More Old Ones
Aug. 19th, 2022 10:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apachefirecatTitle: Strong, Free, and In Charge
Author: Katya Starling
Fandom: X-Men
Characters/Pairing: Storm, past T'Challa/Storm, mentions Gambit/Rogue and Cyclops/Jean
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: FFFC S.93: Bingo - Fortis et Liber - Strong and Free
Word Count: 2,500
Date Written: 4 March 2020
Warnings: Spoilers
Summary: Storm comes home . . . again.
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Tears mixed with the slanting raindrops as she flew the long, sorrowful flight back home to the States. She never would have thought, growing up, that the United States would become her home, but it had. Africa was no longer her home, and although it would always hold a special place in her heart, she had, if she was truthful, missed her true home the entire time she'd been gone.
She circled around the State of Liberty just to take a view of the grand, old lady and remember what so many people before her had thought upon seeing the majestic figure. For millions upon millions of people, the sight of Lady Liberty had meant freedom, and although her people had started out in this grand nation as slaves, they had not been gifted with such a sight upon entrance. Yes, America had meant slavery for her people for well over a hundred years, but despite what many people still refused to acknowledge or accept, it had been their own people who had first turned them into slaves.
She couldn't imagine being turned into a slave by her own kind, even despite everything she'd endured over her years as a thief, a wanderer, a homeless urchin, and an X-Man. She couldn't imagine hating her own race so greatly or loving the all mighty dollar so much that she would gladly allow another living being to be beaten just to gain a fortune, let alone the hundreds of black people who had originally been sold into this land.
So much blood had spilled in America over the centuries, but then, too, so much blood had spilled in her homeland. A great deal was still being spilled, both here and abroad. Ororo took her time flying over one city after another. On occasion, she would dip low enough to check out the nightlife, and upon spotting the inevitable thief, she would strike them down with a quick lightning bolt. Breezes carried purses and even televisions back to their original owners through the rain that accompanied her every move.
She couldn't stop crying. A part of her was glad to be coming home, but she still could not stop crying -- or regretting all that had happened to bring her home at last. She should have just left T'Challa, but she had tried so hard to be everything he and their nation wanted her to be -- not just wanted, really, but needed. They needed a strong, leading lady. They needed a ruler who was not afraid of anything and would face impossible odds and turn down temptations to do what was truly best for the country. They needed someone who would lead them into a bright, glorious future not just for themselves but for the generations to follow.
She had thought she was that person. When the Goddess had apparently blessed her by bringing T'Challa back into her life, Ororo had believed that it was a sign. She had believed her time here in the States was over, that it was time to go home, and most of all, that he and she could bring Africa into the future it and its people deserved as its King and Queen.
But she had not been a Queen. She had not even been a ruler. She had had to argue with her husband for the simple right of connecting with her friends back home. She had had to sneak out of her own home to do anything freely. She had been left with marks on her face and tears on her pillow every single night for so very long now that memories of pleasant, untroubled sleep seemed but a dull dream. She'd been fighting for the rights of every African to be whatever they wanted to be; yet, she herself, had been cast down from freedom in the skies and in her life to a mere housewife, a woman meant only to carry her husband's heir and to never, ever question her husband or his guard.
Lightning crackled through the sky with Ororo's mighty anger. She should no longer be sad, she thought. She should not be grieving. Her grief, her sorrow was over. She was free. So why then, she puzzled, did she not feel free? Why did she feel as heavy as the clouds that hung so low and pregnant with torrents of rain? Why could she not just let go?
Even entering Westchester County did not bring with it the relief and happiness that she had once felt at coming home. A part of her was happy or, at least, far happier than she had been since very shortly after leaving this great country to marry a man she could now acknowledge had never loved her. Love, true love, had never entered into their relationship. She knew what true love was. She had experienced love twice before in her life. She had not yet experienced the kind of grand love that Scott and Jean, some of her dearest friends, shared, but the loves she had experienced had given her strength to do things she never otherwise would have been able to do.
