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bluebellwriting · 3 years

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Love Me Tender Part 5

Walking down the street is harder without your own personal Radio Demon parting the crowd for you, but you make do as you near your sister’s boutique. At first you wanted to be alone, but that’s kind of hard in the most crowded place in the universe, and as you continued on your mindless walk through the Pentagram you realized that being alone might not be the best thing. What you needed right now was a hug and someone to tell you that you deserved far more than whatever Alastor could give you. You couldn’t be alone with your thoughts right now.

The neon from Molly’s sign hurts your eyes from a block away, and like moths to a flame shoppers flock towards the pink light. Molly’s Miracles is the place for those in Hell with an eclectic style and a preference for the sexy. It’s very rare that you find yourself actually stopping by for a reason other than checking in on your sister, but that excuse will have to do for now.

Just like the sign, the amount of glossy white furniture and sequined clothing forces you to blink and adjust your eyes. There aren’t too many people inside, thankfully, just a moth demon posing for her friend in a red dress with the deepest v you’ve ever seen. Not your thing, but the friends cheer and squeal at the sight of it, so Molly must know her clientele quite well.

“(Y/N)?” Molly emerges from the back, her arms full of some green, glittery fabric. She all but drops them on the checkout counter so that she can properly engulf you in a hug. It’s scary how fast she can traverse a room with all those legs, but your desperation for a proper hug is too great to be startled right now.

“I didn’t know you were coming by today!”

“I just,” you sniff, “wanted to check up on my baby sister.”

“Aww that’s so sweet!” She squeals. “But I thought you were out with a certain you-know-who? Is he here?”

You shuffle out of her arms and embrace yourself with your own.

“Who told you that?”

“Angie did. Text me this morning that you too had a little date,” she coos.

Of course Angel would find a way to blindly inform your sister about your love life. Except that it wasn’t your love life. Just life. Normal, regular, loveless life.

“He just happened to have some business to attend to at Rosie’s at the same time as me.”

“But he walked you there.”

“Molly--”

“And he didn’t have to! But he did! That is so cute!”

“It’s really not, Molly,” you grumble and move deeper into the store. You trail your fingers through the silks and tulle, pretending to be interested in something from the wracks when you and Molly know there’s only ever one article in the store at a time that you would actually wear.

“You okay, hun?” She trails you through the store.

“I’m fine, Mol. Just fine. I made a great deal today, dad will be really happy. Things are going well at the hotel.” You turn to her with a sigh, hoping with expulsion of breath you will also rid you of the sobs bubbling up in your throat.

It works for a minute.

“I’m fine. I’m doing fine.” Your voice cracks at the end and Molly rushes you again, except this time you’re also being surrounded by the moth demon and her friends who apparently can’t mind their own business.

“Oh sweetie, did he hurt you?” The moth asks.

“Men are fucking pigs!” One of her friends -- a wolf -- cries.

As these complete strangers surround you with man-hating indignation, Molly rubs your back and strokes your hair.

“I-It’s okay. It’s just a guy,” you gasp.

“That’s right, it is just a guy. You don’t need him and his nasty ass.” Another friend -- a blowfish -- says as the rest of the friends and your sister release you from their grasp but remain in a circle around you like some Sisterhood Against the Radio Demon.

Oh, if only they knew that was the man they were bad mouthing right now. Actually, you kind of wish Alastor was here right now. You’d pay money to see his reaction to the Sisterhood calling his ass “nasty.” Probably confusion, mostly.

"You know what you need,” Molly chimes in. “A new outfit!”

The friends cheer and you really wish you could just melt into the clothing racks. They’re all sweet, impossibly so, for helping out a complete stranger just because of the universal experience known as “guy problems.” But the last thing you want is to be surrounded by eyes scrutinizing your body in new clothing. Your heart feels like it’s about to implode in on itself and if one person says anything about your love handles or your back fat you are definitely going to ignite this entire city block on fire.

“Molly, that really isn’t necessary--”

“I know the perfect thing! You just head back into the changing room,” she says, making her way to a shelf of silk blouses. Your eyes dart to the door, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Molly.

“Don’t. You Dare.” Her eyes flash a brief red, so you shuffle over to the changing rooms.

---

Alastor sits in Rosie’s office, well, it’s more like he’s lying down on her chez, moaning towards the ceiling, and clutching his gift to you tightly as if it were the last piece of you he had left.

Rosie watches him from her desk, looking wholy unimpressed by this display from the all-powerful Radio Demon.

“Why did I even--”

“I don’t know, Alastor.”

“I never should have--”

“No, you shouldn’t have. As intelligent as you are, dear Alastor, you can be exceptionally dumb.”

Letting out another long whine, he grips the gift box harder and rolls over onto his side. He’s an Overlord. He should not be debasing himself like this in polite company. Or anyone’s company for that matter. But this is Rosie, who was for so long the only person in the history of human existence who he could trust with his truest emotions. But even this exhibitionary indulgence is a new milestone in their relationship, one he wasn’t even ready to take right now. He can’t help it though. Not when his heart feels like it’s being gripped and twisted between two fists. Not when his stomach has taken on this horrible, aching feeling, as if he’s being repeatedly kicked there.

The worst part is the empty feeling that has been growing deeper and wider since you left him at Rosie’s. For so long now it’s been just this nagging little spot that formed when you first met, situated in the center of his chest, reminding him that he no longer owns the piece of himself that once filled it. You do. And as long as you were with him, close to him, that hole stayed the same, was comforted by its close proximity to its missing piece. But now you were gone, and the hole has become so gaping and so hollow without you, with the thought of truly losing you forever.

“You could always go find her,” Rosie implores, shoving away the paperwork she’s fruitlessly been trying to complete.

“She said she wanted to be alone,” he moans.

“And since when were you one to respect others’ personal space?” She doesn’t get a response. He just rubs his face deeper into her chez, ruining the fabric with his blubbering. Part of her wants to relish the sight of her egotistical, maniacal, normally heartless friend reduced to a weepling in front of her. But the bigger part of her just really wants to get back to her work and Alastor’s need for validation is in direct conflict of that.

“Alastor,” she sighs, “I know she wanted to be alone, but honestly, this might be an appropriate time for you to tell her how you feel. Or at least to try and remedy the situation a tad.”

Alastor sits up, shoulders hunched.

“Really?”

“Yes, you emotionally obtuse oaf. Go! Be romantic! Be spontaneous!” Get the Hell out of my office, she wants to add.

Rosie goes over to him and all but yanks him off the chez. She places a jovial arm around his shoulders but is shoving him quickly through her store, past her girls, and outside.

“Good luck, darling!” She calls as she pushes him onto the street. He whips around, eyes briefly flashing her his radio dials but her motherly wave quickly reminds him of the task at hand.

The dials disappear but he shoots her an uncharacteristic glare before he puts on his smile. He summons a shadow to traverse the Pentagram in search of you. As his shadow wiggles off, he begins his stroll through the streets roughly in the direction you were heading.

---

Molly brings you a red silk blouse and a red and black plaid pencil skirt. They seem modest enough but you dread the way the skirt will make your curves look, the lumps and thickness it will accentuate. The blouse is nice though, if not a bit tight around the stomach, but it makes your chest look amazing. You try looking for the flared skirt you came in with, but not so mysteriously, your clothes seem to be missing. Thanks, Molly.

You have two options now. Go out into the store in front of strangers and in front of the giant windows Molly has in the front, or squeeze into the skirt, suffer through it for five minutes, and then demand your clothes back.

Once you actually have the skirt on it’s not... that bad. It digs into your waist just a tad, making your back straighten to make breathing easier. The fabric is thick, wool-like, but soft to the touch. It comes to your knees, probably the only skirt in the store that does so, and much to your surprise, it smooths out every piece of pudge even without tights. You look at yourself in the mirror and you look... lovely. Elegant, with a hint of sexy that looks good on you for once.

Peaking your head out of the room, you see Molly and the group of friends -- Ramona, Hugh, Paul, and Chandler, you’ve since learned -- eagerly eyeing the dressing rooms. They’re all sitting on the pink, crushed velvet couch Molly has set up for shoppers, their knees bouncing with anticipation.

You move your body out inch by inch, as if to step out of the room too quickly would cause your body to burst into flames. The closer you get to the main room, the hotter your body burns with embarrassment, the harsher the feeling of invisible eyes feel on you. You know that Molly won’t tease you, that she is a constant purveyor of how naturally gorgeous you are. But somewhere in the back of your head, the harsh words of your mother hammer away. You can just imagine that Ramona and Hugh and Paul and Chandler and whoever peaks through Molly’s windows will have some awful things to say. It wouldn’t be anything new, you’ve heard it all. Doesn’t mean you want to keep hearing it.

Molly spots your hair poking out of the doorway and squeals. Your “new friends” squeal in response and then it’s just a chain reaction of everyone squealing and cheering at you. You creep further into the room and Molly pushes you the rest of the way onto the fitting pedestal.

“Do a twirl!” Molly yells and the rest of them start chanting until you do, in fact, twirl on the pedestal. More squealing. Their joy and support become infectious, and slowly you pull your arms away from their place shielding your stomach.

You look head on at the three full length mirrors set up opposite the couch, you don’t shy away. You’re loving how you look in this moment, you find it impossible to fixate on the lumps and bumps anymore. It feels as though you made to look like this, still so completely you and yet as beautiful as you always wished you felt. It’s perfect now.

“Go off, girl!” Chandler yells.

“Your man is going to wish he had you back,” Hugh cheers.

“If he bothers you again you call us and we’ll all beat his ass,” Ramona says and her friends whoop in agreement.

Behind you, you can hear the jingle of the bell hanging from the door. Raising your head to stare at the door through the mirror, (e/c) eyes meet glowing red ones, wide with shock. He has a sheepish smile, not all teeth like his “going out” smile, but just as wide. He has that damn box in his hands, his claws tapping the sides.

Everything goes quiet and you might as well have been the only two people in the room. Molly ushers Ramona and her friends into the back room before the terror can fully set in and you’re grateful. You don’t really want anyone nearby for whatever is about to happen.

Once everyone is out of the line of fire, you sigh and turn to face him, willing the confidence from your little fashion show to sustain you for just a little longer.

“Alastor.”

He doesn’t say anything back, eyes still trained on you, because what is he supposed to say? ‘I’m sorry for taking you to a cesspool of women thirsting after me?’ ‘I’m sorry I’m such a tainted, wretched soul who is so undeserving of you?’ ‘I’m sorry I’m too much of a coward to tell you I love you?’ He pulls the box closer to his chest.

“You look stunning,” is all he can muster. Not horrible, probably not the best thing either, though.

“I know,” you say back, keeping your face stern.

His smile grows wider but remains sheepish, maybe even bashful, which is impossible because when has Alastor ever been bashful?

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he murmurs.

“I’m really fine, Alastor,” you lie. “You don’t have as much of an effect on people as you think.” Another lie.

“There are millions of dead souls who would beg to differ but--”

You send him the most seething glare you can muster and he pulls back. He looks back down to the gift, eyeing it as if it has all the answers, the map to getting back what’s been lost between you.

“I apologize if you were uncomfortable. That was not my intention.”

“I wasn’t uncomfortable,” you seethe. “I wasn’t anything except tired and overcome with a desire to see my sister.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” he says as he starts to roam around the store while remaining a safe distance from you. In the mirror, you catch the red glint in your eyes and blink to force it away.

Words start to pour from your mouth, recklessly and unhinged, “And you don’t owe me anything. I don’t need you following me around town after I explicitly told you not to follow me. I don’t need you to “escort” me to meetings just so you can see your girl toys. I’m not an excuse, I’m not a guise. I can take care of myself, lord knows I’ve done so for decades without you.”

“I know.” You were expecting the room to burst into flames and for the sound of radio static to overwhelm you, not for him to remain smiling down at the floor, albeit with a hint of melancholy.

“You know?”

“I know.” He starts to take small steps towards you. “I know you don’t need me, you proved that today. You are more than brilliant and poised and powerful in your own right. I know that. But I’m afraid that what has happened is rather the opposite.”

He makes it to the pedestal and even with the extra inches you are barely as tall as him. But he has never seemed so small to you in this moment.

He is not a man who cowers, he does not beg, that shows weakness and he learned from a young age that you cannot afford weakness. Don’t show your neck, don’t bow your head, stand as tall as you can and bare your teeth. He can’t do that, though, not with you. What you need is openness and vulnerability from him, signs that you bring out something that no one else can.

“My dear, you do not need me,” he whispers and holds out the box to you. Somehow you tear your eyes away to focus on unraveling the bow and peel back the packing paper. There, glittering on a small slice of foam, are two necklaces: one a heart with a keyhole cut out, the other, the matching key.

Alastor dips two claws into the package and takes with him the heart-shaped lock, and to your surprise, he clasps it to his own neck.

“But I, dearly and desperately, need you.” He plucks the key from the box and holds it out to you in the palm of his hand.

“Alastor...”

“You can say no. You can throw this in my face and I won’t stop you,” he smiles sadly. “But you will always, in a way, have it. You will always have me.”

You’re not an impulsive person, not really, and not compared to your siblings and friends. Now that you think about it, you’ve never actually had an urge like that. Until now. Until the feeling of something glowing and bright moving up from the pit of your stomach, through your throat and your vessels until they reached your chest.

You surge forward, pull him down by his lapels, and kiss him. He tenses initially, and you hear the familiar pop of a radio cutting in and out, before he melts against you. One arm encircles your waist and the other goes into your hair, keeping you securely against him. The kiss itself is a little sloppy on his part, inexperienced and cautious, which makes sense considering his aversion to intimate activities. But there’s a relief in the inexperience, in knowing that you’re one of, if not the, first one to do this with him. It doesn’t go any further than passionate lip-locking, but the way he clings to you and you to him, like two cogs sliding together, is more than enough for you both.

When you pull away he chases after you and his arms tighten. He’s not quite ready for you to be any less than a few centimeters from him. You release a giddy giggle and lean your forehead against his own, noses nuzzling, heartbeats sharing. You feel cool metal against your neck and look down, spotting your half of the necklace resting against your chest.

“We should go,” you whisper.

“Mm, go where?” He asks as he begins to sway your entangled bodies back and forth.

“Somewhere far away from the eager ears of my sister.”

Alastor’s ears perk up and his eyes dart to the back room, where he can just catch a retreating shadow, presumably belonging to Molly.

“You might be right about that, dearest.”

#alastor x reader #alastor x Chubby!reader #x chubby reader #x chubby!reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #they say write the stories you want to see

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solalunar-eclipse · 3 years

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45.06°N, 1.656°E

Summary: Rouge deserves more cool.

Word count: about 4200 words

Author’s Note: Hopefully my writing abilities haven’t deteriorated too much over the hiatus- but either way, please enjoy! (Side note: this is technically set after Scars You Can’t See, but it isn’t vital to read that if you haven’t already)

...

It was truly a beautiful day outside in Empire City. Puffy clouds drifted across a rich blue sky, a light breeze pushing them along as the sun shone down brightly- just enough to bring the temperature up to a comfortable range. Its rays shimmered upon one of the many tall, silvery buildings that this city was known for, threatening to leave a temporary mark on the vision of anyone who looked at it for too long. This particular building advertised itself as an insurance company’s headquarters, and it looked perfectly in place amongst all the other skyscrapers in the city.

The activities going on inside, however, were anything but ‘in place’.

Near the very top of the towering structure, a bat sat in front of a wall-sized computer screen, her black-gloved fingers flying across the keyboard. Firewalls and security systems fell like sandcastles swept out by the tide- no corner of this building was safe when she was in control. Identity checks meant nothing to her, passwords were a breeze, and two-factor authentication? A joke.

Rouge smiled in satisfaction, taking a break to stretch out her fingers now that she was successfully through the various measures designed to keep hackers like her out of these computers. With a click of the mouse and a few keys tapped, the various sums of money the people who worked here had stolen began to make their way back to their rightful owners’ bank accounts.

After all, this building didn’t actually house an insurance company. That was just a cover story for the real business here- draining the cash out of innocent people’s funds. Rouge had been determined to stop this as soon as she’d learned about it before any more people got hurt (when she stole it was usually from rich people who could afford to have one of many diamonds go missing- this was just cruel!), and now she’d successfully completed about half the job. Just returning the money wasn’t quite enough, of course- this scheme had been running for over a year now, and it was about time someone put a stop to it for good.

That was where her friends came in.

While she manned the cameras, Shadow and Omega were grabbing plenty of physical evidence from the various offices throughout the building- more than enough to incriminate everyone who worked here. Rouge’s job was mostly to ensure that they could get what they needed without any serious trouble. It might be a difficult task, considering that Omega was set on blowing up most of the tech stored here...but she was prepared to deal with that.

The bat leaned back in her chair, catching a quick glimpse of herself in the window as she did so. Ever since they’d left G.U.N., a great perk (in addition to the lack of association with a corrupt military organization, obviously) was that they could wear whatever they wanted on the job. Before, Rouge had really been pushing it on ‘formality’ with her jumpsuit alone, and even then she hadn’t been allowed to wear anything else while on the job for the sake of ‘consistency’.

Now, in a drastic change from her usual style, she wore a tight black leather jumpsuit over a purple shirt, complete with white gloves and high-heeled boots. The latter two had neon blue accents, too, providing a burst of color as well as an actual light source to see by- perfect for dark missions.

Shadow and Omega hadn’t been allowed any personal effects re: clothing before due to the fact that a few too many supervisors saw them as weapons and not people. Rouge had of course argued against this, but there was only so much one person could do.

Now, though, the bat had insisted that both of her friends get more clothing- ‘if nothing else then to stick it to them’ were her exact words- and they had both taken to it quite well after an initial period of hesitancy. Omega in particular had been quite devastated (and then promptly offended) upon discovering that no leather jackets were currently produced in his specific size. Eventually, however, he was placated with the offer of a fedora, claiming it made him look ‘VERY MYSTERIOUS’. He had now taken to collecting hats as well as weaponry.

Shadow could fit into a leather jacket, on the other hand, and consequently owned about five of them, three of which he’d bought within the same week. Today he wore one with red stitching, and while he hadn’t had anything to say about it, Rouge had caught him admiring it in the mirror before the mission (at which point he scowled, blushed green to his ears, and teleported away).

Right now, though, he and Omega were quietly discussing which documents to take and which ones to leave behind. It would raise suspicions far too quickly if the criminals inhabiting this building came back to discover a completely bare office, after all, so they only took several receipts of major transactions as well as a list of the bank account numbers that had been hacked- and some future targets as well.

(Was this whole thing illegal? Kind of. Did anyone really mind so long as they were helping others? Not really. After all, Tails was totally not old enough to fly a plane, but at this point the government had basically thrown up their hands and said ‘whatever I guess’, so it was fine.)

“ROUGE.” Omega said suddenly, making the bat stop her musing and drop her feet from the desk. “THIS IS IMPORTANT.”

“Yeah, hon? What is it?” she asked, ready to deal with any problems that might arise.

“MY HAT KEEPS FALLING OFF. I REQUIRE SOME SORT OF METHOD TO KEEP IT ON.”

The bat sighed and gave a relieved laugh as Shadow hissed, “Omega! This is a serious mission!”

“It’s alright, Shadow. Omega, we’ll find some double-sided tape or something when we get home, alright?”

The robot paused for a moment, thinking. “THIS IS ACCEPTABLE.”

As Rouge watched, they gathered up the rest of the items and began to move towards the lobby. Today was an off day for the ‘business’, so most of the hallways would be empty. The secretary out front would take his usual break to go get lunch in two minutes as well, giving them a clear chance to escape.

And of course that was when everything went wrong.

It turned out that leaving G.U.N. (while the right idea) wasn’t without its occasional disadvantages. If they’d still been part of the military organization, then they would’ve had the resources to figure out that these criminals were more than a little paranoid, so their security system ran diagnostics every hour on the dot. When it discovered the hacking, it locked Rouge’s access to any other computer terminal and then restricted every single application on that one computer.

These people weren’t exactly beginners when it came to computers, after all.

The bat jumped out of her chair the second her computer glitched and froze, panicked. “Guys. Guys, get out of here right now.” she said urgently into her microphone. “I can bust out a window but you two have to go right now-”

She froze as, on the screen, multiple armed guards and two gigantic mechs dropped down onto the ground level and pointed their guns at Shadow and Omega. The robot moved to cover the hybrid’s back as Shadow pulled his favorite katana sword out of its scabbard.

Rouge refused to sit and watch another minute, kicking the door off its hinges hard enough to slam it against the opposite wall and tearing down the hallway to save her teammates.

Shadow and Omega fought well in the meantime, managing to take out one of the mechs and several guards too. Occasionally, Shadow even curled up and was promptly fired out of his friend’s cannon at top speed, turning into a deadly projectile all by himself.

Eventually, though, one of the guards got too smart and pulled out a stun gun, shocking Omega long enough to put the robot temporarily out of commission. Shadow spun around to defend his friend, using the Chaos Emerald he’d brought along to deliver a devastating blow- but he had nobody to watch his back now, and it barely took a minute before the mech found an opening to slam him into the wall as he dealt with the guards.

