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#and let’s all ignore my continued lack of knowledge on how bicep muscles work
adriancatrin · 2 years
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hug from behind hug from behind hug from behind hug from
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apiratewhopines · 2 years
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Thanks to @teamhook for the updated artwork. She’s the only person I know who will provide a gift for her own gift 💝
Thanks to @motherkatereloyshipper for helping me pick Killian’s hometown in this story and for being an all around lovely person
Midnight
Chapter 2 — The Stroke
Summary: In which our heroine does what she does best
Chapter 2 of 7 on AO3
“And my imagination will feed my hungry heart,
Leave me one thing before we part”
-A Kiss to Build a Dream On, Louis Armstrong
The spot he was referring to was an out-of-the-way pub serving the greasiest onion rings in existence and a lively clientele that didn’t notice it was one o’clock in the morning and all decent people were in bed. After days of getting by on breakfast bars and the memory of what a full meal tasted like, Emma thought she had died and gone to heaven.
Melancholy tunes droned softly in the background as she demolished enough food to feed an army. The pretty waitress earned her respect when the woman didn’t even blink at her handsome companion, and she liked to think she earned it back when she ordered three of their daily specials without a trace of shame.
Ignoring the way Killian watched with an expression close to awe as she stuffed her face, she happily gulped down a cup of coffee and observed, “Nice place. Come here often?”
“Not as much as I used to,” he murmured, taking a sip of his drink. “Tell me about this man you’re hunting. Is it personal?”
“Please, don’t make me lose my appetite. Surely we can come up with something else to talk about,” she groaned around a mouthful of beef and melted cheese. He had removed his leather jacket when they entered the pub, and his black short sleeve t-shirt stretched across his biceps in a manner entirely too distracting for comfort. Their high-backed booth made it feel as though they were on an island all by themselves, the dark wood and Tiffany lamps creating a cozy cocoon while still allowing a view of the nearly deserted dance floor.
“Ah, definitely personal then. Did he insult your honor? Break your heart? Have you ever even been in love?”
It stung how quickly he was able to see through her. Did she wear her heartache like a stamp on her forehead announcing to everyone she was an idiot? Ignoring the last question, she replied, “He hurt the only person who ever cared about me out of petty revenge. Neal Cassidy broke me. Now I’m going to return the favor.”
“Chills, darling.” His tone was teasing, but she thought she saw him shudder at her words. “I guess you don’t abide the notion of turning the other cheek.”
“Not when the first hit cost me my home, my possessions, and my peace of mind.”
“So he’s the reason you haven’t eaten in days and don’t have any luggage? Sounds like a lovely chap.”
“I don’t need your commentary or your sympathy, Captain. While I appreciate your help tonight, and I definitely owe you one for the meal, I think my past is closed for further discussion. Let’s talk about you instead. What’s your story?”
“I don’t have one, love. What you see is what you get.”
“What I see is someone dodging my question. Guess I’ll have to fill in the details myself then. Let’s see…thirty-something-year-old man who lives a life of boredom and pines for more while feeling stuck in his white picket fence world. You have a decent career in a field that pays well but decided to start a side hustle to meet new people and have something to do after eight in the evening.” Gesturing with her chin toward his forearm, she continued, “Currently nursing his own broken heart over the woman who loved and left him. The only thing I can’t figure out is what part of England you’re from.”
“Well, aren’t you the perceptive one,” he answered with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Although, I would argue it’s cheating since I have my emotional baggage inked on my skin for everyone to see while you carry yours around like an invisible tumor on your soul. As far as where I’m from, a man likes to maintain a little mystery.”
“Come on! You really aren’t going to tell me anything about yourself? After I guessed all that about you?”
With an unfathomable look, he smiled softly and said, “Fine, I’m from Cambridge. Now you know all my secrets. And allow me to call your attention to how well my devious plan worked. My first evening with my side hustle, as you call it, and I’m already having a late night rendezvous with a beautiful woman. One full of food and dancing.”
“There will be no dancing, Captain. But I wouldn’t be opposed to more food.”
“Not sure where you’ll put it, love, there’s no more room on the table. But I’m game if you are. Come on, one dance, and I’ll buy you a whole pie.”
She wanted pie but not as much as she wanted to feel his arms around her. She wanted it so badly her mind raced with images of skin on skin and restless hands exploring. Then her stomach twisted at the knowledge they would say goodbye soon. They probably should have already said it, truth be told. As she debated what harm could come from giving in just this once, he extended his hand and pulled her gently from the seat. Slowly, she felt a small section of her walls crumble and gave him a reluctant smile. “One dance.”
