain. She stepped out of the corner, dagger raised. Slowly, she stalked towards Supervillain...

"Whatcha doing?" Supervillain asked, halting his murder, and turning to look at Hero. Villain's body drew in a large exhale.

"Killing you," she said, but before she had a chance to land the killing blow, the pair vanished.

Then reappeared behind her.

Then in front.

Then above.

"Stop that," Hero growled, swinging aimlessly.

Suddenly, the vaporizing ceased and ended with one of the villains slamming the other against the wall.

Before they could do their trick again, Hero dove the dagger into the front one's side.

The villain turned slowly around, limbs trembling in shock, as he shakily brushed his fingers over the dagger.

"What, what." The villain fell to his knees, tears building in his eyes.

Hero felt the blood drained from her face and she too, knelt down to be face to face with him. "Villain," she breathed, fingers dancing over the hilt.

Villain swayed, so Hero wrapped him in a hug, mouth open in a soundless sob. She stole a glance at Supervillain who was staring at the scene in shock, clutching his fingers and pulling them nervously.

"Mm Hero," Villain groaned, head involuntarily falling into the crease of her neck.

"I got you buddy, I got you," she rubbed his back soothingly even though she could feel his body slipping.

Supervillain's chin trembled as he tried to hold back a cry. Soon it became too much and he thrusted his head into his hands. "I don't want him to die. I don't want him to die."

Hero ran her hand through Villain's hair. He sniffled, pulling himself into Hero with his last bout of strength.

Hero sobbed as he fell limp in her grasp. The wound was too big and positioned perfectly to hit an artery- it was a blow made her killing.

"No!'" Supervillain cried, running forward abd grabbing his brother's body. "No, no, no, no, no."

He squeezed Villain, grabbed his hand, but nothing revived him. The supervillain sobbed wildly, screamed even, until he slowly picked up his head.

"You killed him," Supervillain growled, lunging forward to attack Hero. She reacted quickly, sending Supervillain off with a bolt of energy. He landed on the ground motionless other than a few sporadic twitching from the current of electricity. Tears were drying on his cheeks.

Hero looked from the unconscious brother to the dead one. She would have to bury Villain, in a meadow, and Supervillain... he needed help.

#bad things happen bingo #supervillain whumpee #hero whumpee #villain whumpee #stab wound #friendly fire #heros and villains #tw death #character death #hero caretaker #maybe?

[johnny-and-dora]

i’ll make the world safe and sound for you

jake has some important things to tell mac. (post 7x13)

read on ao3 -

Jake’s spent a lot of nights at the hospital over the years.

Eight years old, nursing a broken arm after Gina dared him to jump off the fire escape (she was the first to sign his cast). Drowsy on pain meds in Florida, recovering from a gunshot wound and a cruel six-month separation from his girlfriend. Most overnight visits have been an occupational hazard, a consequence of throwing himself headfirst into action without a second thought.

Jake doesn’t think he’d recognise that person now, the one who put being the hero and solving the case before anything else. He’s better off for it, knowing now that there is something so much better than flaming out in a blaze of spectacular glory.

Knowing the family he has found in the Nine-Nine. Knowing the life he’s built with Amy. And most recently, knowing the life he’ll be sharing with his newborn son. A whole other kind of spectacular.

This may be far from the first time he’s spent a night at the hospital, but never has he had a night like this one. Never has Jake felt this content, this overwhelmingly whole in his life. Never has his world shifted like this, changed forever at the piercing sound of his son’s first cries. Changed forever yet again the first time he held Mac in his arms.

Deep down he knows he should be resting, knows the adrenaline will wear off soon and that he’ll be pretty much useless for all of tomorrow. He knows that Amy would chide him if she wasn’t fast asleep beside him, something he’s very grateful for – she deserves all the rest she can get.

(She deserves a medal of valour, at least, for giving birth to the world’s most important baby in the precinct with no pain relief. He’ll see if Holt can pull a few strings.)

But Jake can’t bring himself to sleep just yet, knowing that his son is finally here and right beside him. He’s completely mesmerised by this kid, already addicted to marvelling at his chubby little cheeks and adorable round button nose.

Mac clearly can’t bring himself to sleep either, wiggling his little legs inside the blanket he’s swaddled in, and Jake’s heart trips, sparking a huge ridiculous grin. His tiny adorable little face scrunches a little in a way Jake instinctively knows means trouble, so he quickly shifts into Dad Mode.

“Hey there, buddy. It’s okay.” Slowly, he lifts Mac out of the bassinet and holds him close to his chest, bouncing a little awkwardly, but it seems to do the trick as his whimpers subside into the occasional peaceful snuffle. Jake breathes a sigh of relief, content that he’s officially eight hours into fatherhood and he hasn’t managed to screw anything major up yet. Mac seems more comfortable in his arms and it makes his heart swell with a pride he’s barely known before.

“Today’s been kind of a crazy day, huh? Think you’re gonna have to get used to those. Your mom and I tend to have a lot of them.” He glances at Amy, who is thankfully still completely conked out next to him, and the warmth in his chest envelops and encircles everything else. This family of his is magic.

“It’s okay though because we’re always going to come home to you. We love you so much.” His voice cracks a little as he cradles him gently, gently, because he’s holding his entire world, heart and in his hands, and that’s a lot to deal with at two in the morning.

“Y’know, I don’t think we’ve actually been properly introduced,” Jake says, exhaling a breathless little laugh at his own joke as he shakes Mac’s hand. “Hi, Mac. I’m your dad.”

He’s a dad now, and he’s going to be one for the rest of his life. He marvels at that as he gazes at his son, trying to memorise every adorable detail of his face. “Your mom let me choose your name – I hope you think it’s cool, because you were named after the coolest action hero of all time. I can’t wait to watch Die Hard with you, even though you’re gonna be way too little for it for a long while.”

It’s crazy how much time Jake’s already spent thinking about what Mac might be like when he’s older. His son has such a full exciting life ahead of him, and he’s just excited to be able to share all of his favourite things with him, like New York pizza and Star Wars and the best cop movie of all time.

“It’s okay, we’re gonna do lots of things in the meantime. Like play video games and build Legos and watch the Turtles and just hang out like we’re doing right now. And I’m always going to be there for you. Always. You’ll probably have to go to your mom for important life things and help with homework and stuff, because she’s super smart and I’m kind of a mess, but I’ll try my best.”

Mac gurgles a little at that, and it only just occurs to Jake that this conversation is more for him than it is for his son.

“You have absolutely no idea what I’m saying because you are a baby, and I respect that. But you are so loved, Mac. And I’m gonna tell you that and show you that every single day.”

He’s startled out of the moment by the sound of a phone camera shutter as Amy looks tearfully at them both. “Sorry, sorry. You guys are just too cute.”

“Make sure you get our good side.” Jake mumbles, pride washing over him as she laughs. He’ll never stop wanting to make Amy laugh. He absentmindedly hopes he’ll be able to make his son laugh, too.

Amy blearily snaps a few more photos and checks the time before shifting closer to them both, and he’s breathless again – she really is glowing in all her post-childbirth glory, though she’s always at least a bit glowy to him anyway.

It’s totally surreal, feeling his wife nestle into his shoulder as they both happily look at their son. It’s something he’s imagined for so long, yet infinitely more perfect now that it’s actually reality.

Jake yawns, and Amy briefly tears her eyes away from Mac to glance at him. “Have you been up all night? You should really try and sleep, Jake.”

“You need it more. And besides, I kinda can’t take my eyes off him. He’s perfect, Ames.”

“I know. He really is.” Her voice warbles with emotion and Jake knows what they’re both thinking – he was worth the wait, a million times over.

He carefully passes Mac over to Amy. After a revolving carousel of visitors earlier, it’s been a while since it was just the three of them, and an overwhelming sense of peace just washes over him watching his wife coo over their son.

His fears and doubts about fatherhood have not completely vanished – he’s still scared of making mistakes, of the responsibility he now has to the tiny amazing wonderful human currently cradled in his wife’s arms.

But all of the fear is muted now, pastel and pale in the early hours of the morning. It’s muted by the rise and fall of his son’s tiny chest. By the love alight in Amy’s eyes. By the way Holt had rested a hand on his shoulder and told him how proud he was. By his mom’s face as she’d held her grandson for the first time.

Mac’s penchant for a dramatic entrance doesn’t surprise him. What does is how much he already feels like a father, like he was made to protect this kid and will do absolutely anything to keep him and Amy safe. It’s not a feeling he’d be able to put into words after a restful eight hours of sleep, let alone now when he’s borderline delirious with joy.

So instead he presses a light kiss to the soft cotton hat on his forehead, delighting in the way Mac scrunches his nose exactly like Amy does. He’s never gonna get enough of this kid. And he’s certain, now more than ever, that this is the kind of precious love that only grows and grows.

#b99 #b99 fic #brooklyn 99 #jake x amy #peraltiago #mac peralta #listen i know this is like a week and a half late but they have a son and i will never EVER be over it #and this has been written already like 500 times but i will never get enough of jake talking to his newborn son so. here you go #please enjoy #my writing #shut up sian

[providentially-demonic]

Miraculous Mystery Skulls: Chapter Nine

First Arc: a Spellcaster, a Ghost and a Mechanic walk into a bar Paris

Summary: On their honeymoon in Paris, the City of Lights, the trio of Vivi, Lewis and Arthur encounter more than sightseeing… in the form of monsters, supervillains and a pair of teen superheroes. Sometimes, miraculous things can happen, when you least expect it.

(A Mystery Skulls/Miraculous Ladybug crossover event)

A/N: This all started with this fic by @phantoms-lair and the silly idea of them running into Chat Noir and Ladybug while there. It grew…

It’s a tale of heroes, miraculous, found family and more (with a healthy dose of puns). Co-created and written with assistance from @phantoms-lair, so she deserves some of the credit and a lot of the blame! :P

As a reminder: This was written pre-season three. It follows canon until about mid-season two, where it veers wildly AU. As such, things that happened in season three are not compliant to the canon of this tale.

Back to Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine: A Disaster in the Making

Renewed screams filled the air over the ceaseless grinding of stone. Marinette clung grimly to Alya as the earth shook itself apart again. The rumble of stone, the groans of overstressed metal and the shrieks of both people and alarms filled all her senses, a cacophony of destruction.

And then it was over, the groaning of the ground in pain subsiding into silence. The screams continued, but even those were tapering off. This time Alya did not stop her from rising to her feet. The ground felt unsteady under her, and it took her a moment to realize her legs were shaking with fear and adrenaline. “We— we’ve never had an earthquake like that here!”

Ayla shook her head. “They’re not normal for here. We lived through a few before we moved to Paris, but—” She gazed at the destruction, her hands clenched into fists. “I— I need to go. The twins are probably terrified. I don’t know if Nora will be able to calm them down.” She jumped a foot in the air with a squeal of fright as her phone warbled in her pocket. Fumbling, she pulled it out. “Mama! Are you okay?”

Marinette could just hear the reply. “I’m fine, love, the Hotel barely even trembled. But the zoo animals are in a panic and your father will likely be there all night. I need you to run home and check on Nora and the girls, please.” There was very real worry in her voice. “Nora’s not answering her phone.”

“I was just about to head there.” After saying goodbye to her mother, Alya stuffed her phone back in her pocket. “I gotta go, Marinette, sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Marinette patted her shoulder. “I need to go check on Mama and Papa at the bakery too. Be careful.”

“You too!”

Marinette darted away to find a place to transform. While she couldn't be sure this was an Akuma attack, there were things she could do as Ladybug that she couldn't as Marinette. Finding a place in an alley, she called her Mother's cell phone.

It had barely rung before Sabine's relieved voice answered. "Marinette! Are you okay?"

"Fine, Mama, really. Are you and Papa okay?"

"We are. A little shaken up and one of the display cases cracked, but nothing major. Your father is in the basement cutting off the gas just in case. Where are you?"

"With Alya," Marinette assured her. "She's worried about the twins and can't get hold of Nora so she's headed there."

"Be careful, please. There could be more aftershocks and..."