Shadow dropped to the ground weakly, temporarily unconscious. Omega was still struggling to get his systems back online.

Rouge, meanwhile, was furious.

The bat rushed to the balcony overlooking the lobby from the third floor, her teeth bared as she watched the mech move into position, prepared to bring its giant fist down on Shadow’s unmoving body. Flipping over the railing, she free-fell the three stories to the ground, slamming both heels into the marble and leaving a long crack across the floor. She snatched up the Emerald from the tile where it had fallen out of Shadow’s quills, holding it tightly in her hand.

“Leave him alone. Now.” she snarled.

When the mech pilot gave her nothing more than a cursory glance, raising the steel fist higher, Rouge charged.

An ultrasonic shriek exploded from her lungs, making every other human in the room double over and clutch their ears. At the exact same time, the glass in the extra-tall windows of the lobby vibrated, cracked, and then shattered into hundreds of pieces.

Rouge didn’t see any of that. Rouge didn’t care about any of that. All she could see was the hedgehog she’d come to care about so much about to be crushed by someone who barely even knew his name.

She jumped up and whirled around in the air, the power of her wings suddenly (strangely) strong enough to send the mech swaying backwards slightly, before lashing out with a kick that dented the chestplate of the thing and hit it hard enough to-

-and Rouge’s eyes widened-

-to send it flying through the shattered windows and down the street that the building faced, so far that it became nothing more than a speck in the horizon.

This was, incidentally, a mech that weighed over two tons.

Omega, near the other end of the room, silently thanked every inventor that had ever lived (aside from Eggman) that he had powered back on in time to see this.

Rouge, however, didn’t spare more than a second to think about it, instead dropping to her knees to check on Shadow. The moment she pressed the Chaos Emerald back into his hand, the hybrid’s eyes began to open slowly.

“Ugh….what happened…?”

“That moron of a pilot smacked you into a wall, hon. Are you gonna be okay?” Rouge asked, scanning his face for any sign of a concussion.

Shadow blinked twice, then suddenly sat bolt upright, his eyes wide. “...Rouge? Are you sure you’re alright?”

The bat frowned, confused, looking over herself. “Yeah, hon, I’m….”

She froze.

While Rouge had seen many strange things in her time, the sight of her lower legs and feet glowing bright purple was certainly a first.

As she jumped back from Shadow in surprise, she let go of the Chaos Emerald in his hand, making the aura surrounding her fade. “What...what was that?”

“YOU WERE SO COOL. THAT IS WHAT THAT WAS.” Omega declared, hauling himself to his feet and walking over. “YOU BEGAN TO GLOW AND KICKED THAT INFERIOR CREATION SEVERAL MILES AWAY. THE ONLY REGRET IN THIS SCENARIO IS THAT YOU WERE UNABLE TO CONTINUE DESTROYING YOUR ENEMIES, AS THERE WAS ONLY ONE OF THEM.”

Shadow looked up at her in surprise and- was that a little bit of awe? “I should have known you’d be able to use Chaos powers!” he said, shaking his head as he got to his feet. “Incredible...it’s no wonder you’re so resilient in battle.”

Rouge pointedly ignored the light flush on her face from all of this praise. “Well, we’ve got what we came for, so there. We’ll leave all of this evidence-” and clearly she wasn’t just talking about the papers- “for that new organization the government’s setting up. What’s it called again?”

Omega shrugged- an odd motion with his bulky shoulders. “THEY’RE STILL DECIDING. HOPEFULLY IT TURNS OUT TO BE SOMETHING COOL.”

“Well, whatever their name is, it’s their job now to deal with all this.” Rouge said, gesturing around at the general mess.

At that moment, the secretary returned with his food, only to stop dead in his tracks and stare at the three members of Team Dark amongst the wreckage of two gigantic robots and a lot of broken glass.

The bat ‘s face split into a wide, wicked grin, pointing directly at him. “And you’ll be the one to explain it to them!”

(It took one extremely short chase to retrieve the man- who foolishly thought he could lose Shadow and Rouge in the alleyways- before he was tied to one of the disgustingly ostentatious pillars by Omega. The team then went home and spent the next two hours watching Rouge glow and then break things…mostly things she meant to hit.)

…

Several days later, her team and Sonic's crew (plus Amy Rose) were in a different city, dealing with the usual biweekly Eggman attack. This one seemed, unfortunately, to not have most of the weak spots that usually came into play when fighting one of his giant robots, as both the power source and the mad scientist in question were heavily guarded.

However, after a particularly well-timed attack from Omega, Amy, and Knuckles all at once, Rouge spotted a panel that was currently rather dented and bent open with some wiring spilling out, and knew exactly what to do.

“Shadow! Omega! Cover me!” she shouted, leaping into the air and soaring towards the robot.

Immediately, she saw several smaller robots explode in her periphery, having fallen victim to the deadly lasers and Chaos Spears that her friends used. Her focus was on one thing and one thing only, though- making it up to that panel.

The moment Rouge latched on, she pulled open the panel the rest of the way and began to rewire the machine at an impressive pace. While she might not be the same kind of tech expert as Tails, who built devices and wrote code most people with a PhD couldn’t understand if they tried, one thing she certainly knew was how to make computers do what she wanted.

Eventually, though, Eggman caught on to what she was doing and tried to swat her off his mech with its two giant metal fists. “What do you think you’re doing down there with my robot?” he shouted, swinging at her wildly.

Suddenly, one of the fists in question promptly vanished, replaced by a smoking hole and a bunch of wires where a functioning steel hand was supposed to be. Rouge, startled, looked around for what could possibly have caused this- and promptly relaxed upon seeing Omega retracting his biggest laser cannon (which was glowing red-hot) back into his chassis with a glare up at his creator.

Thankfully, he’d also provided just the distraction she needed to rewire the last few parts, at which point she jumped off just as the robot began to spin wildly...and then its entire midsection exploded, launching the command center with Eggman still inside a good fifty feet into the air.

The bat landed on the ground to cheers from her friends and took a dramatic bow. Omega clapped a hand on her shoulder in a friendly way (which meant he only knocked the wind out of her and didn’t shove her several feet deep into the asphalt) as Shadow looked on with his arms folded, but still clearly proud.

“Wow, Rouge!” Tails exclaimed, his eyes wide and smile wider. “I didn’t realize you knew your way around that kind of tech that well- you should totally stop by my lab sometime!”

The bat shrugged. “It comes with the job, that’s all.” she insisted, but internally she was more than a little surprised- it still didn’t quite come naturally to her to consider that people would be impressed by what she did. All G.U.N. had ever told her was that she’d done ‘as well as was expected’, which made it seem like her skills were just average. Seeing someone who she’d mostly considered an acquaintance telling her how incredible her skills were when to her it was just ‘something I can do’ was...pretty nice, actually.

Rouge offered him a quick grin as the other three heroes came rushing up to her in varying states of surprise and excitement. “I just might take you up on that offer sometime.”

…

A week after that, Team Dark was spending time at the Station Square mall together- a common occurrence for them. It had good clothes, tolerable food, and most importantly lots of jewelry stores. They were here today because Rouge’s favorite was having a sale, and she refused to miss out on any opportunity to shop for gems.

After about an hour of looking around in the store (most of which was spent attempting to prevent Rouge from emptying said store and/or sneaking things out from inside locked cases), the three finally left with about four tiny bags of jewelry, which Omega wore hooked over his fingers. “THIS SEEMS WASTEFUL, BUT ALSO AMUSING.” he’d commented, at which point the bat riding on his shoulder gasped in mock outrage and began to vehemently defend the store’s choices.

They hadn’t gone more than a few steps, though, before she heard some gasps and squeals somewhere off to the left. She sighed. Some people seemed to have this odd hero-worship thing around Shadow, but the attention only made him feel awkward, so it looked like she’d have to play guard as usual here. Drifting down from her perch as the three young women approached, she said, “Alright, ladies, what are you here for?”

The bravest of the three moved forward, clutching something in her hands. “Uh…”

Rouge prepared herself to say no on behalf of her friend, to hear complaints like ‘why can’t we talk to Shadow?? You suck”, but then-

“...can you sign this poster, please?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t— wait, what?”

The bat stared at the poster, her eyes wide. A picture of herself looked right back at her, a smirk spread across her printed self’s face as jewels dripped from the hand not resting on her hip.

The photo was rather outdated now, having been taken not long after the ARK disaster. Post-crisis, Sonic had insisted that everyone (except for Eggman, since he’d caused that whole mess in the first place) get recognition for trying to save the planet together...and that included her.

Rouge and Sonic had both been wearing Shadow’s inhibitor rings during that photo shoot. It was their way of making sure that even though he wasn’t with them any longer, even though nobody would really remember who he was, he’d still live on in some little way without a big announcement.

She took the poster quickly, shaking off old memories, and gave them a genuine smile- rare for strangers. “Of course, hon!” she said, taking the offered pen and signing her name with a flourish and a little heart.

The one who’d asked promptly squealed and clutched at the poster, a big grin on her face. “Oh wow, thank you sooo much!” she gushed. “You know, you’re, like, my hero, right? Everyone always just, like, says that you can’t look good and be a real hero at the same time, you’re either a sell-out or too serious...but, you’re, like, both?? And that’s just so, y’know, empowering? To see someone looking fabulous and being a hero, but like not taking any nasty comments about it?”

Both her friends agreed eagerly, and Rouge found herself blushing just a little at all this praise. “If either of you have anything else, I could write something on those too,” she offered, still feeling a little bit bewildered at the moment.

This earned her two simultaneous squeals of “Really?!” followed by a lot of frantic searching for paper. Rouge was more than happy to sign her name there too, even adding a little message to each of them- and to the poster for good measure. As the three fans cheered, snapped a quick selfie with her (which was something she so wasn’t used to either), and then rushed off with a “thank you so much!!” Rouge found herself still smiling as she turned to walk back to her friends.

Shadow and Omega had moved a little ways away during all of the fuss, and now they were sporting similarly pleased expressions with more than a little bit of smugness mixed in. “SEE?” Omega asked, and Rouge could tell he’d be smirking if he were able to do so. “WE HAVE TOLD YOU OVER AND OVER AGAIN THAT YOU ARE EXCEPTIONALLY COOL. YOU DIDN’T BELIEVE US THEN, THOUGH….DO YOU NOW?” He stopped there and somehow promptly assumed an even stronger I-told-you-so air than before.

“Maybe you’ll even get your own fanclub before long...oh, wait. Look what I just found.” Shadow added, tossing his phone over to her. Only the faintest of smirks was visible on his face (they were in public, after all) as Rouge stared at the screen proclaiming the current website to be “The Official Rouge Fansite (anyone feel free to join!!)”.

The bat found herself blushing to her ears, flattered and surprised by all of the support she hadn’t known existed until now.

Omega picked her up and set her on his shoulder, turning his head to look up at his friend. “COOL PEOPLE LIKE YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TO WALK PLACES.”

“And-” Shadow added, slinging the bags she’d acquired at the store over her shoulder. “-cool people like you shouldn’t have to carry anything either.”

Rouge wondered briefly if her grin might strain her face if it grew much wider. Leaping down for a moment, she hovered in the air just long enough to ruffle the quills on top of Shadow’s head before perching back on Omega’s shoulder and patting the robot fondly. “You two dorks are the best.” she said warmly.

Shadow huffed and began to walk on ahead, clearly embarrassed. “DORK.” Omega called after the hedgehog, his eyes brightening by about fifteen percent in good humor.

“She called you one too, you know.” Shadow replied without looking back.

“YES, BUT YOUR DORKINESS IS MORE OBVIOUS.” Omega declared, by now shouting across several stores as Rouge tried to stifle a laugh.

“If you don’t catch up and stop talking I’ll hide all the hats in your favorite store and you’ll never find them.” the hybrid growled.

Rouge promptly discovered that Omega, despite weighing a thousand pounds, could in fact move quite quickly when threatened with the loss of a chance to add to his new clothing collection. The robot fired all of his boosters at once, sending them flying down that particular wing of the mall and nearly slamming into a wall in the process.

After a spirited chase that lasted over five minutes (along with lots of shouts of “get him, Omega!” and jumping off balconies and general taunting), the group was promptly escorted out of the mall without a chance to enjoy the store they’d started the ‘fight’ over in the first place.

Rouge watched her two friends sulk for a minute before smirking suddenly.

“Guess what?” she asked, stepping back to look at both of them.

When she had their attention, she pulled out a nice new summer outfit with a laugh…from that same place.

“You didn’t.” Shadow said, staring at the clothing.

“OH, SHE DID.”

Rouge then proceeded to pull both a cool hat in all gold and a nice blue bomber jacket out from behind her back as well, her smile widening even more. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten you two at all. Or forgotten to pay, either.” she added quickly with a sigh. She soon shifted to watching with delight, though, as Shadow’s eyes widened considerably and Omega’s head whirled to fixate on her hand.

“HAND IT OVER.” he ordered, holding out his clawed, metallic fingers insistently.

“Well...since you asked so rudely...no.” Rouge replied, before leaping into the sky with a grin.

“What?” Shadow gasped.

The robot’s eyes narrowed. “DON’T YOU DARE.”

Rouge flew higher at that. “Oh, but I do dare.” She wheeled around and began to fly off at top speed, snickering at the sound of indignant shouts behind her. Soon enough, she heard the swish-swish of Shadow’s skates and the clanking of Omega not far behind.

They might be able to catch her eventually, she mused, soaring through a gap between buildings- she wasn’t that fast, really. It wouldn’t be easy for them at all, though.

After all, Rouge was just as powerful as they were, in her own way.

#shadow the hedgehog #rouge the bat #e 123 omega #45.06°N 1.656°E #the title is based on rouge's theme from the mad space level in sa2!#i thought the title and the song were cool so why not #also if you want to *follow* the coordinates...you might find a surprise #hehe #by the way! as you might have notice i tried writing omega's dialogue in all caps this time #*noticed #is that better or worse? feel free to let me know!#and yes in the first scene rouge is wearing her 'elite agent' outfit from sonic forces speed battle :)#the fedora idea is from khi's fanart for sycs because i love that art SO MUCH #yes there are lots of clothes in this but honestly team dark seems like the type to be stylish i think #it's rouge's influence #(also how do people end fics well i need advice)#(it just never works quite right...)#anyway! as always thanks for reading!#:D #sol's fanfiction

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corpsentry · 3 years

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fandom: botw rating: t  pairing: zelda/link  notes: post-canon, getting together, mild descriptions of injury. cooking. dancing. crying. and so on. “Let’s say you’ve been asleep for a hundred years and when you wake up you’ve lost all your memories, but you defeat the big bad monster like you’ve been told to, because a girl told you to, and because you were in love with her. And after defeating the big bad monster she comes back, only she’s not the person she was a hundred years ago. And you’re not the person you were a hundred years ago. And yet every time you look at her, your chest hurts so bad you think you might be dying.” He looks up from his breadstick. “Am I dying?” “No,” Beedle says. “I think you’re stupid.”

All roads lead to hateno.

“I ate the frog.” Is the first thing he says to her in a hundred years, because he can’t stop staring at her hands, and his head isn’t working properly because he can’t stop staring at her hands, and he doesn’t remember what he had been planning on saying before he walked into the castle and killed two versions of evil incarnate in a room with a domed ceiling and a field with a domed sky, but he’s pretty sure. He’s pretty sure it wasn’t this. “I’m sorry,” Zelda says. “You what?” “I, uh.” He takes a step back, and then a step forward. Hyrule castle looms like a corpse behind her, hulking and majestic and dead. It distracts him, though not as much as Zelda herself, pale as winter and glowing behind a halo of sun. “There was a frog you wanted me to eat.” A hundred years ago. “You said it would be for an experiment.” A hundred years ago you told me to eat a frog and that’s all that I remember. That’s what’s kept me going all this time. When things got hard, when the weight of the curse you had given me grew too great, I cooked a frog in a pot over a fire. She stares at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “You’re more talkative than I remember.” He panics. “Should I stop talking?” “Oh no! No, just— how do I put it—” This probably isn’t what she had in mind for their reunion. He feels the sudden need to apologize. He should have tried harder to hold onto himself while he was sleeping off the blood on his back and the world retreated into a corner to lick at its wounds, but it was hard. He didn’t know what he was doing. He doesn’t remember, actually. He doesn’t remember going to sleep, and he doesn’t remember what he dreamed of. That’s two question marks in one head, and only one answer to go around. There were two shadows on the wall, though they belonged to the same boy. Zelda twists her hands together, almost as if in prayer. Her white dress billows heavily in the wind, covered in wounds from another century. “I’m sorry,” she says to his feet. “Please keep talking.” He nods, though she isn’t looking. After a moment, they make their way across the trampled, dead-looking field to his horse, who’s had half of her mane seared off and looks like she desperately wants a carrot. He hauls himself onto the saddle, then holds out a hand to Zelda, who stares at it like he’s just offered her the rest of his lifespan. Then she takes it, letting him pull her up behind him, and her hand is so warm, and the sky is so blue, and everything is so strange, he almost lets go. Of the girl. Of the reins. Of his grip on reality, this new, unexplored reality, the carcass of the castle slowly growing smaller in the distance. When he walked into the sanctum with a plan to kill Ganon he had been thinking about how the stalhorses on Tabantha Snowfield run faster than the horses near Kakariko, how a bokoblin will choose a freshly roasted chicken over the skin of your teeth, how stables are a metaphor for family. Now all he can think of is angels. She asks him where they’re going a little while later, and it’s only then that he realizes he doesn’t know. It’s a cool, starless night. No moon, no blood. His horse snickers at a boar by the side of the road, and Zelda tightens her grip on his waist. God, what have they been doing for the last hundred years? “Home,” he answers. “We’re going home.”

 The house in Hateno is a small and modest affair. This is probably the only reason Bolson and his construction company were willing to sell it to him at an equally modest price, with modest display stands for his modest weapons, and a modest bed beside which he hung a framed photograph of him and his dead friends. He’s fine with it, though. The only thing that really matters to him is the photograph, though there are now two living people in it instead of one and a half, and if Bolson had not graciously included a bedframe and mattress in his modest homemaker’s package, then Link would have slept on the floor. He says as much to Zelda, who blinks at him sleepily and throws a pillow at his face. “Please don’t do that,” he says. “Sleep in your own bed,” she replies. He peels the pillow off the floor and pats the dust away before replacing it carefully on the bed. “I promised your father I would take care of you.” And Daruk. And Mipha. And Urbosa, who would kill me if she found out I let the princess sleep on the carpet. Like a dog, she would probably say, her voice low, her eyes slanted. How could you treat her like a stray dog? This is the princess we’re talking about. She deserves better. He opens his mouth to say as much, but Zelda gets there first. “My father is dead,” she says, her voice unexpectedly raw. She seems surprised at herself despite her best efforts, and clears her throat in an attempt to hide it. He finds himself overwhelmed with the sudden urge to hug her or blast a hole through the roof with his sword, but can’t decide on one, and ends up wringing his hands together behind his back while Zelda sits on the side of the modest bed in the modest house in Hateno, and presses the folds of her dress into a clump. There should be more he can do for her. What is it? If only Urbosa were here to tell him what it means when Zelda takes your hand like a promise, when Zelda pinches the side of your waist, when Zelda announces that her father is dead, has been dead for a hundred years, died a long time ago. But Urbosa is dead too. The old world is gone, though its survivors have finally emerged from the twilit field. What now? Zelda rubs her eyes. He picks at a cuticle and holds his breath. Despite her best protests, she agrees to the bed-floor arrangement. Zelda will sleep on the bed, because he didn’t think that far when he walked into the castle and defeated evil incarnate, and she doesn’t seem to care. Meanwhile, he will sleep on the floor. Which floor? The first floor, he decides, but when he tries to go downstairs he almost throws up. His heart’s uneasy, of course, but he had underestimated the side-effects of meeting an angel. Over the past few months, he had gotten used to getting mauled by things to the point where it had become part of his daily routine: get up, have a minor crisis about the fact that everyone you know is dead, have a minor crisis about the beautiful voice in your head, get mauled by a bear. Get mauled by a bokoblin who stole your spear. Get mauled by Mount Lanayru, which has a thing for spitting giant snowballs at him when he’s trying to talk to the Koroks in the region, pleading with them through chattering teeth to stop giving him more tiny golden shits and start letting him talk about his feelings. Zelda is not daily routine. Zelda was the girl in the dream, then a face in a photograph, and now Zelda is sleeping in the house in Hateno with her hands pressed up to her cheek, breathing softly. He’s overcome with emotion, though if you asked him to tell it to you, he wouldn’t know how. And as for the matter of her hands, were they always this lovely? Impa didn’t tell him what to do after he saved the girl, though he knows she’ll want to hear about it from him and not the Sheikah warriors she has spread out throughout the kingdom, keeping an eye on their dying gods. Impa wanted him to look forward, which meant knives and teeth and forests full of bodies. She didn’t tell him what he could or couldn’t do in the presence of the sun, and he, having spent his whole life sitting in a dark room, didn’t think to ask. In retrospect, he should have. In retrospect, he should have asked Bolson to build two beds. But the thought didn’t occur to him, just as it didn’t occur to him that his heart might not be the dead thing the world told him it was, and so he never did.