The soft music wasn’t loud enough to allow for an appropriate selection of dance style, but she didn’t mind when he gathered her close and swayed gently in time with his soft humming. She felt his breath stir the hair around her face and realized this was a mistake. Now that she knew how it felt, it would be harder to deny herself an encore. Especially knowing tonight was a one-time thing.
“Tell me something, Swan. Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“No, I don’t believe in love at all,” she answered. Her words conveyed her deeply held conviction that poets and Hollywood movie producers invented love to make people so miserable with the lack of it, they had to seek out fictionalized versions to find some measure of happiness. Her tone, however, sounded as though she was open to being convinced otherwise.
“That’s a shame. I think you’ll miss out on a lot of what life has to offer by being so close-minded and scared.”
“If I were scared, which I’m not, I have every reason to be. One of my foster moms told me a long time ago that love wouldn’t buy me a diamond ring, and it was as easy to be in a relationship with a rich man as a poor one. Easier really. I used to think she was a witch, but now I think she had a point.”
“Bloody hell, what exactly did that man do to you?”
She felt his direct gaze like a physical thing caressing her even as his eyes flickered with disappointment. “I told you. He broke me. And my bank account.”
“Money isn’t everything, love.”
“Excuse me if I ignore advice telling me to count my non-monetary blessings from the man who picked me up in his Beamer. It may not be everything but not having it leaves you with nothing.”
“A person who needs forty dollars a day and makes forty is richer than someone who has everything and needs more.”
“Now you’re just being silly,” she said as she slipped from his arms. “And when a rainy day comes? What then?”
“I recently took up being an Uber driver in my spare time, love. I imagine I’ll make more on rainy days.”
Laughing as she looked at his endearing face under the dim light, she shook her head. “About my pie…”
She knew what she was doing. She lingered over the large platter containing a sampling of every type of pie the surprisingly eclectic menu had to offer. She watched him with affection as he critiqued each in turn, always saving the bites with whipped cream for her. The best parts, in other words.
She was stalling.
The night hadn’t turned out as she expected. While her main goal was unfulfilled, she couldn’t make herself think of it as a loss when her sides hurt from laughing, and her troubled heart felt at peace. It was a pity it had to end. And not because she had nowhere to go, although that was certainly the case.
Slowly they made their way back to his car, neither one speaking as the noises of the summer night buzzed in the background. She’d said a lot of goodbyes in her lifetime, eagerly in most cases, but was strangely reluctant to add this one to the list. “Well, Captain, it’s been an expensive night for you. I think you better drop me off at the nearest bus station before I cost you any more.”
“You’re always trying to bring the conversation back around to money. Get in,” he ordered as he handed her into the car.
The air in the cabin of his luxury sedan felt heavy with expectation. Neither of them spoke nor hardly moved a muscle. She considered asking him to turn on the radio but didn’t want to miss out on the last few moments of hearing his even breathing next to her. Minutes passed, and it took her a while to notice they had left Storybrooke and were heading back toward Misthaven. “How much further to the bus station?”
“We passed it several miles back. You’re going to stay at my place.”
Under normal circumstances, this would be where she prepared to kick someone’s ass, but she knew deep down, as surprising as his announcement was, she had nothing to fear from him. Well, nothing except a repeat of the broken heart fiasco that was getting harder to remember with every second spent in his company. “Oh no, I’m not. What happened to no strings and no funny business?”
“Calm down, Swan. Our deal stands. I’m working the rest of the night so you’ll have the place to yourself. Trust me, the bed in my guest room is much more comfortable than a seat at the bus station.” Without taking his eyes off the road, he reached into one of the compartments in the console and pulled out a key. “There are some shirts in the dryer if you need something to wear. Help yourself to whatever you want. If you hang around until nine, I’ll even make breakfast. If you don’t, leave the key under the Welcome mat.”
“I think you better keep your key, Captain. There are two ways this could end, and neither one is pretty.” She gave him a sidelong glance and was mildly irked to see him grinning at her.
“Only two? Please enlighten me with your power of premonition.”
Heaving a sigh of frustration, she wished he would be logical about this whole thing. Sure they had attraction in spades; the very air around them seemed to crackle with electricity whenever their eyes met. But she knew it would fade, and the only thing left then would be goodbye. Better to skip the messy part and go straight to the end. “The first is I stay and have breakfast, and it turns into the day and then another night….”
“That doesn’t sound so bad, love. And the second?”
“I leave the key under the mat, and we never see each other again.”
“Hmm, option two is decidedly less appealing. I’ll take what’s behind Door Number One, please,” he joked.
“You think so until reality sets in and you realize you’ve taken in a stray with a score to settle and not a cent to her name. It won’t be long before the sight of me in your shirts makes you cringe, and you resent having to share the couch with a woman who has nothing to give.” She would know having been in a relationship with a person who was only capable of taking, and she vowed never to do that to someone else.