"I will, Mama."

~~~~

“Help me, please.” The cry was weak, but Ladybug heard it and turned on her heel. The street had suffered from the earthquake, parts of it rucked up like crumpled paper, and some parts sinking from subsidence. The plea came from near one of the cars that had slid sideways and sunk as the earth under it had done as well. She rushed over, to find a young man on the broken curb, obviously having fallen during the disturbance of the earth. He was half under the car, unable to free himself with the weight of the car pinning him in place.

Crouching by his side, Ladybug assessed the situation. “Hang on,” she soothed. “I’ll get you out of there.”

His nod was trusting. Ladybug rose to her feet and went to the nearest lamppost, testing its stability. Satisfied that it would hold, she looped the string of her yoyo over it and, mentally glad that she had inherited her mother’s slim build, squirmed as much of her upper body under the car until she could touch the pinned man. She pressed her yoyo into his hand. “When I come back around to your side, pass this back to me.”

“Okay.”

Eeling back out, she returned to his side, where he painfully worked the arm with the yoyo out from under the car. Pinned as he was, he couldn’t get it free of the curb entirely, but she was able to reach it. With one last reassuring smile, she left him to loop the yoyo string carefully around the post of the light. Taking a deep breath, she threw her weight against it. It moved, and encouraged, she redoubled her efforts.

With a groan of overstressed metal, the car shifted. She was about to try and reach a broken fence to anchor her string when a familiar voice called out, “Hold it steady, Milady. I’ve got him.”

Relieved, she maintained tension on the string until Chat’s cheerful voice assured her that he had gotten the victim free. Breathing a relieved sigh, she let go the tension on the string and tried to massage the ache in her fingers away. Retracting the yoyo, she hurried to Chat’s side. He had already gotten the man’s cell phone out and was calling emergency services.

She leaned close enough to listen, hearing the operator’s assurances that they would have an ambulance dispatched very soon. He also confided that while damages were extensive, casualties from the shake had been surprisingly light.

Chat shook his head, but only thanked the dispatcher and gave the phone back to the injured man so he could tell the dispatcher about his injuries.

When they were out of earshot of the injured man, Ladybug put a hand on Chat’s bicep. “What is it?”

He cocked his head to the left. “I came from that way. Three streets over, there’s zero damage. The closer I came this way, the more damage there is.” He pointed up the street. “When I was vaulting this way, I could see a lot of the damage, It gets worse, that direction.”

Ladybug nodded. “Then that’s the way we go.”

Chat slipped an arm around her waist and vaulted them both up to the top of the nearest tall building, pointing at the swatch of destruction. “Pretty sure that’s not normal for an earthquake, Milady.”

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Ladybug shook her head grimly. From this high up, she could see a clear delineation, a line where on one side were damaged, listing buildings and plumes of smoke from fires, but on the other, nothing... no sign of damage at all. She tracked the line of destruction, noting Chat’s observations were right. Flinging her yoyo, she took off for the area where the destruction worsened. Chat was right on her heels.

They had barely gone two blocks when a voice frantically hailed them. A familiar one!

Nadja Chamak stood on a corner, a frightened Manon balanced on her hip and tucked tightly against her side. Nadja had only one shoe on, her stockings were in tatters, and her smart black skirt was ripped high up on her thigh, showing a bloody welt. One cheek was scraped badly and Manon was trying her best to hold a wad of tissue to her mother’s cheek while tears ran down her own.

Little Manon was powdered with dust and both her knees were scraped and bruised. Fat tears poured down her cheeks and she was biting her bottom lip as she struggled to staunch the blood seeping from her mother’s badly scratched cheek.

Ladybug dropped down to the pavement. “Ms. Chamak! Are you badly hurt?”

Nadja shook her head, earning a sniffle from Manon as fresh blood seeped when she moved. “Don’t worry about me! You have to get to the studio! It’s Gerard! My cameraman— he— he was arguing with one of the producers about all news crews needing additional hazard pay for Akuma attacks. They said no, that you always fixed things, and he got mad. He stormed away and I followed him as far as the bathroom door. I— I saw the butterfly go after him. He’s calling himself Disaster Caster now. He’s the one that caused the earthquake!”

Ladybug nodded. “Chat, get Ms. Chamak and Manon over to where the ambulance should be and get them taken care of. Then meet me at the studio.”

“Your wish is my command, Milady. Will you—” He hesitated, glancing at the reporter. “Will you call in reinforcements?”

She didn’t want to, not with the memory of last night clear in her mind, but she nodded. “We might need them. Ms. Chamak, I know you want to be on the scene, but you’re already hurt and Manon needs you, so please go with Chat.”

Nadja held her daughter tighter. “I’m not going to fight you on this one. Manon comes first.” She wobbled over to Chat, making it clear it was only pure will that had kept her on her feet so long and Chat slid his arm around her waist, preparing to vault back the way they had come.

Nadja hesitated and looked back at Ladybug. “Just help Gerard. It’s not his fault. He really was trying to help all of us.”

“I know.” Ladybug hastened to reassure. “We’ll help him, I promise.”

Nadja nodded and wrapped her free arm around Chat’s shoulders. He nodded at Ladybug and vaulted the three of them back the way they had come. The last thing she heard was his voice reassuring Manon that they’d get her mom fixed right up. Drawing a deep breath, she sent off a quick text to Vivi before heading for the studio at the center of the destruction.

The newly dubbed Disaster Caster was hard to miss. He stood perched on a massive spar of rebar that jutted a good ten feet above the buckled pavement, whatever he had been wearing before now transformed into a form-fitting suit of bright silver and black. His face was covered by a mirrored visor in an oddly-shaped helmet, one that seemed far larger than it should be, and he wore something on his back that resembled nothing so much as a backpack made of gleaming metal to match his suit.

He stared wordlessly down at a gaggle of battered studio executives huddled together in the ruins of the studio’s lobby, their sleek, high-end suits in ragged tatters. All of them were bloody and bruised, looking more like the losing end of a prizefight than high-powered television executives.

Ladybug landed silently on the roof of an only slightly lop-sided building, studying the situation. A soft thump on the roof behind her let her know her partner had made good time in returning to her side. “”What are we looking at, milady?”

“He’s got a group trapped in the rubble. He’s not making any move to hurt them any more than they already are, but I’m afraid that’ll only last so long. Especially if one of them says something to inflame his anger.” She reported quietly, watching for one of the hostages to do something to draw Disaster Caster’s wrath.

Suddenly, that mirrored visor turned their way. “And the main attraction has arrived,” said a mechanical sounding voice. “Going to save the day and fix everything, just like you always do? I rather think not.”

Suddenly the reason for the odd shape of his helmet became all too clear, as thin cracks opened in neat rows along the sides, a dozen spindly metal limbs folding out, and out, each one ending in a glassy looking bezel that it took her a moment to place. Lenses. Each of the metal arms ended in a tiny camera. The effect was rather disturbing, like a massive spider centered on that blank mirrored visor, perched where a human head should be.

Beside her, Chat briefly convulsed in a full-body shiver. “Okay, is it just me or are Hawkmoth’s Akumas getting creepier?”

He wasn’t wrong. Disaster Caster was like something out of a nightmare, far scarier looking than most Akuma. The camera arms whirred and clicked, stretching out further.

“Nevermind those who get hurt in your fights. No need, after all, not when you can wash the hurts away in a tide of ladybugs.” Disaster Caster said, the robotic voice never rising above a conversational monotone. “Maybe it’s time you suffer some of those hurts, see how they feel, and I’ll broadcast your suffering to the whole city.”

A darkly glowing butterfly symbol briefly obscured part of that mirrored visor. “I agree, Hawkmoth. I’ll take their miraculouses and let them understand the pain they inflict upon the citizens of Paris.” He lifted one hand, and a spidery arm reached from the backpack to deposit something in his palm.

“Oh, yes,” Ladybug could hear the sudden smile in Disaster Caster’s voice. “That will do nicely. I’ll flood the airwaves with your defeat.” He crushed whatever it was in his hand.

“We’re shaking, Chrome Cast,” Chat laughed. “Is that supposed to sca—”

His voice was drowned out by a wall of water roaring towards them. Cars, people, trees, bits of buildings were all swept up in the surging, frothing monster bearing down on where they stood. The wave was taller than the roof of their building, blocking out the Parisian skyline and throwing the whole area into murky green gloom.

Chat’s ears flattened and he grabbed Ladybug by the waist and extended his baton as far as it would go, aiming for the higher roof of the studio. He almost made it.

The water crashed against his baton, slamming it sideways. For a moment there was only the breathless sensation of falling. Then Ladybug’s yoyo snapped out and wrapped around one of the satellites on the roof and yanked them out of range of the maelstrom that surged below.

Ladybug’s breath was harsh in her throat and she was shaking when they landed. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the frothing waters below and the helpless bodies tumbling in it. “No...”

Chat’s hand caught her cheek and gently turned her to face him. “Focus, Milady. The sooner we defeat him, the sooner you can save everyone!”

She sucked in a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “R-right.” She straightened up and searched for the Akuma. Several of those spidery metallic legs had extended from Disaster Caster’s backpack and held him motionless against the wall of a building, separated from their position by a wide swath of murky, tumbling water.

Chat crouched beside her on the edge of the building, glaring across at their opponent. “I’m going to bet the Akuma is in that backpack thing of his.”

“Not going to bet against you, kitty.” Ladybug frowned at the distance between them. “The question is how do we get close enough to find out?”

Chat gave her a sharp-toothed grin that was a pale shadow of his usual teasing one. “Up for a game of catball special?”

She turned her frown on Chat. “I’m not chucking you at him!”

“Better me than you, Milady.”

“Better neither of you when you know someone who can actually fly.” The voice came from behind them. Lewis hovered just above the roof they perched on, Vivi and Arthur held in either arm.

He alighted to let the two in his arms down.

Ladybug couldn’t help a critical look at Arthur. He looked haggard under the mask, but there was a set to his mouth that told her he’d never agree to sitting things out, not while his spouses were here.

Chat obviously wanted to ask if he was alright, but held his tongue at the look on Arthur’s face.

“He’s calling himself Disaster Caster,” Ladybug reported instead of the concerned words that wanted to escape. “It’s an accurate enough name, since he’s the one who caused the earthquake and—” her voice shook a little. “This.”

Vivi was already peering over the edge of the building at the Akumatized man. “Elemental manipulation?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it that,” Arthur put in, staying well clear of where his wife leaned precariously over the balustrade. “I’d hesitate to call any of Hawkmoth’s creations anything so normal.”

“Good point.” Vivi frowned down at Disaster Caster. “Those are cameras, is he filming?”

“Probably,” Chat joined her at the edge of the roof. “He was a news crew cameraman before he got Akumatized for wanting better pay for hazardous working conditions... aka during Akuma attacks.”

“That’s a fair request.” Lewis said. Like Arthur, he stayed back from the edge. “I take it his higher-ups didn’t agree.”

“RIght on the money.” Chat agreed. “We think the Akuma is in his backpack. It’s where he got whatever it was he used to create this flood.”

There was a suggestion of a smile in Lewis’s voice. “It’s probably not fireproof.” He held up one bone-plated hand, wreathed in purple flames.

“Easy there, big guy,” Arthur held up his metal hand. “Hawkmoth has seen your fire, so there’s every chance it will be. Even if it’s not fireproof, look at what he’s done already. No shortage of water to damp the fire.”

“Heads up!” Vivi called. “He’s on the move!”

Ladybug joined Vivi and Chat at the railing. Disaster Caster was spidering up the side of the building across from them, those thin metal legs from his backpack finding purchase easily. He lifted a hand to his visor and all at once, the lenses at the end of each limb of his helmet dropped loose, tumbling toward the frothing water below. Before they reached it, though, each suddenly sprouted a pair of dragonfly-like wings, lifting them high above the buildings. Two of them zeroed in on the roof where they stood, hovering above them like bizarre metallic insects.

“There you are.”

They backed away from the edge, keeping their eyes on the little cameras.

“”No getting away from being broadcast to all of Paris, Ladybug. They don’t want to miss this. It’ll be a hail of a bad time for you, though.”

On cue, clouds filled the sky, rumbling and malignant. Coin-sized bits of ice began to rain down on them.

“Really?” Chat asked, propping one hand on his hip and grinning ferally up at one of the cameras. “Puns are my department.”

“Not the time, kitty!” Ladybug chided.

As if in response, the chunks of ice kept getting larger, hitting hard enough to bounce and leave dents in the roof.  Lewis flung up a shield of flames, shrouding them in hissing steam as the hailstones met the fire.

Vivi chortled evilly, stepping out of the shelter of the flames. “You really are a disaster, aren’t you? Giving a master of ice, ammunition.” She held up both hands, palms upward. “To use against you...”

Ladybug watched in awe as the falling ice chunks, now the size of softballs, stopped in midair.

Vivi, still smiling a dangerous smile, tipped her hands forward, pointing them down at the Akuma. “Sic ‘em!”

The ice streaked away from them, heading for Disaster Caster. Two pieces hit him before he got his wits about him and slapped at the side of his visor. Like a mirage, the roil of clouds and the hailstones vanished.

“Aww, doncha wanna play with me anymore? I’m hurt.”

"Hon, what have we said about antagonizing the bad guys?" Lewis chided.

"That I should do it more often?"

Chat stifled a laugh while Lewis rolled spectral eyes at Vivi's antics.

"I do not want to fight you. It is Ladybug and Chat Noir who need to understand the suffering they cause to the citizens of Paris." Disaster Caster, now perched on the rooftop opposite them, stared at them through the expressionless visor.

"Um, have you looked around lately, bucko?" Vivi retorted. "Your mental parasite over there is the one creating the suffering."

Hawkmoth's glowing mask occluded Disaster Caster's visor for a moment. "If you would simply hand over your Miraculous, no one would have to suffer at all."  Disaster Caster said after it had faded.

"Like anyone is going to buy that." Vivi grinned, as fey an expression as Ladybug had ever seen. "And you pick on one of us and you get all of us coming to hand you your ass. Hear me, Hawkbutt?"

Her reply was Disaster Caster calling another object from his pack. He crushed it in his fist. “Let’s blow the slate clean, shall we?”

For a second, there was nothing, then an eerie sound split the air, one she couldn’t identify but  that instinctively set Ladybug’s teeth on edge.

Arthur was the first to react, shoving Ladybug and Chat Noir closer to Lewis. “Down!” Under his mask, his face was grim and bloodless. Vivi was right behind him, her lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

Lewis’s glowing eyes had narrowed to pinpricks and he put himself between them and the meager shelter of a doorway into the building below. "͜͜S̶̨t͏a̷̸̧y͟͞ ̵D̷̨̡ǫ̵w͘n̕!̨"͢  Lewis growled, hands clenched into burning fists at his sides. His glowing hair flickered at the first touch of a wind that quickly rose to a shrill scream.

Ladybug clutched Chat’s arm. She’d never seen anything like the massive vortex of wind screaming down at them, greenish lightning crackling where it emerged from the black clouds; lighting the rooftop in a hellish glare.

Lewis braced himself, flames curling around his hands like a living thing. Pink fire surged around them, rising into a vortex that ran counter to the spinning winds of the tornado. Lewis’s feet slid apart and he leaned forward, like he was throwing his weight into something. Ladybug thought if he’d had a jaw, it would have been clenched in concentration. He pushed his hands out and the fiery shield around them expanded, pushing back at the wall of wind. "Ai̡r̕ ̧f̴ę́͞è̵͡ds͟ ͘͞f̢͢͞i͢͝r͏e͡,̸̧͢"҉   he snarled, flames surging higher.

Ladybug’s relief was short-lived when Chat’s claws dug into her wrist. She followed the gaze of his widened eyes to where the bottom of the funnel nearly touched the water still surrounding the building. Water to put out Lewis's protective wall! Hoping it would be something she could figure out in seconds, Ladybug flung her yoyo upwards. “Lucky Charm!”

A red-spotted crossbow, foam-ended dart already nocked into place, dropped into her waiting hands. “Really?” She glared down at the useless thing, fingers tightening almost painfully around it. “What am I supposed to do with a toy?! Even if it could get through the winds, what’s this gonna do?” She almost screamed with frustration, strangling down the sound before it could escape.

“Ladylove, you can do this.” Chat reassured quietly in her ear, his hands tight around her shoulders. “You know you can.”

Gulping a painful breath, she nodded, forcing herself to look around for inspiration. Her attention fell on Lewis, holding the shrieking winds at bay and her resolve strengthened. Her gaze darted to Arthur, then to the right, alighting on a length of hollow steel pipe torn loose from its mooring, and then across the wall of winds at Disaster Caster. Her eyes fastened on the small scratch on his visor. It was desperate and foolish, and if it didn’t work, she was all out of options. “Chat, I need that pipe. Arthur, how’s your throwing arm?”

Chat scrambled for the long pipe while Arthur shot her a confused look. “Not too bad. My mechanical arm has fluid hydraulics, so I can get a pretty good distance with it. But throwing anything into that...” He gestured helplessly at the howling winds,

She forced her spine to straighten. “I have a plan.”

Chat returned with the pipe and she passed it to Arthur, who hefted it uncertainly. “What’s the plan?” he asked.

She turned her attention to Lewis. “I need height for this. Can I use your shoulders?”

Lewis didn’t turn his attention from the struggle to hold the line, giving Ladybug a single, tight nod.

She vaulted easily up to his shoulders, finding her balance on the broad expanse. Crouching, she spoke softly to Lewis. “Trust me.”

One lambent eye flickered in her direction and he gave her a second nod.

“When I give the word, drop the shield and give me one solid blast,” She flicked a finger in the direction of Disaster Caster. “I need you to disrupt the winds just enough for Arthur to chuck that pipe.”

Lewis’s gaze touched on Arthur and Vivi. “I’m trusting you to keep them safe.” His tone lost that echo and was full of concern. “And yourselves.”

She couldn’t let any doubt show. ”I will.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ladybug saw the water being sucked into the bottom of the funnel and knew her time had just run out. “Now!”

Lewis dropped the swirling fire shield, wind shrieking around them. With every bit of fire he had, he flung a singular inferno blast at the wall of raging wind between them and Disaster Caster.

Arthur didn’t hesitate, launching the pipe like a javelin into the disruption in the winds. It flew straight and true, and Ladybug used Lewis's shoulders to vault into the air, tracking on the pipe. She only had one chance at this and she didn’t dare blow it. Her whole world narrowed to the pipe in front of her and the trigger in her hands. She could almost sense when the end of the pipe punched through the outer wall of wind. In a moment of crystal clarity, it all snapped into place and she pulled the trigger.

The dart sailed through the pipe, safe from the fury of the winds and exited beyond the gale. It hit just where she had aimed, that tiny mark she had seen Disaster Caster slap before. The tornado vortex vanished like the hailstorm before it.

The silence was deafening after the scream of the winds until bits of debris that had been caught in the gale began to clatter back down, hitting rooftops or splashing into the receding surge of water the vortex had begun to draw up.  Ladybug landed softly beside Lewis, the lucky charm dangling loosely in shaking fingers.

Vivi whooped and yanked Arthur and Chat into a hug.

Lewis went to one knee, his flames dimming and Ladybug knew the battle had drained too much of his energy. She dropped beside him. “Are you—?”

There was a hint of a smile in his strange eyes. “I’ll manage. Can you get to him before he calls up something else?”

“Right.” Ladybug threw herself for the edge of the roof, her yoyo stretching out for purchase on the other building. She was acutely conscious she only had limited time left before her transformation dropped.

Disaster Caster was waiting for her, perched on the side of a chimney like some sort of twisted spider. Her feet hit the roof and she flung herself at him, hoping she could finish this quickly. He easily scaled higher before she could reach him.

She never saw it coming. Suddenly pain exploded across her side, flinging her to the tiles. A second impact flung her farther and she rolled to soften the impact, scrabbling for her scattered wits. She made it to cover behind a broken staircase, pressing one hand against the ache in her side. Her suit protected her from the worst of it, but that had hurt!

What had hit her? Disaster Caster had been too far away to reach her, even with those long spidery legs.