 “I had a dream.” He flips the eggs. “About what?” “About a world where I made it in time.” Zelda peers over his shoulder. “Are they done yet?” “Almost, if you could please—” “—Ah, excuse me—” She dances out of the way of the big cast-iron pan, which he holds in one hand while he reaches for the plates with the other. In her haste to create space she walks into the counter and winces, bending over to touch the side of her foot. “Oh. I stubbed my toe.” She sighs. After breakfast he goes to look for Uma. He finds her sitting under the same old tree beside the bridge, cradling a cup of tea and humming along with the cicadas. Uma is the only person in Hateno who remembers the Calamity as a name with a face, and not a dream. She also had a daughter once, whom she lost in the years after the Calamity, when the rice fields had not yet begun to flourish, and the winters were long and cruel. He asks her quietly about the weather, which she tells him is her favorite kind. Spring’s never felt quite so lovely, she informs him, as she pries open an old dresser and leans forward to peer inside. He holds her cup of tea with both hands, the mellow sweetness of chrysanthemum tickling his nose and making him sneeze. After a moment, she returns with a set of clothes in the signature Hateno blend of oranges, blues, and warm, earthy browns. She places them carefully on his head and then retrieves her tea before he has the chance to drop the cup. “I hope your friend is taking well to Hateno,” she says warmly. I hope I have a friend, he thinks with his heart stuck halfway up his throat. He’s barely keeping himself together, in pretty much every sense of the word, but he thanks her all the same, and means it.

 He did, in fact, eat a frog. Several times. Once on the Great Plateau, after the spirit of the old king had left him to fend for himself with a pickaxe and half an apple, and again while he was in the Hebra mountain range, because it was too cold out to hunt and one had hopped into his pack while he wasn’t looking and died there. Then there was another time, at one of the stables up north, where he met a traveling salesman who offered him a stamina-boosting trick for ten rupees. The first time he obediently closed his eyes, and could only describe the texture in his mouth as ‘soft, with hints of viscosity’. He returned several weeks later, ran away on his horse immediately after making payment, and was mildly alarmed to discover that he had not in fact been presented with a breadstick, but rather a leg. A very long leg. With joints. And skin. And a big, webbed foot. Once, while sitting on a raft headed out to sea, he considered hurling himself into the water. It had been raining for several days by this point, which itself wasn’t a problem as he had come to quite like the sound of rain bashing on the outside of his tent with bloody fists, but this rain was relentless. Like a ghost which tries to kill you and fails, and, in a fit of bitter resentment, resolves to throw rocks at your window each night for the rest of your life, the water got into his boots and it got into his eyes and then it got into his pack, which spoiled all of his carefully-preserved meat and caused the stopper in his bottle of milk to rot. Under the present circumstances, all the game had either gone off to find shelter or been washed away by the floodwaters. There was nothing for him to hunt, and nothing for him to eat. His stomach growled faithlessly. While stumbling along some beach or another, he bumped into Kass, who told him about some treasure further out at sea. He looked blandly in the direction that the parrot pointed out for him, and found his eyes drawn to the island that lay beyond it. “I’m going to go there,” he said. “I hope you find good treasure,” said Kass. “Yeah,” he said. So he hauled himself onto a raft (he was too shy to ask the people in Lurelin for help, and too proud to talk about his circumstances) at the crack of dawn and began to blast a Korok leaf at the sail. And then he got tired. He sat down. He leaned over the edge of the raft. His reflection in the water was gray, because the sky was gray, and the sky was gray because it was raining. He had begun to shiver again, but he had spent most of the week shivering anyway and so didn’t pay it any attention. His hair was matted to his forehead, and there were bags under his eyes. One of his piercings was smarting; it must have gotten infected. “What if I just stopped trying,” he suggested to the sea, which ignored him. What was the point of it all, anyway? All of his friends were dead and the girl in the photograph was stuck in a castle in the sky. He didn’t remember a single thing about the first seventeen years of his life. Only the things that happened in the last three months, only the things that were deemed important, and even those he remembered in fragments. Like what if he had a sister. What if his father had been kind to him, or doting, or an alcoholic. What if he had been in love with someone, and what if he had had a heart, and what if he had cared. It was hard to discern the world’s sympathies for him when he spent most of his time alone. Sometimes, at night, he drew a face on the rock-wall and gave it a name. “I’m tired,” he said. “I’m tired, and I’m hungry, and I feel more dead than alive, even though I’m the only one still breathing.” But the sea continued to ignore him. The wind continued to ignore him. The rain continued to ignore him, pelting at his wet shoulders with wet hands and wet teeth, clawing at the skin on the back of his neck, telling him to go to sleep and stay there. Eventually the raft drifted of its own accord to the shore of the island he had spied in the distance, and then some thousand-year-old mummy stripped him of all his belongings anyway, so it no longer mattered that he had nothing in his pack or his head or his heart, as long as he was able to replace it with something new.

 A few weeks later she’s standing in the kitchen and staring at the vegetables in the pot, humming to herself, while Link rearranges the condiments on the table. She’s swaying from side to side, holding up the ladle like a sword. She seems happy. He leans back in his chair until he can just about see the top of her head. “What song is that?” he asks, casual as a house on fire. A pause. Something clatters to the floor. Picture two figures in a forest full of thorns and teeth. Picture the knight carving a path through the trees, the princess stumbling behind him, his clammy hand tight around her wrist, their feet bruised and dirty. It’s raining, of course, because it’s always raining in the dream. They’re being chased by mechanical monsters with knives for eyes. And they’re tired, both of them, so tired they could hurl themselves into a pond and drown there, but instead she walks into a tree. The bark scrapes the length of her forearm like a kiss, tearing at her skin and pouring blood down the back of her hand. Something clatters to the floor. Something breaks. Picture the old dream, the one he knows like a memory, the reason he’s less afraid of bears than people. He whirls the chair around to the sight of Zelda’s hand in the fire, her posture rigid, her face hidden by a curtain of hair. “I’m sorry,” she says, crestfallen. “It’s just—” He’s on his feet and halfway across the room before she can finish her sentence, pulling her away from the counter, reaching for the faucet with his other hand. “—It’s the first time you’ve asked me a question since you found me,” she says quietly. The skin on the back of her hand is bright red. If Urbosa were here, she would tie his arms and legs to four horses and then ask them to run in four different directions, and he would die in such a memorable way, it would eclipse even the deaths of all his old dead friends, who were trapped in machines with voices for a hundred years while their bodies turned into dust. If Urbosa were here then he likely wouldn’t be, would be in the next room, his ear pressed to the door, his heart pressed to the roof of his mouth. It’s a good thing, then, that she isn’t.

 It’s spring, so the water from the faucet is cold enough to cut yourself on. The water from the faucet is cold, so it should sting on skin as red as this, but Zelda doesn’t say anything as he holds her hand under the stream of water, his thumbs resting on the curve of her wrist, his eyes searching her blank expression for. A sign? A reason? Why the ladle on the floor; why the hand in the fire? “It’s fine,” she finally says, brushing her hair behind her ear with her unhurt hand. “No,” he says before he can stop himself, bristling a little, feeling slightly outrageous. “It’s not.” Zelda looks somber for a moment. Then she hiccups a laugh. “We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?” Yeah, I remember when you [the path that leads to Hateno is wet and winding] and I [your hand on the back of my head was cold and dying], he wants to say. But he would be lying if he did, because he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember anything except the sixteen stories she left him, sixteen shards of a seventeen-year-old life. If she’s referring to something funny, then he’s missed an opportunity to make her laugh. If she’s referring to something important, then it’s no wonder he can’t seem to bridge the gap between the frog and the girl, no wonder his head hurts like someone stabbed it with a pitchfork and forgot to take it out, no wonder Hyrule still feels so far away, even as he milks the chickens and he chases the cows and he collects the eggs from the bears. He turns this thought over in his head as he goes for the medicine cabinet, which he had not asked for and Bolson had installed as a courtesy. Despite his best efforts, the blood on his back never quite washed away. She’s gone by the time he closes the cabinet, and he begins to feel that telltale sickness in his stomach, the sudden urge to throw up. He walks briskly out of the house in Hateno, salve and bandages tied to his wrist, his heartbeat ringing in his ears. The moon is a crescent tonight. Hateno rises and falls with each breath, pressing flowers into the palm of his hand. He folds each one unevenly in half. Zelda’s halfway up the ladder when he finds her. He waits for her to get onto the roof before he starts heading up, and is surprised all the same when he reaches the top of the ladder, and finds her face inches away from his. “I didn’t know you had a ladder,” she says pleasantly. “Why did you follow me up here?” She smells like Goron spice and sun. He is three seconds away from plummeting to his death. This is nothing he is used to, and a part of him thinks that if he knows what’s good for him then he will never get used to any of it. Not the silent, dead castle, not the long black shadow of the future, not the girl. She leans back after a moment. He breathes out. Half an inch of space will not keep either of them safe. Zelda watches him retie his ponytail expectantly. “So?” The ladder is from the Great Plateau. He found it at the back of the Temple of Time days after the old king asked him to climb to the top of the ruined structure and revealed to him that he was, yeah, the old king, and that all of his friends were dead, and that he would have to get the girl out of the castle before she could even think to save him, and by association, the rest of the world. At that point he was still naive enough to think defeating Ganon would take a stick and an apple and a really fast horse. He had also not yet learned of the myriad ways in which he had failed everyone he had ever cared for, and so spent his days wandering from place to place, pointing at bugs in the leaves and laughing. The ladder pissed him off. Who put it there? Why didn’t the old king tell him about its existence? What was the point of leaving a ladder behind the statue of Hylia when you could’ve put it in front, so stupid soulless people like him could use it to reach the end of the story faster? He returned to it much later, after he had purchased the house in Hateno, and yanked the whole thing down. Hacking it into four sections with a pickaxe he stole from a bokoblin (it had probably belonged to him first anyway), he piled all of them on his horse and then walked through Hyrule field, past Fort Hateno, all the way back to Bolson, who stared at him like he’d just asked him to kill a man. What do you mean you want me to fix this ladder, he asked. I mean I want you to fix this ladder, he replied. So Bolson did. Zelda laughs so hard she almost falls off the roof. She gets right up to the edge of it, leaning over the side with her face in her hands while he scrambles to keep her from toppling over. She only let him wrap up her arm because he was talking, because according to Zelda he never did much talking, but maybe he’s said too much. He’s embarrassed. Defeated, he lies down. There’s a star, just above the crown of trees at the other end of the village. He reaches out idly, trying to pinch it between his thumb and forefinger, but his fingers brush against skin instead of sky. Zelda, half-goddess, half-miracle, turns her face into the palm of his hand for the briefest of moments, like a butterfly alighting on the surface of a pond. The cicadas sing ballads. His breath stops in his lungs and dies there. “I like the ladder.” “Oh.” “Please keep it.” “Oh.” “You know,” she says, still leaning over him, close enough that if he gave her hand a tug, she might fall right out of heaven. Her head is tilted, her hair falling into her eyes, splaying across the tiles on the roof like a satiny strip of sun. “What?” he asks hoarsely. She smiles at him like a secret. “I—”

 He used to be in love with her. As each piece of his sixteen-part past was returned to him and the last day of his life emerged slowly into the light, it dawned on him like a horse falling out of the sky that he had been very lucky to be her knight, that he would have willingly given his life for her, and that he did. Only his final, heroic act of sacrifice failed to accomplish anything meaningful in spite of his best efforts. He had died with her hand cradling the back of his head, his tunic wet with blood and tears, believing that the ending could be salvaged still. Maybe this is what it takes to reach happiness, he thought dizzily. Maybe you have to be pushed to the end of the line, before you can start walking back towards the center. But when he opened his eyes, it was to a world which had not moved an inch from the precipice. His back was covered in scars, water streaming down his skin like blood, and his head was so light, he worried for a moment that if he stood up too fast it would float right off of his shoulders. The only thing that remained was old skin, the thin aftertaste of fear, and a bone-deep anxiety that wouldn’t come off no matter how many times he threw himself into the river. The only thing that remained was a voice in his head, calling his name through the dream, reminding him that there was still something that could be salvaged from the fire. He used to be in love with her, though it took him a while to admit it, because being in love with her meant admitting that he had failed not only on a prophetic level, but on a personal level that cut to the wound at the center of his chest. It was a matter of survival in those first few months. Him, or a kingdom. His selfish and worthless pride, or the world. Naturally, he chose the world.

 “Let’s say you’ve been asleep for a hundred years and when you wake up you’ve lost all your memories, but you chase after fairies and you dig up shrines and you defeat the big bad monster like you’ve been told to, because a girl told you to, and because you were in love with her. And after defeating the big bad monster she comes back, and you take her back to your house, and you fry eggs for her. But she’s not the person she was a hundred years ago, because she spent a hundred years in a dream. And you’re not the person you were a hundred years ago, because you forgot everything you could possibly forget, and then you got mauled by a bear. And yet when you look at her, every time you look at her, your chest hurts so bad you think you might be dying.” He looks up from his breadstick. “Am I dying?” “No,” Beedle says very seriously. “I think you’re stupid.” Beedle retrieves a string of petrified armored beetles from one of the pockets on his back, and holds it abruptly in his face. “You can fall in love with someone twice, you know.” Link wrinkles his nose. “How do you know?” Beedle sticks the lower half of a beetle in his mouth. “I’m five hundred years old.” He bites down. “I know things.” Chews thoughtfully. “I’ve eaten things, too. Things you’ve never even dreamed of. “Point is, Link, you’re being stupid. Get it together. The world’s not ending anymore.” “Oh,” says Link. He watches Beedle eat the rest of the beetles. There are five in total. He doesn’t have to chew very hard, which is weird. He turns Beedle’s words over in his head. Beedle has a point. The world isn’t ending anymore. The world isn’t hanging on by a thread, waiting for the boy in the story to haul it back up the side of the cliff. They hauled it back up, him and Zelda and their old dead friends. They hauled it out of the well. And now look at the flowers.

 Once, while sitting on a raft headed out to sea, he considered hurling himself into the water, but here’s the other half of the story. He had recently been into the castle again, up to the princess’ room, where he found, among other things, a moblin, a bow, and a single Silent Princess, growing at the end of the hallway. He also found a diary, which he really shouldn’t have read. He shouldn’t have read the diary. It’s common courtesy. It’s the mark of human decency, respect of personal privacy, respect for the dead, et cetera. But he did. So he hauled himself up to that tower in the sky, and he mistimed several guardian laser parries before finally getting one right and yelling in triumph and getting a beam to his ass for his efforts, and then he cried, standing over that tattered old book while a cold wind blew in through the man-sized hole in the wall. He had spent so long working towards the abstract idea of salvation, he had forgotten that salvation was also, inextricably, a person. A girl with the hands of Hylia, praying in a castle in the sky, stuck in a hundred year cycle from hell. She had thrown away everything so he would float back out of the water with his face to the sky, and he couldn’t even remember how to shoot a bear without getting his face clawed off. What had he ever done to deserve this? What had he done for her? The answer was he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember anything. The conversation they had about skin-deep secrets, the day it was raining and she told him about the hypothetical nature of failure, the morning of her seventeenth birthday, as she slid the gold cuffs onto her wrists and strode grimly out of the castle, her shadow clinging to the wall like it could keep her from leaving if it did. Did he even say happy birthday? Did anyone bring her candles? Did she make a wish, and if so, for what? He felt suddenly angry, and disappointed, and lonely. The fireplace was full of rubble and the table was covered in dust. The bed frame had collapsed, probably at the very beginning of this whole mess, and the mattress was sunken in like a face with no flesh, the sheets torn, the gold trim reduced to tatters. This place used to be a sanctuary. Now it wanted him dead. He wiped his eyes furiously, though there was no one there to point at him and laugh. He wiped his eyes with the back of his clumsy, scarred hand, pulled the diary shut, and walked back out, into heaven’s line of fire.

 He takes her to the Kochi dye shop on her request, but Sayge gives them a name and an address and herds them out of his store, and so they find themselves in Tarrey Town again, exchanging nods with the people he tricked into leaving their old lives behind while Zelda describes her old outfit to Rhondson, who takes notes on her husband’s arm in erasable ink. Several days later, a new set of clothes arrives in Hateno by donkey. He helps her do her hair, by which he means he holds a mirror behind her back and she does her hair, occasionally instructing him to tilt it several degrees in one direction or another, but it’s the most useful he’s felt in weeks, and when she’s pulled on her gloves and done up the buckles on her boots, she stands up and does a little twirl. It’s a perfect replica. She’s glowing. Rhondson is god. “I feel like I could defeat Ganon,” Zelda tells him. I already did that, he thinks. He nods. “You probably could.”

 “So, are you going to do something?” Beedle retrieves a string of soft-shell crabs from his pack. “Do I have to?” Beedle waggles his finger at him disapprovingly. “The question is, do you want to?”

 He has a dream where she falls from Shatterback Point. He runs as fast as he can down the side of the mountain, cutting his palms on coral and bruising his knees on the wet rocky path, but when he gets to the bottom, no one’s there. You were too late, Muzu tells him, stroking his beard somberly. You tried to reach her, but you let go, and then you were too late. The water in the lake is bright as blood. The sky crackles silently above Muzu’s vacant eyes. A voice emerges from the lake. You let me die, the voice says. I saved the world for you, and you let me die. He wakes up sweating. He curls up on his side, bracing for the cold, hard floor against his cheek, but Zelda’s slipped one of her pillows under his head while he was sleeping. She’s murmuring in her sleep, something about fruit halves and grams of sugar, her hand dangling over the side of the bed clenching and unclenching itself earnestly, kneading imaginary dough, cutting imaginary apples. “Zelda?” Too soft. He won’t call again. He refuses to. In a moment of weakness, he reaches for the side of the bed, but stops just shy of her hand. Beedle’s bright, angular nose appears before him, carrying with it the wisdom of his ancestors. What do you want to do, Link, Beedle’s Nose asks him. What do you want? I want to pull her out of the burning house, he thinks. Is that too much to ask for? Moonlight trickles down her throat and vanishes under the collar of her tunic. His chest implodes and his heart bursts into a thousand tiny pieces, as he wonders how it is that planets were made before people. Beedle’s Nose is indifferent. What burning house, it asks. Where’s the smoke coming from? Look around you, Link. There’s smoke, and fire, and windows with broken glass. But who’s still inside?