“I have half a mind to hunt down this Cassidy fellow myself after seeing the hit job he did on you. Listen, Swan, the key has no strings. Breakfast is just food. Whatever happens, happens. But if you think I’m going to drop you off at a deserted bus station with only the clothes on your back, fetching as they are, you’ve got the wrong idea about me in more ways than one.”
“I’m not yours to rescue, Captain.”
“You could be,” he whispered in a voice that made her skin tingle. He tossed her a half-hearted smile, eyes stormy with the knowledge she was going to turn him down. Again.
“The fact we both want me to be is warning enough it’s a bad idea. Come on, Killian, let’s call it a night now so we can remember it fondly in the years to come.”
His jaw clenched, and she was worried he was going to fight with her sensible argument. People didn’t meet people in the middle of the road and form attachments in one night. This wasn’t a fairy tale, and she was as far from a princess as a person could get.
Although she had to admit he made a rather fine prince.
Pulling off into a nearby gas station, he turned to her and said almost threateningly, “We’re not through discussing this.”
Then he stepped out and slammed the door as the sky opened up.
It was a dirty trick. She knew even as she did it, but it was for his own good. For whatever reason, he felt like he needed to protect her, and she needed to save him from himself. So she waited until he walked into the convenience store and made a run for it.
That’s not to say she didn’t have a brief moment of whimsy. She couldn’t stop herself from placing a kiss on the key he had casually tossed to her as if inviting her into his home and his life wasn’t a big deal. Then she carefully placed it on the dash, grabbing the newspaper from his backseat as an afterthought, and scurried away before she was caught.
Like a rat.
Maybe Neal was exactly the kind of man she deserved.
The rain beat down in a punishing way, her makeshift umbrella getting soggy and soft under the onslaught. She was so busy looking over her shoulder, convinced he was going to search for her and half hoping he was successful, that the sudden absence of the storm took her by surprise.
“Here, miss, it’s raining cats and dogs tonight,” the sturdy doorman of the fancy establishment she was passing said as he reached out to place his umbrella over her. The burgundy awning extended to cover most of the sidewalk and, despite the late hour, classical music was drifting from the open door. Limousines lined the street, spilling well-dressed patrons as they approached the swanky club.
Before she could maneuver out of the way, she was swept into a tide of rich fish, all glammed out and ready for the party to start or continue as the case may be. She overheard one woman, whose hat was so large she had to tilt her head to make it through the door, complain, “Regina’s parties are always so dull even nature weeps.”
Deciding a boring party indoors was better than a lonely night in the rain, Emma changed her stance and walked over the threshold with her head held high like she belonged there. She noticed the plaque on the wall as she entered read The Rabbit Hole and couldn’t help but think it was aptly named. With its marble floors and curving staircase, it was no wonder this wasn’t one of the stops on the Captain’s tour of town. This place was as high-end as they came.
There was a man collecting tickets at a small side table and, with only a minute to improvise, she was glad to see the stubs were roughly the size of the photo she was toting around, one of the few remaining possessions to her name. Without a moment of regret, she turned the photo face down, relieved the love note Neal had written on the back was faded and worn, so only his faint signature was legible. Luckily, the sheer volume of people entering the place meant the employee merely took it from her without looking to confirm it was what it appeared to be.
Following the crowd into a large ballroom off to the side, she saw a black grand piano played with a precise kind of violence by a wild-haired man in a tuxedo. The room was packed to the gills, the group she straggled in with taking the last seats on the far side of the room. The audience was appreciative but far from silent, conversations carrying on as if private concerts of this caliber were a normal everyday occurrence for them. Every time Emma thought she found a place to rest her sore feet and sorer heart, someone took it before she could get there and, in one near miss, she almost flattened a lap dog that warranted his own seat for the show.
Finally, after pushing her way through a narrow row, she found a place and asked the man in the next chair with a hint of desperation, “Is this seat taken?”
Shrugging a silent negative with brooding eyes that lit up when she neared, she tried to ignore the searching glance he gave her as she dropped into the chair and surreptitiously removed her shoes. She could tell by the hint of a smirk he noticed the movement, but at least he had the good grace not to comment on it.
He was handsome in a careworn kind of way. His tousled dark hair and thick stubble were eerily similar to the Captain’s look, and it made her shuffle in her seat with guilt. The man kept staring, his light-colored eyes settling somewhere between gray and green, keenly taking in her appearance and finding it amusing if the continued presence of his smirk was any indication.