She'd thought her love for T'Challa would enable to do that, but whatever it was she had felt for T'Challa had not been love. She had not married him for love. She had married him to help their nation, their people, and she had married him, in part, she could admit to herself now, because she'd been afraid. Once before, a man had asked her to be his wife, and she had narrowly missed that adventure because she had paused to consider her duties with the X-Men and had lost the opportunity to be Forge's bride.
She wondered, not for the first time, how her life, and those of the X-Men, might have changed if she had married him. They could have been the King and Queen of the X-Men. She would not have had to leave. After all, Forge was still working for the X-Men's dream of a better tomorrow for all mutants and humans, only under a different team. They could have forged a brighter future for mutant and human kind together, and she now realized they most likely would have had far greater success with it than she and T'Challa had had in building a future for the African country.
Yet there she went again, Ororo recognized. She was doing the very thing she had tried to explain so many years prior to Scott and Jean both was not good for her. She was placing duty above all else, just as she'd done when she'd chosen to leave the X-Men, where she'd actually been happy, to try to build a better future for their people with T'Challa. She had wed him not out of love but out of duty, and out of the naive belief that they could build love and a better future for all together.
Thunder roared her anguish and the winds swept higher as Ororo neared the mansion. She had wondered who had left since her own departure and how many new faces would look at her and not even know who she was. The last thing she expected was to see the mansion lit up with bright, golden lights. She had told only Logan that she was coming home, having asked him, quite shyly and, if she admitted it only to herself, with more than a little fear, if she would still be welcome.
His response had been fierce. He'd assured her in his gruff, strong way that not only would she always be welcome at their home but he'd gut anyone who said or acted otherwise. He'd actually made her laugh, the first laugh Ororo remembered emitting in far, far too long. Indeed, even now, she couldn't remember the last time she'd so much as smiled with amusement.
Still she had not expected the light show she was receiving, or the people her blue eyes, which were widening with her growing surprise, were already beginning to recognize as she began a slow, circling descent. Jubilee stood in the shadows, looking as much at home in the darkness as any Vampire or Morlock had ever been. Ororo winced suddenly with the thought of those people. She should have learned her lesson, she realized, back in the '80s. She could not be a Queen, a mother, or a leader to more than one people at a time, and she had tried, through marrying T'Challa, to build a future for mutants, Africans, and the Wakandians, the latter, of course, for whom T'Challa had given everything. No one else could ever compare to the Prince of Wakanda, or accurately compete for his affection, than his own people.
She couldn't blame him for that, she realized as she continued to look around her home and her own people, for no one could ever take the place in her heart of her own people. The Morlocks had failed to do it, and so, too, had her own countrymen. Hank was swinging through the trees in her direction. Rogue and Remy huddled together on the rooftop. He had waved to her, though Ororo had only acknowledged them with a mere nod of her graceful head.
Scott stood looking out his window, gazing directly up at the night sky, while Bishop had chosen to clean his guns underneath the open garage. She knew there was only one reason why a warrior such as himself would do so: he was watching the premises, waiting for the arrival of an enemy or perhaps, she preferred to think, a friend. Bobby was making snowmen though out of season, and each one's head was pointed upward with a charcoal smile at the night sky.
Warren glided through the night sky, holding Betsy close to his heart; she was glad to see they were still together. Kitty burst into a huge grin at the sight of her, and Lockheed circled around Pryde's head, cooing so loudly and excitedly that Ororo could hear him clearly over the distance that separated them. Even X-23 was stalking the premises at full alert, and Ororo nodded the sly smile the girl grinned before she turned away from her.
Yet, of all those clearly waiting for her, it was Logan beside whom Ororo finally landed. "I . . . I did not realize that you were going to tell everyone." She would not meet his gaze.
"I didn't," he said, tossing back the last of his beer, "believe it or not." She watched him through narrowed, blue eyes. "I didn't," he insisted. "Your breakup with T'Challa's all over the news, 'Ro, and when the freak storm showed up -- "
She let him witness her wiping tears from her eyes. "They assumed it was me."
"They knew it was you."
"And we were thrilled!" Kitty exclaimed, throwing herself at Ororo and hugging her tightly.