There was a thump beside her and Chat grabbed her, yanking her to one side. “Look out, Milady!” His baton whirred through the air to knock something small and fast back.

Ladybug finally managed to bring her yoyo up as a shield, allowing her a glimpse at what had attacked her. Those little spy cameras! They hovered around her and Chat like a swarm of angry metallic hornets.

Chat blocked one with his baton and growled under his breath. “He’s getting away.”

Sure enough, Disaster Caster was using the distraction of the drone cameras to scramble away over the rooftops, moving far too fast on those spindly metal legs. Ladybug knocked two of the cameras back and took off after him, Chat hot on her heels, and covering her back with swings of his baton. Her earrings beeped their first warning and she pushed her speed, trying to catch up to him before she ran out of time.

The spy-cameras regrouped in front of them, buzzing down in lightning fast attacks and forcing them to slow and dodge. The little cameras were damnably fast and every hit they scored stung fiercely. Disaster Caster kept getting farther away with every attack and Ladybug’s earring beeped two more warnings before she lost sight of him entirely. She paused in the shelter of a staircase, panting and furious at herself for being unable to reach him. Chat landed beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, warning softly, “Ladylove, we have to get you away from here so you can detransform safely and let Tikki recharge!”

“But—” she protested angrily.

“Shhh. As soon as we get you safely away from those things, I’ll get back on his track. I haven’t used Cataclysm yet, so I have time still. At the very least, I’m a purr-fect distraction.” His grinned at her, raising an eyebrow.

The familiarity of his joking dragged a weak laugh out of her. “Okay, Kitty. You win.”

Turning away from the direction Disaster Caster had gone, she flung out her yoyo and headed for a part of the city where she knew there were sheltered rooftop gardens to give her cover while she was vulnerable. Chat followed at a short distance, keeping watch for the cameras, which seemed to have lost interest when she stopped chasing after their master.

At the last second she landed, tumbling a little as her transformation gave out before she was safely down. She wrapped herself around Tikki, willing to take a bruise of two for the sake of her Kwami.

Chat caught her before she hit, a warm arm around her waist stopping her from faceplanting on the roof. Still cradling Tikki, she looked up into his concerned green eyes. “I’m okay, Kitty.”

He nodded and pulled her against his chest, Tikki tucked safely between them. “Get out of sight and take care of Tikki. I’ll stay on his trail.” He pulled her into the shelter of a vine-covered arbor.

She freed one hand and reached up to cup his cheek. “Be careful, my kitty. I’m pretty sure he still has tricks up his sleeves.”

Chat leaned into her touch. “Don’t worry about me, princess. This cat still has tricks of his own.” He bent to steal a breathtaking kiss, leaving her flushed and red. Dropping a second kiss on the tip of her nose, he saluted with two fingers and leapt away.

Still blushing, Marinette dug in her purse for cookies for Tikki. The quicker they recharged, the faster they could take down Disaster Caster.

Her phone chirped a message and she fumbled for it.  Who—?

V: Where are you two?

Vivi! Marinette hurried to type back. CN still on DC’s trail. LB had to recharge. Will be back in game soon.

It was safest to not use names or refer to anything too personal. There was always a chance of another electronics based Akuma, like Lady Wifi, could get into personal info through phones. Her communicator amd Chat’s were secure but she could trust nothing else to be. But sometimes concern won out over caution. How is Ghost? She tapped out, knowing Vivi would know who she meant. Fight took a lot out of them.

The dots that indicated typing popped up almost before she had finished. Recouping. Will be back in fight soon too. F and UKS on foot now that floodwaters gone. Z is eyes in the sky.

It took Marinette a solid minute to parse it out. Oh, F had to mean Vivi and the temporary name of Frost she had given herself and UKS had to be Arthur and his pun of a name. Zippi was acting as lookout.

Stay safe, she texted back, and glanced over at where Tikki was finishing off the last few bites of a cookie that had been larger than she was. Tikki wiped crumbs off her face and nodded. Relieved she could get back out there, Marinette called the magic, and took off after her partner as fast as her yoyo would carry her.

She heard the fight before she saw it, and her heart crawled up in her throat. She knew that sound. Knew it too well. It had nearly cost her Chat Noir once before, that crackle of unharnessed electricity and the roar of superheated air that followed so closely after it that it was almost a single continuous sound.  The hair on the back of her neck stood up and the smell of ionized air stuck in the back of her throat like ash.

It had only been her Lucky Charm that had kept lightning from frying her kitty before and right now, he was on his own against an electrical storm that lit the sky with dazzling radiance. Her blood ran cold. She needed to get to him before—

The air screamed. A bolt of lightning, brighter than any she had seen before, tore the sky asunder. The roar that followed vibrated her teeth in her skull, and caused the roof under her flying feet to tremble.

She pushed herself faster. Please, she prayed under her breath. Please, please, please don’t use your baton, Kitty. The metal would act as a conductor, carrying millions of volts straight into her partner’s flesh.

She didn’t see it coming. Something scorched the roof under her feet and brutally threw her back. She collided hard with a railing and nearly went over it before a clawed hand closed painfully tight around her wrist and yanked her back to safety against a heaving chest. “That was rather electrifying, Milady!”

“Chat,” She could breathe again. Her hands came up to clutch his biceps, digging in hard enough to reassure herself that he was there, was okay. And then she threw both of them into a tumbling roll across the roof, as lightning seared where they had been black.

Chat bounced to his feet, tugging her up after him. “Shocking development, you falling for me.”

She whipped them around and out of the way of another finger of lightning that blistered the tiles where they had just been. “Is this really the time?”

He grinned, dropping to all fours and darting a crazy, zig-zagging path across the roof, flickers of lightning splintering all around him, but unable to catch him. “C’mon, Milady! I am amped for this lightshow! I have a full volt of puns.” he teased breathlessly. “Let me conduct a few your way!”

She snorted at him, and bounced away from a bolt that arced over the rail where she had just been perched. “Just no grounding you, is there, Kitty?”

His green eyes glittered and Chat barked a startled, delighted laugh. He sprang for her and whirled them both out of the path of another volley of lightning. “I knew my puns would rub off on you, Milady!”

Ladybug wrapped her arm around his waist and used her yoyo to vault them to another roof. “Oh, now that was bad, Chat!”

“Have no ampere, my Lady. I have zingers for days!” Chat leapt away from her, his voice turning taunting. “Watt’s the matter, Caster? You currently running out of juice? What a kilo-joy!”

“Aren’t you just full of spark, kid?” A laughing voice called.

Ladybug whipped her head around. Lewis, Arthur and Vivi in either arm, hovered just above the level of the roof. He looked a little transparent, but his fiery eyes were full of determination.

Lewis had to dodge a bolt a split-second later, and shot a vicious glare at where Disaster Caster was perched on a different roof. “He’s really starting to get on my nerves.”

“Not terribly shocked, big guy,” Arthur chided while Vivi giggled softly. “It’s a bit of a revolting development.”

“Don’t make me drop you.”

Chat snickered.

Lewis came in close, though he didn’t land. “We need to take the storm out of play,” Arthur said. “I have an idea for that, but it’ll only hold until he switches tacks.”

Ladybug skipped away from another finger of lightning. “Willing to risk it. I’m not fond of the idea of getting electrocuted.”

Arthur’s mouth set in a firm line. “Okay. new game plan. Big guy, find a sheltered spot to put me down. Ladybug, Chat, keep playing keep away from the lightning. I’ll need to borrow Chat’s baton, though.”

If a ghost could be said to go pale, Lewis managed it, his skeletal face horror-stricken. “No—!”

“Not time for debate, love,” Arthur’s grim face and raised hand stopped the protest. “As long as I’m not in the direct line of fire, I’ll be okay, Rubber-soled shoes. Handy in a garage, invaluable in the here and now.”

“Ar—” Ladybug cut herself off. “It’s dangerous, even so. You can’t dodge the lightning like Chat and I.”

The laugh that answered her was humorless. “Trust me, I’m a shaking wreck inside, but I can have a panic attack later.” His amber eyes met hers through the mask, fey and sending a shiver down her spine. “Protecting people I care for comes before anything else.” He turned his head away, focusing that unnerving look on Lewis. “How you holding up? Good enough to conjure up something?”

“What do you need?” Lewis’s voice was flat with only a hint of that disturbing otherness to give away his distress.

“Copper wire, as much as you can manage.”

“You can’t ground out an electrical storm!” Vivi grabbed the front of Arthur’s shirt, white-knuckled.

Arthur carefully disengaged her fingers. “No, but I can ground out enough of the lightning to give us a chance to get through.”

“I don’t like this plan.”

“Join the club.”

Another volley of lightning hit the rooftop, forcing them all to dodge.

“No time like the present, big guy,” Arthur’s voice was strained.

Chat hissed but turned his attention to mocking the Akuma, “Your bad aim is shocking. You aren’t even trying! Really are a disaster, aren’t you?”

He had to move fast to avoid the next round of lightning.

Her eyes on Chat, as usual, trying to take blows for her, Ladybug lost sight of the other three.

For several moments, there was no room for thought, only the need to keep one jump ahead of the deadly bolts searing the roofs around them.

“Baton!” Arthur’s voice shouted from somewhere to her left.

Chat’s baton went one way and he went the other, only just managing to let go of the metal before lightning found them both.

The baton skittered away across the roof tiles, sparking with residual energy from the strike. Ladybug heard Arthur cursing under his breath, but had no attention to spare for him as she yanked Chat out of the way of another strike that came so close she could feel her hair standing on end. The suits could protect them somewhat, but she wasn’t willing to find out the extent.

Ladybug rolled them out of the path of another strike, this one arcing along the railing beside them, leaving the metal twisted and warped in its wake.

Ladybug yelped and struck out violently when something touched her arm. She twisted and found herself looking into the mournful yellow eyes of a deadbeat. It chirred softly and vanished. She felt it ease into her mind— but it wasn’t trying to control her. Images came into her thoughts of her own hands winding wire around a part of the building’s superstructure, making sure the wire was in contact with the metal supports. She saw the baton extended, channeling the lightning into the building’s metal structure and away from them, giving them the chance to get to Disaster Caster before he could change tactics.

It was a sound plan, even if she didn’t like how much danger Arthur was putting himself in to give them the chance.  She got a sense of wry agreement from the deadbeat and an image of Lewis standing by to yank him out of danger. That eased her worries a bit and she gave her wordless assent to the plan. She felt the deadbeat leave and found herself staring into the worried eyes of Chat, who had pulled them into the shelter of a satellite dish. “Milady?” he questioned warily. “Your eyes, they were pink!”

She touched his cheek. “I’m okay, Kitty. Lewis was letting me know Arthur’s plan through one of the deadbeats,” She peered out past the edge of the dish and spotted the coil of wire on the roof, not far away. “I need you to be on your toes and keep moving so Disaster Caster doesn’t have a chance to concentrate on me.”

Chat Noir shook himself a little before nodding. “You needn’t ask twice, Milady. I can be the purr-fect distraction, like I said.”

Ladybug smiled at him. “I know. I trust you. Just keep safe, my kitten.”

The smile he flashed her was bright. “On my honor.”

He bounded away, catcalling up at Disaster Caster. Ladybug had to look away from the streaks of white-hot electricity tearing up the roof barely a breath behind him. When Disaster Caster had turned all his attention (and that of his electrical storm) on Chat, she crept out of hiding, tucking and rolling to come up with the coil of copper wire in her hands. She muttered a soft prayer to anything that might be listening, be they Kwami or something else, to keep everyone safe and sprang into action.

With her yoyo, it was a matter of moments to wind the wire around the building, at last landing by a spot where the near-constant lightning strikes had bared a large chunk of the building’s metal superstructure. She eeled into the rubble and began working her wire around and around the steel rebar.

She could hear Chat’s mocking and the roar of superheated air and it was all she could do to keep her mind on the task at hand. At last she twisted the final coil of the wire into place. Ladybug pulled herself free of the debris and flung her yoyo. She had to be in the air and ready when it went down. “Now!” she called, her voice barely audible above the roar of thunder.

Arthur must have been waiting for it. Chat’s baton speared up into the stormy sky and the lightning jumped to it like iron filings to a magnet. Ladybug yanked hard on her string and sailed into the air, snagging up a panting Chat Noir as she did. She didn’t dare look for the others, hoping Lewis had gotten them safely out of the way. She had to stop Disaster Caster.

He was already moving, but she was faster, having been waiting for the moment. She launched Chat, who smoothly flipped in mid-air to drive his boots into Disaster Caster’s gut.

Disaster Caster reeled back, only the telescoping legs from his backpack keeping him from going over. Chat snarled in frustration and took a swipe with his claws at Disaster Caster’s mirrored visor. The Akuma wasn’t able to recover fast enough from the kick and Chat’s claws scored thin lines across the surface of the visor.

Ladybug looked up, startled, as the roar of thunder ceased, leaving her ears ringing with the cessation of the constant sound.  Only a few wisps of cloud remained in the clearing sky. Chat’s attack had taken out the threat of the storm.

Disaster Caster staggered back another step, but one of his metal legs lashed out and hit Chat hard in the ribs, flinging him back. Chat landed in a crouch, but he was out of breath and pressed an arm across his ribs with a hiss of pain.

Ladybug swung in between them, her yoyo lashing out and cracking solidly across Disaster Caster’s visor. She rushed to pull Chat back to his feet, concerned at the grimace of pain. “Kitty?”

His grin was lopsided but he straightened up. “I’m okay, Milady. Only winded.”

“Are you sure?” She didn’t miss how he was favoring the spot where he’d been hit.

“He’s a disaster in more ways than one, Milady. I’m still good to go.”

Disaster Caster had used her distraction to get some distance on them, metal legs carrying him like a spider up the side of the next building over. Chat cursed under his breath, words she didn’t think Adrien even knew. “I’ll be honest, Milady, I’m more than ready to be done with this particular pain, though.”

“You and me both, Kitty.” Ladybug narrowed her eyes at the Akuma. “I think I know what we need to do.”

“What you need to do is stop fighting me and give up your miraculous. Then Paris will be safe.” Disaster Caster called.

“No one asked you,” Chat hissed.

“All this fighting is doing is hurting the people you claim to be here to protect.”

“And you think Hawkmoth would do better if he had our miraculous? He’s the one creating all the evil we have to fight against.”

"What if your refusal to give over your miraculous were to hurt someone you cared for?" Disaster Caster said. He raised one hand, palm up, and one of his little spy-cameras alighted in it.

"Wouldn't they be happier knowing you were out of danger and not fighting Akuma?" An image formed in the air above the little drone.  Half hidden in a bower of greenery, it was a frozen tableau of Marinette in Chat's arms, tilting her face up to meet his passionate kiss. Ladybug flinched, though some part of her was objectively glad that Tikki was hidden between them. “Wouldn’t she be happier?” Disaster Caster coaxed.

Chat froze beside her, his green eyes blown so wide they were all pupil. His mouth opened but nothing emerged. Ladybug could feel his muscles vibrating with tension and his hands were clenched so tight she could hear the leather of his gloves creaking. While the fact that Disaster Caster had caught the picture concerned her, Chat’s reaction was more than a little frightening.

Ladybug touched his arm. “Kitty—?”

All that suppressed tension snapped at once and with a feral yowl, Chat flung himself in a mad leap toward Disaster Caster.

"You!" How a word that was all vowels could be hissed, Ladybug didn't know but Chat managed it.

Chat hit the wall next to the Akuma, claws sinking easily into the brick. His lips peeled back from his teeth in an infuriated growl. Ladybug could swear she saw fangs in his snarl.  "How dare you?!"

Ladybug swung after Chat, stunned by the rage she saw in his green eyes. Before she could reach him, he had leapt at Disaster Caster. The Akuma tried to fend him off with two of the spider-like legs from his backpack, but Chat's claws made short work of them, shearing them off with quick swipes.

"How dare you?" he snarled again, his voice dropping to a register she had never heard from his mouth, a feral growl like the scream of a hunting cat.

Ladybug saw his claws crook to strike and for a second they appeared to glimmer with the first hint of his destructive power. The next word out of his mouth was a hissed "Cataclysm!"

His target was Disaster Caster's helmet and his hand hit it so hard it rocked the Akumatized man's head back into the brick wall behind him. Destructive power crawled over the helmet, leaving ash in its wake. A black butterfly fluttered weakly away, wings struggling to keep it airborne.

Ladybug snapped her yoyo out and caught it before it had managed to get very far at all. She purified it without any ceremony, most of her attention still on Chat's enraged face.

He was breathing hard, struggling to calm himself, she could tell. His claws still hovered millimeters from Disaster Caster's now bare face.

"Kitten?" She called softly.

The tension went out of him and he dropped away from the former Akuma like a marionette with cut strings. She hurriedly caught him out of the air.

His breath was hot against her throat as he whispered so softly she could barely hear him. "I'm sorry."

It was with relief she saw Lewis catch the dazed man who had been one of their toughest battles ever.  Lewis gathered him up in one arm. "I'll take him down to street level so the first responders can help him."

"Who...?" The confused man squinted at Lewis's skeletal face.

"A friend," Lewis soothed. "Let’s get you down where you'll be safe."

Ladybug nodded in acknowledgement of Lewis's words, but all her attention was on her partner. She dropped them back down to the roof. "Kitty, tell me what's wrong. Please."

He looked up at her, green eyes full of pain, and not because of his injuries. "Just fix everything, Milady. Maybe..."

Whatever it was, she could do no less for him. It was a rare thing to summon her Lucky Charm in the aftermath of a fight, but she didn't hesitate. The charm that dropped into her hand was a handkerchief, and she really didn't want to think about the meaning of that. She gently used it to wipe Chat's sweating face before tossing it up in the air. "Miraculous Ladybug!"

The swarm of ladybugs was larger by far than ever before, but this time there was so much damage to undo. She watched damaged structures right themselves and buckled streets smooth out. The lightning-torn roof around them reformed, and she felt the tickle as they swirled around her and Chat, healing injuries in their wake. A pair of glasses chinked softly to the tiles, the object the Akuma had infected.

"I'll never get tired of seeing that!" Vivi said softly, hanging over the railing to watch the city being restored.

Chat watched the magic of the Miraculous Cure sweep away the damages, his expression a sort of troubled yearning. When the last of the ladybugs had vanished, he rose and padded to his baton, now lying discarded on the roof, pausing to unwrap the copper wire from one end. He slid the screen open and began tapping. With one last tap, he took a deep breath before starting to read what was on the screen. Whatever it was made his face fall with every swipe of his thumb.

Ladybug rose to her feet and trotted to his side, curious and concerned. “Kitty?”

He slid the screen closed and turned to draw her into a fiercely tight hug. “I am so, so sorry, Ladylove.”

“Chat...” She didn’t understand what had him so troubled. “Tikki, spots off,” she breathed, and reached up to cup his cheeks with bare hands, hoping skin to skin contact could offer some comfort.

He pressed into her touch, a rough, stuttering purr starting in his throat. It wasn’t a happy sound, but the kind of sound a sick cat made to soothe itself. She hated to hear it from him.

Marinette went up on her toes to press a kiss on his forehead. Chat sighed heavily, his arms tightening around her waist.

In her purse, her phone began to let out a long series of chirps, both missed call notifications and text tones. Marinette tried to ignore it, more concerned about Chat and his distress. At least until Tikki dived into her bag and pulled out the phone. The Kwami’s overlarge eyes widened and she made an alarmed sound. “Marinette, I think you should look at this.”

“Not now, Tikki.” Marinette pled. She hated to ignore her Kwami but at the moment, her love needed her more.

Tikki made a frustrated sound.

Chat heaved another sigh and pushed her away gently. His eyes were damp and the hurt in them made her heart ache. She reached out for him, but he caught her hands. “I never wanted this for you.” He accepted the phone from Tikki and closed her fingers around it.

“Chat...”

“I am so sorry, Princess.”

“What for—?”

“Forgetting that a black cat is bad luck.” He tapped a claw on her phone and without her willing it, her eyes tracked down to it.