 Uma’s hundred-and-ninth birthday arrives on the coattails of fall. On her insistence, they keep the decorations sparse and the cake disarmingly large. Streamers are put up and butterflies corralled into glass menageries. A traveling band with a bit of a reputation further west is invited. There are three musicians with ocarinas and one with a cowbell, and all of them are wearing pink overalls and big yellow sun hats which hurt to look at for too long, unless you work for a construction company, in which case you want to look at them forever. After Bolson has finished taking down all of their contact information on his forearm (they prefer to be called for via messenger pigeon, but if you don’t have one then a snail is fine as well), Zelda drifts across the grass to stand in his place. She’s wearing a white dress, borrowed from Uma, who said it would complement her eyes. Uma was right. The dress is made from a thin, glittery fabric that billows around her ankles and makes her look like she’s floating. Like a fairy in a forest clearing. Like a cat perched at the top of a clocktower. Their conversation lasts for several minutes. She says something, and the others laugh. The guy with the cowbell pretends to look embarrassed. Everyone else at the party is dancing, including Uma, who is holding hands with a small child in a green frog-suit and swaying like a palm tree in the wind. While Zelda keeps the ocarina ensemble preoccupied, one of the adults in the village has gone and retrieved a guitar. He begins to play a warm, meandering tune that reminds Link, distantly, of grassy fields and white skies. “Are you not going to dance?” He looks down. Nebb tugs at the edge of his tunic with one hand, pulling him in the direction of the crowd. He squats down. “I don’t have anyone to dance with.” “You can dance with me. Duh.” “I don’t know how to dance.” Nebb looks at him like he’s stupid. “Then learn.” “What if I don’t want to?” “What if you meet someone who does, and you like them too much to say no?” He squints suspiciously at Nebb. Nebb’s atrocious bowl cut hasn’t grown any less atrocious with time, though it does have the effect of making him look far less menacing than he would be if he were bald or sporting a mohawk. The boy knows too much for someone so small. This cannot do. If this goes on, he will reveal a secret to the gods, and then they will kill him for his hubris. “Shhh,” Link says to him, holding a finger up to his lips. He digs around in his pockets until he finds a piece of honey candy, wrapped in a palm leaf and tied together with twine. “Take this, and go dance with someone else.” Nebb gives him the Stare of Judgment, but takes the candy. “You’re terrible, Link.” He sticks out his tongue. “Bye.” Then it’s back to demolishing the cake, which he’s still not convinced Uma didn’t order expressly so that he would have something to do with himself during the course of the evening, as the dancing progresses from cheerful to insane and a small group of guests begins to construct a spaceship out of empty wine glasses. No one else has gone for thirds, though a handful have gone for seconds. There’s a big fondant chicken perched on the highest layer. He sucks on his fork thoughtfully. He wants it. Last week they went up north, in search of forgiveness. Despite their best efforts and the gift of crabs and crocuses they brought along, their reception in Zora’s domain was cold and gray. It reminded him of the way they had received him when he first stepped out of the rain and into the blue glow of the domain’s hallways, armed with only the knowledge that he had been sent to prevent a tragedy that had already happened. He didn’t yet know that Mipha was dead. He thought he could still save her. They called him failure and fool and living reminder of Hyrule’s downfall, laughing at him in a language called mourning. He had thought they had forgiven the Hylians and their king for letting their Champion die, especially after he walked out of Vah Ruta with a black eye and a bloody nose to show for it, especially now that the evil had been defeated. Apparently the knight by himself was tolerable. The knight and the princess, together, made things too raw. Too immediate. “Mipha’s dead,” they said. It was a Tuesday. “I’m sorry,” Zelda replied. Tomorrow they’re headed for Goron City. He closes his eyes and wills away the taste of sweet cream and berries, tries to picture the winding path up Death Mountain, the grooves hammered into the ground, the rubies in their metal caskets. Flame-resistant armor is a given, so it’s a good thing he bought two sets on accident last winter. He wants to trap a few fire lizards in a bottle and bring them back for a friend. As for what he will say to Zelda before he hands her off to the city’s protectors, their hands half an inch apart but not touching, never touching, there isn’t much. Goron City will be better, he thinks. He licks the cream off his fork. It’s sweet. “What are you thinking?” He opens his eyes. Zelda looks at his plate, then the cake, then his plate again. She points at the chicken. He shrugs. “I was thinking that I hope Uma lives forever.” Someone has invited the dog onto the dance floor. He isn’t trying very hard to keep to the beat of the guitarist, who has been joined by two of the ocarina players with brown hair and blue eyes, but he doesn’t have to. Spinning very fast in a circle is actually the smartest dance move of them all. There’s no beginning, so there’s no end. Zelda plucks a berry from his plate. “It’s not very fun, to be honest,” she says, chewing thoughtfully. “Living for that long.” He watches the dog chase its own tail and she watches him watch the dog, though neither is aware this is happening. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I was asleep.” The dog is easily the best dancer in the crowd. He experiences neither shame nor hubris, and is thus freed from the stresses and seasonal anxieties of being known by others who might fear him or like him. He also runs very fast. Zelda punches his shoulder weakly, her hand lingering, her eyes soft. “That’s a terrible joke, Link.” He pinches the inside of his wrist. “I’m trying my best.” “So am I.” After a beat, the dog who has been invited to the party to spin in tight circles on the dance floor and be a nuisance to the other guests goes careening into the rotisserie chicken. In a wondrous, gravity-defying moment, the chicken sails not away from the dog, but towards him, flying in a swooping arc over his head at a height of several hundred feet above the ground. The plate clatters to the floor before the chicken can find its bearings and, awoken by its war cry, people scramble into action, evacuating themselves to the other side of the buffet table or under the veranda with their legs between their tails, until Uma is standing alone on the grass, still swaying to a song only she can hear, still smiling. The chicken reaches the highest point in the sky, pauses for a heartbeat, then pitches downwards. She catches it. The crowd goes wild. And then Zelda is tugging on his sleeve, like Negg, but not like Negg, because Zelda walked out of the mouth of the monster, because Zelda left her hand in the fire, because Zelda looked at the miserable, vulnerable world that he had yelled at until his voice was hoarse and dying and even the pigeons were something fiercer than him, that he had tended to with clumsy, scarred hands in spite of all the dead things on the ground, and decided to stay. “God,” she says, her eyes bright. “Link, look. In the sky.”

 Picture two figures in a forest full of night. Picture the princess carving a path through the trees, the knight stumbling after her, her hand tight around his wrist, their feet fast and flying. The sky is clear, of course, because someone pulled the mourning veil off its head and threw it in the river. They’re chasing after a column of light, poured by the hand of Hylia from the heavens. And they’re tired, both of them, so tired they could hurl themselves into bed and lie there, half an inch apart, watching each other in the dark with waiting on their tongues, but instead he trips on a branch and goes down, face-first, into the dirt. She doesn’t realize he’s let go until he lets go, but when she turns around he’s already pushed himself off the ground. Hands and knees and boots digging into the grass. The woods outside of Hateno are still teething. The princess gives him her hand, and he stares at it for a moment like she’s just offered him the rest of her lifespan, and then takes it. He’s fine; of course he is. It would take much more than this to kill him. It would take another hundred year cycle of pain. She points at the column of light. It’s still there. Still glowing. So they keep going, picking their way through the undergrowth, climbing over branches and pushing boulders out of harm’s way, doing what ghost children like them do best, which is pointing at something in the distance, and then chasing it. Chasing hope. Following it back to the center. And when they reach the place where the sky has spat out the blood in its mouth, the knight gets punched in the face with nostalgia. He caught a falling star once, when he was all alone and the world was grim and unknowable. Then he gave it to a fairy, in exchange for less blood on his tunic, in exchange for stronger teeth. He approached heaven from afar once, a solitary figure burning darkly against the pale yellow water, but there was no way for him to go home when all was said and done, so he pinched the inside of his wrist and kept walking.

 The thing is you can’t go from swinging a sword around and dreaming about dead people to waking up and frying eggs and searching for ways to heal the cracked earth beneath your feet. Not that fast. Not that goddamn fast. You can’t just flip a switch and not be scared anymore, not wake up sweating anymore, not wake up wanting to hold her hand. Fear is a country and you’ve lived in it all your life. There’s a reason kingdoms keep such a close eye on their borders. You’re either in, or you’re out. Make up your mind. Pick up your sword. Save yourself.

 The star fragment is stuck in a tree. Zelda wants to climb it and he wants her to stop; naturally, she wins. She hauls herself up the trunk while he circles the bottom like a hawk with an anxiety problem, waiting to catch the star, or the girl, or both. But neither comes pitching out of the sky. The dream stays just out of sight. “So that’s what star fragments look like,” she says later, her voice muffled by the sound of crickets. She turns it over in her hands, running her fingers along each point and indent. “They’re warm.” Smells it curiously, then wrinkles her nose. “No smell.” Tries to break off one especially thin-looking point with little success. “Sturdy.” She spends ten minutes staring at the star. He spends ten minutes staring at her. She gets bored, puts the fragment on the ground, and looks up. He looks away. “The party’s probably over now, huh.” He nods to his left. A sigh, very small, very lovely. Like a firefly under a bridge. “I didn’t get the chance to dance with anyone.” Beedle’s Nose is staring at him from a gap in the trees like the red eye of the devil. It’s singing a nursery rhyme he doesn’t remember learning. What do you want/what do you want/what do you want. Link! Link! Open your eyes! He has to break every bone in his body just to turn his head three inches to the right, but for the first time in this life, this new life, this second chance at everything, he gets it right. Zelda’s knees are drawn to her chest, her head pillowed on her arms, her gaze heavy on his face. He sucks in a breath. “Do you still want to?”

 Dancing without music sounds reasonable in theory, but generally requires one party to be exceptionally good at keeping count while the other has to be in possession of at least a rudimentary grasp of the steps. This is, of course, assuming that there are redeemable qualities to both parties. For example, if one is the knight from the fairy tale who has spent his whole life swinging sharp objects at people, and the other is the princess from the fairytale who has spent her whole life praying sharp objects find their way to the right people, then there may not in fact be anything redeemable between them. Her counting is off, his hands are clammy. Her voice is wavering, his feet are too slow. It’s disaster after disaster after disaster, first the champions in their divine beasts, then the castle, then the king on the Great Plateau, a knife through the heart, et cetera. Dancing without music sounds reasonable in theory unless you’ve spent the last three months of your life chasing angry moose down mountains, so it’s a good thing no one’s here to laugh at them. It’s a good thing they’re alone, surrounded by starlight, half an hour by foot from Hateno, village of lights and wonder. Spring has come and gone without them. The night is young and the air is cool and the forest is sweetly indifferent to his tendency to crash into inanimate objects. This would be embarrassing if he left himself think about it, but more importantly it’s unfair, how neither of them knows what they’re doing but Zelda can smile her way out of a clumsy turn, how he has to keep his hand on her waist but hers is doing an elaborate dance on his shoulder, how every time she leans in and her hair parts down her back, a sliver of neck peeks out and steals the lungs right out of his chest. He is going to die trying to keep his hands to himself or they are going to fall off the edge of the forest and into a ravine with no bottom. There is no option to walk away. “You’re a terrible dancer,” she says, smiling up at him from under her lashes. He chews on his lip. “I’m sorry.” “That’s fine.” He twirls her and her dress floats up past her ankles like a cloud of tiny stars. “I like you anyway.” He walks into a tree. Decides that’s not enough. Slaps himself generously across the face, hard enough to leave a mark. Decides that’s not enough. Kneels on the grass, letting go of her hand, to look for a stick that might help him end things faster. “Link?” It is too much and too little all at once, and therefore unbearable. He is going to fall off the edge of the forest right now. He tries to stand up just as she begins to bend down, reaching for his shoulder. They fall off the edge of the forest together. Oh god. Oh fuck. Oh no. They’ve fallen off the edge of the universe together. Her face is in the crook of his neck and her hair is stuck to his clothes. His skin is on fire and his butt is sore and he’s dying. Hylia, can you hear him? There’s a name for the place children go after they leave this world. He’d like to know what it’s called now. “Hey,” comes the small, muffled voice. Her arms are on either side of his waist, and they’re trembling. “Can you say something?” He looks up. Always up, always forward, towards knives and teeth and forests full of bodies. Always past the blurry face in the dream, to the nightmare that follows after. Someone will tell you when to breathe. Someone will tell you when to swing your sword. Someone will tell you when it’s all right to stop being scared of everything, and start looking for angels. Like right now. Like right-right-now. Your heartbeat fluttering in your throat. Your throat an ocean of knives. Eight weeks and three days after he walks into the castle and defeats two incarnations of evil, first in a room with a domed ceiling, then in a field with a domed sky, he steps out of the burning house, and finds himself face to face with the sun. He presses his cheek against her hair. “Do you want me to?” “Yes,” she sighs. “Yes, I do.”

 He tells her about the way the world looks from atop the back of a bear and the gray of the ocean from a raft and the conversation he had with her dead father about how cooked apples taste sweeter. He tells her about the first time he shot an arrow at a bomb barrel and the second time he shield-surfed down a hill and how Urbosa made him promise to take care of her, even in death, even after it. He tells her about being so lonely it hurt to breathe and being so bad at breathing he passed out in a river, and being so hurt he had to be saved by a stranger on the road, tied to the back of their donkey like a piece of merchandise and carried to the nearest stable to be burnt back to life. He tells her how no one believed he was the boy in the story, even when he pulled out the sword, even when he showed them the blood on his back. He tells her about how the stalhorses on Tabantha Snowfield run faster than the horses near Kakariko, how a bokoblin will choose a freshly roasted chicken over the skin of your teeth, how a sword is a metaphor for forgiveness. He tells her how a hundred years ago she told him to eat a frog, and he never forgot about it. Not once, not ever. Walking through the Breach of Demise, looking for Koroks in Fort Hateno, praying for her heart at the Spring of Wisdom, he never stopped thinking about the damn frog, and by extension, the girl. The first thing she says is why didn’t you tell me all of this earlier? The second thing she says is why the hell didn’t I ask? She presses a hand to his forehead, pushing his bangs out of his eyes and glaring at him. The third thing she says is that she really wants to see a stalhorse, and the fourth thing he says is he’ll take her there one day, and the fifth thing she does is cry. Big, heaving sobs. Arms tight around his shoulders, tears smearing the front of his shirt, while he pretends he isn’t half as insane, gives up, and resolves to hide his face in her hair forever. And it’s dramatic as hell, it’s an ancient tapestry on a wall in Kakariko, but hasn’t it always been that way? Haven’t they been through enough shit to justify the heartfelt reunion, the face full of tears? If the conversation they had in the field outside the castle was a blueprint for what it looks like to meet someone you wanted a hundred years ago, then this is the aftermath of that war. Do you remember me? Of course I do. Do you love me? Of course I do. Ask me a question, any question. Crack my chest open. “To make things very, very clear,” Zelda says, wiping her eyes furiously. She’s pushed him flat onto his back and the light’s not hitting her face so he can’t make out her expression, but he can imagine the pinched brow, the bitten lip. “I didn’t fall in love with you because you were conveniently there, like, I don’t know, an armchair when you’re tired, or a glass of water when you’re thirsty.” Her hands on his chest are very beautiful, even in the moon-lit dark. “I didn’t take one look at the prophecy and think to myself, well, if I’m going to tie my happiness to someone then it might as well be him.” Now he’s the one who’s embarrassed. He brings a hand up to cover his face but she tugs it away. Takes a deep breath. Counts to ten, probably, maybe fifteen, maybe a hundred. “I fell in love with you,” she says, softly, each word falling from her lips like a star, each star plucked from the highest point in the heavens. “I don’t even know why I fell in love with you.” She fists her hands loosely in his shirt. “It just happens, you know? One day you look at the boy with the stupid pretty hair, and you think to yourself, oh no.” His head is spinning so fast he feels like the dog at the party. Maybe he is the dog. Maybe he finished eating the cake and shoved the fondant chicken in his mouth and then he passed out, and had to be carried back to his house, and had to be laid gently on the unmade covers. He gathers his thoughts. “I’m not a very good person,” he says quietly. “But if you would have me, I would gladly give you my life.” “You’ve already done that once, Link,” Zelda says, laughing with the sun in her mouth. “Do something else.” What do you want, Link? Open your eyes. Save yourself. “Okay, then. Can I kiss you?”

 His name is Link, and he died once when he was seventeen. It was pretty traumatizing. He got slashed several times across the back with some very sharp weapons, and then he got mauled by a forest full of screaming metal, and then he collapsed, right in front of the person he was supposed to protect, who ended up protecting his dead body by the skin of her teeth. Because he died. Somewhere between the laser on his chest and her hand pressed against the seal of the sky, his body made one last stand against the stark inequalities of the world, and he died. The only reason he knew his name was Link when he woke up was because it was the first word she said to him. “Link,” she said. “Wake up.” He concluded through logical reasoning that “he” must be “Link” and that “Link” had to “wake up”. So he did. He went traipsing around Hyrule with a ladle and a pot lid, seeking out places from a photograph and trying to find ways to bring every four-legged animal in the land to a stable, but he never really felt like “Link”. He felt like a corpse that had received a very shiny, very thick coat of paint. Half-here, half-there. Half-me, half-something-else. What else? A bird, maybe. A horse. One day Link got bored and decided that he was going to defeat all the forces of evil. He fought his way into the castle, where the guardians shot lasers at his earrings, and he fought his way past the lynels, who hissed fire and called him rude words, and he fought his way into the sanctum, where he met the asshole who had put him through all this shit in the first place. And he kicked his ass. And he kicked his other ass. And the asshole died. His name was Ganon. Ganon dying brought Zelda back to life, because the law of equivalent exchange governs half of the children in this world, while the devil gets the rest. The devil got to him: his life will always carry the weight of hundreds of thousands, he will always feel like lead for the first three seconds after he wakes up. But it didn’t get to Zelda. Zelda got the other bargain, the one where your dead father dies but you get your knight back. One or the other, left or right. In the end, you always have to choose. And he’s still pretty traumatized. And dying at the age of seventeen with a sword still stuck in your hand is pretty traumatizing. And the Zora are still mourning and the Gorons are still eating rocks and the Gerudo still think he’s just a really short girl, which he can live with, which he doesn’t particularly mind, but the trauma has a place on the shelf now. And the shelf is in his house. And the house is a modest one, with modest display stands for his modest weapons, and a modest bed beside which he’s hung a framed photograph of his friends. But some things are different, even if the foundations stay the same. No more rafts on gray seas. No more sleeping on the floor. No more standing in the burning building, and wondering why the shadows aren’t moving. No more shrines full of dead monks. No more monsters full of dead bodies. No more waiting for someone to tell you when to breathe, when to stop, when to get mauled by a bear. Pick up your sword, boy. Now put it down. Now pick it up. Now put it down. You’re going to be doing this until the day that you die. Are you all right with that? Are you all right with your god? [Thank you for helping my sister.][They say the leviathans died thousands of years ago.][Get me a horse. A big, strong horse. Any horse.][BROTHER. THE ROCKS ARE READY.][Find me someone whose name ends with ‘-son’.][I’ll sell you rushrooms for diamonds. Fifty-five for one.][Have you heard of the story of the bird on the mountain?][Do you already have someone special in your heart?][They say if two people visit this pond, they’ll be together forever.][Do you believe in miracles?][Do you believe in magic?][Do you believe in me?] [I believed I would see you again.]

It’s a cruel, unforgiving world. People die and don’t come back. But you did. Now get up. Someone’s waiting for you.

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octalove · 4 years

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VIII: Struck by Lightning

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Reader makes a confession, and goes on a date. Previous.

TW: Brief mention of gore (just blood)

In the weeks succeeding the Little Italy mission, I found a rhythm in the two conflicting heartbeats of my life. Occasionally, I met with Jason to file down the multitude of criminals who opposed him (it wasn’t all rescuing orphans and kittens, but his justice was fair and swift), and other than that, I carried on with life as normal; both as myself, and Batgirl. It was an inconsistent, exciting balancing act.

I tried to humor Bruce’s transparent attempts to placate me with cold cases, deeming it study. My school work had unsurprisingly lost its appeal, and I found myself rocking in the river banks of what was sure to be a failing grade in most of my classes- though I had yet to run ashore. Yet.

I danced along, despite my reprisal (a lack of sleep, and white lies on either side), and overall there was a certain stalemate. With that, peace. Or at least, the closest I could get.

On a Saturday I happened to have free (to my great relief), I woke up at one in the afternoon, to a blessedly dim day that kept the light in my room dark enough to cradle my lie-in.

I washed the sleep from my face, and stumbled downstairs, muscles sore from a Thursday night mission with Jason at the Port (of which I told my family I was going to a party). Tim was the only one in the kitchen- looking like he, too, had just crawled out of bed. He was eating cereal in silence.

We hadn’t been avoiding each other, per say- just got wrapped up in our own routines. Routines that kept me out of the house, and him trapped within it.

“Morning.” I said.

“Mm.” He replied.

I poured out my own bowl of cereal and settled on top of the glossy white granite. It was kind of a running joke at the Wayne household that you could sit anywhere but the chairs. Even Damian picked up on it- and, naturally, he was the best at it- perching his lithe little form atop the fridge at one point.

Now, Tim and I sat side by side on the countertop, shoulders brushing and spoons clanging against our glass bowls. Nothing more was said, but it was a comfortable silence.

I thought, for a second, about the world he’d been living in for the past few months as November bled into December. About his work and his many, many jobs he had to do. The way he shouldered them all week-to-week. He didn’t have to, but he did.

Tim made me a better person. I thought so, anyway.

But then, before I met him, I was the kind of person who let Carolyn Crawford slap me across the face to cover for someone else’s secret. Now, I was the kind who let other people take the blame for mine. Maybe Tim didn’t make me a better person. Only I could do that.

“I need to talk to you.” I said it firmly, and with authority. Mostly to convince myself that I was certain in my intention to go through with it. Bruce eyed me, looking up from his book.

“Alright.”

“...”

“In private.”

Alfred and Damian’s voices carried through to the living room as they had tea (an evening tradition). Bruce nodded, closed his book, and led me upstairs.

His office was a quiet, peaceful place. Finished dark wood, glass tables, and black leather accents. It was the room in the house that was most furnished to his own private taste, and thus, a glimpse inside was into him. It was mostly predictable; W.E. briefcases, notebooks and pens, case files open, and a map of the city that was displayed behind his desk. But there were other things too; a rubik’s cube half solved on the settee, a magazine featuring Vicki Vale with a pen in her hand and a defiant, head-strong look on her face. A gorgeous trailing point knife that belonged to Damian (probably confiscated).

I sat down in the chair that faced his own; his giant, glossy desk between us. I wanted to be swallowed into the dark leather. I felt like I was back at the shrink.

“Tim didn’t sneak off on the 21st.” I said quickly, cutting off the silence as quickly as I could. “He’s not the one who saw Red Hood kill that guy. It was me. I made Tim promise not to tell. He lied to cover for me.”

Bruce was quiet. He did that a lot; made you wait for him to speak. Seconds, minutes, hours. It all felt the same when he let you simmer in your own mistakes. I didn’t look up.

“I see.”

Silence. A long, testing silence. His irritating little desk clock ticked away.

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?” He asked.

I nodded.

“Very well. You’re dismissed.”

“Really?” I asked. “That’s it? You’re not mad?”

He paused. “Should I be?”

I blinked, gaze falling on the floor. “I put Tim in a really shitty position. He didn’t have to lie, but he did because I asked him to. I’m mad at me.” I admitted quietly.

Bruce nodded pedantically, resting his head on his hand. “Then that’s good enough for me.”