Finally, Ororo smiled truthfully, and her tears began to subside. She returned the tight hug, relishing in her old best friend's warm, reassuring embrace. Hank pounced onto the ground next to them, quoting Shakespearean about how though no matter where a soul might roam, only one place was ever truly home.
"I . . . I suppose you are right, Henry."
"It does this old boy's heart good to see you, Ororo."
"It's good to see you too."
Thunder rumbled away into the distance, and the rain had stopped falling when Rogue and Remy arrived.
"Hush your complaints, chere. You'll get everything righted soon enough." Remy reached out and hugged Ororo even more tightly than Kitty had. Into her ear, he whispered, "You never should have been brought down by dat bastard anyway. You're too strong for him, too strong an' too good, and you're free at last."
He was right, Ororo knew, her heart beginning to surge. She was strong, stronger than almost anyone knew, any one except herself and just two of the people standing in this small but growing circle. And she was free. She'd been freed at last not only to leave Wakanda but to come home where she belonged, where she'd learned decades ago that she belonged and where she never should have doubted was her destiny.
Remy stepped away, and Rogue moved forward. "Shugah, Ah'm gonna tell you somethin' a very wise, brave, an' strong woman told me once before what feels like many years ago." She laughed. "Ah feel like an' old woman -- "
"You're not old, chere."
" -- even though Ah'm not." Rogue flashed her boyfriend a bright smile. "But this person . . . She meant th' world to me, an' Ah thought she was th' bravest, strongest woman Ah'd evah met. Still do, matter o' fact. But she came to me when Ah was scared an' runnin' like a child an' she told me that it didn't mattah what anyone else thought. Mah home was where Ah felt like Ah was home, an' no one had any right to keep me from it." She looked directly into Ororo's eyes. "You don't let no man tell you where you belong or don't belong ever again. You hear me, girl?"
Ororo's smile continued to grow though new tears pricked her baby blues. "I do," she whispered in admission.
As Rogue was still hugging her, Logan's strong hand clapped her back. "An' if you do, I'm gonna gut the bastard."
"If I don't fry him first."
"We'll all get him," Kitty said, and Lockheed cooed in agreement. "Kurt, Peter, and Brian once told someone that they were going to tear his head off, doodle all over it, play soccer with it, and then bamf it into the sea if he hurt me. If anyone ever tries to take you from us again, 'Ro, we're going to do all that and way worse."
"Agreed, liebchen," Kurt said, having appeared from the black shadows. His tail whisked. "Now zen, group hug!"
Laughter spilled from Ororo as she was surrounded by her true family, all eager to hold her, hug her, reassure her, and never, ever let her go again. This was where she'd belonged, she remembered. She'd learned it so many times over. She should have known it would not change. She was going to fight to forge a brighter future for her people, but she was going to do it from right here right beside these people she loved and who loved her in return, not as a pregnant, barefooted wife but as the strong, free, and even glorious Queen the Goddess had made her.
Thunder blasted through the night sky again, but this time, it wasn't accompanied by rain. She had no more reason to cry. She was strong, free, and home again. The world would be her oyster, and together, the X-Men, her family, could accomplish anything with enough time, including the dream of peaceful coexistence between species, and countries, that would one day become reality.
The End
Title: A Knight's Castle
Author: Katya Starling
Fandom: Labyrinth
Characters/Pairing: Sir Didymus
Rating: G/K
Challenge/Prompt: FFC s.93: Bingo: Knight's Castle
Word Count: 1,109
Date Written: 6 March 2020
Warnings: None
Summary: A Knight's castle is his home.
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Sir Didymus looked up as the wind shifted, bringing truly horrible scents with it. His ears perked up, then laid back against his furry head. He bared his teeth silently. Every one who had ever come to his little piece of the kingdom had always complained of some imaginary, wretched odor. It had to be imaginary, although the other creatures did put up quite a show every time without fail, for he'd never once smelled anything horrible in his territory.