Her homescreen was absolutely filled with notifications. Twenty-four missed calls? And the text notifications numbered more than fifty. What—?

She unlocked the phone, her fingers shaking a little. What had happened while she was battling the Akuma. Had the Miraculous cure not been enough to fix all the damage? What if someone was hurt? Mama or Papa? Alya?

There were seventeen missed calls from Alya alone, and that eased a little of the tightness in her chest. Two were from different unknown numbers. Two from the bakery’s line and one each from her Mama and Papa’s respective cell phones. And oddly enough, one from Nadja Chamak. There were ten new voicemails and fifty-seven texts from Alya. There was also a text from Rose, simply a heart-eyes emoji and, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

She scrolled to the earliest text from Alya, consisting of a keysmash and a blurry photograph of a tv screen. Even with the blur from what had to be Alya shaking, she recognized the image, the same one Disaster Caster had shown Chat that had triggered his enraged attack. Herself; passionately kissing Chat Noir.

Her knees wobbled and Chat was quick to support her. “He... he broadcast us kissing—?”

Arthur cursed, prompting Lewis to cover his mouth, but the blond man just shoved the ghost’s large hand away. “Hell with my language, Lewis. Even I know what the fuck that means. One fell swoop just put Marinette on everybody’s radar, including Hawkmoth’s. She’s locking lips with one of the heroes of this city. That’s like pinning on a huge target on her. Not only for the supervillain in town to take shots at but every single wanna-be newshound and paparazzi in a hundred-mile radius of Paris.”

Marinette’s legs gave out. “I am so, so very screwed.”

#miraculous Mystery Skulls #mystery skulls animated #miraculous ladybug #arthur kingsmen #vivi yukino #lewis pepper #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #oops #Cats out of the bag #literally

[mogwaei]

10, 2, and 1 lol

Okay so, I decided to do 10 & 1 and excluded 2 because otherwise this was going to be MASSIVE. THANKS NONNY FOR THE PROMPT >:DDD

I drew a Veilfire Rune Codex…tarot thing [wow what a mouthful]

10: a description of your OC by someone who hates them

Codex: [The Seeker’s thoughts on the Second Survivor]

Cassandra liked to think that she did not have room in her heart for things like hatred, envy, or greed. The world was already steeped in so much of it. She strived to stay within the Maker’s light, channelling it through herself as a beacon of justice, lending her sword and shield where the cause was righteous, as best as she could judge it.

Still. She was only human.

The elf, Maordrid, tried her on various levels. When the mage joined the Inquisition, Lavellan had pulled her straight into the middle. And Cassandra did not like how easily and quietly the Arcane Warrior had slipped into their ranks. Or how swiftly the Herald had taken a liking to the female apostate. If not for Yin’s charming and trusting demeanour, Cassandra might have ordered Maordrid kept in a cell for interrogation. For a time, Cassandra had been rather unnerved by Solas and his quiet. His uncanny knowledge of the Fade and easy use of magic. But Maordrid kept to herself and watched with those hawkish eyes of hers, always filtering to the back of the group as though she did not trust any of them at hers.

She could not see what Lavellan saw in the other mage. Yin was bright and cheerful, charismatic, and before Maordrid came along, Solas had been the quietest and even he had quickly warmed to Lavellan’s shine.

Maordrid was like a rift into the Abyss, resisting all light cast into it. She only seemed to know how to scowl, though her rare smiles were too sharp, like warnings carved into stone. Even something about her voice grated at Cassandra. It was like a dark, twisted version of Solas’ whose voice she found herself enjoying when he regaled the company with intricate tales. Maordrid’s voice was somehow a song without life. It was as though the woman was putting the bare minimum into being alive.

Save for one thing.

When Maordrid joined the fray of battle, she came to life. Like a bellows pumping air into a forge, the fire roared and Maordrid danced and her magic sang. It was as though whatever spirit lay tucked deep within served the express purpose of killing – and protecting. And when the fight was over, the fires abated and the storm retreated.

For a brief amount of time, Cassandra almost felt admiration for the short witch-warrior. How the woman had thrown herself in front of each of them without batting an eyelid and never leaving their backs unguarded until the battle was turned to their party’s favour.

That was until the dreams began. What little trust she had for Maordrid dwindled to dregs and her suspicion rose to dangerous heights.

She knew that Lavellan had night terrors and that Solas was doing something – hopefully–to remedy the situation, and even she had a few nightmares herself, but nothing close to what she’d heard overheard in regards to the mysterious elven witch.

And that was the problem–no one would speak of it. Solas was tight lipped and sombre–Lavellan was…worried, but put his focus on their mission, reassuring her that Solas had it under control.

Cassandra was not convinced.She started to reexamine Maordrid with a critical eye.

The protective behaviour she exhibited on the battlefield became Casssandra’s focus point, for that was where she was strongest herself. At first, she did not think she would find much fault in the way the witch fought, but then the moment came, just outside of Redcliffe. Maordrid saved Solas’ life, throwing herself before him in path of a terror aiming for his throat.

She’d believed it brave at the time, even told Maordrid such herself. But when the elf turned down healing or assistance from those who offered, Cassandra realised something else–the elf was no guardian, she was a reckless, walking hazard. A liability and a weak spot in the armour of their core group. An unpredictable apostate wielding unpredictable magic with a penchant for disobeying orders.

But it was Cassandra’s voice against the majority. And so the Seeker watched and waited, keeping her blade sharp and loose in its sheath. She kept her eyes and ears sharper. She would not be taken unawares again.

Maker help us all.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1: an overheard conversation about your OC

Codex: [The Bridge Between Worlds]

“What is that Elvhen doing with the mortal outsider on our hallowed grounds? Why has our Dhruraje'lin not expelled them both? Or at least the quickling.”

“The Dhruraje'lin knows her from the time Before. Or knew of her.”

“She wears no vallaslin.”

“I know. That is why I am wary. Perhaps that is also why the Dhruraje'lan has not banished them–she could be nobility, or one of the Wolf’s rebels.”

“Hark, they approach.”

The two elves crouched down on a tree-sheltered precipice high above a cove. Below, bridges spanned singing pools like fine lace, their paths gleaming white in the golden sunlight and their underbellies swimming with the glittering reflections of the waters. Two more elves walked upon the widest of the paths, one clad in flawless armour that bent and molded to muscles like water–the other was garbed in leathers and cloth worn and coloured like the earth.

An imperious voice issued up from the pools from one of the elves, disturbing the tranquil scene, “I do not trust her.”

There was a trilling laugh from the other elf. It was full of fondness and true mirth, not mockery. The elf in armour came to a stop in the middle of the bridge, arms crossed. The other stood several paces away, hands extended over the edge of the bridge. Suddenly, water flowed up from the pools, swirling about the smaller elf’s hands in mesmerising patterns. The armoured elf scoffed and turned away.

“That’s not an uncommon reaction with her,” the second elf said. The first one gaped slightly but then quickly recovered when the second looked over, assuming a mask of scowling condescension.

“You dismiss the warnings as though brushing dust from your cloak.” It was a statement, not a question. The second elf snorted again and lifted the cloak at their shoulders. Upon first glance, it looked as though it were dyed an ombre of green and sunset-orange. But a closer look would reveal that it was in fact stained with clay.

“What, like this?” The water whipped through the air and streaked across the mud, wiping it clean of the cloak.

“Such insolence. You will be the cause of your own demise.”

“You’ve something to say about her, then say it. I can’t make much from vague claims.”

“And yet an entire people have based their lives off–” The voices went too low to hear, made no clearer when a particularly obnoxious avian creature began blaring its mating call in the trees above the cove.

“So?” the second elf’s bright voice became audible once the bird moved on.

“She’s manipulative; a murderer,” the deep, lilting one answered with vitriol. “And an emotion-blinded fool. She is lucky that she was permitted to continue living.”

“You say that as if it was once a privilege to draw breath.”

“For what she did, it was more than what she deserved,” the first one dodged, “She has some nerve stepping into this place, despite her claims of atonement. If not for–” the voice cut low once more, “I would have turned her away.  Perhaps I still should.”

“I don’t believe that’s the entire reason you don’t kick us out.” A tense silence filled the air between the elves. They seemed to be having a staring contest. 

“There are not many of my kind left. Even though she has done many terrible things, those who live here were better than that. In memory of what once was, I offer a piece of it. It is what is demanded of me.”

“And I thank you for your hospitality. I’d gladly extend same service and more to you in my home,” the second one said with a bow, whose bright and cheerful voice softened into something akin to the tranquil pools around them. “Still, I think there’s something else you’re not sharing. You know her - more than just the reputation that has apparently preceded her for millennia.”

The one in armour shifted, but only settled back into a stiff, cross-armed stance.

“As I said, she was shown undeserved favour. I have seen others executed for simply staring at a Divine One at the wrong moment.”

“And…why was that?”

“You told me of this…Red Jenny. She was not unlike the one you know, striking in uncoordinated, chaotic patterns. An antagonist to the wrong people. Because of her hunger for vengeance, she caused an irreparable amount of damage.”

“Was this before the Rebellion?” the other elf asked. There was a pause. “Oh. How many others were like her and…” Whatever was said, it was spoken too quiet to hear from upon the precipice.

“Countless. And only one was successful,” the first answered. “She was known amongst us for a time as a bellasalin. Such as we called those who were spoils of war. Elvhen who passed hands too many times, these bellasalin were believed cursed. Believed that there was something, some flaw that rendered them worthless and for that reason had not found themselves a permanent House. Fewer knew that in the right hands, they made for formidable weapons. To those with spy networks, they were the bellainan.”

“I…can only parse one translation from that. Both of them, really.”

“Predictable.”

“Asshole.” There was a seething silence this time.

“Are all of you like this? Crude of tongue and of appearance?”

“I know where this is going. I’m supposed to answer ‘why?’ so you can say 'so I can avoid wasting my time with any others’.” The first one scoffed again, turning away entirely in favour of striding toward the sloping archway on the other side of the bridge.

“I do not like you. I think it is time to return you to your bellasalin.”

The smaller of the two swore in a strange language and chased after the armoured one, calling the other elf by name, though it was steadfastedly ignored.

#dragon age codex #cassandra pentaghast #solas #lavellan #maori #evanuris #DisapprovesWriting #dragon age inquisition

[tara-l-blackmore]

The MWS Unit (or Iso)

Here's the thing about it.

I spent months upon months petrified of this experience. I would find myself suddenly scream-crying in my shower, so certain this would be one of the very last times I'll ever shower in my own house. I would look at Milo and just grab him and hug him, soak him in my tears and make him squirm away and wonder why I had suddenly lost my mind, because I was certain he would die before I could be freed.

I would log on to social media and stare paralysed at a screen of emails and messages, asking me how I was, and all I could think of was that if I never replied again, what would happen? If I lost them, if I could never get out, would they understand, would they not hate me for it? Or would they think I’d abandoned them, and hate me forever for it? And I could never ask, because I was too afraid of the answer, despite knowing how kind those few people are.

The worst was the fear over Terry.

He did nothing to stir it, to worsen it. He did everything in his power to steer my fragile mind away from that horror. But it didn't matter. It just didn't matter.

I stayed awake at night, staring at the ceiling, holding him and listening to his stupid obnoxious snoring and cry silently, wondering if I would regret hating that annoying nasally sound. I would watch the door close every morning, and dread that I would lose him on the other side of it, while I was trapped and not even able to escape to help him, to save him, to… to at least…

I was certain everyone would forget about me, that the time limit I was given was a lie to keep me calm, and that I would never, ever be released from that place, again. I had built up this place like it would be the insane asylum of all of my literary heroes, and I was just following them – and all without the being an author part. I would have a room of my own – forever.

So you could imagine my surprise when, the moment I walked into a room that had likely seen countless deaths, suicides, code blues, etc., and I sensed… none of it. I walked into that small room and felt absolutely nothing.

Let me back track a bit more.

While preparing for the time to get there, I realised something that had never happened before: I couldn't visualise or see it. Whenever I’m bound for some sort of adventure of some kind, good or bad, I can always picture it in advance. The majority of times, I’m wrong, but I can still see something.

But for iso, I saw absolutely nothing. And it terrified me, to the point of being certain that it meant I either wouldn't live to see it – or would die while there.

My fears grew. I became distant. I knew I could only depend on perhaps two or three people, and yet I still tried not to. I yearned to depend on others, only to be greeted with silence and apathy. My mentality worsened, I was certain this meant the end, and I started crying, every day, no matter what. I tried to do it alone, but usually failed – especially if Terry was there beside me.

But he wouldn't be – no one would be – and I was terrified. No one was allowed to visit, to even drop things off for me, and I was terrified of being abandoned there, whether it be left there forever, or come out of there with nothing and no one left.

I was so certain that this blind spot meant that it was the end, and nothing mattered, anymore.

But instead of saying any of it, all I did was just… pretend I was fine.

We woke up at 6, and I started shaking right away. I thought it was just because I was starting withdrawal, or I was overtired, but I actually did manage to sleep rather well the night before – Terry appropriately wore me out – but the second I got into the shower, I knew better: it was fear.

Was this the last time I’d ever see this place? That was my only thought, with everything I did.

Until, finally, it was time to go.

I'd been fully packed for two weeks, as they warned us to be ready for a 24-hour notice. And we got it. So it was easy to drag my stuff down to the garage.

I cried the entire time, trying to stop, trying to be strong for Terry, but I failed, and he was strong for me. The drive was quiet, full of silent tears and sips of cold coffee, but we got there early.

We spent the early half-hour in each other's arms. Now that we were there, it felt real, it felt true, and I was paralysed with fear. Again, Terry was the strong one – until finally, they sent someone down, and it was time to go.

We hugged, I cried, I think he might have teared up a little, and then we kissed and said goodbye – and see you next week.

Then, I was led away, and the doors closed.

The lady was kind, carrying the things I could not and welcoming me here. I was warned, however, that there was a fire drill going on, so there would be an hour delay in my check-in. This was bad news, as I was already feeling absolutely terrible.

Or so I thought.

But I smiled and nodded and let her lead me into the kitchen/common room, to wait for it to be over.

That's where I met J. He greeted me and was friendly, asked if I wanted food, and asked how long I was going to stay. I was shaking the whole time – he was a tall white man, and they sometimes make me nervous – but he did nothing to send my alarm bells off – not even when he mentioned being in jail.

“What're you here for? Alcohol?” he asked me.

“No; pain and opiate control,” I confessed.

i made a small joke, then, and to my surprise, it made him guffaw.

“Well, Tara, I hope you like it here,” he concluded. “It's really good.”

“I can see that,” I agreed, and he left.

I waited a bit more, bored and feeling gross, until I was found again and taken to the doctor.

I was weighed, measured, and photographed, given a keycard necklace to wear at all times, and then they took both blood and urine. I then spoke to the doctor – Dr F – about what I hoped to achieve while there.

“I'm not expecting a miracle,” I muttered, starting to feel sick. “I just want to be a housewife. I want to go see my niece and not want to die from pain after.” I met his gaze. “I want to see her at least graduate elementary school.”

He took me seriously, and no doctor had ever done that, before. He named my condition “suffering”, and for the first time, I realised that this was true. And I cried, shocked that someone I just met had more compassion than people I’d known for decades.

“Most of all,” I choked out, “I just want to make my husband happy.”

“I’m sure he wants the same for you,” Dr F agreed, “and part of that is to ease your suffering.”

Needless to say, it was a very emotional interview.

I was then led to my room – and surrendered my suitcase. I came prepared for it, aware that a lot would be taken away, and I was right. They took three freezer bags of stuff I was not allowed to be alone with – including my perfume! – but whatever.

After, I spent a brief moment of quiet putting things away, feeling the bad feelings increase but still having hope that I would spend the worst moments distracted at the desk they offered or curled up at the chair with books.

I was so wrong.

The rest of the day was a blur, because it got repetitive. I had to repeat everything at least four times, and by the end, I was exhausted.

But by then, I was ready to start.

At first, it was okay. I felt gross, but assured that the meds now inside me would ease that gross, and I would feel better in mere hours.

Instead, it initiated a five-day long stupor of pain, vomit, sobbing, and repeat, followed by exhausted or sedated sleeps and sobbing into pillow cases, my body too weak to even sit at the chair to do anything. I had to drag myself with my walker simply to see. Everything hurt.

But I kept breathing.

It was hard to do just that.

Withdrawal makes you think you are dying. It robs your muscles of blood, of air, and it makes your stomach curdle and turn on itself. It makes food taste like ash, pieces no bigger than pencil erasers creating constant choking hazards, and it makes your dreams turn to nightmares of that so-certain impending death.

Every night, I sobbed myself to sleep. Every morning, my body woke me with trembled and heaves and cold sweats and crying, crying, crying…

I fasted. I needed phosphates. I slept through all the activities I’d hoped to go to.

My only defence was sleep or tears. I tried to watch shows or answer emails or even talk on Discord, but nothing came out. Nothing could come out.

Because while everything felt horrible and awful physically, mentally I was… fine. I did have bad dreams, but they vanished the second I awoke bathed in sweat to heave. I didn't hallucinate. I didn't have flashbacks. I didn't even faint.

I was just very sick and ill, and reluctant to share it with anyone, even the people I knew I could trust.

Until my fifth day, I was trapped in this endless cycle of illness. Nothing mattered. Nothing existed. I realised way too late that one of the other chicks stuck with me was flirting with me, crying too hard to realise it (probably a good thing). All I could do was push myself with my walker from room to nursing station, crying, then back, again.

The night of the fourth day was the first time I wondered if I should try to shower. I even asked, and even though I was advised not to, I wanted to, anyway. But when I tried, I didn't make it. My soap did – I threw it across the room – but I did not.

The fifth day, however, was one that woke with heaving, as usual – but there was a finite quality to it, a strange kind of calm that followed it, and I wondered. The whole day, I watched myself, and I found myself sitting at that desk, writing one of the prompts in a prompt book I wrote. Then I laid back down and fell asleep.

The new meds had finally begun to work.

Because when I woke next, I was able to eat a little. And then after, I managed a sit-down shower. I cried the entire time, and after, so proud of myself, and I felt like a human, again. It was the first time I wanted to pick up my phone, but sadly, when I tried to speak, I again choked up and hid away.

Days six and seven were much the same: I awoke sick, was given meds, and when I was calm, I snacked on vegetable cheese crackers that I brought with me, finally able to stomach small amounts of solid – if very masticated – food. I spent the days watching Netflix or reading a book my mom bought for me – or sleeping.

Every day, I saw Dr F, who was dismayed by my lack of improvement until day six. When he saw me then, he was surprised by the change, and realised that maybe there is more to my suffering than wanting drugs. He even asked me how it felt.

“It doesn't make me high – I know what that feels like – but it makes me feel better,” I replied.

“Then it's working as it should,” he revealed.

And of course, I started to cry, and I was given my release date. I sobbed all the way to my room.