I furrowed my brow. It wasn’t good enough for me. “It was wrong.” I clarified, trying to press for some manner of reprimand that I didn’t truly want, but felt deserving of anyway. Bruce considered this, in his quiet, inscrutable way. After a moment, he spoke.

“Your mothers trusted me.” He said. I knew that. My parents were business-oriented like that. They were pulled together by happenstance, each without family and carving their own way in the world by studying international law, and applying it to companies who could afford private foreign trade, such as Wayne Enterprises. I attended the parties, the galas, standing around in my designer gowns while my moms handed out their business cards and talked about imports. They weren’t neglectful, just distracted.

“I don’t know if you remember-“

“I do.”

And if I had a dollar for every time the cops or the shrink asked me if I remembered that night, I’d buy my own manor.

Bruce Wayne was at my birth. He and my mothers had been business partners for a while by that time. He watched me, dutifully, when my parents went on date nights, and played catch with me when I accompanied him and Dick to the park. He cooked me breakfast the morning after my mothers died.

I knew it wasn’t a random killing, but he didn’t talk about why they were murdered in their own bed until I was fifteen. By then, I was knowledgeable enough to go searching through the police reports on my own. So instead, one night he’d sat me down at the kitchen table, looking at me earnestly.

“You have to understand, Y/N. Your mothers were...” He’d taken a deep breath. Tried again. “They were involved in things. Things I didn’t know about. It made them a lot of enemies.” Then, something harder passed his features. A frustration.

“They were completely blind to the fact that it meant you would never have a normal life. Not as long as they kept it up- that... double life.” I let the statement hang in the air for a time. “That was stolen from you, from the moment they got involved with the Baciu. And I’m sorry.”

It was easy to be sorry. I was sorry, too. My mothers got themselves tangled in Gotham’s heroin trade, and they weren’t careful enough, so they died for it. It was fairly cut and dry. Open file, close case. But the part that was so bitter to swallow was that it happened to me. A fourteen-year-old child creeping into my mothers’ bed because I’d heard a noise, and the re-runs of Ghost Hunter I’d religiously consumed were conjuring movement in the shadows. But there were no ghosts. Just sheets stained with blood that looked black in the darkness. Just the wet, clogged sort of sound when I peeled back the covers, unable to register they way my mothers were bent, and stilled in a way that only death can induce, where just earlier that night they’d been walking and talking. Bringing me Chinese take-out for dinner.

Their death, and everything that followed was emptying. Cracking open a great chasm and bringing death home, into the halls, and into my room. No longer a rumor. It was an empty chair, and a storied space made cold and worthless. It would’ve been easier if they had simply died as a random killing. Tragic, standard, random Gotham City killing. If I had just been that unlucky. If they’d only been struck by lightning. Instead, I grieved twice; once for who they were, and another time, for who I thought they were.

When Bruce adopted me, I became Batgirl. I made it my own vendetta to stop criminals without killing them, because I knew that some- most of them had children at home who would be the real victims if I did.

But then, I thought deeper. More considerately, about who my mothers were. Moreover, who they weren’t. Pearl and gold, white teeth and hairspray. Singing to me, and playing Monopoly, at which they were both so competitive that they had to kiss and make up after every game. Bringing me a strawberry cupcake in bed every year on my birthday. Kissing me on the head. Telling me to be good. Leaving me in that big house. Going off to Port Adams, or Crime Alley. Signing orders. Putting bodies in Finger River.

Nobody’s innocent here, dollface.

“They trusted me.” Bruce’s voice interrupted my reminiscing with the ghosts of my past. “I know their death was hard, and you may still be recovering. I’m trying to do the best I can for you.” He finished. For all the gnashing teeth and avaricious expanses of Gotham City secrets, he looked tired.

“I know, Bruce.” I said quietly. “Me too.”

The following Tuesday, I got home from school and started on a mountain of homework I needed to do- some make up work as well. Christmas break was around the corner, and I was slowly losing motivation as the semester drew to a close. I had too many distractions; and tonight was no exception.

Ding.

My phone buzzed, and I looked down, eyebrows raising to find that it was a text from Jason- one that wasn’t just a pin dropped to a location.

Meet me at Twin Sharks. I’ll buy you a coffee.

- What’s the occasion?

No reply. I sighed. I should’ve called him and made him tell me, but I knew that I would go no matter what, so I decided to play the apathy card. Despite my cool response, my heart (the traitor) was fluttering like a bird. Was this about the kiss? Our partnership? Was it an actual, regular date? Or was he breaking it off? My mind raced, and as I pulled together a tasteful outfit and sprayed myself with perfume, I promised myself that it wasn’t for him.

The Twin Sharks was a diner in Upper West Side, near China town. It was nicer than the likes of Sherman’s, or anything else East End had to offer. The late afternoon was unexpectedly bright, clouds parted for a sweet reprieve of gold and blush in the sky. The sun was a striking blood-orange, hung low over the city. It struck a match in my chest- some childish, poetic hopefulness.

The diner’s door jingled, and I scanned the booths and tables. It was a little crowded, but I spotted Jason alone in a booth, his eyes cast down, involved with his phone. I made my way over to him, slipping off my coat and plopping down his opposite.

“Hey.” I said. His eyes fell upon me, and I saw something on his face- maybe surprise, or something to that effect- before he composed his expression into something unreadable.

“Hey.”

The diner had a big, hot pink neon sign that depicted a matching pair of sharks above the counter. Its buzzing glow mixed with the orange gleam of the lowering sun through the windows- it was all very rose-colored.

The waitress put a coffee in front of me, and I got to work on adorning it with the little cream and sugar packets on the table. He watched me do it for while.

“What?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Nothin’.” He said. Then, he reached across the table, and took my hand, pulling it back to him, and pressed a soft kiss to my knuckles. I was so startled by it that I dropped the sugar packet I was holding. Neither of us seemed to notice. He turned my hand over and placed another kiss in the inside of my wrist before returning it safely to my side of the table. I was certain my face burned like the neon sharks.

“I’m- um- is this a date?” I asked, trying to get him to say something- anything- to get my mind off the way he’d just reduced me to a puddle.

He looked amused by that. “You want it to be?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, stirring my coffee. “You invited me.”

He nodded, eyes falling away. “Yeah. I’ve got an update for you. D’amici business.”

“Oh.” By the look on his face, it wasn’t good news.

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“Perfect. My day’s been a little too good so far.” I said. He slid me his phone- on the screen was an article from the Gotham Quarterly.

Young Bride Found Murdered in Diamond District Estate

I read over it a couple times, brow furrowing. “You mean...“

“Penelope. It happened last night.”

“Shit.” I muttered, scrolling down and scanning through the article. My throat caught as I read over it. She was shot in her bed. “It says there’s no suspects.”

“Course it does. It’s the mafia. They handle things nice and quiet.”

“And I’m guessing you have a few a suspects.” He nodded grimly as I slid his phone back to him.

“One better. I know exactly who did it. I think you do, too.”

I put my head in my hands, mulling over my options. Really there was only one. Penelope’s beautiful, flustered face and apologetic eyes flashed through my mind. Her wind-chime laugh as we ate scones under the watchful eye of her adoring, peculiar grandmother.

“Okay.” I resolved. “Let’s get that girl justice.”

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winterknight1087 · 3 years

Text

Hardly the Villains

Summary: Roman is the superhero Prince, who fights against the Dark Sides, consisting of Green Menace, Viper, and Shadow Wing. What happens when Roman discovers the real identity of these villains will change his outlook of them.

Word Count: 4868

Warnings: sympathetic Remus, sympathetic Deceit/Janus, fighting, injuries, cursing

Pairings: eventual romantic LAMP, romantic Demus, brotherly creativitwins, brotherly anxceit

AO3 Link My Writing

@rosesisupposes I am so sorry this is a little bit late! 2020 ended the same way it went. But still, I hope you enjoy your @sanderssidesgiftxchange present! It was a fun challenge to work on a superhero fic focused on Roman and Remus!

"Here hold this."

The masked hero barely had time to catch the thing thrown at him, much less identify what it was, before the stick of dynamite blew up in his face. If it were any other super villain, then this would have been the end of the hero. Yet, Green Menace didn't seem to get the memo that he was supposed to try and kill the hero.

The hero let out a squawk as, for the third time this week, his face and hair were covered in cartoonish ash. He heard the cackle of the villain as Viper told Menace that they needed to go.

"Til next time, Princey." Shadow Wing announced.

“Stop flirting and let’s get out of here.” Viper stated to Shadow, not caring if the hero heard or not. The hero did hear, but he also couldn’t see Shadow’s reaction as the villain scooped up Viper and vanishing into the shadows.

"Well, this was fun!" Menace cackled before pulling a paint brush out of nowhere and painting a tunnel on a wall.

The hero knew better than to go after Menace at that point. All of Menace’s powers followed cartoon logic. He had flown straight into too many walls to know that only Menace could use those dumb paintings to travel. So, the hero sigh and flew off.

****

“Like honestly, does that fiend have any idea how hard it is to get that gunk out of my hair?” Roman scrubbed his hair with the towel around his head.

His boyfriend didn’t even bother looking up from his book. “I highly doubt that he knows considering that he is smart enough not to be here after your fights.”

“Sure, I have to take a shower anyways, because of normal fight dirt, but that fiend just has to give me that dumb stick and I have to spend 5ever trying to get the stuff out of my hair!”

“You could try asking him not to hand you the stick of dynamite.”

Roman gave the book Logan was holding determinedly in front of his face, the glare meant for the nerd. “Right, yeah, sure. Something like ‘Excuse me, fiend I fight at least three times a week, can you like not hand me your explosion gunk sticks? Thanks boo.’ How’s that sound?”

“Sounds perfect, RoRo! Just make sure to use your please and thank you’s!” The third boyfriend said, swooping in with a plate of cookies.

Logan finally lowered his book to glance at his watch. “Hmm, you are getting faster at washing that stuff out of your hair, Roman. Patton usually has eaten half of his baked goods before you return.”

Roman managed to let out an offended squawk before the windows suddenly blew in, knocking the bug screen inside the house. The gust of wind responsible seemed to spin around Patton before vanishing. The man let out a small giggle before the chaos appeared.

Remus was shrieking as he scrambled through the window. Logan managed to count to two before a furious looking goose followed the chaotic man in. Remus was already running down the hall to his room, but the goose didn’t seem to be deterred, even if the goose had to make its nest and raise its chicks outside this fiend’s door. The goose would get its revenge eventually.

This time, Logan got to ten before the front door was thrown open with the other two. Janus barked at Roman to help him before sprinting down the hall. Roman shut his eyes to let out a breath, but a crash and something shattering sent him after his twin and twin’s boyfriend. Virgil let out his own breath before saying something that couldn’t be overheard by a loud beep.

“Patton, stop trying to give me a filter! It’s not going to happen and I think a murderous goose deserves a swear or two!”

“What did Remus do this time?” Logan asked, unnervingly calm about this entire situation.

Virgil ran a hand through his hair. “Jan told Remus to get out more and enjoy the sunlight for once. Remus pulled out his meme skills and informed us he went to the park. Then as Jan was congratulating him on going outside, Ree pulled out the goose and it did not like that. We’ve been following the idiot and goose since 4th Street.”

“I’ll go grab the three of you some water then.” Patton hummed as he went back into the kitchen, ignoring the screeching and thumps from further down the hall.

“I am pleased to hear you are getting exercise at least, Virgil.” Logan commented, returning to his book.

“I swear the rat is going to give me a heart attack one of these days, and then I won’t hear the end of Jan’s whining.”

“I do not whine.”

Logan lowered his book, questioning why he was even bothering to try and continue reading. “Also, why would Janus whine to you if you were the one to have a heart attack? I would assume he would whine to the rest of us, as I doubt he would whine to his boyfriend.”

“Janny, you would 100% whine that I was making the rat look bad.” Virgil stated, rolling his eyes.

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

A voice at the front door cackled. “But Janny makes you go red and it’s cute!”

Logan raised an eyebrow at Remus, who now stood at the door as if nothing had happened. “Did you climb out your bedroom window to avoid the goose?”

“No,” He grinned. “I climbed out to avoid my bro bro twin. Pretty sure he’s still screaming at my door. Where’d Goose Janus go?”

“Well, Janus is right there, however, I am unsure what has become of the goose.”

“Nooo, that’s Human Janus. I asked about Goose Janus.”

“Do not call me Human Janus either.”

“VeeVee, your brother is being mean to meeeeeeEEEee!!!!”

Virgil rolled his eyes at the two of them. “Where is the goose, Jan? I don’t want to be running after the rat and a goose across town again.”

“Roman managed to get it into a pillowcase. He had the top clutched for dear life while screaming at Remus. Which means, we should probably get out of here before the goose is released.” Janus commented.

“Oh, you three are already leaving?” Patton asked, carrying three water bottles.

“Patton, you are amazing.” Janus stated, snatching a bottle from him and downing it in a single gulp.

Virgil rolled his eyes at the figure going for a second water bottle. “Probably for the best. Prince Whines a Lot isn’t exactly agreeable after… work.”

“Oh, OK. We’ll see you guys later then!”

With that, Virgil shoved the other two out the door, muttering that he wanted to go lay down and not move for the next year. The two left in the living room could hear their third partner ranting at a door down the hall, oblivious to the fact the resident was gone. There were also muffled goose noises that worried Patton.

Logan sighed, setting his book aside. “I’ll call Animal Control to come get it. You want to go inform Roman that his twin is gone?”

“M’kay.”

***

Roman’s day had been absolutely terrible. He had gotten a flat tire, some dragon witch at the store stole the entire stock of Crofters before telling him off for being in her way, and he accidentally dropped his phone so it now had a giant crack on the screen. So, when he walked in to see muddy footprints and what he would argue was the stench of a dead rat in the wall, in the summer, he was not exactly kind as he turned to face his twin.

Remus was curled around his laptop, furiously typing away on it. Roman noted the muddy boots that made the muddy footprints were hitched up on the coffee table, spreading the filth there too. Remus muttered something about ripping someone’s ears off and shoving them up their butt and that was the line for Roman today.

“Are you serious, Remus! This place is a disaster! When I left, it was spotless! And what is that smell?! Did you run a secret trash dump in here while I was gone?”

“Oooooh, that is an interesting idea.” Remus cackled, still not looking up.

If Roman had the ability to shoot laser beams out of his eyes, Remus would have already been a crisp of a crisp. “What are you even doing?”

“Hacking into a multibillion company for a sweet payday.”

Roman managed to get halfway through an eyeroll before realizing what his brother was actually doing. “Great, I’m going to have to burn that couch!”

Remus finally glanced up at the other, eyebrows knit. But before he could ask, his phone let off a ding and he decided that was more interesting. He snatched it up and started grinning. Roman watched Remus quickly throw everything into his backpack. He jumped up and grabbed a duffle bag that Roman hadn’t noticed. If Remus was covered in mud, the duffle was mud disguised as a bag. Remus sang out a ‘smell ya later, bro bro’ before he was out the front door, leaving Roman in the middle of the mess.

Roman took a deep breath as the door slammed behind his twin. He took another. One more deep inhale and he let out a frustrated scream into the arm desperately trying to muffle it. Now his throat hurt on top of him needing to clean up the mess his idiot of a brother left behind.

“Come on, Roman. Mom is paying off your car payments and rent for letting the bastard stay here. And you like not having to use 85% of your paychecks just to pay for those. Plus, the bastard spends most of his time out of the house with those irritating friends of his. It’s fine! It’ll be fine!”

He kept muttering this to himself as he angrily cleaned up the mud. Once he got as much as he could up, he took a seat (on the opposite couch as he now had to get rid of his favorite couch) to Google how to get rid of the stench. Like honestly, what did that bastard do to make it smell so bad in here? Roman thought it would be a bit better once some of the mud was gone, but nope, still just as bad.

Almost louder than Remus’s snoring, the Hercules song Zero to Hero started blaring from Roman’s work phone. He was instantly on his feet, heading to his room as he pulled it out of his pocket.

New message:

Human Computer: The Dark Sides are robbing the regional Walmart financial offices. That is two streetlights left of the so called ‘lame’ coffeeshop, Prince.

Moral Compass: Aww, I just put on the new episode of Steven Universe Future though!

Human Computer: I am sure they will apologize if you inform them of this. Prince, have you seen the message or am I going to have to hack your personal phone and laptop to get your attention?

Prince: 10-4 nerd

Roman grabbed his katana before rushing out the back door. He grinned as he twisted the watch face and pressed the newly appeared button. Sometimes making Logan watch cartoons and daring him to make cartoon gadgets was worth the mutterings and frustration Roman faced from his partner. The hero costume shimmered around him, concealing his identity as he took off into the sky.

Roman could hear the alarms going off. Even if Logan hadn’t specified where it was, Roman would have known where those fiends were. He knew that Patton would give him the scolding of the century if he knew, but Roman welcomed this attack. It gave him a means to take his frustrations off on some villains who constantly tormented the town.

“Sorry, Princey. Can’t let you go any further.” A voice commented behind the hero as he took in the scene.

“Oh look, it’s the talking shadowling.” Roman commented, turning to see the villain.

Honestly, seeing Shadow Wing always took Roman’s breath away upon first sight. Long wings were stretched out, barely flapping in order to keep the person up. Shadows were cascading down the wings, mimicking black flames falling to the ground. As for the villain, Shadow always reminded Roman of Wesley in his full Dread Pirate Roberts getup from the Princess Bride.

“Ooof, pretty sure you used that insult last week. Running out of creative material there, Princey?” That insufferable smirk!

“At least I have a variety, Raven Boy.”

“Mmm, creativity is not my department. Anyways, what’s up with the big knife you’ve got there? Wanna try slicing shadows?”

Roman had enough time to pull out the katana before the strange ball of frozen darkness was dangerously close. He barely managed to slash it. He still preferred Shadow’s cold blobs over being handed the explosive gunk stick Menace always handed him. Roman watched Shadow take off into the sky before swooping down close to the ground.

A ball of darkness landed right before Logan, or as he was in his own hero costume-the Human Computer. The villain was already rising back up into the air, ignoring the fact that he had just barely missed the hero’s sidekick. Roman threw himself into the fight, angry about the day, sure, but this villain just went after his boyfriend! There must be vengeance!

“Oooooooh, Shadow really does have interesting flirting methods!” A new voice commented.

Shadow threw some of his shadows at Green Menace, who was eagerly cackling. Roman quickly scanned, searching for the last of the evil trio. No sight of Viper. Then Menace’s voice forced Roman to turn back to seeing what the villain was cackling about. He did have to admit Menace and Shadow seemed to be close friends at the very least. Why does that hurt Roman?

“Let’s get this over with. I have SUF to watch.” Shadow commented.

“Okie dokie, bro-kie!”

“Say that again and I am sending you to the bottom of the Mariana Trench and leaving you for the eldritch horrors down there.”

“Pleasssssse, even they would ssssend thissss trash back to ussssss.” Ah, there’s Viper.

Menace was grinning as he pretended to wipe away a tear. “The two of you really understand me.”

Roman twisted the katana, mentally mapping out how to try and take these three down. It was always a difficult fight but Logan and Patton were better ground support while the dark trio kept to the skies, out of reach of almost everyone and thing. And because Roman was certain of this fact, he didn’t see the safety hazard strike him down.

All Roman knew was one moment, he was getting ready to whap Menace and the next, he was in a huge crater, staring up at four figures in the sky. The air was knocked out of him and his body did not want to move for the next year. Before he could reorient himself, the new figure knocked an entire building on top of Roman, trapping him under rubble. Not that the hero noticed as he lost consciousness.

***

The three villains stared in shock at the new figure. The new enemy hummed disinterestedly at the pile where the hero had landed. The new figure turned to look over the three standing before them. He had planned this entire take over and subjecting these three useless tools to his will. Half of his plan was already complete, now just to deal with the amateurs.

All three of them had lost the easiness they had with the hero. Now, they look furious. In fact, Green Menace looked like he was about to rip the world apart with his teeth. The new figure didn’t place much thought on that, expecting that reaction.

“Now then. You three idiots see how a real villain does it.” He stated. “I will be merciful and offer you positions as my lackies, but this is now my town.”

Shadow was already pulling all of the shadows towards him as Viper hissed at the newcomer. “No, you will not. This is our home. We will not let anyone else terrorize our home. We might not be heroes to the people here, but we will not let someone come terrorize the town we have under our control.”

“Shadow, Viper.” Menace’s voice was chillingly serious. “Now.”

Shadows shot through the air, stealing the sunlight and replacing it with waves of fear and terror, as a long snake managed to coil around the newcomer. However, Green Menace was the most terrifying to onlookers and the new villain. Menace was out for blood and would not rest until the bastard was twenty feet under for hurting his twin brother.

****

“…kidding me?!”

“What else were we supposed to do, Vee? Leave him there?”

“Take him to the house the two of you share! Hate to break it to you, but your brother is a complete dumbass; I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that he doesn’t know the truth. So, he’s not only going to wake up after a massive fight, in a strange place he has never been in, he’s also surrounded by his enemies!”