As the final notes of the concerto echoed through the room, a burst of applause started. Now that she was fed and able to sit for a few moments, Emma realized she was exhausted. It was a bone-deep weariness far beyond fatigue, and she was fairly confident it could be traced back to a man with blue eyes and more charm than any one person should be allowed to have.
She wondered where Killian was now. If he had already given up or if he was wasting more time and losing out on more money combing the streets looking for his erstwhile damsel in distress. Emma knew what she did was for the best as surely as she knew she would be haunted by the feeling of his arms wrapped around her for a long time.
After a brief break, the musician approached the piano again. Before he could start hammering out another song with the intensity of a madman, a raven-haired woman stepped in front of the instrument. She called out in a commanding voice, “Pardon the interruption but does anyone recognize this man? It would seem there was a mix-up at the ticket counter and someone accidentally handed in a photograph instead of their invitation to this private event.”
Resisting the urge to sink deeper into her chair, she furtively looked around as the audience murmured amongst themselves regarding the unusual disruption. She could tell by the sardonic tone of the woman’s voice and the way she emphasized the word private she wasn’t convinced it was an innocent mistake. A scene would be made if the guilty party were found and couldn’t provide the appropriate documentation.
“Really? No one is going to come forward?” With an annoyed look at the assembly, she sulked, “Fine, I won’t waste any more of your time.”
She saw the woman hurry to the corner and carry on a quick conversation with a few men before the group disbursed and fanned out to cover the room. Feeling her luck was running out, she slipped her feet back into her shoes with barely a wince and slowly stood under the watchful gaze of her neighbor.
She needed to escape for the second time that night, but now she had hundreds of witnesses. Nonchalantly, she surveyed the room, trying to determine the best way. During this perusal, a man caught her eye, and she froze as he began to cut across the room to her side. So much for a stealthy getaway.
Her pursuer had an air of refined boredom with an edge of mischief. His graying hair was an attractive finish to a lean, well-dressed form. Cocking an eyebrow in disdain or maybe curiosity, he spoke quietly to not draw the notice of the surrounding crowd. “A word, madam.”
“With me?”
“Indeed.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Squaring her shoulders, she ignored the way her neighbor watched with rapt attention as she resolutely marched toward her fate.
@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz
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laur-rants · 4 years
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Transfiguration -- Ch 1: Awake
Fandom: Doom Rating: Mature, because violence against demons Pairing: Sam/Slayer [eventually] Summary: The Slayer has beaten the Icon of Sin, but the work is far from over. There is still much, MUCH to be done. Notes: Yeah. I said I’d write Doom fanfic. Why? Because it’s gay to travel between dimensions and realms just to meet back up with the demigod you helped create, and are determined to save humanity because of him. Anyway enjoy I don’t know what I’m even doing with this. *throws it into the void* AO3 Link Next Chapter
---------- "There is a common saying among the peoples of humanity; 'history is written by the victors.' It is one of their species's constants, a phrase found across the divides. Thus, it can be gleaned that regardless of realms, of region, that history is full of lies. Only those who lost their respective battles yet still managed to survive those considered to be the holders of the more accurate accounts of events. But how many survivors never tell the truth? How many live in fear, unable to share the knowledge they have born witness to?
"I refute being a fearful survivor. Though the 'victors' may say otherwise, I was advised to disappear by the Father himself, to run from my own species in order to save it. The words of prophecy have been set into motion; there are coming events even he cannot stop. I have seen the future, infallible now. The battle is lost, but not the war.
I am Samur. I am the holder of the witnessed truth. I will profess it to you as long as I am alive, and as long as I am able.
Father, if you are listening, please have mercy on my consciousness."
-- Book of the Maykr Samur, pt 1
When he wakes up, it is not in the bed he fell asleep in. He stares up at the bright white of a too-clean ceiling, hears the steady beep of machinery and -- voices, there were voices nearby. Too many for him to still be in the lonely fortress he calls home, a fact that is enough to clear any fog clouding his mind. In one swift movement he's sitting up, his body aching and protesting this sudden change in verticality but he ignores the pain entirely, legs swinging over the side of the bed in an effort to move.
One of the earlier voices shouts, clearer and sharper now-- definitely real and not like the fabrications he's used to. He ignores them for now nonetheless; more urgent is the machinery yelling at him from the bedside. He frowns, pulling off cords and sensors, highly disapproving of the medical gown he's found himself in. Damnit, where the fuck is my suit, he thinks, even as a doctor with black hair and green eyes behind jeweled glasses rushes over to put a hand on his chest and try and push him back down to a prone position.