The last day – day seven – I was well enough to shower in the morning (though I did have to lie down for a while after, exhausted), as well as attempt to eat the food (fail). I then spent the day between packing up, going on a grounds walk and pet therapy (more on those in a second), and I even managed to listen to a small singing group (whose song made me cry and I had to run away).

First, the grounds walk. I missed all of the other ones, despite promising my mother that no matter what, I would get outside. But the one day I was up to it, it was raining. I was the only one who went, so it was a short jaunt, but so worth it to me. The air was cold and fresh, and the rain was like kissed on my hot, feverish face. I cried yet again, adding to it in my own way, and collected leaves, because I’m a witch.

Then, the pet therapy. I waited all week for this, and it was worth it. A woman came in with a rescued fawn greyhound, and I melted for her. She had past scars, but was so well-behaved and loving that you'd never know she was abused for sport. But near the end, I got too emotional, missing Nim, and I again ran away. I spent the rest of the night sneaking snacks around the entire place, because I didn't want to take them home.

The last morning finally arrived, and for a while, I didn't really believe it. I expected them to tell me I needed to stay longer. I distracted myself with an early shower; they said be out by 8 am, so I showered at 6 and was done by 7. This time, I laughed and cried.

After it was confirmed that I was going home, it again becomes a blur. They did repeat blood-work, sent my new prescription to my pharmacy (or tried to, but because the place is basically run by defective robots, there were issues), and was sent back downstairs.

Then… Terry was there. Holding me. Squeezing me. And crying, almost as hard as me.

He'd missed me. He said he did, hated being alone, but until then, I never believed it.

It changed something in me. It made me start to calm down about us, about how strong we are, together. I feel… well, it's hard to explain. But in any case, it's amazing.

We drove home, I posted some tweets, and I ate real food for the first time in 8 days – a poutine. We fought the pharmacy and won, then we just… hung out. Talked about it. Held each other into the night.

And in the morning, when Terry laid across my legs as usual, I knew my heart was home, and I wept. I knew I was safe, I was not alone. I knew I had to make hard decisions, now, things I never knew I had to do, but once I did, I was freer.

Once I stood on my balcony, the wind in my hair and the chill up my robes, I knew: my new life has finally begun.

I fought with all I could.

And for the first time, when I needed to the most, I won.

I won.

#health #iso #MWS #MWSU #omoni & caster

[thecitysorrowbuilt]

Two Little Kings

“Okay, let’s boogie.” Fumblingly Stuart tried to shove his pistol back into his coat pocket but at every attempt something seemed to catch, either metal or fabric. Frustrated he jammed it into the back of his belt and took off running. Winston was already throwing open the car door when he arrived and in one fluid movement the two slid into the vehicle, leaned their seats way back and shot off. An array of Spanish curses assailed them as squealing tires propelled them down to the next level of the parking deck, followed fast by bullets, pinging off the plated doors. “I think most of that will buff out.” “Good thought, too bad I left my Ding King at my ex-wife’s place.” “Man, you should’ve had a better lawyer.” “Says the man who would take a plea deal for life as long as it keeps him out of gen pop.” “I’ve seen Sons of Anarchy and I know what they do to guys like me in there. In this occupation good looks are a major hazard.” The round mirror marking the blind corner of the parking deck filled up quick as their sedan approached it, Winston cooling turning the wheel by the bottom while the other hand wrangled with the radio. Stuart leaned up slightly from where he was lying down against his seat, turning around to fire what could only be generously and vaguely referred to as suppressive fire out the back window. “We just had to come to the top of the deck, huh.” “It was all part of the plan, look at this, we have the whole way down to lose them. This is nothing but faith in your abilities.” “If they have time to radio in that we’re coming down hot you’d better have faith in Him instead.” Stuart pursed his lips and actually turned his head to aim the next few shots before opening the glove box and rummaging around. “I already ate all the twizzlers.” “Yeah yeah but what about the armor-piercing rounds, did we bring them?” “Not in the glovebox, console.” “Riight. Okay good.” Dropping the magazine of hollow points in the floorboard, Stuart reloaded to a more suitable ammunition. Winston shot him a side long glance and a quick ‘Yikes’ from under his mustache and sunglasses before leaning further over the steering wheel and slowing down. Pulling the barrel over the top of the by now thoroughly distressed headrest, Stuart opened up on their pursuers. Bullets probably once destined for revolutionary purposes found themselves put to far better use as they gored the front end of the Lincoln past the point of recognition. Flames appeared in ways and places which if this had been an action film, moviegoers would say looked ���unrealistic’. For his part Winston just gunned it. All the ponies in the hood kicked as one and the two ne’er-do-wells lunged away from their assailants. “I wish I’d said something witty, like ‘Do you want to see a magic trick’ or something.” “That’s witty, ‘do you want to see a magic trick’? You sound like a pedophile.” “Okay smart guy, what would you say, probably some fucking weeb-trash. Omayo-wamo-desu” “Yeah okay, now that’s pretty good. No of course not I’d say like, pee pee poo poo and their last thoughts would be ‘Wow’.” “Imagine that being the last thing you see and hear. Live by the sword, die by the, uh, sword?” Rounding the corner of the second to last floor as fast as they could, a much unwanted sound reached their ears from below. Something heavy was coming up the deck, and fast. “Maybe it’s just a uh, a big hemi truck or something.” “Somehow I doubt that. I think it’s time for me to try something different.” As the roaring got louder, both the ol’ Pram and the boy’s new adversary came face to face for just a second before Winston shifted into action. A big SUV loaded to the teeth with wild-eyed Cubans approached, but before they could open fire, Winston swung the wheel hard to the side, turning the car over onto the two driver’s side wheels, on a direct collision course with the concrete railing. As soon as the belly of the car reached the side of the deck, another heave of the wheel sent them rolling over the wall and down the other side onto the opposite side wheels outside. Struggling to pull away from the wall, Winston fought with it just for a second before smoothly landing outside the deck, cat-like. “See, now that was a magic trick.” “No fire no magic trick that’s the rules, sorry bro.” From inside the SUV could be heard spinning around like a caged lion, clearly intent on escaping to continue pursuit. “We gotta shake them, let’s try some Assassin’s Creed shit.” “Okay yeah, and I’ve got the perfect idea.” Backing out of the parking lot quickly onto the road, Winston made a beeline for a procession of cars already heading somewhere, and wedged himself in with them. “As long as we act natural, I don’t think anyone will notice how shot up we are.” “Ahhh, I think they probably will.” Gesturing lazily with the barrel of his gun, Stuart pointed towards the black SUV which had managed to extricate itself from the parking deck and was now trailing the procession. “Okay, well depending on what this is they might play it cool and not-“ Winston was interrupted by the sudden impact of them being bumped from behind and like dominos bumping the car in front of them. “Aw fuck it.” The two unbuckled and jumped from the car, briefcase in hand, and ran out into the crowd which was already forming from all the people leaving their cars. “What’s going on, there’s so many people.” “Maybe like, the mayor died or something. Or a rich guy.” “Wouldn’t we have heard about that?” “I don’t watch the news, do you?” “Well, no, but usually-“ Gunshots erupted from the rear of the procession and chaos ruled as everyone from both the front and the back began to converse on the middle. Somehow the criminal elements chasing our heroes had managed to call in a second SUV which had now pulled itself in front of the cars near the front of the procession. Whoever these people driving in a line were, they emerged en masse, dressed like G-men and armed, and began firing back. “We’ve created a war,” Stuart began, only to turn and find his friend being pulled away by a group of the suited processioners. “Sir, we’ve got to get you out of here!” “No, wait-“ “Oh fuck me. This is not good.” Stuart turned to chase after the mob but more gunshots caused him to duck behind a convenient vehicle. Looking around and trying in vain to get his bearings, he finally found Winston, standing amongst a cluster of slain G-men, being grabbed by the Cubans. Wishing that he had had the presence of mind to bring more guns, he nevertheless ran towards the danger, firing at the mafiosos who replied in kind. For his part Winston seemed in a daze, and to have undertaken a costume change at some point, seeing as he was now wearing some kind of white tux or something. “What the-“ Taking cover again, Stuart looked around and got the full picture for the first time. One Winston was being dragged away by Cubans while another Winston was being stuffed into an armored car by the G-men. Somehow he had multiplied. “What a weird time for his super-powers to emerge. But I mean, kudos to him I guess. Gotta admit I’m a bit jealous.” Divided on which personage to pursue, Stuart’s decision was made for him when a stray bullet caught his right shoulder, knocking him bodily to the ground. Pulling himself up on his left arm, he cradled his gun and finally managed to shove it into his pocket. “Just goes to show.” Pushing himself back to his feet, he lurched away from the ongoing firefight and into the grassy ditches nearby to the road. Lying there in the mud and blood he looked back as both Winston’s were pushed into their captor’s vehicles and spirited away. His mind clouded by pain, Stuart hovered on the brink of consciousness. Tossing his gun away with a murmur of ‘goodbye old friend’ he passed out in the gutter, praying that a passerby might find him before an alligator. ------- Stuart woke up in a hospital bed. He blinked hard and looked around for his gun. Remembering the events of his last experience with being awake, he sighed deeply and tried to find the television remote instead. While his right arm was partially wrapped, his left arm was now handcuffed to the gurney. Well this is an excellent turn of events. “NURSE. NUUUUURSEEEEE!” A young woman came in running and Stuart shot her what he hoped was a winning grin. “Would you mind explaining why I’m cuffed to the bed?” “Well all the people that came in were either with that foreign government or they were gangbangers, so if the Prince’s people didn’t claim you, you got cuffed.” “Wait, what government?” “The Prince of Aceldia was here yesterday. That’s what the big roadway incident was, some maniacs tried to abduct him. Luckily he got away safe.” “Why would the prince of anywhere come to Florida?” “Well that’s a completely different question.” “Okay, ma’am, look, I need to talk to a police officer urgently because I am completely innocent and would like to be uncuffed. I was a completely innocent bystander. Secondly, I would like you to turn on the TV to keep me entertained while I’m busy.” “Alright, I’ll flip it on and see what I can do about the other thing. They’re busy though processing everyone that got nabbed though so it may take a while.” “Fine fine, I’ll be patient, just let me watch the news while you ring them.” Stuart attempted another winning and slightly flirtatious grin and the nurse sucked in one cheek and rolled her eyes. She turned on the tv and put the remote in his left hand. Flipping through the channels Stuart found exactly what he was looking for. A picture of Winston, this time all dressed in royal regalia, and the headline, “Visiting Prince Escapes Abduction Attempt and Returns to Aceldia”.

[sabraeal]

Okay I really want one more, Obi teaching Shirayuki archery but also saying cheesy lines "you got my heart with that shot!" while cheering her on XDD

Sensitive Negotiations, Chapter 3 (Shirayuki’s POV #2)

Feet braced apart. A little? A lot? Somewhere in between should be safe.

String pulled back. To the cheek? To the ear? All the way? To where her hand starts shaking, that’s as much as she can do.

Breath in. Breath out. Breath in? Release?

Her fingers slip. Release.

The arrow wobbles wide, arcing with little grace to dint the ground not ten feet from the firing line. There’s not even enough force behind it to stick; instead it bounces off the dirt, skittering across the yard into a snowbank.

“Good shot, Lady Shirayuki!” Lady Madoka calls out, a hand brought up to cover her smile. The other ladies hide their titters too, although poorly.

She ducks her head, face flushing with shame. Of all the houses they’ve stopped at, Lord Ryouta’s has been her least favorite by far.

“My lord cousin!” Lady Hatsue calls up to the gallery. Shirayuki hazards a glance, and ah, yes, of course – Ryouta is standing with his male cousins, robed in the black of deep morning, watching the impromptu exhibition. “Did not our guest put on a good showing?”

He smiles, not unkindly, and lifts a hand to show he’s heard her. Ryouta himself is pleasant enough, though quiet; he’s a few scant years older than Izana, recently married – and just as recently widowed. Unlike some of the other lords they have met, he at least seems interested when she speak to him, if distracted. If she’s lucky, maybe she won’t have to lean on Obi’s post-dinner diplomacy here.

Her cheeks warm, thinking about it. His hands on her thighs, breath in her ear –

It would be best if that – that did not happen again. She’s sure of it.

“Come now, Lady Shirayuki,” Madoka cajoles, much to her ladies’ amusement. “Why not give our lord another show?”

They’ve been at this all morning, each of her shots only getting worse as their giggles and smirks get to her. The ladies have their own gear – finely tooled leather guards for chest and arms, proper gloves for shooting, bows hand-made and strung just for them. Ryouta’s lands are not so far from Sama, and his family prides themselves on being able to shoot from standing or horseback before they hit majority.

Shirayuki’s held a bow once before this, and at that, never loosed an arrow. She looks like a fool, and having Ryouta watch, having the lord she’s meant to impress see her act like she’s some clumsy adolescent, all limb –

Heat pricks at her eyes. How is he to take her seriously, after this?

“Ah, Miss!” From the gallery, Obi pushes his way forward, shoulders rubbing with Ryouta’s. It reminds her, almost too sharply, of Lyrias; of how he stood shoulder to shoulder with Makiri. “You’ve forgotten what I’ve taught you!”

She stares at him. He’s never taught her a single thing about the bow – now, now, Miss, he would say with a tight smile, I don’t think Master would approve – and they both know it.

“Here.” He hands the lord the drink in his hand – cider, she hopes, and not the hard kind – and hops over the rail, sauntering over to her with a swagger that makes her blood pressure spike. “Let me remind you.”

She has hardly a moment to object before he’s manhandling her, fitting just along her back and wrenching her shoulders square with his.

“You’re doing this all wrong,” he mutters, One foot guiding her legs apart, one just beneath each shoulder. “It’s like you’ve never watched me at all.”

“Well,” she snips a little sourly. “It’s not like I make a habit of it.”

He snorts, and well – she deserves that. He’s caught her and Yuzuri watching the yard often enough.

His hands settle on her hips, but he doesn’t yank at them like he has with everything else. Instead he hesitates, his breath growing shallow as she leans back into him, their thighs touching –

It’s vivid now, the feeling of his hands on her thighs. She remembers how he squeezed, kneading along tense muscles, heat flooding between her legs –

“Keep this square too,” he breathes. His fingers wrap around where hers rest on the bow, sorting her grip. “And you hold it like this. Now lift it up, straight line along your body. Don’t be afraid of the string.”

Easy for him to say, when he wears leather gauntlets as part of his everyday fashion. Her coat might absorb some of the impact, but she’s seen enough recruits to know what damage a bow can do even without an arrow.

“Now for your arrow.”

There’s no way to do this that isn’t awkward, that doesn’t send her bottom straight into his crotch – or, more accurately, the tops of his thighs, with the inches between them. She feels the muscles tense against her and its – distracting. Her breath pants out of her, mouth dry.

“No need to worry, Miss,” he murmurs into her hair, fingers looping around hers to nock the arrow, to hold her hand correctly over it. “You’ll hit this one, I swear.”

She doesn’t trust her voice, her face too flushed and her throat too tight, and so she just nods. It doesn’t help; his face is so close to hers, his nose runs down the length of the bone behind her ear and –

“Don’t let go.” His chest presses against her back, and she can feel how short his own breaths are. “Just hold on.”

He pulls back, her hand coming with his, and he grunts. “This isn’t weighted properly for you,” he says, not in that low, soothing murmur.

“It’s borrowed.” She tries not to think about how tense his body is behind hers. “They said it was the only one sized for a woman. Children use it to train.”

Obi lets out a laugh with none of his usual humor. “Oh, I’d love to see a kid pull this bow. Or any one of those ladies.”

She feels his grin against the back of her head, and she has no time to stop him before she says, too loud, “Now, Miss, just pretend it’s my heart. You’ll have no trouble hitting as easy a target as that.”

“Obi!” she hisses, but it’s too late, he’s made them release, and –

And it hits the target, just off center.

“Ah!” he cries, staggering back with a grin. “A hit! A palpable hit!”

“Don’t –” She slaps a hand to her face, groaning. “You’re making a scene –”

“Ah, my lady!” a man from the gallery calls out. “Pretend the next is Ryouta’s heart! He could use an occupation!”

“Ah.” She feels her cheeks flush. “I don’t –”

“If that’s where Lady Shirayuki would like to aim,” Ryouta replies evenly. A small smile twitches at the corner of his serious mouth.

She looks down the field, trying to catch from the ladies’ expressions what she should do, but –

But none of them are smiling, not anymore.

Shirayuki dresses for dinner at Svarbjorn as if she is going into battle.

Ryouta seats her beside him every night, much to the displeasure of his cousins. She’d thought at first it was in deference to her position as Izana’s emissary, but the night before last he’d leaned in, had asked her with a smile if her mother was a huldra for her to have hair so red and skin so fair.

It’s clear why so many cousins have come from the woodwork to comfort Lord Ryouta in his trying time; Countess Sverborn may yet be waiting for the spring thaw to go to her last resting place, but her lord husband considers her dead and buried.

And she has shown up just in time to be a distraction and a common enemy both.

Shirayuki travels with four chests of clothes; the wardrobe Izana has deemed necessary for a woman of her position. She rarely strays from the first – full of casual gowns that require minimal restrictive undergarments and allow a full range of movement. They are dull, muted colors, as the Northern lords prefer, and are trimmed simply, with fur or lace or restrained embroidery.

The second is her where she picks her dinner dresses, more formal pieces that are somewhat humble nonetheless. Finer fabrics, decoration definitely not meant for pacing snow-covered gardens or climbing dusty shelves, but still befitting a girl of the merchant class.

The third she’s opened only since arriving in Svarbjorn, when the first night a cousin mentioned her shabby dinnerware. She’d thought, at the time, that it had been a friendly warning, a hint that Lord Ryouta kept a more modern court than the other lords.

When she throws open the lid of of the fourth chest, it is with blood on her mind. She knows better now.

And if there is anything a poor, defenseless merchant girl knows how to do, it’s how to get red out of her ledger.

She knows she’s chosen right when Obi practically trips over his tongue, only managing a tight, “Miss,” before escorting her down to dinner.

“You are sublime, tonight,” Lord Ryouta tells her, pulling out the chair to his right. Obi, on her left, snorts.

She’s not worried about either of them. She stares right down the table, to where Lady Madoka and her ilk look as if their venison stew disagrees with them, and says, “Oh, thank you, Lord Ryouta. I just found this at the bottom of my trunks and thought it needed an airing.”

The sound of tinkling crystal disrupts Ryouta’s next thought.

“Hatsue!” he gasps, staring at the shatter glass. “Are you all right?”

“She’s fine,” Madoka simpers with a smile that does not reach her eyes. “…Just a shock, is all.”

“I could look at her, if she’s injured,” Shirayuki offers, all innocence.

“No.” Madoka glowers. “You’ve done quite enough today, Lady Shirayuki.”

“Careful, Miss,” Obi warns with a low chuckle, “I think you’re about to find yourself at the end of a very pointed joke.”

“Oh good,” she says evenly. “You know how I love to laugh.”

He grins, turning his head away. “You’re trouble, Miss.”

Obi is not wrong. The course has hardly finished when one of the footmen appear beside her with a glass of red wine.

“Compliments of Lady Hatsue,” he tells her. She glances worriedly at Obi.

“It could hardly be poisoned,” he says with a shrug. “Not that I think you should drink it.”

Shirayuki grimaces. “I won’t.”

“It’ll be an insult if you don’t,” he remind her. “Still not saying you should, though.”

Her mouth pulls flat. “I’m sure Hatsue will survive it.”

Her curiosity gets the better of her not minutes later.

A darting glance, and suddenly the stem is in her hand, she’s taken a sip –

And she feels that slight rush, the fuzzy feeling of alcohol starting to seep into her blood.

“Oh,” she murmurs, setting the glass down carefully. “That’s not…that’s not wine.”

She doesn’t even see the glass leave the table before he’s setting it down.

“No,” Obi says tightly, “and I can tell you it’s not served in a glass that large.”

She’s mid-conversation with Ryouta, trying to impress on him the safety of the hybrid, when she forgets what’s in her glass. Blindly, she reaches for it, bringing to to her lips –