For all the luck in the world, of course this was the first thing Roman heard as he gained consciousness. The hero tensed as he opened his eyes only the smallest amount to see the trio of villains standing in front of him in a dark room. He desperately wanted to look around and see how much danger he was in, but that would require that he open his eyes and if they weren’t torturing him because they thought he was still unconscious, then he wasn’t going to let them know he was awake.

“I agree that he probably hasn’t figured it out yet, but if we left him, rescue services would have found him and if one of our identities are revealed, all of them are. What do you think the government’s first reaction to having the superhero Prince unconscious in some hospital would be? Hmm? We are working with what we can do. We wouldn’t be able to make it to the twins’ house without being spotted. We have our tunnels to get here.”

Wait… That meant… They knew where he lived. Oh no, they knew where he lived. That meant Remus would be in danger as well. It meant Logan and Patton were in danger. It meant that Virgil and Janus were in danger. It meant that everyone Roman knew and cared about were in danger because of these villains.

“I know that this entire situation is bad, but we’re doing the best we can. Even the walking ray of sunshine and nerd said this was the best option.”

Pound. Pound.

“Where is he?! How badly is he hurt?”

Roman’s heart might as well have stopped in that moment. These villains could do whatever they wanted to him, but he will not let these fiends harm a hair on Patton or Logan’s head. In an instant, Roman was on his feet, and shoving the closest figure to him against a wall. As he looked at the face he had pinned, his heart might as well be stopped as that would be a kinder fate than this. The face he saw, was the face of Virgil Storm-Ekans.

Roman stepped back in pure shock as his eyes swept to the other two villains, taking in all three shocked faces. Standing in front of him were both his brother and Remus’ friends, but also the trio of villains, perfectly mashed together. His twin brother in Menace’s sparkling green and black costume probably found in some thrift store, looking like some knock off Luigi. Janus in Viper’s black and yellow suit complete with the dumb cloak and hat. And Virgil in… Virgil in a black Wesley outfit with huge shadow-y black wings wrapped tightly around him.

“I-No… Noo… This isn’t- it can’t”

Patton appeared, blocking Roman’s vision from the three he hated. “Roman, hey, hey. Shhhh. It’s OK. Come on, let’s get you back on the couch. You’re OK, your safe.”

Roman was gently forced onto the couch before Patton started to heal the injuries he had. Soft blue light shone from his hand as each wound healed and vanished. Roman’s eyes were still trying to take in the mess, however. A creak pulled his attention to a set of stairs to see Logan calmly walking down, looking at something on his phone.

“Lo, do you have information on who the hell Orange Traffic Cone was?” Virgil asked, his wings fluttering nervously as they unwrapped from around him.

“I was going to ask the same of you. They were obviously some kind of villain, so I assumed you three would have more information on who or what they were.”

“Well, isn’t this a wonderful situation we have.” Janus grimaced. “I doubt they will be returning, however.”

Logan adjusted his glasses as he glanced over at Roman, pleased to see the boyfriend was healing up well. “Well, after that impressive show of power, I doubt anyone will try to take over the town from you three. I do wonder how the three of you gained so much power though.”

“We were the ones to find the dumb radioactive stone and spend more time around it, Logan. Proximity to the source of all of our powers.” Janus commented.

“Ah, that does make sense. It would also probably explain the extra developments as well.”

“Call them what they are, Lo. Mutations. Freaks like me… us have mutations.” Virgil spat.

Logan looked over the other, noting that the wings were tightening around the youngest of the group. “You are not a freak, Virgil.”

Virgil scoffed, “Yeah, right.”

Logan narrowed his eyes but could tell that it would take a while to improve the other’s confidence, so decided to try and improve the mood. “You are not a freak, Virgil. I know you do not accept it right now, but hopefully in time. Now, Remus, a question I have been meaning to ask. Did you really dump cow manure on the executive’s desk?”

“Wait, was that what was in that disgusting bag of yours?!”

“It was bull shit!” Remus cackled.

“What-what is going on?” Roman intruded, weakly. “Is-is this some kind of prank or a dream?”

“Roman, have you truly not realized who the ‘dark sides’ are?” Logan asked, curiously. “Did it not occur to you that if you got superpowers, at very least your own twin brother would also develop some powers as well?”

“But-but- they’re evil!” Roman screeched.

“Hardly.”

Remus knelt to look his twin in the face, concern filling the red-tinted hazel eyes. “Ro- did- do you really think that? Do you really think us evil?”

Words would not escape Roman’s chocked throat, but that seemed enough of an answer to the rest of the room. Virgil and Janus instantly backed away, granting Roman more space as Logan moved forward and took the seat on Roman’s other side. Remus looked at his twin in so much shock and pain that Roman wanted to lie through his teeth.

“Roman, while these three may violate legal codes, they are hardly evil. They are more like Robin Hood than some evil monster.”

“But today-“

“We were stealing from Walmart to give money to a homeless shelter full of full-time Walmart employees, Ro. What happened with that rando was unexpected. We still don’t know who they were or what their intentions truly were.” Virgil said, softly.

Patton took Roman’s hand into his. “RoRo, have you not even wondered why despite all those fights, you never actually ended up hurt? Not even a bruise most times.”

“That literally every hit that would actually hurt missed? Like I get thinking that of Remus, but of Jan and me?”

“But- what about you throwing one of those dark snowballs at Logan earlier?!”

Logan barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Roman, I’m not sure you’ve realized yet, but Patton and I knew who these three were. Virgil was tossing me a flash drive that I designed to aide them in hacking through complex security measures that I was able to use to further hide the true amount they stole.”

“You were helping these fiends?!?”

“Well, it’s not acceptable that a multibillion company lets their employees live in poverty.” Patton softly admitted.

“Why-“ Roman was just so lost and confused. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? Why was I left out?”

“Most of us thought you already knew. Virgil pushed for a verbal confirmation that you knew before letting the idea that you didn’t know rest. It’s not like we made any effort to discuss work out of very specific locations, which rarely intersect between all of us.” Logan answered.

Roman ran a hand through his hair, trying to process all of this. The rest of the room glanced around at each other. A silent agreement to give the hero a moment was passed around. Once they seemed to understand the decision, Janus glanced at Virgil before turning to Patton.

“Hey, literal sunshine. Can you possibly take a look at Virgil’s wing and see if you can heal whatever happened to it?”

“I’m fine, Jan.”

“Bullshit. Don’t make me pull the older brother card on you, little shit. You only hold your wings that close to you when they are hurt.”

“If you’re hurt, I can fix it! You don’t need to be in pain!” Patton said, jumping up.

“Seriously, I’m fine, Princey over there was the one who got hit with an entire building.”

“Vee, let Pat look at your wing. Traffic Cone did a pretty bad number on you, trying to knock you out of the air.” Remus said softly.

“Come on, kiddo. I’ll need access to your back to see if the joints are alright, but you’ll feel a lot better afterword!” Patton said.

“Ugh, I can see the fight is already lost.” Virgil muttered, before taking his black shirt off.

Roman had a lot of information to process, but that didn’t happen as he saw how ripped the other was. He had thought Virgil was hot and Shadow Wing hotter, but seeing the two combined, yeah, Roman was gay. At least he was also poly so could ask his partners if they were interested in romancing a certain shadow. Which if his super gay mind could actually remember anything, he would remember that they were actually already pushing to ask Vee out.

“OK, you have a bruised muscle and some of your feathers are gone. I also think you have a broken bone somewhere around here.” Patton said, pulling Roman out of his gay panic.

Janus immediately moved over, looking over the feathers before letting out a breath. “You are one lucky bastard, Vee. It’s mostly tertiary and a few secondary ones. But that means you were close to getting taken out by that knife.”

There was a small mischievous cackle near Roman. “So bro bro. You crushing hard on Virgil yet, or do Jan and I need to undress him some more for you?”

“REMUS!”

“Whaaaaat, I’m just trying to set up my bro with my hoe’s bro.”

****

2 months later…

“Oh come on, Princey. Surely you can do better than that.”

Roman was glad that most people couldn’t see details of them from the ground. If they could, they would see that Prince had a huge smile as he dodged his boyfriend’s shadow ball. It wouldn’t do him any harm, and in fact all of their boyfriends found comfort in the gentle cool kiss of them by now. No, Roman was determined to tag the sensor on the other’s arm, indicating that he won the game today. Can’t win if Virgil won.

Below, Remus and Janus were breaking into an Amazon warehouse to steal food, blankets, and clothes to donate to various homeless organizations. Once they were done, the two of them would join their third partner in crime to ‘escape’ from the Prince while the Prince pretended to hate them. Prince would fly off, talk to police about what happened, watch the Human Computer bury the actual amount stolen so that the company would just write it off. The Moral Compass would gently push a calm acceptance upon everyone so that there would be less struggle to hunt the villains down.

Then, the three of them would go and change out of their hero costumes and pick up the trio from their downtown townhouse. They would go home, order pizza, and watch movies all night, laughing and having fun. The next day, they would spend the day dropping off items at various homeless shelters. Roman would see how much it meant to the shelters to receive the donations, and it would make him wonder why he ever thought the trio were evil. Then the group would split so Remus and Janus would head to the townhouse while the four boyfriends would head to Roman’s planning a nice night with their partners.

And honestly, Roman wouldn’t have it any other way.

#sage writes #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #superhero au #logan #roman #virgil #Patton #injury mention #romantic lamp #romantic demus #brotherly creativitwins #brotherly anxceit #cursing #fighting mention #sandersidesgiftexchange #sandersidesgiftexchange2020 #rosesisupposes

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itstittycitybaby · 4 years

Text

From the Ashes we are Born (Part 8)

A/N: Thank you for the request @lazy-potato-author! I enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoy it also.

TW: some violence and maybe a little gore. Not too bad though.

The window closed behind you with a soft ‘click’. Little puffs of cool air left your lips as you exhaled and the moon shone its light on the cobblestone roads. London was quiet; its people sleeping; their dreams filled with a better life and a better country. You, however, left the shadow gallery and snuck out past curfew. You could already feel V’s disappointment and hear his argument drilled into your head. Luckily for you, he passed out as soon as he got home which left you to your own devices. You felt guilty about leaving your boyfriend alone tonight. He had been coming home later and later, crashing on the sofa. You’d shake him awake and help him to bed every time, giggling at his sleep filled words full of adoration for you. Shaking yourself out of your thoughts you crept around the empty streets of London. There were no fingermen in sight, thankfully, but that didn’t mean they weren’t lurking in the shadows. A switchblade hid in your combat boots for protection so you weren’t too afraid. Confidence was surging in as you peaked through the windows of the empty shops. The cold air filled your lungs and it numbed your fingertips. The skirt you wore hugged your legs nicely and the tights you wore underneath helped shield your legs from the cold. You strayed further from the windows and to the park that was a short distance away from the gallery. Just in case, you thought as you hurried to the park.

V’s eyes were groggy as he opened them. His head lulled with sleep as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The clock beside him read 11:11pm. ‘Odd’, he thought, ‘I never tend to wake up this late.’ Turning, he reached his arm out to you. Nothing. The spot was bare and the sheets were pulled back. They were a bit crinkled as well. Anxiety bubbled in V’s chest. ‘She must be in the bathroom then,’ he tried reassuring himself. V watched the clock; five minutes to ten minutes and still nothing. Surely, you had to be in the living room. Something ate away at V’s gut. He felt the dread and something awful wash over him at once. V was a rational man, he didn’t listen to his heart as much as his brain. But god did he know something was wrong. Flinging the covers off of him he quickly strapped on his belt of knives and grabbed his mask. V straightened his wig in the mirror and perched his hat on his head. His ears perked up when he heard a soft whine. Snapping towards the noise there sat Klaus, whining at the window and scratching at it. V cursed himself; he had been so tired he had forgotten to lock the window more securely. You wouldn’t leave him like this, you wouldn’t disobey him like this. You knew the rules and the consequences. So why would you do this to him?

The gallery was empty save for V and Klaus. He figured you had left through the window again, but wanted to double check. It seemed like you had disappeared out of thin air. But he knew better. Oh, you were a devil alright. Rage flared in his veins at the thought of you in possible danger. He could never be angry with you, but he was very disappointed and hurt nonetheless. It was dangerous out there especially without him and you knew that. Your boots were gone along with the switchblade he had given you as a gift after training sessions on how to protect yourself. V knew you could hold your own, there was a fire in you every time the two of you sparred. But, there was still so much for you to learn. “Get yourself together,” V mumbled to himself. Worry turned into adrenaline;the insides of his body felt fuzzy and numb. With a flurry he dashed into the bedroom with Klaus on his heels. “Stay,” V commanded halfway through the window. Klaus stared at him and whined. His brown eyes looked so sad as he watched V climb through the window. V sighed, “Alright boy, come with me.” Klaus perked up and rabbit hopped out of the window. Once V shut it the both of them made their way to find you.

You regretted it. You should’ve stayed inside like a good girl and snuggled up to V and Klaus. It was so warm in the gallery compared to the cold harsh streets of London. Four fingermen circled around you in an alleyway but thankfully they hadn’t backed you up against the wall. Yet. God, how could you be so stupid. The trees at the park were comforting along with the soft glow of the street lights but you had been so distracted. The switchblade V had given you was clenched tightly in your fist. The fingermen made some snide remarks about the outfit you wore. Disgusting. Getting into a battle stance you twisted the blade sideways. One of the men trying lunging at you with his knife but you dodged it with a side step. He stumbled and his movements were untrained. Good. You kicked him in the groin causing him to trip backwards, creating an opening to his stomach. The others flashed their eyes with rage as their comrade had fallen over after a good swift kick to his ribs. Your stamina had decreased after trying to outrun them and dodge their attacks. Two lunged at you; one slashed your shoulder and the side of your face while you avoided the taser the other had. You cried out as your tights ripped from another slash of the guy’s dagger. The blood on your hand looked black in the moonlight. Your side stung terribly and you were bleeding fast. Great, now I’m dead, you thought bitterly.

Growl. You lifted your head immediately. Klaus? There, stood the white giant dog as it tore into one of the guy’s legs. A yelp left his lips as Klaus’ teeth sunk into his calf. A dagger sliced through the air; it hit the guy on your left square in the forehead. V. You knew those daggers from anywhere. The guy to your right with the taser looked nervous as he faced the infamous vigilante. V’s shoulder’s were tense and his poster was rigid. His mask never looked more terrifying than when he was angry. The guy that Klaus had tore into had a dagger stuck in his back. He had sunk onto the floor not that you noticed. V twirled a dagger into his hands and it danced through the air. If you weren’t so terrified you would’ve stared in awe. V’s swordsmanship always amazed you. The blade sunk into the guy's heart. His eyes rolled in the back of his head. Four bodies laid on the dirty alley floor. Dead or alive you weren’t sure.

V didn’t say anything as he removed his daggers from the fingermen. There were blood splatters on his mask. Klaus looked happy to see you, though. He wagged his tail and gave you kisses. It helped soften your nerves a bit. “I’m s-,” V stretched out his hand to silence you. “Please. Hold your words for now,” he said, softly, saying your name at the end of his sentence. You felt tears well up in your eyes. You deserved his anger, you really did. Foolishly, you wanted to have a bit of fun. A sense of freedom away from the gallery. “You’re hurt,” V said sadly, scanning over you. “It’s what I deserve for being so stupid,” you laughed bitterly. V sighed; yes you did something foolish and betrayed his trust, but he understood your want for freedom. Being cooped in the shadow gallery for so long without company did help people go crazy. A squeak left your throat as V scooped you up in his arms. “V-,” “Hush my dear, you shouldn’t be walking right now. You’re wounded.” You fell silent. The least you could do was let him take you home. “Come,” V directed towards Klaus. The three of you stalked back home away from the dangerous streets.

You hissed through your clenched teeth. The rubbing alcohol stung. “If you hadn’t snuck out we wouldn’t be here,” V muttered as he gently applied the alcohol to the cut on your arm. “Yea yea,” you replied tightly, “I know.” He just hummed in reply as he looked at your wound once more. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, just needed a bandage. V set the cotton ball down on the kitchen table. The two of you had been there for a while now. Your eyes felt dreary and your body ached. V’s fingers carefully applied the bandage to your arm. He hovered over you as he focused on the wound, making sure it was all good. V was careful to not brush his mask against any of the wounds he nursed to. You appreciated the sentiment although you felt horrible. You didn’t deserve V. “Look at me.” Your head snapped up to V. Gently, he held your face as he looked at the nick on your jaw. V’s gloves felt smooth against your sensitive skin The urge to nuzzle into his pal was strong but after your stupid decision you felt like V wasn’t in the mood of affection.. “Is there a reason you felt like you had to leave tonight?” Finally, the unbearable silence broke. You shifted uncomfortably, wincing at the gauze V had put around your side. A hiss left your lips at the sting of the alcohol. V chuckled, much to your dismay. I deserve this. “I don’t know I just... wanted to be free I guess. I can’t stand not having some sense of control anymore. It was stupid of me and I regret it.” “Yes, yes it was,” he replied. Looking over to the floor a few feet away, Klaus laid there snoring away.

“If you wanted to go out all you had to do was ask. You know I’d do anything you’d ask of me to,” V said, tenderly cleaning the nick at your jaw. “I didn’t want to wake you. You’ve been busy, you need rest.” “Yes, but it’s better than you getting caught late at night and hurt. What if...I hadn’t gotten there in time.” You didn’t miss the slight crack at the end of V’s sentence. “Oh V,” you whispered. “You did get there in time. You and Klaus. I’m alright and fine because of you, V.” He set the cotton ball on the table and let out a shaky breath. “I know, my love. I know.” Slowly and tenderly, you held his hands in yours. You gave them a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sorry V. I really am. I promise I won’t do it again or I’ll ask next time.” V nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I was so..scared. I thought maybe someone had taken you or...you’d left me here alone again.” Shakily you stood up. You grimaced as your side burned. Your thigh hurt from the cut the guy had given you but V held your arms to steady you. “I wasn’t thinking at all. I wasn’t thinking of the consequences or what could have happened to me. I was arrogant to think a switchblade could keep me safe. I’m really sorry V.” V let out a laugh, his nose sniffling in the process. “You managed to strike down one enemy and injure the other. You’re getting better.” You smiled and replied with a thanks. A grunt of pain left you as you stood on your tippy toes, giving your masked boyfriend a kiss. “Darling you really shouldn’t be on your feet,” V said once the both of you pulled away. “Hey it gives you an excuse to carry me around now.” V laughed, scooping you in his arms. “That my dear, you are very right about.”

V’s arms held you protectively against his chest. His mask was off, but it was too dark for you to see his face. Baby steps were still being made in the progress of seeing him underneath the cheshire grin the mask held. You stroked his chest with his fingers, drawing soft circles on his tunic. He hummed in content, sleep evident in his voice. Klaus slept at the foot of the bed snoring away. “What is it my darling,” V’s voice grumbled with sleep. You giggled. His voice sounded cute when he was sleepy. “I was thinking right..” you trailed off. “Oh no.” You swatted V’s chest playfully. V let out a soft laugh as he brought your knuckles to his lips. “Go on love,” he said, swiping his finger across your hand as he held it. “How’d Klaus even manage to bite that guy anyway.” V’s eyes twinkled with mischief (not that you could see anyway). “He’s a very smart dog, although his thought process is very slow.” “Wait.. you taught him that?” Your cheeks flushed as V’s thumb gently rubbed circles on the back of your hand. “Yes my songbird. I taught him some very important tricks.” “Like?” “Well for starters he can play dead.”

Laughter bubbled from your chest. V watched with affection, leaning down to give your cheek a soft kiss. “I love you,” you whispered, folding your fingers in his. “I love you too my darling. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate-” Your lips cut V off. Your hands grasped his shoulders for more leverage as he kissed you back. The hold V had on your waist tightened. V’s voice sounded muffled beneath your lips. “Are you still going?” V laughed, “Of course my cunning nymph! Nothing can stop me from proclaiming my love for you. Not even on the brink of death would I not stop loving you.” You chuckled. “You’re so cheesy V,” you said, giving him a peck on the lips one more time. “Only for you my dear. Only for you.” Snuggling into his side, your body forced you into a deep slumber. Nothing could disturb the peace that V and Klaus gave you wholeheartedly.

#V for Vendetta #v for vendetta x reader #slight angst #reader insert #x reader #slight violence

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belliesandburps · 3 years

Note

Followup with MGS4 Peace Walker and 5?

History has a funny way of repeating itself. :P

This one's actually gonna be long, so I'll cap it here to spare those uninterested in non-kink posts the burden of having to scroll past this fanboy rant. 'XD

Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of the Patriots

3. It's Okay

Soooooo...not a controversial opinion to say that I don't think MGS4 is GREAT. I adored it when it first game out, and I still enjoy replaying it from time to time. But good lord, so many of the interviews shed light on a LOT of this games problems.

Some backstory is required. Hideo Kojima was done with MGS by this point. He planned to move on and leave the series to the younger generation. But then, there was a lot of internal conflict and struggle to determine what MGS4 should be after Fukushima quit (AND was rumored to have been murdered by the Yakuza...how that rumor started...and became a SERIOUS rumor that millions believe, I do not know...). So Kojima came back, course corrected, and the end result was kind of a giant mess.

