Imagine having a close relationship with Jason but still being with Young Justice and the team being completely dumbfounded when he comes to save you.
A relaxing evening - finally!
The team didn’t need you yet but you figured they’d call you in soon meaning these few moments of peace were taken very seriously so when your phone disrupts those precious moments you’re already dreading answering it.
Fortunately it wasn’t Nightwing informing you about a mission, instead it was Roy Harper asking for your aid on behalf of the Outlaws - Jason insisting if you were busy he’d handle it himself.
Reluctantly you agreed, Jason was a close friend after all and you were ecstatic to find out he came back from the dead. As a result you’d formed a friendship with the Outlaws after helping Jason out a few times, with that friendship came an invitation to join them but unfortunately you had to hold off on accepting until you found an appropriate way to leave Young Justice.
The Outlaws understood despite Jason’s argument of “Fuck ‘em, just join us - they’ll figure it out eventually.”
“Where are you Roy?” You sighed grabbing your suit and weapons whilst listening to Roy’s directions.
Days passed since Jay’s run-in with Harry, and the pirate was quick to get back on his feet. After Jay fled that night, Harry managed to get himself to medical assistance within a few hours. A broken rib, a sprained wrist and a cracked nose later and he eventually had to head back to Uma’s ship for the night. Getting beaten up by one of your captain’s sworn enemies didn’t exactly go down a treat with the crew, but Harry swore if he saw Jay again he would snap him in half. He had his hook, and that is what irked him the most.
When he wasn’t aboard Uma’s ship, he hung around the area of the Isle close to where Jay was. It was an area he wasn’t extremely familiar with, but he was going to stay here until he caught his eye nonetheless.
Harry stood in the shadows of one of the markets nearby, fiddling with the bandage wrapped around his hand and wrist that was normally occupied by his hook. He hummed the tune to ‘what’s my name’ below his breath, turning his head to glance at the familiar face who hadn’t noticed his presence yet. ”If it isny the Isle’s favourite thief.” He made himself known, voice low as he leaned off of the beam of the warehouse-like building, pushing himself from the shadows.
Warnings: Mental manipulation, implied major character death
Word count: 2100
A/N: IT’S THE END!!!! My first series started and finished, and wow guys I couldn’t have asked for better readers. I just wanna thank you guys SO MUCH for all the comments, the replies, reblogs, asks, all of it. This has been received so so well and I’m sad that it’s over but I’m super excited to see what happens next. So thank you so much again and I hope this finale lives up to your guys’ expectations! (Also I’m so sorry you guys, come rant to me afterwards)
What was it you’d said about pathetic fallacy? Oh right, it was a god awful way of determining how the day would turn out.
This seemed like a prime example. Here you were, surrounded by rifles far enough away to make it seem like your imagination, and it was absolutely beaming outside the crumbling warehouse walls.
As if to mocking the sun further, your own hands were pressing into freezing metal - like someone had packaged the weight of the world and told you to shoot.
Though, you supposed, that wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
Lt. Bering: Five what are you doing? Five: It was the only way I could think to save you. I disrupted the Cubes shields. You should be able to beam back now. Lt. Bering: But you’re inside the forcefield. I’m not leaving without you! Five: Then you will be assimilated.
Five: If you had been assimilated the knowledge the Borg would have learned would have made the Moreau a target. I did not expect that Captain Nielsen would allow you to return for me. I did not expect you to return for me. Lt. Bering: Looks like you still have a few things to learn but for now I believe Vanessa said you should be regenerating. Five: When I am finished. Lt. Bering: No, now. Five: Yes, Myka. Lt. Bering:Sweet dreams.
Thanks to his position as a Beifong, and a helping hand from his aunt Lin, Baatar had managed to get out from his cell for a chance to speak to the former Great Uniter, the very woman who was supposed to be his bride. While he let her words sink in, the nonbender nailed his gaze onto the imprisoned woman, unable to look away. She looked so… Different. Broken. And her voice was chipped.
Kuvira used to radiate a charisma so strong it could push any world leader onto their knees, and a voice so sharp it could make even the biggest mountain tremble. But now, all that was left was a shell of what she used to be, a memory, tainted of what she’d done.
Baatar stood before her cell, dressed in a brown tunic that was standard for prisoners, his wrists clasped together with thick platinum cuffs. His glasses had been confiscated and replaced by ones stripped from metal, with smudgy glasses with the wrong streangth that made his head hurt. Around the corner a guard was waiting, ready to take Baatar back to his cell as soon as they finished talking.
His mind was filled with mixed emotions, feeling everythig at once. Everything, that is, except love, compassion or forgiveness towards the broken woaman. But if if was hate, he couldn’t tell. Mostly confusion, and a longing need for understanding.
Everything positive he felt for Kuvira was now replaced by the memory of the Colussus, lifting it’s platinum arm equipped with the giant spitit cannon that was built by his own hand. Before whispering “She wouldn’t,” it fired by the same woman he built it for, the buzzing sound of the purple, concentrated spitit enegry beaming towards the warehouse way cutting through his ear. And then… Darkness.
Taking a deep breath, Baatar crossed his arms as he looked for the right words to say, and except for one question, his mind went blank. Taking a deep breath, Baatar’s voice broke the void of silence.
“I have a hard time believing that…” he mumbled and looked away. “Kuvira… Why?”
I didn’t think I would get this done today—but I think it is done now, so I am going to go ahead and post it. As mentioned in part 1, here is crazycat’s quite significant manip, without which… and obviously there would be later complications and difficulties and all that… but sunshine. Sunshine. I am choosing to believe in a certain kind of resolution. I encourage you to believe it with me.
Myka calls Helena’s phone, but she won’t pick up. She goes upstairs and hammers on the door of her room, but unless Helena’s decided she is just not going to talk to Myka at all—and is going to stop moving and breathing entirely as well—she is not there. She is not in the lobby, or in the bar, or in the business center. She is not in the laundry room or the gym.
It takes Myka an hour, but she finally thinks to look outdoors: Helena is perched on the edge of a deck chair, by the pool. She is soaked; her hair is so heavy with wetness that the wind can’t move it.
Myka says, “For someone who gets cold so easily, you certainly do spend a lot of time in the rain.”
“Would you please,” Helena says. She is staring at the pool. It is lit from within, underwater, and in the dark, it is practically fluorescent. The rain makes the surface ripple and jump, and Myka feels her blood begin to do the same thing.