The wretched scents that did come, such as those currently accosting his delicate senses, were always from beyond the Bog. It was funny that the King had chosen to call this place the Bog of Eternal Stench, for although the friendly spirits of the swamp did tend to make very gaseous noises, they never actually smelled -- not like that child's dirty diaper. Of course, he could scarcely blame the King for the smell, even if it was horrible enough to wilt the few flowers that occasionally appeared in the Bog. Jareth had little choice than to keep trying to find a heir, after all, and he certainly didn't know a thing about raising children.
Sir Didymus could lend him a paw, but that would mean leaving his post at his precious Bog and journeying closer to the castle, the castle that was not his. The wind shifted again, and Didymus lifted his head, barking with joy. His whole body wagged, from the ends of his whiskers to the tip of his bushy tail. He could hear singing far off, and he felt like singing himself. He joined in the song, making up the words as he went and singing about the wonders of his Bog.
Most Knights defended a castle, but not he. He didn't have anything nearly as boring or ordinary to look after. Most also secretly wanted to be King or at least be very close to their royal leader, but again, not Sir Didymus. He would be quite pleased to stay in his current post for the rest of his life, and he wasn't lonely one bit, not with the rocks and other spirits with which to commune. The rocks that appeared in his Bog had been around since the very beginning of the Underground kingdom, and they had stories to tell from even times Jareth could not recall.
After all, Jareth had not always been their King, and the rocks were the oldest of all the beings to roam the labyrinth. They knew the stories of all the earlier lieges, both good and terrible. They knew how each, too, had received their heir, almost always through deceit and traveling to the world above. Jareth had been one such heir, so of course, it only made sense for him to have grown tired of his role and be desperately seeking a heir to replace him. Sir Didymus only wished the wretched beasts didn't smell so much, or cry so loudly.
He shook suddenly, biting off the words of his song, and again flattened his ears against his head. That child was not only messy. It was hungry as well, and crying quite loudly because of it. Oh, the things he could teach his King! If only Jareth would listen, and if only he himself was willing to leave his Bog which, of course, he very much was not.
Sir Didymus jumped into one of the most ancient trees in the swamp. It glittered more brightly than all the rest because of its age, but that wasn't why he always chose this particular post to strike up his guard until the next girl came. Along with being the oldest, prettiest, and wisest, this tree was also the tallest. From its ancient boughs, the dog Knight was easily able to spot his King's latest foe. It was a wonder, he thought, scratching, that there was always some naive girl ready to give up her brother, cousin, or even son, and then of course, once they'd realized what they'd done, they always regretted the deed, whined and simpered, and eventually threatened to fight his Royal Majesty.
As though any one could truly wage war against the great Goblin King and hope to win. It wasn't possible, not with all the power and magic that Jareth had at his disposal. He could easily beat any opponent and could just as easily turn these girls into snakes or cloths as he did his own Goblins. The thing that saved them was also the very thing that was this particular King's saving grace, and the very reason why Sir Didymus considered helping him freely when he did -- his honor. No matter how greatly Jareth yearned for a heir, he was not willing to take the child unfairly. The girls spoke the words, so he took the babies, but when they wanted them back, if they could play their roles correctly and stand up to the King until the very end of his test, he always gave the children back.
What none of the human children seemed to comprehend was that Jareth did not have to play by the rules. He made the rules himself. As King, he didn't have to bow to any one, but he also needed a heir in order to be able to leave the kingdom for as long as he wanted. Without a heir, all the creatures of the labyrinth would be in danger in his absence, free to be conquered and ruled over by any other magical being who saw fit to take them over. Goodness knew there were plenty of those, and most of the Labyrinth's citizens were no more powerful than Sir Didymus himself.
Which, of course, was not to suggest that he was not a foe with which to be reckoned. He might not possess magic, or much physical strength, but no matter the opponent, he would never stop fighting for what he knew was right in his heart and his code of ethics. He would never, for example, stop protecting this swamp. He would never stop protecting his Bog, his very own castle. Jareth could have his labyrinth and his castle and all the Goblins in the world. The girls could keep their wretched, screaming brothers and their world above which was supposed to be so much prettier and grander than anything they had down here. It was supposed to be, but Sir Didymus knew it wasn't. Nothing could be better than his Bog, and he would protect it to the very end. He yipped, seeing the girl named Sarah moving closer to his Bog, and readied for the fight again.