I'm not talking story because, there's just way too much to unpack. But as a game, MGS4 can't decide what sort of video game it wants to be. It had a brilliant idea that had never been done before with its Battlefield Stealth, which were the best parts of the game. And then they get dropped two acts in, and what gets replaced in their stead is not nearly as fun.

The game had substantially less boss fights than its predecessor, and a lot of them were mechanically simplistic or just didn't let you get creative with how you fought them. And we later learned there were a lot more bosses planned, more gameplay sequences planned, and an entire other PMC group that got canned in favor of the Scarabs so Shadow Moses could be guarded by machines instead.

There's a lot about MGS4 that I love. I think the first two acts are amazing, ESPECIALLY Act 2. I think the mechanics are great. REX vs RAY is criminally fun. The sheer buffet of insane weapons gives the game a good amount of replay value. And the graphics still hold up to this day!

But what I finally realized is that the game juggles way too many ideas and doesn't give any idea the time they deserve to flourish. Battlefield Stealth could've CARRIED MGS4. But it gets dumped before we can get our moneys worth. A disguise sequence could've been really creative, having to juggle different identities with OctoMask every time one identity is burned. But it's only used once and wasted because it's only used for a terrible tailing mission that doesn't let you actually explore the European City. And too many of the action set pieces are kind of bland except the bosses and piloting Metal Gear.

MGS4 should've been MGS4. Not MGS's "Best Hits."

Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker

1. LOVED it!

I know this is unpopular to say, but I'll say it. Peace Walker is one of the best Metal Gear games ever made. I adored almost everything about it. The gameplay improves on MGS4 in most ways because it doesn't juggle a billion ideas all at once. It's MGS4 stripped down to stealth action from start to finish, and that's all I wanted. The level design is great. The insane volume of guns changes the entire feel of combat in later post-campaign gameplay. The mission select options mean you can jump into all the parts of the game you enjoy the most. There's TONS of bonus missions that are really inventive and fun to replay. And the story is one of the best in the series. It's straight forward, very tight, characterized well, and is the best iteration of Big Boss to date.

Peace Walker's also the FUNNIEST MGS game by Kojima as well. There's so much more personality and levity to everything, to the point where Big Boss often feels like an MCU character. That might sound bad, but it's really not. That corniness fits MGS PERFECTLY, and I'd argue is tonally spot on for this series. MGS doesn't need to be dark, gory or explicit. It's a silly series that's about giant robots, corny bad ass super agents with an anti-nuke message.

The only downsides to Peace Walker are the QTE's and the boss fights. This was a feature that only ever appeared in this game and for good reason...it was fucking terrible. So basically, you had cutscenes that forced you to do various QTE's or else get dinged on your ratings at the end, even if you played perfectly. Fairly minimal, but then, you get to Strangelove's torture. And this is the single most rage-inducing part of any MGS game ever made. It's an insanely physically painful button mashing sequence that will leave your fingers raw and your PS3 triangle buttons jamming. And the ONLY way you can replay one of the best missions in the game (the prison escape where you have no items) is by redoing that sequence over and over. And the boss fights? While inventive, they're all just grindy bullet sponges with no personality, no stealth tactics, and no room for creativity the way you can get creative with every other MGS game's bosses. This was the biggest disappointment for me because the stealth and combat mechanics of PW are great and would've been SO good against human enemies like what Portable Ops had. Instead, every boss is a mini-Metal Gear all voiced by the VOCALOID AI from the mid 2000's, and each one takes forever to destroy. It sucks because PW had a TON of bosses, but only a few of them are any fun, and that's only if you have weapons that are strong enough that they don't take ages to destroy.

But asides from the bosses, the REST of the game is so damn good that I don't even care because that's just one element to a much larger, grander game. Which is even more impressive when you consider PW was originally on the PSP before the PS3 port. And this game has more content and replay value to it than most games I've played since.

Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain

1. LOVED it!

Hooooooookay...so, I've rambled about my storybook romance with MGSV for YEARS now. (Just ask @twistedtummies2, he's been subjected to my fanboying of this game more than anyone in existence XD) But there's a reason I regard this game as one of my all time favorites and the best MGS game to date.

It's REALLY freakin' fun.

Kojima had been re-energized by the time he got to MGSV. He'd been working on the game around the time he finished Peace Walker in 2010. He KNEW it was his final MGS game and wanted to do something completely different...

...He wanted to make a game where the central focus was on...waaaaait for it...the gameplay...

MGSV was designed to be, what he described, as a toybox. You have these missions that all take place in structurally unique outposts like any level in MGS. And the missions are designed with the structure needed so that they all feel different, but all remain so open ended that you can play them countless different ways.

MGSV's game model is everything GTA SHOULD'VE been. It fully embraces the open world freedom and incorporates that into the missions flawlessly. And it plays in such a way that stealth and combat both feel like they were the primary point. In MGS, combat is usually a last resort. But with MGSV, you can fly into an outpost blasting away on your helicopters mini-gun, shoot up the bad guys, rescue your target, throw them back into the chopper and fly away while "The Final Countdown" blares on your choppers loud speakers.

Every method of gameplay is valid and the controls, the enemy AI responsiveness, it's all, bar none, the best I've experienced in ANY video game. Sneaking around feels tight and tense and combat makes you feel like Jack Bauer on adrenaline. (I mean, he IS the voice of Venom Snake)

And I really like the story for the most part too. Its weaknesses are really glaring. Namely, the "Fun" of MGS is completely devoid in the story (which is really odd since it's FRONT AND CENTER in-game). Venom Snake only has maybe six minutes of dialogue in the entirety of this 30+ hour long game. And the way Skull Face gets completely undercut right at the home stretch is something I have NOT stopped bitching about for almost six years, and my friends can personally attest to that.

That and the ending feels too abrupt.

We know that Kojima got fired by Konami's VP and said VP scorched the entire production company after that and made a series of dickheaded decisions that pissed off a LOT of fans, burning much of the good will Konami IP fans had towards the company. But that had nothing to do with MGSV's abruptness. That was the plan from the start because only Kojima would think to end the entire series on a plot twist like that.

And I think the issue isn't the twist at all. In fact, I LOVE the twist. The issue is that the game should've continued beyond it so Venom Snake could cope with the truth and realize how badly he'd been screwed. I think even people who hated the twist could've been won over if there was a little more to the games epilogue than Episode 46.

Also, the games boss fights were a tad underwhelming. Not the fights themselves, I LOVED all five of the games bosses.

Oh? There were twelve?

No. I meant what I said. Because so many of the games bosses are rematches against the same bosses. All MGSV has is the Skulls, Quiet, Eli, The Man on Fire, and Metal Gear. They're great bosses that do everything the best MGS bosses always did; give you tons of options, incorporate combat AND stealth, have varied attacks AND even have multiple methods to sneak around the boss and avoid the fight completely. But for a game as long as MGS, you need more variety. And frankly, the bosses NEED more personality. Skull Face should've had more XOF assassins acting as the bosses in the game along with the ones we have. Elite assassins like Quiet, with their own powers and specialized weaponry so the fights feel completely different from the ones we have. And oh yeah, SKULL FACE HIMSELF SHOULD'VE HAD A GOD-FUCKING-DAMN BOSS FIGHT!!!!

Buuuuuuut those issues don't even matter if for all the games issues, I still replay it frequently when it's almost six years old.

So yeah! There's the massive rant you totally didn't ask for! :D

#ask belliesandburps #mgs4 #mgsv #peace walker #metal gear #metal gear solid #seriously #i'm very very VERY bitter about how Kojima did Skull Face dirty #here's this really great villain with a super complex backstory and motivation #whadduya wanna do with him kojima-san?#I'VE GOT IT!!!!!!#we'll do...absolutely nothing!#he'll show up in five missions out of a thirty nine mission long game #he'll talk at venom snake a few times and do some cool things #then right around the time we're supposed to fight him?#a random twelve year old will hijack metal gear through a PSYCHIC twelve year old and crush Skull Face before we can do anything cool! :D #hold your applause children! :D #................we weren't clapping kojima-san...........#also sins of the father?#heaven's divide?#donna burke is amazing #seriously she is an in-freakin'-CREDIBLE singer #sorry cynthia hall #i got love #but...#whoooooa-HHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!

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saltypicks · 3 years

Text

reviewing may’s comebacks (in june, because i have shit to do)

There were a lot of comebacks this month. I guess it's summer now? No idea, there's no summer in my country. The girl groups have started coming back in full force but are not impressing. The boy groups seemed to mostly go the groovy route and now I need an adjective other than 'groovy' to describe songs.

Not The End, Highlight

I'm so glad it's not a ballad. It's not bad.

You are so beautiful, SGO

Everyday I'm grateful for the retro trend and this is a great representation.

Gray Area, Hi Cutie

At some sections I like this song (the verses and the chorus) and at others I dislike it (the trap breakdown, the middle of the chorus). I complained about MAJORS' company having no money previously but Hi Cutie's company is bankrupt. Poor nugus.

Dreamcatcher and GWSN have far superior 'Red Suns' but this song is okay and I'm happy the girls look so happy to have some work (and hopefully some money) at last.

Today, CITI

A nice midtempo song. And no, I did not hear it first from a drama OST.

Make Up Your Mind, AILEE

Sounds like a Beyonce-type song.

MALO, SHAX

Apparently this is a drama OST (Imitation, to be specific. It's based on a webtoon). Basic boy group song but it sounds like it's from the 2010s or something, and that's a compliment.

Hot Sauce, NCT Dream

Initially: Um...at least Renjun looks good? Honestly I don't know what to say about this song. NCT is a group I stan so this will definitely grow on me but...is this really not an advertisement for hot sauce? Also the set resembles the set for SHINee's Atlantis in my opinion. Now: The shouting is annoying and unnecessary. Love Chenle's voice in this; it provides a nice contrast to Haechan and Renjun. Someone said the chanting should've been left to the rappers and I fully agree. Don't know about Jisung and Jaemin but Jeno and Mark would be a good fit with a chant. In my opinion the dance break isn't really needed but is it NCT without a dance break? Also, wtf are they wearing around their necks? Someone should inform the SM stylists that less is really more.

DUN DUN DANCE, OH MY GIRL

It's light and pleasant but if this song was a meal it would be a tiny appetizer that tastes good but doesn't satiate you.

WHATEVER, KEEMBO

I didn't think I'd like it at first but this is groovy and makes me want to dance while doing my chores.

Always, VAV

Song for the fans but if you need a VAV song to listen to I recommend Gorgeous.

Hurt, Baekhyun & Seomoontak

Hasn't Baekhyun been shipped off to the army yet? Anyway, love how dramatic this is.

Waiting for Victor, 015B ft. Dawon

Another great retro song! Also the singer is cute and her hair is cute as well. She reminds me of Chuu a little.

Uncertainty Principle, 015B ft. Dawon

I prefer their other song, but this one is retro as well and it's great.

척하면 척, 강혜연 (Kang Hyeyeon)

Trot that's kind of subdued but still danceable.

Badly, SURA

Loved it from the first second.

BLACK MIRROR, ONEUS

Then: Is it good enough to make up for No Diggity? I don't know about that, but this song is groovy and I'm somewhat okay with it. Doesn't have much replay value for me though. Now: Eh, it's basic groovy boy group song but I won't skip if it comes on.

Breathe Again, BLITZERS

Another boy group with a somewhat questionable name. This song is pretty good as a debut and it's somewhat memorable. I wonder if my rating increeased because of the guitars? District 9 was the same for me, but right now it doesn't interest me. I think this song will stay for a good while on my playlist though. I like the anthemic vocals in the chorus and this song needed more of that.

EASY, WJSN THE BLACK

The girls looked good but the storyline kept getting interrupted by shots of the girls. Yes, we know they're all visuals but I'd be more interested if there was actual action and plot. The song is good objectively but doesn't really interest me. Who knows? Maybe a few more listens will change my mind.

Outerspace (ft. Loco), Kang Daniel

Groovy and better than his last two releases.

Giant, Yuqi

So nice to hear Yuqi's voice on its own. The song was fine until the chorus crushed all my love for it.

Glass of Tears, HONG JA

Appropriately dramatic for a song named 'glass of tears'. It's good and if you like trot you'll like this one.

Taste of Life, Yang Ji Eun

What do you call this? Folk trot? Whatever it's called, it's good.

LOOK AT ME, ICU

OK.

WE GO, fromis_9

It sounds like the token girl group summer song. I don't dislike it, but nothing about this song stands out to me. Honestly with a mini-album called '9Way Ticket' I expected more, because it reminds me of Nine Muses' Ticket everytime I see it. The b-side 'Airplane Mode' is pretty good though and the other one, 'Promise' is a slow song but I don't really mind it, it's fine as background music.

Next Level, aespa

Umm...what is SM's plan for these girls? How can a rookie group from the big 3 have only 3 songs? And only one is an original? The song is not the best thing ever and SM surely can do better but at least it wasn't as bad as M.A.F.I.A. aespa deserves more than this.

Ring Ring, ROCKET PUNCH

Finally after Bim Bam Bum these girls have a title track I enjoy. You can't go wrong with covering Take On Me, can you? It's no Platonic Love or Sea of Moonlight, and it certainly could have done without the rubbish trap section but it's a bop anyway. Meanwhile, the b-side Ride is great and I hope they promote it. This song would be more enjoyable if their voices weren't so shrill in the chorus. High notes aren't a necessity for good songs.

Advice, Taemin

Not the best of Taemin but it's good. I love the fast tempo of the piano and the way it drives everything. Taemin's performance also elevates this song and I'm grateful he's leaving us with a good song before going on his two-year vacation.

RUB-A-DUM, TRI.BE

They're really going all out with this 'tribe' thing, aren't they? It sounds very Middle Eastern to my ears at times, sometimes it sounds African-ish and the other times it is just typical trap kpop. DOOM DOOM TA was better and more fun. At least they got the catchy catchphrase right. Blackpink in your area who? Tri-bee da loca! The b-side 'LORO' is not much fun either. The only difference is it's Latin-influenced.

Shadow, Dreamcatcher

Typical Dreamcatcher song slowed down by a lot. It's not bad, plus it's nice to hear Dami sing. Also what is it with Korea and zombies? With the MV the song sounds a lot better but the MV distracts me. Shouldn't zombies be mindless? How do they use tools and know martial arts? Or is it just my eyes? And can that tiny gun protect anybody? Are you sure that's not a toy?

The beginning of spring, E'LAST U

Not horrible but not for me either.

Oh MAMA, BLING BLING

One of the few new ggs in a while with unfortunate names. They've clearly upgraded in terms of styling and MV budget, but their song quality is no different.

Let Me Know, PIXY

Sonically it sounds nothing like their dark concept. Actually it does sound like a dark concept, if done by a boy group. It's not bad but it's not good. The industrial-like sounds in the back are interesting but the whole song is not.

Son of Beast, TO1

TOO rebrands as TO1 with this song. It's groovy.

HAPPEN, Heize

For the first time I like a Heize song. The MV is interesting too, the story was cliche but I liked the visuals and aesthetics.

FEVER, ENHYPEN

Rhis song was from the [BORDER: CARNIVAL] mini. I listened to that mini but I remember not really liking any of the b-sides except the outro and the intro, so this is a surprise.

My Flower, Kim Jaehwan

Nice upbeat song with guitars all over it. I like it.

Corazon Perdido, Yesung (Super Junior)

Initially I wasn't going to review this because I didn't even review the title track but the final moments of this song are beautiful and it deserves a mention.

Butter, BTS

The song is smooth as its title. The MV is fine except for that ARMY thing; I cringed so hard.

Bonnie and Clyde, Yuqi

Better than the other one.

Ride, ROCKET PUNCH

This is so great and I'm glad it got its own video, even if it was just a dance video glorified as a 'Special Stage'. Now if only I could stop chuckling whenever I hear "looks rike a lainbow".

Rush Hour, GAHO

Love it, especially the guitar strumming moments and the chorus when the electric guitar comes in.

GEMINI, AB6IX

Love how the vocals don't distract from the great instrumental.

FIRST, EVERGLOW

In a comment section someone said La Di Da was a fluke and I kind of agree. Everglow returns to their usual style (chanty chorus + catchy riff repeated over and over) and this song is in the same vein as Adios. I like the chorus but the rest of the song is hard to recall. Siyeon, Aisha and Yiren are the only ones who actually look good and EU needs more lines and her blonde hair back. Also why does kpop think that moving the camera around a lot creates the illusion of motion? All it does is make me dizzy.

Like It Hot, GWSN

Sometimes I like GWSN title tracks, and sometimes I don't. I don't think much of this song, but their album is great.

Je T'aime, Joy

I love you Joy but this is boring. If it was meant to be a lullaby then SM succeeded.

Burned All Black, Kim Jaehwan

His other song is a ballad which is somewhat pleasant. Well, it was until it slowed down in the first chorus.

Purple, woo!ah!

Still not one song from woo!ah! I like.

GGOMA, Tae Ho (IMFACT) and Choi Ye Geun

Loved Choi Ye Geun's Scarecrow so I was happy to see her again. The song is groovy but the chorus sounds somewhat...empty? Love the scat at the end, should've been longer. This is also a great example of a bright boy group song. See? Upbeat and bright boy group concepts don't have to be childish.

DIAMOND, Sparkling

Another Imitation OST. I honestly doubt that there are actual kpop songs as bad as this.

7days Tension, Weeekly

Ad song. Bright and the chorus is nice.

0X1=LOVESONG (I Know I Love You), TXT feat. Seori

The angsty opening line caught my attention, then the verse after it dropped the energy. It picked up again in the chorus and pre-chorus, thankfully. It's very much pop rock, except there are no guitars in this. Doesn't stop the song from being good though.

Hello, Joy

I love Joy's voice as always but this song doesn't do much for me even though it's upbeat. A few more listens might change my mind.

Call Me, Omega III

Another Imitation OST. Doesn't do much for me, just like all the Imitation MVs. At least let us understand what your drama is about. Instead we get these random shots of what idols are supposed to be like? I don't know much about idol life but it's obvious these girls would be called nugus in real life, and I honestly doubt nugus have such nice living conditions.

No Answer, LA LIMA

Jiyeon from T-Ara is on this one. This and MALO are my favourites from the Imitation OST so far. The song is nice with a sleek catwalk vibe to it but like the rest the MV is boring.

Show Me, Tea Party

Are these the Omega III girls? Not sure but I think so. MV still boring, song doesn't interest me.

Let me go!, The Volunteers

Great rock song, I just wonder why it's all in English (I'm not complaining).