"Ah, sorry, mister Slayer, sir," the doctor fumbles, trying and failing to even budge the man, the wall of muscle staying stubbornly in place. The aforementioned Slayer watches her take a step back, purse her lips, then push against him, a little more insistently. "I really need you to lay back down. You're already starting to bleed through your bandages."
He blinks and looks down through the smock; most if not all of his upper body was bandaged and wrapped. A particular wrapping on his left arm was indeed bleeding, the pain barely registering even as the splotch of red grows, spreading fast through the fabric. He lets out a small noncommittal noise (causing the doctor to jerk back suddenly in surprise) as he starts to unwrap the bandages himself. A group of nurses and medical staff immediately crowd into the room, urging the Slayer to please stop, to let them handle such work.
Sure enough, as the medical staff peel away the sticky fabric, a nasty gash is revealed, running from the top of his bicep to the underside of his arm all the way to the armpit. It had been sutured shut but as the Slayer had stood up it had easily popped open and was now bleeding freely. He looks to the rolls of soaked bandages, looks to his seeping arm, and appears... apologetic, of all things. The doctor sighs, gives the man known only as the Doom Slayer a quick look over, then fetches new bandages and sutures.
"You're probably wondering why you're here, and have a lot of questions." She looks over to him, expecting some sort of response-- but when he says nothing or doesn't refute her words, she clears her throat, pushing a lock of hair behind an ear. "Or perhaps not. Either way, we received a distress signal, and found your ship. You were in a rough state, possibly connected to the recent fight with the Icon of... Sin…"
She trails off as she sees the Slayer's face harden like stone. She coughs lightly a second time, the color rising to her cheeks. "Apologies. The original transmission was sent by Dr. Hayden himself, so ARC forces immediately responded -- but we did not expect to find you in an alien ship bleeding out on the floor, nor did we expect to see it powered by the Crucible, or to hear Hayden communicating from--" The doctor continued on, but the Slayer was far past the point of listening. Instead, his brow furrows, trying to recall what had happened post attack.
The fight itself had been a blur. The demons had fallen before his wrath and Dr. Samuel Hayden had been in his ear, egging him on until the end, when finally the Icon was there, the only obstacle still standing. It was only so long before the huge titan of Hell itself was falling to his might. He had stood tall, victorious, fueled by rage and adrenaline. And then Hayden had portaled him back... but from there, his memory begins to blur. How had he been injured, exactly? Surely he had at least made it back to his room before--
"Slayer? Sir?"
His eyes flick to the doctor and again his gaze is enough to make her flinch. His fist clenches before relaxing again. He sighs. He closes his eyes, steadying himself, before tilting his head at her in question.
Her throat clears. "You zoned out, my apologies. I wanted to let you know that your stitches are fixed and you're rebandaged. We recommend a few days bed rest -- you may not feel the pain and you will not die from the wounds but--" her eyebrows go up, shaking her head in mild disbelief, "--regardless of your perceived immortality... you are human and you need rest. Now. Do you have any questions?"
The Slayer scowls at her, and the longer she waits for an answer the deeper the scowl grows. Eventually he rolls his eyes, then gestures to his body. She seems to get the hint.
"Oh, your suit?" He nods. "It is in the other room, currently being cleaned. We can bring it in here if you'd like?" The Slayer nods, then crosses his arms --carefully, so the doctor didn't have to re-stitch his arm a third time. "I can also assure you that your ship is secure; Hayden made sure of that, and he is also currently working with ARC scientists to repair the parts of his body that were broken."
As the woman talked, her face grew more flushed, and she continued to avert her eyes. It was at this point that the Slayer realized her voice was familiar. He scrutinizes her, unblinking, head tilted, arms still crossed, before he finally clears his throat, prompting her to stop any rambling she was currently involved in. She squeaks and her cheeks go a bright red, but it is enough to stop her momentarily.
"Oh! Do you need water? Can you speak?"
Not to you, lady, is what he would've said, but instead he simply thinks it to himself while managing to shake his head in response to both. He sighs, sitting back. When even was the last time he was in a hospital? It was more than a lifetime ago, on a different Earth, in a different realm, with different doctors with similar agendas looking him over, wondering his secrets when he argued that he had none to give.
Now he had too many secrets and a vow of silence keeping him from spilling any of them. Not that he'd want to, anyway. And definitely not to this doctor in over her head.
"Of course, of course. Well, ah, if you need anything, my name is Dr. Elena Richardson. Feel free to call if anything, anything at all, is needed." She pats his arm awkwardly and it clicks in his memory; the audio logs. Good Lord, it was her. He gives her a brief nod and smile before looking away and she backs off, blessedly leaving him alone.
He sits there.
Then, less than a minute later, Slayer decides he's been sitting long enough.