It’s wine, well-watered. She blinks.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Obi lift his glass in salute.

“From Lady Madoka,” a footman tells her, when she’s finished her glass.

Obi takes one glance and downs the rest of his.

Shirayuki receives compliments of the same sort from Lady Saeko, Lady Asami, Lady Tokiyo, and Lady Misato before she catches the way Obi lists in his seat, the imprecise way he holds his knife. Or, more accurately, the way he is not holding his knife to cut beef flesh.

She says his name, and it takes nearly ten seconds for him to turn his head to her, eyes glassy.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers to Ryouta discreetly, and she urges Obi to his feet. “This rarely –”

He holds up a hand with a smile. “It’s all right, Lady Shirayuki,” he laughs, keeping his words pitched soft. “It happens to the best of us.”

She bites her lips and does not say, not Obi.

There is a part of her that expects him to right himself as they turn to corner, to turn to her with a smile and say, please, Miss, have a little more faith, but –

But as soon as they are safely down the corridors, away from the rowdiness of the dinner party, he slumps into her, nearly bowling her over.

“When did you gain so much weight?” she grouses, heaving him up the stairs, one arm wrapped around his waist.

“It’s muscle,” he slurs, pressing a scandalized hand to his chest. “I’m very svelte for a man my size – my height! My height.”

“I’m –” her foot catches as she mounts the landing, sending them twisting to the wall, her back banging painfully against ornate wainscotting – “sure.”

She forgets how much taller he is until moments like this, when he’s so close she can’t ignore the way her eyes only come up to his neck, and his mouth hovers wetly above her brow.

“Hmm,” he grunts, intrigued. His body leans into hers with purpose, their torsos aligned chest to hip.

“Obi –”

“You know, Miss,” he murmurs, breath curling far too close to her ear, the sweet odor of the wine washing over her. “If you wanted a scandalous tryst in the alcoves –”

“Don’t tease, Obi,” she huffs, putting her palms to his chest in heaving. She only succeeds in getting his hands under him, one planted just above each of her shoulders.

“Tease?” he rumbles, one corded thigh slotting between her own. She can’t help the flush that stains her cheeks, nor the way his eyes follow its spread as it works down to her decolletage. “You want me to hold you down with my thighs.”

She’s never – not quite like that – not how he means – “Obi!”

“Hmm?” His nose rubs against the top of her head, breathing her in. “I think this might be what you like. Someone being rough.”

“N-no! That’s not –” her chest heaves, and she does not dislike the way his eyes are riveted to it, how he looks like her body gives him ideas – “Obi!”

“Mm, you’re right.” He pulls back, gaze wandering up to her face. One hand lifts, tucking a loose slip of hair behind her ear. “Not rough. Maybe a little ruffled. Like they know you’re not glass.”

It’s the heat that coils between her legs that makes her bold, that makes her lift her gaze and say, “Maybe. If it’s the right person.”

Neither of them move, but oh, how she burns.

“Anyway!” she yelps, ducking out from under his arm. “Your room’s not far.”

It’s a small victory, getting him inside without either of them getting concussed. Whoever decided to put statuary in a dark hall will get a very stern note from her in the morning.

“Ah,” he sighs. “The bed.”

He pitches forward, flat as a plank, and it’s only by grabbing his sash that she keeps him upright.

“Obi,” she says, “you can’t go to sleep in your formal clothes.”

“Sure I can.” He stumbles. “Just watch.”

“You shouldn’t!” She watches him sway in front of her, and she sighs. “Here, I’ll – I’ll help you.”

It’s quick work to remove the cape and sash, but he is – distracting when she starts on the buttons of his tunic, humming appreciatively as her fingers part the first set of buttons.

“Behave,” she tells him, full of censure. Of at least, she tries, but it comes out breathier than she would like, and he merely grins, putting his hands on her waist to steady himself.

“I always behave, Miss.”

That, of course, is when she feels the cold air on her back, and realizes he’s unbuttoned nearly half the tiny seed pearls that have kept her dress clenched to her body. The low shoulders droop as she jerks away, decolletage gaping indecently as she tries to hold it together.

“Obi!”

“I was just helping, Miss,” he says, too-innocent, not enough gold in his gaze.

“Helping take off my dress?”

“Is that not what we’re doing?” She doesn’t know how he can get his voice to sound like – like that, all rich and deep and – and – “Helping each other?”

The noise she makes is…not negative. In its entirety.

“You help me.”She squeaks, his finger tracing down her spine. “I help you.”

He’s far too close when he says, “We help each other. In mutually beneficial ways.”

Her hands shake on his clasps. “You say that now,” she warns, “but you’re far too drunk to help me out of this corset.”

“Oh, Miss, I have very dexterous fingers.” She feels a tug on one of the laces. “And if I didn’t…I could just cut it off.”

Her corset is definitely a shade too tight. She can hardly get a breath in.

“Mm, see,” he purrs. “You like that too. I have a few guesses about other –”

“There!” she shouts, a little too loud for the room, backing away. “Done. Now you just can…take off your pants.”

His teeth glint white in the dark. “Mm, but what if I don’t have anything on underneath?”

“T-then keep them on!” The kitchen staff could cook breakfast on her breast, at at this rate. “Just – I’ll help you into bed.”

He makes a disappointed cluck, but climbs under the covers with a dexterity she envies. If only she had the same level of grace sober as he did thoroughly sauced, her dresses might stay neater.

On his back, he stares down at his undershirt, plucking at it with a pouty jut to his lip. “But Miss, I hate sleeping with my shirt on.”

She’s glad he can’t see how red she is in this light. “Then take it off!”

He doesn’t need anymore encouragement than that, whipping it to the floor. She lets out a long, long breath, averting her eyes. He’s gotten paler on their progress, but he’s still – still –

Nice to look at. Yes. That.

“Miss,” he says, so serious. “You should stay with me.”

“Obi –”

He bats the long fringe of his lashes. “What if I’m…sick?”

“You don’t get sick.” Obi honestly has far more luck that he deserves with his habits.

“But what if I do?” he whines, incorrigible. “Shouldn’t you be right here to take care of me.”

She sighs, straightening. “I’m going to be now.”

He makes an interested noise, sitting up a little on the pillows.

“In my own room!”

His disappointed groan follows her as she slips through their adjoining door, into the safety of her own room.

She’s grateful, ultimately, for Obi’s clever hands; she could have never gotten the dress off all by herself, and at this hour she’s loath to disturb a maid.

Still, but the time she’s in her nightgown, tucked snugly in the giant bed Ryouta has given her, Shirayuki’s fuming. She doesn’t – he doesn’t –

She doesn’t like being manhandled. That’s not – that’s not right at all.

Shirayuki rolls up to her side, trying to forget the way he felt against her, the way she shivered when he murmured in her ear, the way he’d looked at her as he’d asked her to come to bed –

Guilt starts to seep in.

He doesn’t get sick, she knows this, but – but she’s never seen him drink so much, and so quickly. It was for her, to save her reputation, to make sure she showed no weakness in front of the vultures Ryouta called cousins, and –

And she kicks back the covers. It’s not as if – they’ve shared before. There’s nothing different about this, no matter…no matter what was said between them.

Heat prickles in her core, and oh, how she wishes she could make herself believe it.

Obi is normally silent when he sleeps, just the even lull of his breath and occasional soft noises to let her know when he’s succumbed to the warmth between them on cold nights in Lyrias.

Tonight, he sleeps the sleep of the drunk. The walls practically rattle with his snores. It’s a miracle she didn’t hear him in her own room.

With a sigh, she crawls into the bed, one knee causing the mattress to dip, and then –

The snores stop. In the thin moonlight cutting through his windows, she makes out a sliver of gold, a flash of teeth.

“You came,” he sighs, in a voice she’s never heard him use. She’s never seen this look on him either, save – save –

When he lifted her, after Sereg. The hooded eyes, the soft mouth. Her heart flutters, feeling it on her again.

“Go to sleep,” she tells him, sliding beneath the covers.That’s all it takes. his eyes close, and –

And he starts up that awful racket.

“Ughhh,” she groans, rolling over. It takes pushing with both her hands and feet to get him on his belly, where at least the sound is muffled.

She huffs, turning her back on him. “Men.”

#shxdowofclarines #obiyuki #sensitive negotiations #my fic #Holiday Promptathon #ans #i really didn't think i'd get a chapter of this out until after january #BUT this prompt happened to fit with it nicely #SORRY IT DID NOT HAVE MORE FLIRTY ARCHERY #only UST charged archery #I HOPE IT SERVES

[salamadersaurus-rex]

Director Sanvers prompt: how does Lucy find out about James/Guardian? Does she know first, or do Maggie and Alex tell her?

Read on AO3

Some idiot tries to steal her purse. Her purse where shekeeps her phone, some tampons and a tazer. He’s on the floor writhing in painbefore he even knows what hit him (her fist, it’s her fist,) and Lucy snatchesher purse back from his hands and strides off down the street, heels clickingon the pavement and a gawping crowd of onlookers in her wake.

Out of the corner of her eye she catches a flash of blackand grey, and her knuckles protest when she curls her hand back into a fist.There’s a whizzing sound and Lucy ducks, years of dodging bullets in the desertpressing her back into the wall. Some kind of cord darts down from the rooftop,catches her would-be mugger round the ankles and hauls him up, leaves himhanging as a couple of cops round the corner.

Lucy doesn’t stick around to watch them arrest him, eyesdarting round her instead as she hurries back home, watching for the flash ofblack and grey. Just before she reaches the door she gets a text.

//

Maggie’s wrestling a cookery book from Alex’s hands whenLucy gets in.

“No way Danvers.”

“Maggie, I swear. It’s lasagne.”

“It’s a fire hazard,” Lucy quips, digging in the freezer foran ice pack.

Alex relinquishes the book to Maggie and comes over. “Whathappened?”

Maggie gently takes Lucy’s hand and turns it over, thebruises on her knuckles fresh and purple, shining in the light from thefreezer.  “Poor baby,” she murmurs,taking the ice pack and resting it on Lucy’s knuckles.

Lucy winces, kicking the freezer door shut. “You should seethe other guy.”

Maggie leaves the ice pack to Lucy, who leans back againstthe counter. Alex is watching her, arms folded. Lucy rolls her eyes. “I don’tneed either of you starting a man hunt.”

She turns and stands on her tiptoes to grab a wine glassfrom the back of the overhead cupboard. Maggie slides a bottle from the winerack only Lucy uses and uncorks it. “Thanks.” Lucy says. “I got mugged, orsomeone tried to mug me before I tookhim out.”

“That’s my girl,” Alex grins.

“Funny thing though,” Lucy says. “I saw someone up on theroof, and then the next second the guy was hoisted up by his ankles and leftfor the cops. Strange.” Lucy takes a sip of her wine to hide her smile.

Maggie and Alex share a look. Lucy pretends not to notice. “Whois he?”

“He calls himself Guardian,” Alex says.

“And you two are protecting his identity because he’s aclose personal friend?”

Maggie sighs. “Got it in one.”

“What is it with you two and vigilantes?”

“Kara isn’t a vigilante,” Alex points out.

“Yeah, but you might as well be,” Lucy jokes.

“I’m a black opsoperative,” Alex says indignantly. “I’m allowed to do that stuff.”

Lucy takes a sip of wine and looks at Maggie.

“Three days ago,” Maggie says, a smile on her face.

“What was three days ago?”

“The last time you went rogue babe,” Maggie laughs, strokingAlex’s arm.

Alex scowls. “That doesn’t count as vigilante justice.”

“That’s not what Brian said,” Maggie leans up and pecks Alexon the cheek. “We love you, rogue or not.”

Lucy finishes her wine, adjusts the ice pack on her knucklesand wanders out of the kitchen and into the living room. Maggie and Alexfollow, Alex with a face like thunder and Maggie grinning, throwing herselfdown onto the sofa next to Lucy.

“So who is Guardian?” Lucy asks as Alex turns on the TV andsettles at Lucy’s other side.

“Not telling,” Alex grumps.

“Do I know him?”

“We’re not playing Guess Who, Lucy.”

“She’ll find out eventually.” Maggie says. “Go on then, MajorLane. I’ll play.”

Lucy’s heart flutters at her playful grin. She almostrelents and shows her the text she got before, but there’d be no fun in that,and it’s cute, Maggie’s face when she thinks she’s got one up on her. Alexshifts at Lucy’s side, wrapping an arm absently round her shoulders. “Okay,fine. You know him.”

“Hmm. Does he have a handlebar moustache?”

“You know someone with a handlebar moustache? No, this isn’tthe eighteen hundreds.”

Lucy laughs, drags the ‘e’ out when she says “Does he… wearglasses?”

“Nope.”

“How about incredibly tight shirts?”

Maggie raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Hmm,” Lucy pretends to think. “Does Guardian like superheroes?”

“Lucy you know I’m a detective, right?”

“So you sussed out if Guardian takes photographs and worksat CatCo and is dating Alex’s little sister-“

“You little minx!” Maggie shouts, tackling Lucy. Alex’sbreath is knocked out of her as her girlfriends land on top of her, Lucy’swriggling body pinning her to the couch as Maggie tickles her ribs mercilessly.Lucy yells and laughs, and Alex picks her up so she can roll out fromunderneath her. She carries her, still squealing, away from Maggie who’syelling “You already knew!”

“Save me Alex!” Lucy begs as Maggie approaches.

“Tell me how you knew and I will,” Alex says.

Lucy wraps her arms tightly about Alex’s neck. “He textedme!”

Alex looks disappointed. “Really? You didn’t track him intoan alley and threaten him?”

“Did you?”

“No,” Alex says, putting Lucy down next to a slightly calmerMaggie. “I threatened Winn.”

Lucy holds out her hand to Maggie. “Truce?”

“Fine,” Maggie grumbles, but there’s no bite to it. “I wishhe’d texted us.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Lucy says, taking the icepack Alex retrieved and putting it back on her knuckles, “He knew you’d tellme.”

Maggie tries to duck but Lucy’s too quick, and she bopsMaggie’s nose. Alex grins and sticks her nose out so Lucy can do the same toher. “You two just can’t resist me.”

#supergirl #fic #director sanvers #alex danvers #lucy lane #maggie sawyer #thanks for the prompt!

[nomette]

“You can’t be surprised that the guy is a synth,” MacCready said, startled. “He has about as much emotion as a bag full of hammers.”

“Did you know?” Leigh said, totally flat. MacCready stared at him, unsure what to say. Leigh surely wasn’t this mad at him over Paladin Danse, was he? MacCready hadn’t done anything. He felt for his pistol, but he hadn’t brought a weapon to the ship. Leigh’s eyes flicked to his hand, tracking the movement.

“I’m not mad at you,” Leigh said. “Maxson…” He smiled, shiny and picture perfect and only slightly alarming. “Maxson ordered Danse executed, even though he didn’t do anything.”

“Sucks to be him,” MacCready said.

“But was he working for the Institute?” Leigh demanded. MacCready thought back. Aside from the camera, which could have been planted by anyone, he didn’t know. He’d just assumed, because most of the other camera carriers had been synths.

“I don’t know,” he said. “X and I never checked in with him or anything. The Knight-Sergeant was kidnapped and replaced a month ago, you could ask him.” Leigh got a mean look in his eye.

“Good to know,” he said. “Would have been better to know yesterday.”

“It slipped my mind,” MacCready said nervously. “I was so happy about, you know,” he said, and held up the hand with Leigh’s ring on it. It was too big, so he was currently wearing it on his thumb. Leigh’s face softened and a soppy smile split his face; MacCready would have made fun of him if he hadn’t been smiling back in exactly the same way. It was only a ring, but it felt like so much. Like a promise, like a sign that his life was finally back on track.

“It’s alright, darlin’,” Leigh said, still holding MacCready’s hand. “I didn’t think to ask you. You’re pretty distracting, yourself.” MacCready knew that the kiss was coming, but it didn’t stop him from going all soft when Leigh’s arm went around his waist. The man was a hazard. He knew was grinning stupidly when they came out of the kiss, but he couldn’t make himself stop. “Keep the replacement our little secret,” Leigh said, his voice low and pitched to make every word a caress. “I just need to grab a little intel, and then we can go home.”

“I don’t know, I was kind of enjoying being President of the Leigh fan club,” MacCready said, just to be contrary. “Think I can get them to buy me a new gun?”

“If you let anyone else handle your gun, I will be very displeased,” Leigh said, and shifted the hand that was one MacCready’s hip, his thumb tracing the line of MacCready’s hipbone over the layers of fabric. They grinned at each other. This, above all else, what was MacCready thought of as love; that feeling of being co-conspirators, of running a two man con against the world. Leigh bumped his forehead gently against MacCready’s before leaving. MacCready emerged from the corner feeling faintly dazed, a stupid grin plastered on his lips.

“The Sentinel kissed you,” one of the squires accused, pointing her finger.

“We’re engaged,” MacCready said, brandishing his ring. The squire shrieked like she’d shot her, prompting groans from the hungover soldiers.

“Lim!” she shrieked. “They’re engaged!”

It cost him a few autographs and a promise to bring Leigh down to see the squires, but he managed to extricate himself from the knot of excited children and escape to a dark, quiet corner. The process of cleaning the base was starting up, but MacCready hadn’t let anyone bully him into helping clean since leaving Little Lamplight, and he wasn’t about to break a six year streak. He popped open a bottle of clean water to get the taste of hangover out of his mouth and waited; soon enough the vertibirds would be up and running, and then he and Leigh would be able to leave.

Duncan was back at the house with Codsworth. MacCready hoped he was doing okay. He was contemplating places that might have more books for his son when someone tapped him on the shoulder. His back was to the wall. Something was above him. He rolled, reaching for his gun, and a force grabbed him and tossed him back into his corner.

“MacCready,” the thing in front of him purred. It was shaped like a woman, and wore a brotherhood of steel uniform and a smirk. The face was pale, the hair dark and cut short. Memory kicked at him. He’d seen this face before, and not in the Institute.

“A-ace,” he said slowly. The name jogged his memory. Ace had been a popular major in the Gunners until she’d vanished inexplicably. Recalled, MacCready thought. Or reclaimed? She smirked, pushing into MacCready’s space. MacCready didn’t bother going for his gun. If she was anything like X6, firing his dinky pistol into her stomach would only annoy her.

“You always had a good memory for names,” she said, tapping a finger against his forehead. “Do you know Lelo?”

“N-no,” MacCready said. “Any reason you’ve got me up against this wall? I’m taken, you know.” Ace did not step back.

“I know.” Her eyes were black, glittering; she peered at his face curiously, the way a cat might watch a bird struggling on the ground. Slowly, deliberately, she leaned forward. Her lips brushed his cheek. “Thank you for destroying the Institute,” she said.

“Yeah, no problem,” MacCready managed weakly. Ace’s face was smooth, betraying nothing. She reached forward and drew his pistol from its holster, then stepped back. MacCready watched tap the pistol against her palm, his heart thudding in his throat.

“I do wished you could have saved some of the other coursers, though,” she said, and closed her hand into a fist. The pistol shattered. MacCready’s pulse spiked wildly. Part of him thought he was going to die, right there, and part of him was numb with astonishment.

“Wish you could have saved my gun,” he said. Ace chuckled.  

“Fair enough. We were mostly assholes anyway.”

“X6 wasn’t that bad,” MacCready blurted out. Ace tilted her head to one side, watching him like a deathclaw might watch prey thrashing around on the ground.

“Huh!” she said. “You must be getting sentimental, kid. Tell Leigh I took care of the rest of the records, and to leave Lelo alone.” MacCready nodded nervously. A pause, and then, lightning fast— she ruffled his hair, laughed at his flinch, and pushed a weapon into his nerveless hands.  “Figure you'll need this more than me. Good luck!” She vanished into the corridor, gone like a ghost. Even her footsteps were silent. MacCready sagged against the wall, feeling like he’d run a marathon. It was a decent chunk of time before he could make himself take out the weapon. It looked like a standard issue laser pistol, but it was easily twice the weight. The outside was engraved with a series of tally marks, and a courser designation. A6. Ace.

He raised it experimentally and fired at a stack of boxes. There was no sound, only a flicker of light. The boxes disintegrated into a pile of ashes. MacCready put the pistol away very carefully. There was the distant sound of running footsteps, and Leigh came careening around the corner.

“We’ve got to go, there’s a—”

“Courser,” MacCready finished for him. “You just missed her.” Leigh’s face flickered down MacCready’s form, scanning for wounds. “Hey, hey, I’m fine.” MacCready pulled him into the alcove and explained, cuddled close, what had happened.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Leigh murmured, stroking MacCready’s face with one big palm. “I would hate to get out of the Institute and lose you now.”

“Hey, it’s only a courser. No problem for me,” MacCready said, grinning. Leigh was leaning in, close and warm. MacCready titled his head up and kissed him, let Leigh trap him between the wall and his body.

“Hey,” Leigh said when they broke apart. “Your place or mine?”

Despite Leigh’s flirting, the trip back was only a decoy; they touched down in Covenant, then started walking north. MacCready’s mood soured when he realized they were looking for Danse.

“Aw, come on, I thought we were going home?”

“After this,” Leigh promised. He snagged MacCready around the shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “If you want, I can meet you there. This won’t take long.”