#saltypicks #kpop reviews #reviews #monthly reviews #may '21

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normal-thoughts-official · 4 years

Note

UWU I'm in the mood for some Raphael talk, I love the headcanon you've talked about in the chat about Raphael tolerating Alec only because he makes his dad happy (which is so damn valid of him), and it's one of my most fave things do you have more slightly silly headcanons about it?

you really want me to be beaten up huh may. you want them to come for me again. you want to ruin my life

okay disclaimer Alec stans pwease dont hate me uwu I'm not saying i hate Alec I'm saying that i dont think Raphael would vibe with him. especially after the whole punch which I'll never get over cuz like i KNOW rationally that alec didnt have the full story and if izzy was hurt and sitting beside a white shadowhunter he would go there and beat them up all the same cuz alec's like this, but I'm still upset eidndidjdid my boy doesnt deserve this okay

anyway with that being said

i dont think its Raphael like, genuinely hating him as much as them having nothing in common besides their mutual love for Magnus and desire to see him happy. so Raphael can tolerate him fine, but he's not exactly dying to be best friends. besides, alec's like, all of the most annoying things about shadowhunters (all serious, never fucking relaxes, must have a weapon close at all times, doesn't understand food, doesn't listen to music, doesnt-) that arent like straight up nazist bigotry. so hes just like. ugh. whatever. I'm here for Magnus. leave pls

i can absolutely see that tbh Raphael just goes to their house and is all like "Alec leave i want to talk to Magnus" and alec's like "this is my house?" and raphael's like "and?" and alec's like "Fine, ill take a walk. Magnus, Raphael is here." but he also kisses Magnus goodbye in front of Raphael because he can, in fact, be an ass

also i know i told u about that already but Raphael lowkey challenges him every time like. he'll come by Magnus' and bring food, and of course theres food for 3 because Raphael is not gonna be that rude and he doesn't want to make Magnus feel like Raphael wants him to choose between Raphael and Alec. Alec makes Magnus happy and Raphael would never want to make Magnus feel like his love or presence in his life is conditional. Plus, he doesn't actually hate him. Just a little.

anyway so he brings the food and he's like (clearly judgemental tone) "i brought hot sauce because i figured Alec doesn't usually eat spicy food" and he's obviously correct, Alec had never eaten anything with season in his life before he met Magnus, much less pepper. he's the kind of ultimate, boss-level gringo who puts salt on his food when he's feeling adventurous

so Raphael sits down and puts the food on his plate and he pours hot sauce into his plate while making unwavering eye contact with Alec (yeah raphael can eat in this because he deserves it and i said so) and it's an obvious challenge and it evidently works because Alec 1- is competitive, and 2- actually wants Raphael's respect because he knows how important he is to Magnus. so he takes the salsa from Raphael and starts pouring it too while maintaining eye contact right back, jaw clenched in challenge, looking all serious and Magnus is like "children, please" and raphael's all like "oh no no no, let him" but Alec considers that a win because Raphael is clearly trying to contain a smile and thats the first step to winning him over

so anyway Alec sweats and grimaces through the whole meal, cuz like, look yes he may have pain tolerance because he's a shadowhunter but he's also the bitch who reacted to taking a sip of beer like someone had farted on his face. he can't hide his reactions for shit, but fuck if he doesn't lick the plate clean (not literally like gross) and doesn't shed a single tear, even as he clearly can't keep his eyes open with the effort

Magnus is like "Alexander, you dont have to do this" and alec's like "(eyes squeezed shut, grimacing, drenched in sweat) do what? this is very good" and Raphael is smiling into his plate even as Magnus shoots him dirty looks

then Alec is like "i won. i ate it all" and Raphael is like "(looking at his red sweaty face and puffy eyes) really?"

also look ill always love the hc that Raphael resents Alec for his height and Alec doesnt even notice. Raphael is not short, god damn it, hes 175! thats TEN whole centimeters above the mexican average! he was the tallest boy in Guadalajara! RAPHAEL IS TALL, OKAY

EXCEPT everyone in the goddamn shadow world is apparently a god damn giant. Its humiliating enough that Magnus is 180. but Magnus is his dad, so whatever. but Alec is FUCKING 190. no one needs that much tall. no one! Raphael went from being the tallest boy in the neighborhood to the shortest, and boy he is so not pleased about it

but Alec has no idea because who cares? (Raphael. Raphael cares. deeply. he cares so much) it's not even good to be that tall, he keeps banging his head on things. so there will be moments like. Raphael is standing in front of the bookshelf, seeming very focused. Alec shrugs, figures he's looking for something, and puts the book he was going to put there up. Raphael shoots him a dirty look that might as well be a stab, and Alec's like ???????? did i disrupt you? sorry? and Raphael just crosses his arms like "you didnt do anything, i dont know what you're talking about"

in reality the shelf was too high up because Magnus adjusted his shelves to his and Alec's height, and Raphael refused to stand on his tiptoes or god forbid, a stool, to grab his book, so he was just glaring at the shelf until the book came to him or something. and when Alec put the book up he was mad cuz Alec could reach it fjdndid

later Alec tells Magnus about it like "i dont get what i did. is he just that private?" and Magnus is like "hmm. i have no idea, darling" but next time Raphael comes, the shelves have been spelled to adjust to the book picker's height

also this always makes me think of that scene in hsm where zeke tries to talk to sharpay and she goes "evaporate, tall person!" and leaves and i love that mental image tbh

also like. eventually Alec apologizes for the punching thing (look. look. Im still salty and Raphael deserves it okay) and Raphael is like. moved because something deep inside of him still believed it was his fault and he was a monster, and it's. nice. and Alec kind of extends his arms and Raphael is like "dont think so" and crosses his arms and Alec kind of very very slowly lifts his arm and pats Raphael's head once and Raphael wants to scream and Alec looks very awkward and sheepish and Magnus bursts out laughing

(Raphael doesnt mind, though, because Magnus is genuinely so happy all day that they had a good interaction. so happy. and Raphael thinks, okay, this is okay. it's good if it makes Magnus happy.)

(Magnus also pats his head and plays with his hair, but its okay because Magnus has always done that and Raphael doesnt mind. only from him though. and raphael's partners. but anyway)

plus whenever Magnus is like, upset, or sick or something, theyre like. an unit. because for all they have no common interests they do think very alike (autistic solidarity i guess) and are very practical when it comes to taking care of others, and they both just. adore Magnus, okay. so Raphael will arrive, make Magnus soup. while he makes soup, Alec stays with him and takes his temperature. once Raphael is back with the soup, Alec goes out to buy medicine, and Raphael stays with him to make him company. and so on. at some point Alec is almost falling asleep by Magnus' side and Raphael taps his shoulder and points to the chair nearby, and Alec nods and dozes off for a while. then its the other way around. Magnus isnt seriously sick, of course, but he doesn't usually get sick so it's an event, plus they're both Like This. and for all the grief they give each other, they trust each other to take care of Magnus. theres no argument about that

(Magnus was resting, but he did see some of these moments, and smiled a bit to himself before dozing off again)

also Raphael and Ragnor gave Alec the ultimate shovel talk (Ragnor doesn't trust anyone after Camille, and while neither do cat and dot, they were more chill), but it lowkey backfired because they were like "if you ever hurt him, we'll remove your kneecaps" and Alec was like "(nodding seriously) thats fair"

also i know we've talked about this already but i also love the idea that Raphael goes to their house and is all absentmindedly like "hm can i have some coffee" and alec's like "sure, ill make it :) you stay here and talk to Magnus" and when Alec comes back he hands Raphael his coffee in a "best. bonus son. ever" mug and then he leans back against the wall, sipping his own coffee from his "world's #1 stepdad" mug that he bought himself, trying to hide his shit eating grin, and Raphael scowls and deliberately holds it so his hand covers the words, and Magnus laughs and his eyes shine as he sips his tea.

(later, Raphael is like. guess me and lightwood have a dynamic now. gross. but he still rolls with it)

in short Raphael and Alec being little shits to each other but still building something of a relationship for Magnus and always taking care of him..... ultimate trope

#ask #cosmicnovia #luxxmagnus #sh #shadowhunters #raphael santiago #magnus bane #alec lightwood #brotp: i'll do whatever it takes to protect them #long post #autistic alec lightwood #autistic raphael santiago #brief but still there #crack #sh crack #malec

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queenmuzz · 4 years

Text

Deep Blue Sea: Chapter XIII (Final Chapter!)

A Farewell Duet

Read the Full Story on Ao3 Here

The impact of the water didn’t hurt as much as you had feared it would, you thought. Nor did the chilliness of the late spring seawater seem to bother you. Possibly it was because of the way you had fallen, without bracing for impact. Perhaps the remnants of the adrenaline coursing through your system that dulled the pain and cold. Or maybe it was the bullet that ripped through your spine.

Oh, that’s right, you were dying.

You were strangely calm about the whole ordeal. There was no thrashing, no panicking, just you slowly drifting, limp in the calm sea. If you opened your eyes you probably could have seen the rays of the full moon flickering through the slightly cloudy water. No doubt there would be a tinge of red from the blood pouring out of your body, so you kept them shut, to maintain the illusion that you were just drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

You idly mused at your life. You’d been blessed, you’d spent your adulthood studying the subject you’d adored since childhood, you had loved your friends, your teachers, and your family. It had been a good life, and you hoped you felt you had lived it to the fullest.

Of course, you had regrets. You wished you had broken off your engagement, that you hadn’t strung Fredrick along. You wish you stood up to your father, your mother when they put their aspirations on you. You wished you had taken Sarah’s advice and just grown a spine (and perhaps it wouldn’t be severed right now, you morbidly mused).

And Vergil…. Oh Vergil. Strangely, you didn’t regret ever meeting him. You didn’t even regret not even freeing him the moment you met him. Nor did you regret falling in love with him.

No, you thought to yourself as the now familiar feel of burning lungs became louder, more insistent. Your main regret is that you never told him your true feelings. You should have been honest, should have told him how much you cared about him, how much you… you loved him.

And now thanks to your meekness, he was most likely watching you dying.

"Come on bro, we need to get out of here!"

"Not yet, not without her!"

"She bought you your freedom! I'm not going to lose you again!"

"And I am not going to lose her!"

“VERGIL!"

You felt the water pressure change and arms snake around your waist, before cautiously hovering over your wound.

"It is not healing....why is it not healing?"

You wanted to answer him, to tell him that wounds like this usually lead to death, that you would have done it again and again, a million times to set him free.

You wanted to tell him you had lived, and were ready to die with no regrets.

You wanted to tell him how much you loved him....

But alas, fate was cruel, and in your watery tomb, you could say nothing. You couldn't bear to open your eyes to see the pain you were inflicting on him.

Gently, you felt your cheeks being held by webbed hands, and you were surprised by the warmth.

"Please...don't leave me."

And then.... a sensation on your lips. Your oxygen deprived mind thought he was attempting to give you mouth to mouth, in a futile attempt to save you.... until you realized.

Vergil was kissing you.

It was soft, gentle, and as his hands dropped down to hold you, you could feel the faint trembles in his otherwise strong limbs. He tasted of sea salt, of ocean air, fresh and renewing, and you felt like you could will this moment to never end.

And then, your arms, fueled by a sudden surge of energy, gripped his waist, pressing your body around him to embrace him, to never let him go.

And as you did so, you felt a warmth fill your limbs, tingles of electricity racing from your fingertips to your arms, your chest and down your legs, to the tips of your toes. You had never felt so vibrant, so...alive. Is this what it was to truly be in love? Your senses felt expanded, like you could hear the shiftings of the tectonic plates, the pulse in your heart, the crashing of waves on distant shores.

Ironic, you thought, to feel so alive when on the cusp of death. To be in the arms of the man you treasured most above everything, only for him to lose you.

You felt his hands cup your face again with angelic softness, and yet you could feel every ridge on those fingertips. You swore you felt a slightly raised scar on the palm of his hand, one that healed over so many months ago.

"Open your eyes, Sifa."

You opened them and gasped. Despite the darkness of the night, you could see everything for what seemed like miles, swelling surface above to the churned up mud of the sea bed below. But nothing mattered compared to the man in front of you. He looked ethereal, and was so beautiful now that he was truly back where he belonged. He smiled at you, soft and gentle, and it took your breath away.

Wait… your breath?

Your lungs had stopped burning from lack of air. And really, the pain in your stomach from your wounds had completely vanished, as if it had never happened. You looked down, your hands cautiously creeping down your torso, expecting to come into contact with your own innards, but there was nothing, save for a blood soaked hole in your shirt. Underneath was unblemished skin.

And below that, where your legs ought to be….were scales. Pure white scales, with what was a mottling of sea green here and there, shiny and flawless, glittering like a scattering of polished jade. And at the end, white tail fins, translucent like a bridal veil.

"What...what happened?" You thought, but it came out in a voice in your head, almost like Vergil’s.

You could feel Vergil’s soft chuckle reverberating through you, “ Did I not tell you once that bonding with a merfolk had inexplicable powers?" You felt his tail snake around yours, as he pulled you in for another kiss, this time with more passion, and you slung your arms around his shoulders. He twirled you around endlessly as you both nuzzled each other. You’d cry out of happiness right now, but the tears wouldn’t, or couldn’t flow. A small price to pay for such bliss.

"I have longed for this day for what seemed like forever," Vergil spoke. " I was brave enough to face the humiliation of captivity, and yet I could not confess my love to you, mira Sifa, except in half truths and deceptions. Tonight, I have learned the folly of such things….I almost lost you." He held you close in trembling arms, and you had never felt so safe, so free.

'I.. I feared' he hesitated, 'that in order to save you, I would rob you of your choice…" To which you laughed and kissed his nose.

“I’m here, Vergil, and I want to be here. There is nowhere on earth or sea I would rather be, than at your side."

"Hey you two angelfish!" A voice rang out, drawing out an annoyed huff out of Vergil. I think it’s time we make like a shoal, and migrate out of here. Dante swam circles around you two, and made some sort of clicking at you that sounded kinda like a catcall. " Lookin’ good, mudskipper!" He smirked at his brother, "Verg, you certainly have mom’s way of reeling in a human…."

"Of course you would have to ruin a private moment." Vergil gruffed, and you giggled bashfully. You gave him a peck on the cheek, which was enough to diffuse the sour look on his face, and he pulled you in for another passionate kiss.

He sighed as he pulled away. "As much as I hate to admit it… He does have a point, we must make haste. No doubt your actions will draw the attention of more humans-"

And then you heard the strangest sound, like a crumpling of metal, and then a resounding sound of thunder as something heavy crashed through the surface. You gave an involuntary shriek, as both Dante and Vergil manifested their weapons, Vergil whipping you behind him as the large object slowed down, but continued to sink past the three of you. As it passed, you recognized it as its lights flickered, then shut off.

“My car…”

“Was your father attempting to kill us?” Vergil asked, obviously alarmed.

You looked up at the surface. With your new enhanced senses, you could see much further, but looking through the surface in the middle of the night was beyond your abilities. Still, you knew that it hadn’t been an assassination attempt.

“No, I think he’s trying to make it look like I drove off the bridge… to make it look like an accident.” You clung to Vergil, conflicted if you should surface, to tell your father that despite what he had done, he was stil- no… no he didn’t deserve it. You chose your path, and you would walk it, or swim it, to be more accurate. Your old life was to be left behind, this was your new future, with the man you truly loved. “Let’s go,” you murmured as you held Vergil close. “I’m ready to explore a whole new world, with you at my side…”

And with his hand gently guiding you to start swimming in a steady rhythm. (It felt strange not having the legs to kick), the three of you began to swim into the deep depths, into a world that excited you to no end.

****

Sarah leaned back in the cool summer darkness, her sandaled feet resting on the sand, the rest of her laying on a quilted blanket. She was all alone on the beach, with only the distant crash of the waves on the sand audible from quite a distance away, even over the sound of the portable radio.

"In business news," the radio announcer reported, "Shares for fishing giant Mundus Incorporated are nearly down fifty percent after reaching a record high of $79.15 a share three months ago. Investigations into alleged attacks of terrorism have been started, with two of their flagships, Shadow, and Nevan being reported as being capsized in what sources say are planned attacks. Authorities have been investigating to see if said attacks are related to the sinking of the Phantom that happened over a year ago. Thankfully, no casualties have been reported, but the toll on the company has been devastating. In tonight's business panel, we'll be bringing in some experts to discuss whether Mundus is suffering a run of bad luck, or...something more sinister. We attempted to reach out to the Founder of Mundus, but we received a reply from his lawyer, requesting privacy for him and his family, as they deal with the loss of th-"

Sarah abruptly switched the channel to a station playing something a bit more upbeat.

Three months, that's how long it had been since the accident that had claimed her best friend’s life. Sarah still hadn't fully processed the revelation that one morning, two weeks before she was going to be the maid-of-honour in what was about to be the social event of the summer, she received a phone call from Doc's mother. One of the smartest, kindest, most empathetic people she had ever met had driven off the railing of the suspension bridge that Sarah could see glittering over in the distance. The police had deemed it an accident, caused by a freak blowout of a tire. ��There had been rumours that alcohol had been involved, but Sarah dismissed them outright. Doc was far too responsible to ever drive under the influence, but there was that niggling worry that her body had never been recovered, only her car, sunk into the bottom of the bay.

And while it hurt to lose her, Sarah knew her pain couldn't compare to what her friend's fiance and father were feeling.

Fredrick had come home, after nearly a year away, shaken and sobbing. When she had seen him at the memorial, the grief and guilt was obviously apparent on his face.

"I should have come home sooner, I shouldn't have left her alone all this time..." he'd confessed, and Sarah felt sympathy for him. He was a good man, and perhaps he and Doc would have made a good married couple, given enough time. She recalled the last phone call she had with her friend, a week before her death.

"Are you excited? Just a couple of more weeks to go!"

"Yeah," she seemed tired, and a bit out of it, but with all the last minute preparations going on, that was to be expected. "I just have one more plan I have to put into motion, and I'll be ready."

"Oh? Spill the beans!"

"Sorry, Sarah. This is something of a personal nature. Maybe later, when all is said and done, I'll let you in on the secret."

And now she would never find out.

If Fredrick was devastated, Doc's father was destroyed. He'd moved among the guests like a shambling corpse, pale and almost lifeless. He'd not even been able to deliver a short eulogy for his daughter, and had to be prompted to just greet the guests. To be fair, he'd just lost the light of his life, the one thing he'd treasured over anything in his life. The man was a bit controlling over his child’s choices, that was true, but there was no doubt that he loved his daughter, and that her death had killed something in him.

Sarah looked at two large bottles of sparkling wine that were embedded in the sand. One was unopened, and the other was half empty. They'd been intended to be a wedding gift for the lovely couple, but Sarah hadn't felt it was proper to give them out, so they'd stayed there in her cupboard for the past three months, waiting for a special occasion.

Her best friend's birthday seemed to be the moment Sarah was waiting for. Ordinarily, she'd have gone to the cemetery, and poured one out for her friend, but it felt like an empty gesture, especially since the grave was unoccupied. So, it seemed fitting to take the offering to the one thing her best friend loved the most: The ocean.

“And now for our Midnight Good News!” the chipper voice of the DJ exclaimed as the music ended. “We at 94.3 always like to end your day with a spot of goodness, to remind you that despite what the Newscasts say, there’s a big wide world of happy endings. So tonight we bring you the heartwarming story of the crew of the Deep-Water Sub MINO, ‘Marine Investigative Nautical Observatory, and its sister sub, the TAURUS ‘Trawling Armoured Underwater Reef Unassisted Submarine’. For six terrifying hours, the crew of four scientists were stranded 13 thousand feet underwater, their engines stalled by a plume of superhot volcanic water that erupted unexpectedly. Just when it seemed that oxygen was running out, the engines seemed to come back online, and they floated back to the surface in a record one and a half hours. What’s even more amazing, when their engines were subsequently checked, it appeared they’d been rendered nonfunctional since about the original eruption, the hot water had deposited a rock hard crust on the propellers, rendering them useless. Chief Engineer Dr. Nicoletta Goldstein theorizes that they got lucky, and floated by a larger, but more gentle eruption of hot water that floated the subs to safety, but as there seemed to be quite a lot of damage to the measuring tools, so it’s just a wacky guess at the moment. We’ll have the Doctor on tomorrow morning’s show, sharing her extraordinary adventure. That’s it for tonight! From all of us at 94.3, we want to wish a happy ending to your day.

Sarah chuckled, her friend would have definitely loved that story. Adventure in the deep sea was right up her alley , she thought as she turned off the radio, and took yet another swig of the bottle. It was now midnight, and it was time.

On unsteady feet, she slowly got off the blanket, and made her way across the silk soft sands toward the shoreline. On the horizon, the city's lights twinkled, reflecting off the gently swelling water, creating another skyscape of stars. It was the start of a new day, and aside from the painful memories, it was shaping up to be a wonderful one.

Despite the summer heat, the water was chilly as she walked into it, until the waves reached her knees.

Pulling off the foil, and using her swiss army knife, she yanked out the cork and after the initial stream of gas poured out, she paused, raised the bottle, and took a deep breath.

"Happy Birthday, Doc."

And with reverent steadiness, she poured the bubbling contents into the water, where sweet mixed with salty, where the fruit of the vine mixed with the blood of the earth, where an invention of man mixed with something that had been there since nearly the dawn of time. And as she did so, she sent a silent prayer to her friend's spirit, hoping that the wind and the waves would transport her message.

With her little ritual complete, she walked back to the blanket she, where she would sleep off her hangover. She might have not been as attuned to the ocean as her friend, but the gentle swell of waves had always helped her fall asleep.

One final swig of her bottle, and Sarah rested her head on a rolled up sweatshirt, and watched the stars.

Strange, there must be a party nearby or something, because above the gentle sound of wind and waves, she could hear an enchanting song coming through. She couldn't make out the words...perhaps opera?

Isil shem’ore

Isil lin’ore

Mira pharar, mira ofar, mira kanar,

D’rashana karif’ore

Isil dilshonin sa oplalim

Sa kintal o sa polim

Sa racarto shipal o sa whelik

Nekalin parand’ore fa pishim

Ah, mira sifa, mira sifa

Winik fa pishim lin’more.

And then the song repeated, but this time another voice rang out, sweet as the wine she had just drank. This time, she could make out the words, layering as the man's voice finished a line.

Isil shem’ore

To you I sing

Isil lin’ore

To you I give

Mira pharar, mira ofar, mira kanar,

My blade, my love, my soul,

D’rashana karif’ore

To bind myself to you

Isil dilshonin sa oplalim

I would traverse the briny depths

Sa kintal o sa polim

Brave the ice of the north,

Sa racarto shipal o sa whelik

The blistering Sun of the South

Nekalin parand’ore fa pishim

Anything to win your heart

Ah, mira sifa, mira sifa

Ah, My Beloved, My Beloved

Winik fa pishim lin’more.

Will you give your heart to me?

Strange, Sarah thought as she drifted off into sleep, the second voice sounded so like her best friend....perhaps it was the alcohol, but it was comforting to think that her friend was still out there, with her own happy ending.

#Devil May Cry #Vergil x Reader #Vergil #Dante #Mergil #Deep Blue Sea #It is finished #I have loved writing this #I hope you all have loved reading it #Thank you for all your comments and likes and reblogs #And the drawing Rodentsuinte #I love it so much!#I didn't think this crack AU fic would get so much attention #And love #So again #Thank you so much!

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