Lost in thought, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, taking in the surroundings more fully. His room was isolated, a few monitors tracking not only his vitals, but a few other things, such as blood type, foreign bodies, a chart detailing his wounds. The room smells too clean, like when someone needs to disinfect every inch of every surface, but at least it wasn't tainted with the smell of blood and corruption. At least, not yet.
Or perhaps, not anymore.
Perhaps there was a reason for the burning scent of bleach in his nose, after all.
His fingers tap against the mattress, keeping time with an unheard beat, but then the tempo quickens to impatience. This was not going to be a place he wanted to stay, and certainly not for a few more days, let alone a few more hours. He looks around, glances at the ceiling and windows, checks his condition, and plans.
------
In a different room, in a different part of the complex, in a very different condition...the body of Dr. Samuel Hayden awakens.
Well. Perhaps awaken is not the right word. Waking up implies the lack of a consciousness, whereas Hayden has always been quite aware of his surroundings. For the past seven years or so he's been vaguely aware of scientists watching his body, was even roughly aware of the Doom Slayer as he pulled the remnants of his body away from ARC tech, tossing him unceremoniously through a portal onto the fortress ship the Slayer called home. Things became much clearer and sharper after connecting with the ship and drawing power from it; however, there was a difference between living within the confines of a ship's mainframe for the better part of a month, and being within a body that now fully functioned, with joints that bent when he willed them to. Having a robot chassis did make life complicated sometimes… but being able to return to functional legs years after they'd been ripped off, was definitely a bonus.
With the return of his fully-functioning cyborg body, the sleek black-and-white frame towering 3 feet over the next tallest person, he did feel conscious again for the first time in years-- so if that counted towards "awake", then the word was fitting for his current mental state after all.
"Thank you, Simon," Hayden says, refitting his right arm with his left, his blue LED blinking bright inside his skull. The bald doctor, overseeing the reattachment of the arm, just nods, fixing his glasses. "I think for now, that'll be all. Keep studying the ship while you can; if it can help rebuild me, it can help rebuild others."
His voice was deep, warbled, slightly digital; like it was still getting used to speaking from the chassis, and not from the ship's internal comm system. Nevertheless the scientist didn't seem to mind. He just responds with "of course, sir," and heads off in the direction of the door, passing many other scientists deep in their work as he does so. Hayden rubs a wrist and, --as a few ARC scientists flit around him, removing cables and wires full of man-made Argent-- he takes his first steps with his new pair of legs.
"We have much to do," Hayden states, with an air of authority and urgency. "With the Icon of Sin dead, we need to move towards eradicating any remaining demonic forces before those in space can return to Earth." He turns to the nearest scientist, a woman with bushy red hair and freckles. "How is our guest holding up?"
"Richardson has reported that he is awake and responsive, but we do not know how long he will tolerate being subject to more tests. He's already popped sutures simply by trying to get up."
Hayden tilts his head. "How long ago was this report?"
"An hour ago now." She checks her notes and then looks up at the towering cyborg. "Why?"
As if on cue, an alarm goes off. Hayden looks over, checking a nearby monitor: as suspected, it's from Medical Bay H. The redhead looks incredibly concerned, her eyes going wide.
"O-oh," she says, as a hulking form of muscle and sinew, dressed only in a medical gown, struts past a security camera. The subject looks around then walks up to a nearby doctor, tapping them on the shoulder before "borrowing" their key card lanyard. He uses it on a nearby door, tossing the lanyard back to doctor before entering the room and surveying the object of his desire: a powerful space-faring suit of alien make and design.
Hayden sighs. Of course. He turns away and walks towards the door.
"Sir?" Says the scientist manning the security camera. "Should we… can we… stop him?" There was a futility to his tone; everyone here had a right to be concerned. Even if the humans in ARC weren't corrupt or demonic, the collateral damage the Doom Slayer could cause was well-documented. The hole Mars now sported was evidence enough of what he was capable of.
"Invite him to see me in Complex Wing B, room 235. Don't try and stop him; I can guarantee you won't be able to." There's a dark chuckle there, a dry amusement, but Hayden shakes his head anyway. He continues his trajectory, leaving the room where had been reassembled, opening up a comm line with the Slayer directly.
"Long time no see, so to speak. How about we meet, face to face, one more time? There's much we need to discuss."
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dc-x-readers · 5 years
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Protect (Zatanna Zatara x Reader)
Request from @freedomfighterposts Request to have a Zatanna x fem reader where Zatanna wants to practise more of her physical abilities and seeks out reader who trains people like Jason Todd to help train her. Zatanna gets enamoured by readers sweaty, glistening abs and muscles and acts very submissive to reader but then Z uses magic to impress reader into getting a fancy date which reader isnt the most comfortable with where its zatannas turn to act dominant.