The End
Title: Blazing Embers
Author: Katya Starling
Fandom: X-Men
Characters/Pairing: White Queen, with references to several het couplings
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: FFFC s.93: Bingo - Phoenix
Word Count: 1,988
Date Written: 6 March 2020
Warnings: None
Summary: She's given so much for the dream, and will still give more.
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
"This is it," Kitty Pryde, a mere child to whom Emma had never thought she'd listen a day in her life was saying. The girl prattled on, indicating where the direction from which their enemies were coming. It was the fiery orange light in that direction, however, that truly caught Emma off guard. Pryde was doing her best to lead the current team of X-Men, and experience had finally taught Emma that the children, naive fools that they were, were never going to listen to her. She was there to try to keep them all alive, including Kitty, not to let the girl think she was commanding her. None of that mattered, and she'd grown accustomed to it all.
The sunset, however, was what truly bothered Emma. A multitude of deaths flashed through her mind. The flame-red streaks first reminded her of the Phoenix, a being she'd once feared, until Scott had made it clear that his heart finally belonged to her. It had too, for a short time until the real Jean had returned, proving Emma right after all. He'd never loved the cosmic entity who'd tried to claim them both. It was that pesky redhead to whom all the X-Men had turned at one time or another and for one reason or another, that do-gooder to whom Emma could never truly be compared. Jean was swathed in power and goodness while she was as tainted with blood as her wardrobe was spotless white.
She had feared her return, and for good reason. Jean's return had taken Scott from her as she had always known it would. She had loved him, but she'd always known that his love for her was little more than skin deep. She had been temptation, and power, and wickedness, all things he'd once sought, but in the end what he wanted more than anything else, including more than being Charles' whipping boy or the X-Men's purportedly fearless leader, was to have his Jean back.
She snorted derisively, ignoring the glances that came her way. Let them think what they would. They would anyway. Every one did, rather they were supposedly good, heroic, never-done-wrong-in-their-lives X-Men or not. Every one saw her. Every one saw her, saw the way she dressed, fearfully watched the way she acted with the power she knew she possessed, heard her history, and made up their minds about her before she so much as spoke one word to them. Many of the fools thought she was one of the worst things to ever happen to mutant kind, never understanding, fully knowing, or caring the sacrifices she'd made along the way to try to help their species, to try to help the very kids with whom she was now surrounded.
Taking orders from Pryde was far less than the greatest sacrifices she'd made. Nothing could compare to the pain of losing her first students, the Hellions, because of her own pride, but after that, her pride had taken a fatal nosedive. She had still acted the part everyone expected of her, but she had realized that being that person would never give the kids what they needed and deserved. She would never be able to protect them that way. Indeed, part of the reason she'd lost them was because she'd been unable to let go of her past and had still been trying to gather more power for herself rather than simply protecting the children who'd needed her and trusted with their lives and very souls.
She wasn't as bad as people made her out to be, Emma reflected honestly, but she wasn't as good as she wished she could be, as the leader the mutants needed should be and needed to be if peaceful coexistence with humanity was ever to be achieved. Even Magneto had shed his power and own desires in trying to gain that coexistence, but look at where it had gotten him, Emma thought, gazing out over the shimmering see, alight with all the reds, golds, and yellows of the setting sun. Scott, Jean, and her very own precious Hellions were far from the only connections she'd had and lives she'd seen cast out as the sun was now disappearing. Charles and Erik had died for the very same goals, the same goals for which she, Pryde, and all the others around them were still fighting.
And the Hellions had not been the only children she had lost. Since them, she had buried Everett, Angelo, Mondo . . . The sweet and naive Clarice had never stood a chance because she, Charles, and Erik had all failed to reach the girl in time. More recently, she had buried Paige back in her Kentucky home. The girl had left the X-Men to try to build a life just for her own siblings, but mutant haters had found her brother, ripped every feather from his body, and killed her when she'd tried to intervene. She hadn't called Emma, but Jubilee had when she'd gotten Paige's message. They'd arrived too late, as had happened far too often in Emma's life.