“As if,” MacCready muttered. “I leave for twenty minutes and when I come back you’ll have five settlements that need your help.”

“Helping people is so rewarding,” Leigh said innocently. “That’s how I met my fiance, you know.”

“Yeah?” MacCready said, a grin splitting his face. Part of him didn’t really believe it had happened; Leigh was so much, and MacCready was just MacCready.

“Yeah,” Leigh said. His smile stole most of MacCready’s objections out of his mouth.

“Fine, fine. I’m just saying, we destroyed the Institute. If that doesn’t deserve a day off, what does?”

“Let’s take more than one,” Leigh suggested, and took MacCready’s hand. “You might need some time to recover.”  He wiggled his eyebrows at MacCready, who burst out laughing. Hand in hand, they advanced into the woods. Despite everything, it felt good to be back in the Commonwealth, back with Leigh, out of the weird, underworld of the Institute. This was where he belonged; standing at Leigh’s side, back out on the open road.

They made it to the bunker and disabled the security without much effort. Leigh’s mouth thinned when MacCready didn’t holster his pistol after the turrets went down, but he didn’t say anything. Leigh could be as sure as he wanted, but MacCready didn’t trust Danse, particularly not with Leigh. Leigh was so delicate right now, still injured, unable to pilot his power armor. If Danse attacked him... well, MacCready wouldn’t give him the chance.

They walked through the hushed station, past the usual assortment of skeletons. MacCready’s instincts were saying that this was a trap; the feeling doubled when they found the station abandoned except for a rickety elevator.

“Oh, of course there’s only one way down. I don’t like this, Leigh.”

“It’ll be fine, sweetheart,” Leigh said. MacCready ground his teeth.

“Don’t sweetheart me, Leigh. Please, at least get out your gun.”

“For you, darling? Anything.” He unclipped his shotgun and loaded a shell, and the two of them descended into the depth of the bunker.

Danse was an orange figure in the dusty gloom, the color of his flight suit muted by dust and shadow. He peered across the gap at Leigh, his eyes sunken, red-rimmed, his arms limp at his side. Despair perched ugly on his face.

“I’m not surprised Maxson sent you,” he said, his voice low and resigned. “He never liked to do the dirty work himself.” Leigh glaned at MacCready and tilted his head to one side, and MacCready understood that he was being asked to step aside, to give Danse and Leigh space to talk alone. It itched at him; anyone could fake a few tears.

“Yes?” he said. Leigh didn’t so much glance at him.

“Keep watch, please,” Leigh said. MacCready went. Resentment was dug in under his ribs; resentment that he’d had to walk this far on his aching feet, resentment that Leigh cared so obviously and intensely about Danse, about the Brotherhood of Steel, about the great aching wound of the Commonwealth. They’d been heroes once; wasn’t that enough? MacCready wanted to go home and be with his son, and let the rest of the world take care of itself for once. Danse could fight his own battles.

He was staring upwards when he heard the distant sound of a vertibird, and saw the dark shape rising over the trees. It had been a trap, but Danse hadn’t been the danger. He’d been the bait. MacCready sprinted through the bunker and jammed down the elevator button, pulse thudding in his throat.

Leigh and Danse didn’t glance up when MacCready came careening into the room. Leigh had one arm around Danse’s shoulders, his body curled as if he were trying to shield Danse from the world.

“Maxson’s here,” MacCready said. Danse’s shoulders slumped further. His eyes were red, as if he’d been crying. MacCready felt a stab of revulsion. Danse wasn’t his friend. He didn’t want to know these things about him.

“I’ll take care of this,” Leigh said to Danse.

“Don’t do anything to hurt Maxson,” Danse said. “I should be the example, not the exception.”

“What’s the purpose of rules, Danse? To protect people. What have you ever done, other than try to help? The problem with the other synths wasn’t that they were synths, it was that they were being controlled by the wrong people.”

“No one should have that kind of power,” Danse said.

“No one does,” Leigh said. “We destroyed the Institute. I destroyed the Institute. Trust me, Danse. I’ve seen evil, and you’re not it.” A long, hushed silence, MacCready’s ears straining for the sound of power armor on the floor above. He was on the verge of physically dragging Leigh back up when Danse finally spoke.

“Sir,” he said, and straightened. It was the first thing that he’d done that made him look like the Danse MacCready remembered. Jaw tight, muscles tense, a look of terrible pain on his face, Danse lifted the holotags from around his neck and handed them to Leigh. “Give these to Maxson, or he’ll just send someone else to hunt me down,” Danse said. Leigh took them and did the stupid Brotherhood of Steel salute, and Danse mirrored him.

“At ease,” Leigh said. The corner of Danse’s mouth lifted ever so slightly.

“Get the hell out of here, Leigh,” he said. “Maxson is waiting.”

Leigh and MacCready hurried to the elevator, leaving Danse with the rest of the broken machines. They rose slowly, MacCready straining for the sound of power armor, half-convinced that the Brotherhood would be waiting with miniguns when the elevator opened. Leigh took the moment to eat some mentats: grape, judging by the smell.

“Hoping fresh breath will keep Maxson from shooting us?” MacCready muttered. The door opened onto empty space.

“You never know,” Leigh said mildly. He swiped MacCready’s pistol from his hip holster and fired, reducing a skeleton to ashes and making MacCready jump.

“You couldn’t have warned me?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Leigh asked, grinning. He dropped the dog tags in the ashes and pushed them around with his foot, humming. “You’re easy to pickpocket for such a suspicious guy.”

“You’re suspiciously good at pickpocketing,” MacCready retorted. Leigh grinned and wiggled his fingers at him, then retrieved the dog tags, which were now warm and ashy. He tossed them lazily into the air, squared his shoulders, and went unsmilingly out to face Maxson.

Maxson’s fear had apparently gotten the best of him, since he’d brought a vertibird and a bunch of goons just to finish off the sad sack in the basement. Well: either that he’d brought them to finish Leigh off, in which case they were fucked. MacCready hung back in the doorway, wary of the miniguns, but Leigh strolled forward confidently. He paused about five feet from Maxson, raised the dogtags, then tossed them overhead to Maxson, who caught them.

“If you knew where he was, why’d you bother sending us?” MacCready muttered. Leigh didn’t react, but Maxson’s eyes narrowed.

“Good job, Sentinel. I assume the body is inside?”

“It’s an ash pile, I’m afraid,” Leigh said. He held up MacCready’s pistol, then shot lazily at a nearby piece of sheet metal, reducing it to ash. Maxson pursed his lips.

“You disagreed quite stringently with my orders on the Prydwen, Sentinel, and now you don’t have a body for me.”

“Do you think Danse would give up his dogtags?” Leigh asked.

“That thing wasn’t a person,” Maxson said.

“No, it wasn’t,” Leigh agreed. “They’re not programmed to be self-aware. Right up until the end, he insisted that he was a member of the Brotherhood, that there had been a mistake.”

“Was there?”

“I hope not, since I shot him.”

“It wasn’t even human, Sentinel. It was an undetonated bomb. Flesh is flesh. Machine is machine. The two were never meant to intertwine… by attempting to play God, the Institute had taken the sanctity of human life and corrupted it beyond measure.” The sanctity of human life, as if the Brotherhood didn’t take human lives every day. MacCready stared as Maxson began to rant about the evil of the Institute, and the perversion of the natural order, each word more unbearable than the last, until the compulsion to shoot him was almost unbearable. For this, Maxson was throwing away a dedicated soldier? If Danse had been a traitor or a spy, MacCready would have seen no problem in executing him, but to kill him for this nonsense? Danse believed, fervently, blindly, stupidly, in this idiot, and for his blind devotion Maxson wanted to reward him with a bullet.

Finally, the rant trailed off. Maxson stopped, as if waiting for applause, but MacCready and Leigh just stared at him. MacCready was imagining the sound Maxson would make if MacCready decked him when Leigh spoke.

“With all due respect, sir, I think you’ve lost sight of what the real problem is,” Leigh said. MacCready glared at his back. What the fuck was he doing? This was no time for a stand-off. Leigh was injured and out of his armor, while Maxson had an armed guard and a big-fuck off gatling laser that he was just crazy enough to use on someone who disagreed with him. Leigh continued, blind to MacCready’s silent protest. “They used to say the same thing about Chinese people, back before the war, sir. ‘The only good chink is a dead chink’, they would say. And then they dropped the bombs. Why not? The enemy wasn’t human.”

“Danse was not a human being, Sentinel,” Maxson said.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Leigh said. “But we did this to the world. Not synths. Humans. Focusing on synths does nothing to prevent humanity from destroying the world again.” Maxson didn’t reply, or go for his gun; he just stared at Leigh from across the space between them.

“Take a vacation, Sentinel,” Maxson said at last. “The Brotherhood appreciates your service.”

“Thank you, sir,” Leigh said. He turned his back and marched into the treeline. Maxson’s gaze shifted to MacCready, who felt himself pinned, caught in unexpected crossfire. He stuck his tongue out at Maxson and ran after Leigh in a panic. A few steps, and he caught up, grabbed Leigh by the shoulders and spun him around to face him.  

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded. “We almost got shot! You—” MacCready remembered that Maxson might still be listening. “You did the job anyway! Why pick a fight like that?”

“Because he’s wrong,” Leigh said rigidly.

“It’s only Danse,” MacCready said uncomprehendingly. Leigh slammed his fist into a tree hard enough to shake all the branches. His facial expression remained blank.

“I understand that you have never in your life given a shit about justice, or peace, or any kind of ideal whatsoever, but try, for the first time in your life, to have a little fucking sympathy.” There was something feral in Leigh’s voice, something trembling on the edge of violence. MacCready backed away from it, and Leigh, but Leigh was staring at him. Tracking him.

“Do you know what it’s like to be programmed?” Leigh demanded. “What it’s like to give your whole life to an organization, to give everything that you have, and be discarded anyway? No. You have no idea, because you’ve never given a shit for anyone other than yourself and your family. Small-scale. No ideals. Barely more than a raider.”

“I am not a raider!” MacCready snapped. How had this conversation became about him?

“No, of course not,” Leigh said contemptuously. “Raiders kill for fun. You do it for money. You’re a mercenary.” MacCready stared at him. He’d thought- Leigh had never expressed anything but admiration for MacCready’s skills, his ability to do anything to survive. He’d thought, stupidly, that the lack of outward judgement meant a lack of inward judgement. He’d thought that Leigh really loved him.

“I don’t do that anymore,” he said, recovering his voice. Leigh turned away; MacCready grabbed him by the shoulders, shoved him up against the closest tree. “No,” he snapped. “You fucking listen to me, Leigh. I deserted from the Gunners. I knew, I fucking knew when I did it, that I was probably going to die from it, that my son was probably going to die, but I fucking did it. I deserted, because I won’t do anything for money.” MacCready’s voice broke. He was teetering on the edge of tears. “How dare you,” he choked out. “How dare you fucking sit on your pile of caps in your nice house and tell me what I will and won’t do for money.”

“This isn’t about money!” Leigh said.

“You brought it up, not me! Calling me a raider— what the fuck do you know about raiders? What do you know about the Wasteland? All you do is talk about the past, China this and the US that. That has nothing to do with what’s happening now!”

“It has everything to do with what’s happening now!” Leigh snapped. “I’ve seen Maxson before. I know his type. I was there when ideology made the world go up in flames, and I’m not going to sit through it a second time.”

“So, what, you’re going to take over the Brotherhood now too? Is there anything in this whole damn wasteland that you don’t want under your control?” MacCready had meant the words as a taunt, a goad, but the moment they left his mouth he knew they were true. Leigh was planning to get rid of Maxson. That was what the confrontation had been- a last chance to see if Maxson could be prevailed on to listen at all, and he hadn’t. They stared at each other. Realization, slow and awful, was creeping up on MacCready, tightening like a vise around his ribs.

“You are,” MacCready said. His hands curled into fists. “You are planning to join the Brotherhood.”

“I was already in the Brotherhood,” Leigh said. “What made you think I was going to leave, now that they’re the most powerful faction in the Commonwealth?”

“Being the leader of the Brotherhood of Steel isn’t a part-time job!” MacCready snapped. “I know what you’re like, Leigh. You don’t want to be a member. You want to run the place. You going to turn around and kill them, when they won’t do what you want? Or will you get with the program and stay up there in that freakin’ blimp, looking down on the rest of us?”

“Come with me,” Leigh said. “We can enjoy the view together.” The joke fell flat.

“No,” MacCready said. “No! Forget about the Brotherhood of Squeal and come home. Diamond City, Sanctuary, wherever you want. As long as it’s not the Prydwen. I’m not joining the Brotherhood of Steel because you can’t get over mistakes you made years ago! It’s over. Get over it. Come home.”

Silence. MacCready’s heart was racing, his hands itching to throw a punch or to run, but this wasn’t the sort of thing he could remove with a bullet. Leigh’s ring was on his finger. He wasn’t giving it back. If it came down to it, he could pawn it, buy a few days of food for Duncan. He didn’t want to.

“I can’t,” Leigh said.

“Why not?” MacCready demanded. “Why not?” Leigh was looking at him— not coldly, but with a certain removal, as if MacCready were a target, or a mark, or as if he wasn’t there at all.

“I owe it to them,” he said at last. MacCready had been right; Leigh wasn’t with him at all. He was somewhere in the past, replaying whatever nameless deed haunted him. Let it go! MacCready wanted to scream, but it wouldn't do any good. “I know what war does, MacCready. The world changed, but war… war never changes. But this time… maybe I can stop it before it starts.”

“Trying to take responsibility for other people, Leigh? That never works.”

“Only taking responsibility for myself,” Leigh said. “I could run the Brotherhood, and you could run it with me.” He took a step forward. MacCready took a step back.

��Don’t,” MacCready said. It was almost a sob. “We just got out of the Institute, don’t do this again.”

“We can go home,” Leigh said. “We can take some time and think about it.”

“You can take some time to talk me around before doing whatever you want anyway,” MacCready said sharply.

“You gave me that soldier,” Leigh said. “I thought this was what you wanted?”

“Wanted,” MacCready said. A tear ran down his face. He hadn’t realized how close to the edge he was, how powerful the urge was to give into grief completely.  Leigh had gotten this idea in his head— and god, when had he ever listened to anyone— he wasn’t going to back out now.  Leigh was leaving him.

“You can marry the Brotherhood of Steel, or you can marry me,” MacCready said. It sank into the silence between them like a stone. He stared wretchedly up at Leigh, wanting desperately to take it back, but it was impossible. Impossible to join, impossible to contemplate a future without Leigh. But he could do it. He’d have to. Leigh’s mismatched eyes met his; MacCready stared at him, trying to memorize the scar on his forehead, the impossible symmetry of his face, his smile, his beauty.

“Really?” Leigh said. There was that damned smile. Leigh’s face relaxed into it, his real thoughts glossed over by a layer of beauty. MacCready wanted terribly to be convinced, but he didn’t think he could be.

“I’m not going to follow other people’s orders ever again,” MacCready said. “Not even yours.” He let Leigh advance, this time, stood there stiffly as Leigh kissed him on the forehead, and then Leigh was gone.  Back to the Prydwen.

The walk from the bunker to Diamond City was long and took MacCready past the stupid Chinese submarine that had started this mess. He fired a shot angrily into the water as he strode past; his disbelief and misery had crystallized into an incandescent fury. He felt ready to kill anything that got in his way. His feet took him over the bridge, past the spot where he and Leigh had had their first argument, and down into the city.

He almost wished that he’d never met Leigh, but even in his dim, fell mood, the thought rang false. Leigh was so much, so handsome, so strong, so good; stupidly, idiotically, foolishly good. So he’d killed some people; so what? MacCready could see it, could feel it in the haunted look Leigh got whenever he talked about the past. It wasn’t doing him any good; he needed to put it down, to let go of it, like MacCready had.

Barely better than a raider, Leigh had said. But MacCready was alive, wasn’t he? What mattered more than that? Whatever he’d done, he’d had to do it. Hadn’t he?

Raiders drew on him; it was almost a relief to toss the grenades, to lift his rifle and just shoot. It wasn’t hard. It was the thing he was the best at. Barely more than a raider, Leigh had said. He finished the fight, then rifled through the pockets of the dead body.

Raiders didn’t get married, did they? They didn’t take care of their kids. A voice whispered that MacCready hadn’t taken care of his kid, that he’d been on the edge of death when Leigh came along, that he would never have made it without Leigh’s power armor and Cait’s help.

No, he thought. I went by myself. I went down into that place with Cait, and I didn’t run from that glowing ghoul, though I could have. I don’t like doing this, don’t like scrabbling through filth and taking money off still-warm corpses. But it was a lie. He did like it- liked winning, liked the warm rush of victory, liked divvying up the loot and stocking up on ammo to kill again.

It didn’t matter if he liked it, he told himself. It was necessary. And there wasn’t anything wrong with winning. Leigh had thrown him into a tailspinl, and MacCready hadn’t even done anything wrong. Leigh was the one being unreasonable, insisting on sticking his neck out when he’d done damn well enough. There was no fixing the world, no going back. Leigh needed to learn that.

MacCready entered Diamond City in a foul mood; he stomped through the gates and went straight for Piper’s house. Cait was on the couch; she looked startled to see him.

“MacCready!” she said, grinning, and MacCready remembered that they hadn’t talked since the Institute was destroyed.

“Cait,” he said. She grabbed him in a hug; MacCready resisted the urge to lash out, to drag himself free. It wasn’t Cait’s fault he was pissed.

“Cait, I’m not a raider, am I?” Cait gave him a look.

“The hell kind of question is that?”

“Just answer it,” MacCready barked. Cait gave him a disgusted look.

“Well, do you like to dress up in other people’s blood?”

“No.”

“Do you raid settlements? Do you like to put people in cages? Do you like to fuck girls who can’t say no? You ever been so high you killed your friends?” MacCready remembered that Cait had lived with raiders for years at the Combat Zone, remembered that she hated them.

“No. Of course not.”

“Well, there you go, you daft idiot. What’s happened?”

“Leigh and I… Leigh’s joining the Brotherhood of Steel.”

“I thought he was already a member,” Cait said.

“Yes,” MacCready snapped, “but he wants to run it. Apparently he’s got some kind of problem with Maxson.”

“Sounds great,” Cait said.

“No,” MacCready said. He was close to shouting. “He wants me to join the Brotherhood!”

“What’s wrong with that? You joined the Institute, cozied up to that damn courser. Brotherhood at least knows what they’re after.”

“That wasn’t for real. This is real! He wants me to be an officer.”

“Oh no,” Cait mocked. “Looks like you’ll just have to get a bunch of people following your orders. How awful.” MacCready saw red. He stormed out of the house before he could do something stupid, like try to punch Cait. It was easy for her to be flippant; she wasn’t being asked to do anything! The Brotherhood was cold, military, serious. It was just like the Gunners. Leigh might be at the top, but there would be officers under him, people who expected him to shut-up and do what he was told.

Nick Valentine found him by the edge of the reservoir, angrily throwing rocks into the water.

“Hey, kid,” Nick said, and offered him a beer. MacCready took it, considered it, and then pitched it as far out into the lake as possible. It landed with an unsatisfying splash, and then was gone.

“Never liked that kind of beer anyway,” he said, chest heaving.

“Well, I won’t offer you another one then. What gives? Sheng is getting ready to call Diamond City security on you.”

“He can fuck off,” MacCready said. “This isn’t his pond anyway.”

“True, but it is his water purifier.” MacCready made an inarticulate sound of rage and kicked some gravel into the lake.

“Fucking— bullshit— Leigh— Brotherhood of Steel!” he said. “Fuck!”

“You don’t say,” Nick said.

“Buzz off, Valentine,” MacCready said.

“What’s going on, MacCready? You’re not usually this angry.”

“No shit? Leigh wants me to join the Brotherhood of Steel,” MacCready said sourly. “I had enough with the Gunners. Shit pay, or no pay, officers who think they’re better than you… Quincy.”

“Quincy?”

“Come on, Valentine. We all know I was there. I used to be a gunner sergeant. Had my own little unit; they mostly just covered my ass while I did all the sniping. Bunch of fuckers.” MacCready’s anger had faded; he kicked more gravel into the pond, but his heart wasn’t in it. “I’m not a big ooh, rah, rah, kind of guy. I just want Duncan and Leigh to be safe.” Leigh’s name provoked a flare of anger, but even that was muted. Exhaustion was filtering in. Valentine clapped one hand on MacCready’s shoulder. His voice was kind when he spoke.

“Why don’t you go home to your kid?” he asked. “Take some time to think things out. And don’t yell at Cait. She was worried about you, you know.”

“I know,” MacCready said gloomily. He couldn’t bring himself to apologize, or even talk to her, but he bought some drinks from Bobrov and left them at the Home Plate for her, along with a note apologizing.