I am aware that Zatanna was a part of the original group for Young Justice, but I have decided to ignore that for the sake of this story. In this Imagine Zatanna joined Young Justice around the time Donna Troy did. I got a little carried away with this one. Sorry
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You lived your life by two rules: Keep moving, and don’t get killed. They seemed to be simple rules, but somehow they consumed your entire life.
You had been a nomad of sorts since you turned fifteen, moving from place to place just long enough so that you could survive. That all changed when you met a half feral Jason Todd. He was scared, strong and angry, just arising from the Lazurus pit, and you felt pity. So you taught him how to fight, and how to kill, his previous mentor had done a good job with defensive techniques, but Jason had been sorely lacking on the offensive.
When Jason announced he was going home, you went with him. Because why the hell not? You had already been in one place too long, and you liked Jason, he was like a little brother.
In Gotham, after the whole debacle with Jason and his father, Jason introduced you to the Batman. Jason said you were the best trainer out there, and Batman didn’t believe it.
Batman asked to spar with you, no weapons, just one on one. You knew Batman was strong, he was an inch or two taller than Jason, who towered over you, and he was seemingly built with all muscles. Besides that he had experience. But you agreed, because Jason wanted this, and you would do anything for the stupid boy.
You and Batman circled each other, your fists raised to fight. He attacked first, coming at you with a powerful swing. You planted yourself to look as if you were going to block the move, but at the last second circled away. Batman stumbled forward slightly, but he turned quickly with a kick to you gut. It knocked you back, but you countered with three rapid punches.
The fight went on for fifteen minutes, before Batman finally knocked you down. You were both sweaty and tired.
From beneath his cowl you saw Batman grin slightly, he had won, but you had put up one hell of a fight. Almost his equal in the match.
“If you want Y/N.” Batman said, “I have a job for you.”
And you did want, because it let you be close to your chosen brother. Batman appointed you the trainer of Young Justice, a group of teenage heroes. And your first lesson would be the following day.
You arrived in Mount Justice about a half hour early, Jason by your side. He was no longer a member of the little sidekick group, but he wanted to be here with you on your first day. You didn’t tell him you were grateful, but he knew.
He knew you weren’t the best with social interactions, a side effect of living on the road for so long, connections were hard for you to make. Jason being here was his way of supporting you.
The Young Justice members came into the room, most one time, a few moments late.
“To start I want to train one on one with each of you. Five minutes sparring with me, see where you are all at. And no use of powers, I want to see your innate ability.” You stated, and began to pull your shirt over your head, leaving you in a sports bra.
You shirt covered you face when you heard running footsteps, the a voice breathlessly saying, “Sorry that I’m…”
The girl trailed off, and you threw your shirt to the side seeing a youn g woman with long black hair and a ridiculous costume. She was staring at you with a slack jaw and wide eyes.
“Late.” You supplied.
The girl nodded twice, still silent her mouth still hanging open. You turned away, uncomfortable with her stare, but from the corner of your eye you saw a girl nudge her in the ribs.
You called forward the members of the team one at a time to fight.
First was Donna Troy. She had lots of power, but relied too heavily on her strength.
Next was Tim Drake. His moves were calculated and with quick precision, but he had the same problem that Jason had when he started. He was inept at offensive fighting.
And it went on until it was time for Zatanna, the girl who had stared at you. She shuffled to the center of the ring, her get up was terrible for fighting. Tights, High Heels, and at tuxedo jacket?
She wasn’t as bad as you thought she would be, which wasn’t saying much. She was able to spin kick, and do acrobatic flips, but she wasn’t able to really fight.
When all the sidekicks were done fighting, and Jason was done snickering at their attempts, you clapped you hands together once. You looked at each of them, they were all woefully untrained, and those with special abilities relied too heavily on them.
“You all did okay, but we have a lot of work to do.” You stated. “I’m going to make a schedule for training, and if any of you need just sign up for more.”
Most of the kids groaned, but you gave them a glare which shut them up.
The schedule was posted at the end of the day, most people were only one two to three times a week, but those who needed extra help, like Beast Boy and Zatanna were on the schedule five times.
Training was easy, you had been fighting your entire life, and you picked up new moves easily. You also learned the best ways to avoid injuries. So passing on your knowledge seemed fair.
You came to enjoy your daily spars, you liked fighting with Tim the best. He was quiet and took instructions well, never trying to talk with you unless to ask relevant questions. The same could not be said for the rest of your students. They all wanted to know your history and your life story, usually if you glared at them extra hard the line of questioning for the day would be done.