The trek from Diamond City to Sanctuary was even longer, but there was a caravan, courtesy of Leigh’s ever-expanding network of settlements. No one recognized him out of his coat and hat; he was still wearing the borrowed Brotherhood fatigues. He arrived at Sanctuary late at night, exhausted and miserable, and stumbled into Leigh’s house.

Duncan wasn’t there. In a panic, MacCready ran through the house, looking for him, then out into the settlement. There was a light on in one of the houses; MacCready stumbled in wildly.

“Duncan—” he said, stuttering out the word. Preston and another two settlers were sitting around a coffee table— Duncan was asleep in a female settler’s lap.

“Your son’s been crying all day,” Preston said, glaring at him. “You just vanished without telling him anything.”

“A vertibird came for me in the middle of the night,” MacCready said, so relieved he couldn’t even be angry. Duncan stirred at the sound of MacCready’s voice.

“Dad?” He got up, rubbing his face, and toddled sleepily over to MacCready.

“Cans,” MacCready said, and scooped up his son. “Oh, thank god. You scared me.”

“Dad,” Duncan said, and started to cry. MacCready picked him, up, rocking him back and forth and hushing him. “I thought you left, again,” he said, sobbing. “You didn’t even say goo’bye.”

“Oh, no, Duncan,” MacCready said, hushing him. “I didn’t think I would be gone this long. I had to walk back from Diamond City, took me nearly all day.” Duncan didn’t hear him. He was clinging to MacCready’s neck, still crying. One last little misery in a day full of them.

“Thank you,” he mouthed to Preston, then set back down the road towards Leigh’s house, bouncing Duncan in his arms. Misery made his steps heavy. His legs ached. He sat down on Leigh’s couch, in Leigh’s house, and bounced Duncan in his lap until his son fell asleep. Outside, the wind shook the trees and threw debris against the windows; anyone outside tonight would have a hard time sleeping. MacCready could almost convince himself that Duncan would be happier in this house with Codsworth than outside with him. Safer, certainly. If not here, than with Piper or Preston or some farmer who wanted extra caps and didn’t mind children, somewhere safe and stable. Leigh would be willing to spring for the caps, and Duncan would grow up better than MacCready had. Would grow up knowing that in the whole world, out of everyone there was, not one person had cared enough to stay with him.

The old Little Lamplight sing-song sprang to mind: why did your parents leave you? to save some bread / they lost their heads/ because they’re dead. The rhyme went on and on. It had been a game to try and come up with the best reason your parents were gone, a way to talk about the thing nobody talked about.

No, MacCready thought. Never. Not for the Brotherhood of Steel, not for Leigh, not for anyone. If there was one thing that kept him from being a raider, it was Duncan, and he wasn’t giving him up.

He martialed his remaining energy and dragged the two of them up the stairs and into Leigh’s bed. The covers were warm, soft, nicer than anything MacCready had ever had or was likely to have, and they pressed down on his body like a tomb. Too exhausted to sleep, he stared up into the darkness, his leg twitching in spastic motions as his tired muscles unwound from the hours of walking. Thoughts crammed wildly into his head, flitting like bloodbugs. He needed a plan. He needed to think of somewhere to keep Duncan, someway to get food, someone who would be willing to help him.

He needed not to think about Leigh, but it was impossible; Leigh was the point his thoughts circled around, the center of his life, the center of everything. Whatever plot he had to win over the Brotherhood of Steel, it would work. MacCready was sure of it. The Brotherhood would come to love Leigh as much as MacCready did, if not as well, and not a single one of them would ever see him for what he really was, a liar and a stone-cold bastard, an idiot determined to win the impossible fight against human nature.

He flopped his hand over his eyes. His wedding ring thumped against his forehead. It knocked a kind of rage into him, a cold, sudden fury. How dare Leigh decide, unilaterally, what he and MacCready were going to do? How dare he leave him for that pile of bolts in the sky? Leigh was his, signed and delivered.

“Asshole,” MacCready said, half-startled by the sound of his own voice, by the sudden awareness that Leigh wasn’t leaving him, not while MacCready still had breath in his body to chase him. Leigh wanted to join the Brotherhood of Steel; it was about time he learned that not everyone was under his control. Had he forgotten who MacCready was?

“You’re messing with the best,” he said, staring sightlessly upwards, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind.

#maccready #macready/male!SS #fallout 4 #robert joseph maccready #war never changes #a nomette writes #shot through the head

[everybodygetawesome]

Top 10 Memorable Motorcycle Moments in Movies!

Do you know what’s awesome?  Movie Motorcycles.   So...motorcycles.  Why are motorcycles loved by the people who ride them?  Sure enough, I get why people who don’t ride them see the activity as an entirely unnecessary risk.  Motorcycles are dangerous and I can’t place my finger exactly on what the addiction of riding a motorcycle is.  Sometimes it’s uncomfortable and sometimes it’s downright painful.  I assume that everybody out on the road doesn’t see me, is drunk, on their phones, and might kill me at any given moment.  

But motorcycles maintain an inexorable pull on people who ride them.  Tractor beam.  Sucked me right in.  (Movie?  Anybody?) Motorcycles in movies, though, that’s much easier to understand...characters who ride motorcycles just look cooler.  By the way, I’m not out to look cool...cool-looking people have no helmets, bare sleeves, and a cigar.  Since I’m terrified of head injury, roadrash and lung cancer, I have on full leather gear and a full face helmet, and no cigar, and probably look like I’m trying *too* hard, when really I just want all of my skin to stay attached to my body.  

So, to be clear, the motorcycles and their riders listed below are absolutely NOT the way motorcycling should be done.  Only 2 of the Top 10 riders and two(ish) of the Best of the Rest listed wore a helmet and ATGATT (all the gear, all the time) throughout the movie.  So if you were thinking of learning to ride, DON’T EVER DO THIS STUFF.  I promise to go back to my responsible riding just as soon as I get done writing this.  

As per previous rules, no internet was allowed in coming up with the list, but I did need the internet to help with some of the details.  Now, you might be wondering how I came up with the list in the first place and, admittedly, this was incredibly subjective.  I tried to come up with movies wherein if somebody mentioned a movie, one of the first thing I thought of was a specific motorcycle.  The higher on the list, the more the motorcycle was associated with the movie. I will concede here, that there’s a very fine line between something that’s cool and something that’s stupid and cheesy.  But if you fall on the wrong side of that line, it might be memorable, but it absolutely doesn’t make the list. ”Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man” is what inspired this paragraph and, by the way, if you want to watch something unintentionally hilarious, I highly recommend this movie.  “Biker Boyz” too.  I have no real barometer as how something falls on one side of this line vs the other but you know it when you see it.

I will take a rather unusual stance here and concede that my list may not be as good as it could be.  Normally, I consider my opinion on pop culture to be beyond contestation (bonus points if somebody can get that obscure pop-culture reference), but I feel like I’m missing some big ones here. Well, whatever.  Let’s go grab some wind...

The Best of the Rest

Bond’s Chase - “Skyfall”

Wait, what?  Bond doesn’t make an appearance in the Top 10?  No, he actually doesn’t.  You’d think that since James can do everything and since Q cooks up sweet gadgets, there’d be a good/memorable motorcycle scene somewhere.   Not so much.  Most of the time it’s the villain henchmen riding and the few scenes that do involve James are somewhat forgettable.  There is the scene in Die Another Day I think, where James and the Chinese Special agent are handcuffed together and basically coital as they ride through the streets of Shanghai and shoot bad guys and the whole thing is too silly to take seriously.

So we’re left with “Skyfall” which I actually contend is one of the two best 007 movies ever.  The motorcycle scene is cool but it’s just sort of forgettable and wasn’t even close to the most famous ride in the movie...that title goes to the silver Aston Martin kept in storage.  Hell, James is more memorable riding into the casino on that boat.  In my humble opinion.  So a best of the rest appearance, yes.  But a Top 10 appearance?  My apologies, Mr. Bond.

The Batpod - “The Dark Knight” and “The Dark Knight Rises”

Yeah, yeah...it’s not a “real” motorcycle.  It’s a custom chopper.  Shut up and don’t judge my nerding out over comic book movies.   Like you don’t want one.  Batman, was, I supposed, wearing pretty protective riding gear though I don’t think it was dedicated riding gear.

Topper Harley’s Dream Lover - “Hot Shots”

If only this scene could have involved more foolishness.  The movie it’s self is a national treasure, but the motorcycle just didn’t figure into it as much as we all wished it could have.  It’s not the first motorcycle in a movie you think of, but it does make you giggle when you get there.   Iowa State Rugby has just disowned me for this omission.  It’s almost as unfortunate as taking a bazooka round at Little Bighorn.

Maybe we should start to get serious here...

Kiddo’s Stalking - “Kill Bill Vol. 1″

A great regret of my life may be not putting this in the Top 10.  I just didn’t quite associate the movie enough with the motorcycle and there’s another Tarentino movie that’s going to show up in the top 10.  While Beatrix Kiddo is in her motorcycling leather for much of the movie, the motorcycle it’s self, tragically, just isn’t a major fixture.

She does look cool though.  I feel like if there was some memorable line or something from the scene, if she would have fired off a witty retort to a squid (a squid is a squirrley kid who’s not wearing any protective gear and rides like a jackass), that would have made the scene a little more memorable.  To me anyways.  But tearing away to Tomoyasu Hotei’s “Battle Without Honor or Humanity” was an awfully good start.   I’m so on the fence here.  But another Tarantino Motorcycle Made the Top 10.  Speaking of that...

Top 10 Memorable Motorcycle Moments in Movies!

10.  Grace - “Pulp Fiction”

The Bike: Harley-Davidson Fat Bob Chopper

I will readily admit that I don’t think of motorcycles when I think about the movie “Pulp Fiction”.  This was such a small part of the movie, I could easily entertain objections that it’s on my list.  

The thing is though, for the last 20 years (can it really be 20 years?) whenever I see a chopper on the road, I always mutter under my breath, “It’s not a motorcycle, baby, it’s a chopper”. Did you know it isn’t a motorcycle, it’s a chopper?  I didn’t.  It occurred to me that I’d like to know things like that.  I’d like to casually but firmly correct somebody about something such as this which are obvious now but when I was 14, I had no idea.  Bruce Willis telling me it wasn’t a motorcycle placed an inkling in my head I should know these things.

It’s a Tarentino movie, so don’t watch it at work...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ue996GQMC8 

9.  Riggs Lays it Down - “Lethal Weapon - 3″

The Bike: 1984 Kawasaki KZ1000 Police

Riggs, of course, needs to wreck half of Los Angeles to catch somebody and finally gets on two wheels to do so in the third installment of the franchise.  In coming up with this one, Riggs’ very memorable shot coming through the smoke with the windscreen having been torn off by a semi (of course) is arguably the most memorable shot of the whole movie which is why it makes #9.  

I was told in my motorcycle safety course that there are very few times when it is acceptable or advisable to lay it down.  If you laid it down, essentially, you consciously decided to crash.  One of the very few times it IS acceptable to lay it down is when you are about to drive off the cliff.  Since sliding off a cliff is certain death, taking your chances trying to find something to grab on to as you slide towards your doom is the better option.  Otherwise, I am told, if you are headed towards a car, you will hit the car that pulled out in front of you at a higher rate of speed if you slide vs ride as the coefficient of friction is higher between the ground and your tires than it is between the ground and the rest of your motorcycle.  Also you stand a greater chance of being run over by the wheels if you are at ground level.   Heading towards a cliff, though, changes the situation slightly.  There is no car to run you over and even you hit the cliff at 5mph, you’ll die when you go over.  You’re better off trying to grab something as you slide towards the cliff and slow your speed.  

Also, If Jack Travis is also firing a fully automatic machine gun at you, you present a harder target to hit if you lay it down, so we can see, here, that Martin made an excellent choice, given several potential hazards...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IQ49ym9clB0

8.  Rooney Mara helps revive Cafe Racers - “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo”

The Bike:  Honda CL350

One of two entries on our list who rides with All the Gear, All the Time.  See, I really don’t know why people don’t want to wear proper motorcycling gear because Rooney Mara looks like a badass when she does it.  She even tries to get Daniel Craig in on ATGATT at the end of the movie but it doesn’t go well.  

Anywho.  Certainly the revival of the Cafe Racer style motorcycle wouldn’t be attributed to the movie, but it didn’t hurt.  (Cafe Racers are light, nimble motorcycles with dropped handlebars leading to a bent over riding stance...I guess these are what the cool, hipster kids are into now).  While there was no single moment involving the motorcycle, Rooney Mara’s dark, brooding character wouldn’t have been the same had she pulled up in a SmartCar.  Mara’s ride seems to be as aloof as she was throughout the movie.  A little tortured, too, as I can’t think of too many things less comfortable than taking a motorcycle with drop handlebars and an odd stance up through remote Sweden in the middle of winter.   But does she care?  Don’t be an idiot.  Of course she doesn’t care.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l23hFSfp0b4

7.  Tom Cruise’s Need for Speed - “Top Gun”

The Bike:  Kawasaki GPZ 900

Okay, so lets get this out of the way...it is rather silly to try and race a jet on a motorcycle as Tom Cruise appears to be doing.  Especially when he was fairly easily chased down by Kelly McGillis in her not-hotrod later in the movie, but if you’re going to sit there and tell me you didn’t secretly want to zoom away on a crotch rocket into the sunset to the sounds of Kenny Loggins’ “Highway to the Danger Zone”, I would easily call you a liar.

Go on then, take a trip down memory lane... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WTj-jJDkYkM

6.  Trinity and the Keymaster - “The Matrix Reloaded”

The Bike:  Ducati 996

So, as motorcycle chases go, you can’t really top this one.  When Trinity goes against traffic, you kind of almost cover your eyes.  The problem is, and the reason it’s only number 6 is because I made the mistake of watching the “making of” this scene and...it just takes away from the whole thing.  So don’t.  Just watch Trinity get her swerve on.  

It is fun that they flipped the script and put the dude on the back.  Of all the scenes in movies that made me want a sport bike, this was the one that topped my list.  At the end of the day, sport bikes just aren’t my thing, but it does make you want to stop whatever you’re doing and go buy a Ducati.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eF9AC2Ce2ow

5.  Steve McQueen’s Getaway - “The Great Escape”

The Bike:  Trumph T6

I was so happy at the start of the scene when Steve McQueen was dressed appropriately.  Okay, granted, it was a stolen SS uniform and that’s what the Germans were looking for, but at least he had a helmet on.  Steve’s attempt at being inconspicuous by ditching his gear was somewhat foiled when he jumped his stolen Triumph over a barbed wire fence which looks rather suspicious.  

Steve McQueen was well known for loving motorcycles, he had over a hundred in his personal collection and was a very capable rider himself.  Bet he wished he was wearing full leather at the end of that scene...

It’s certainly not as hair raising as Trinity’s ride above, but it’s arguably more iconic and, apparently, McQueen himself lobbied pretty hard to do the jump at the end but was under contract not to. And he is the King of Cool.  So there you go...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6zwW7iWinrk

4.  Marlon Brando’s Wild Ride - “The Wild One”

The Bike:  1950 Triumph Blackbird

The very first recognizable motorcycle movie had Marlon Brando, long before he was making people offers they couldn’t refuse, he was riding into town, hitting on otherwise innocent waitresses, and getting into good old-fashioned (emphasis on old-fashioned) fisticuffs in the street (the old-timey insults are kind of tremendous) and generally being a brooding jerk.   There’s motorcycle racing and fights around motorcycles and it’s obviously pretty dated.  But it was the first movie in which motorcycles were the central feature, and that commands respect.  My only complaint...arguably the best line in the movie was said in the wrong place.  While standing in a bar he was asked “Hey Johnny, what are you rebelling against?”   Instead of leaning against jukebox, the director should have had him answer while scowling over handlebars: “What do you got?”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zGn_od9owp8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iyq4HZZ4H50

3.  The Terminator 2 Dueling Scoots - “Terminator 2 - Judgement Day”

The Bikes - Harley-Davidson Fatboy FLSTF/Honda XR80 Dirtbike/Kawasaki KZ1000 Police Model

I rewatched “Terminator 2″ and that movie straight up, holds up.  The special effects don’t suck, even today and in 1990, they were rediculous.  While I will concede that motorcycles aren’t the first thing that people think of when they think of that movie, when you rewatch it, you remember how tremendous that scene was.  

What Mr. Brannon’s 6th Grade class was most fascinated with was Arnold’s one-handed re-cocking of his shotgun while on the back of that iconic ride and who didn’t pretend to do so while mounted on his trusted Huffy.  What kid didn’t pretend to outrun a T-1000 on his same trusted Huffy through Brookside Park in Ames, Iowa?   You didn’t?  I weep for your misspent youth.

It’s too bad they ran over the dirtbike.  It took a hit from a semi and stayed up. The thing is, though, when I was thinking about motorcycles in movies and coming up with this list, the first thing I remembered was the T-1000 on the back of the Kawasaki riding up a flight of stairs and then right the hell out of a window.  And I remember that horrifying scene where the T-1000 gets his motorcycle which is really only the line, “Say...that’s a nice bike.”   And you are left with only your imagination to devise what happened to the luckless motorcycle cop who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  In an incredible twist of irony, one of only two riders on this list wearing a helmet was a Terminator.  And fine work by the Kawasaki Police bikes, with two appearances on the Top 10.

Go ahead - waste some time at work:

http://www.getyarn.io/yarn-clip/c724bc3f-a0ce-4cf7-b060-d39a2b7beb49

Here’s Arnold getting his ride...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYOoWCv_PYE

And this is one hell of a scene:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EgphD_ZO_jI

2.  Prince’s Iconic Ride - “Purple Rain”

The Bike: Honda Hondamatic CM400a

Wait, what?  A Honda?  This wasn’t some badass custom Harley Road Glide in a royal shade of purple?  Not at all...have a look at the stock version:

See, you have to remember that Prince was only 5′4 or whatever.  You can’t have His Royalty struggling to hold up a 900lb touring monster.  Not if you want that iconic photograph above.  So you switch out the stock seat for a king queen seat, put a big faring on the front to make it look bigger than it is and give it a paint job nobody would ever forget.  

And nobody did.  If you say the words “Purple Rain” to anybody born after 1985 or so (and even people born after that), the first thing they’re likely to say back is Prince.  And the first visual image they have is that motorcycle on the album cover.  If we are talking about motorcycles in movies that nobody forgets, we’d be absolutely remiss if we didn’t put this one in the top 3.

The motorcycle scene, I’m afraid, has been pulled from YouTube due to copyright stuff...honestly, the scene quite didn’t hold up over time.  Maybe it’s just better to keep the regal ride the way you had it in your mind...

1.  The Captain America Chopper - “Easy Rider”

The Bike:  A custom chopper - no model

Yeah, don’t overlook the obvious here.  There is one king of movie motorcycles and it’s the Easy Rider Captain America Chop.  

This motorcycle almost became the most expensive ride in history - at one point nearly selling for $1.7 million.  The buyer backed out when questions about authenticity arose and the story of the “Easyrider” chops is a rather notorious one.  

The interwebs tell me that there were four original motorcycles used for the movie and that 3 of the original four were stolen before the movie even hit the silver screen.  One of the actors, Dan Haggarty (Grizzly Adams DID have a beard) ended up rebuilding the fourth, or at least he SAID he did.  He authenticated two and then changed his mind.  Peter Fonda (seen above) also authenticated one bike but then said later that Haggarty had duped him and changed his mind.  Eventually, the buyer who had offered almost 2 million dollars for it changed HIS mind and backed out over questions regarding the authenticity.

The story of the motorcycle building is also pretty interesting and the good folks at NPR dug up some more history if you’re interested:

http://www.npr.org/2014/10/11/354875096/behind-the-motorcycles-in-easy-rider-a-long-obscured-story This is *The* movie motorcycle.  So go ahead and appreciate it.  And don’t worry, the opening scene still holds up.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J1cDECkN2xg