Zatanna however was different, she seemed quiet when she was with you, her eyes were always wide as she stared at you. When you put your hands on her to correct her posture sometimes she would jump, or flinch. You wondered what you did to this girl, and why she was so afraid of you, especially because you knew she was rather talkative with the rest of her peers.
It was your twelfth training session with Zatanna and her progress was incredibly slow. All of your other students were showing marked improvements, but Zatanna was showing nothing.
At the end of your session you looked her up and down. She was sitting on the bench, exhausted, drinking for a bottle of water, clearly she was working hard, but nothing was clicking for her.
“Zatanna.” You said, she looked up at the sound of your voice, her eyes met yours then turned away quickly. You gracefully chose to ignore that. “Next time we work together wear gym clothes, not… that.”
And for the first time since you met her you saw Zatanna bristle with emotions. Usually around you she was shy and guarded, but suddenly she looked frustrated.
“Why? What’s wrong with my uniform?” She asked defensively.
Uniform, so that’s what she called her get up.
“It’s not good for hand to hand combat, too many moving parts, and high heels.” You repled, leaning down to get a sip of water yourself.
“I don’t understand why I even need to learn this stuff.” Zatanna spoke angrily, her tone was sharp, “I have my magic. It’s all I need.”
“And if your magic fails, if someone takes it away?” You asked coldly, and you saw Zatanna open her mouth, about to mount another defense, but you continued. “What if you’re up against an enemy who is evenly matched in power. You need other skills to survive as a hero.”
You turned around an stormed out of the room, not giving  the girl a chance to respond. But the next time you trained with Zatanna, she was wearing gym clothes, and you smiled.
Zatanna’s progress was still slow, but she was doing better then before. She was still shy, an blushed whenever you gave her slight contact. It was after a particularly rough session that you finally asked.
Normally you wouldn’t pry into your student’s social life, because you didn’t want them to ask about yours, but she was different. She seemed afraid of you, and that was off-putting.
“Do I make you uncomfortable?” You asked as she sipped from her waterbottle.
Zatanna almost choked, her eyes darted to you, then back to her drink, “Of course you make me uncomfortable, I mean your so hot. And all controlling, and you have glistening sweating abs, and your biceps. And oh God, I just said this all out loud.”
You stared at Zatanna shocked, people generally didn’t like you, you were stony and hard to get along with.
Zatanna looked at you, her face was a deep red by now, “I’m sorry.”
“What?” You asked dumbly.
“I made you uncomfortable didn’t I?” Zatanna sighed, “I really need to learn how to filter.”
You sat down next to Zatanna, she was looking down at her hands rather upset. You felt a pang in your chest, you didn’t like seeing her like this. So sad and worried.
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” You lied. She did make you uncomfortable, but it wasn’t really because she had feelings for you, it was more because most people made you uncomfortable. You had kept everyone at an arms length before Jason, and it was hard to let anyone in now.
Zatanna looked up with a soft smile, “Really?”
“Really.” You confirmed.
You stood up, readying yourself to pack up your things. But Zatanna said something that shocked you, “Would you go, I mean would you like to go on a date with me?”
You stared at her unsure what to say, you had never been asked out before. Zatanna seemed crestfallen at your look, so you quickly smiled, not liking to see her upset.
“Sure.”
The night of your big date with Jason you were pacing in your apartment. Jason was laughing as you nervously checked your hair and reapplied make-up.
“Just be yourself.” Jason said rather unhelpfully.
“Shut up!” You shot back, making him laugh more.
You had changed your outfit three times before Zatanna knocked on your door. She arrived looking gorgeous, a well tailored suit jacket and slacks, with no shirt beneath. You could see her pale skin, and your heart fluttered at the idea.
“Come on, the restaurant is waiting.” Zatanna said with a large smile.
You smiled nervously, and nodded, following her out to the car. Jason called out behind the two of you, something about not doing anything he would do. You blushed harder.
Zatanna lead you to a glossy and sleek black car, opening the door for you. It was strange that she was so confident on this date and you were so nervous, it was as if you personalities had switched.
The restaurant was really nice, you and Zatanna had a low lit booth in the corner.
You opened your mouth, but unsure what to say you closed it again.
“Are you nervous?” Zatanna asked playfully.
“A little.” Was your honest answer. Zatanna’s smile grew wide at the news. She looked so pretty in the here.
“Wow, I thought you were super alpha female, not scared of anything.” Zatanna smirked, “It’s good to know that I am aloud to be more dominant in this relationship.”
You didn’t really know what Zatanna was talking about, but when she smiled at you everything felt safer. She talked to you the whole night, and you actually enjoyed your time.
As much as you physically protected her, teaching her to fight and all, she seemed to emotionally protect you.
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