She had been too late to save Paige, too late to save Angelo, Everett, her Hellions . . . She hadn't cared enough to intervene on Erik's life, couldn't have stopped Charles and was as guilty for his murder as Scott, and had had seen no point in trying to keep Scott from sacrificing himself for Jean. She had known, after all, that it would only make the man she had eventually come to love hate her, but she hadn't loved him for the right reasons. Even that romance had started out as a sacrifice.
She'd clung to him in trying to stay with the X-Men, knowing they would not be able to send her away as long as she was bedding their leader. Somewhere along the way paved with deceit, Emma had started to feel true emotions for the man who let so few into his inner core. She'd torn down his walls, started to see the soft, scared boy that was trying so hard for all his friends and family inside, trying so hard even for her when she did not deserve it, and eventually fallen hard. Too hard. She'd allowed herself to be hurt by him, because she hadn't been able to let go and had known all along that it was Jean who he would always love, not her.
She didn't deserve love. Had not Sean Cassidy and Generation X proved that well? The children had never listened to her, never admired her, never respected her as they had him, and although she'd been willing to give up everything for them, even her life, no sacrifice would have ever been great enough in their eyes to make them forget her past and the first set of students she'd failed so miserably. Sean himself had never let her forget that failure or those deaths that had marked her every moment ever since. Oh, he'd spoken well. He'd used the right words to make it sound as though he was on her side and to convince Charles they could work together, but for every good thing he had done, every moment in which he'd acted correctly as her co-headmaster, he'd been waiting to throw her under the bus, as the kids said these days.
She could never be a worthy co-headmaster, or even a worthy X-Man. She could never be worthy to teach the next generation of mutants how to be heroes, or even how to protect themselves. She wasn't really concerned with rather they decided to become X-Men or not. She just wanted them to be able to live to make that decision for themselves. She just wanted them to have a chance for a future. And just like the Phoenix in all the ways it had fallen to ashes and resurrected itself to come back to the X-Men yet again, here she was again, fighting once more to try to guarantee futures for the homo superior children.
EMMA!
Her name blasting through her own mind finally caught her attention and shattered the White Queen's silent reverie. She blinked sharply, acting, as she always did, as though tears were a completely foreign concept to her. She looked down into Pryde's probing, harsh gaze, more than a little surprised that the girl had chosen to open her mind to her after all these years. What? she asked simply, her mental voice as frigid as she felt toward the younger woman she knew didn't like or trust her.
I said I need you --
Yes, yes, Kitty, she retorted haughtily, I am quite aware you need me to cover your --
I need you to get the kids out of here, Frost. If this goes bad, if we can't win, get them out. Guarantee as many of them as you can a future.
Emma stopped, and truly looked into the girl's eyes for the first time in a long time. Kitty was so much younger than her; yet, suddenly, she looked as though she carried the physical and spiritual exhaustion of a woman much older than them both, a warrior much older who was tired of fighting and not only recognized but welcomed the thought that death was coming. This isn't a suicide mission, Pryde, Emma snapped, remembering a much younger girl, a mere slip of a child barely fourteen years in age, who she'd once wanted to protect. We're all coming out of this alive.
And they would, Emma vowed, turning quickly into her diamond form and taking charge. As she led the attack, she thought again of Sean and of the setting sun and how he'd sacrificed his own life for a plane full of strangers. He'd done the heroic thing. He'd always been a hero though he'd hadn't always been much of a man, much of a honest man at least. Unlike Scott, she'd known he loved her. She'd felt the emotions in him and accidentally picked them up off of his mind more than once. She'd even felt him when he'd died, all the way on the other side of the world on his way home from Muir Isle.
He had taken a suicide mission, she reflected sorrowfully. He'd taken a suicide mission, because he'd failed to protect Moira and had felt as grief-stricken, duty bound, and as much a failure as she had when she'd lost her beloved Hellions. He'd sacrificed his life for nearly a hundred strangers who had never known him, but if she sacrificed hers today, it would be for mutants who did know her and did not.
Kitty actually knew her, she realized, her heart surging with joy and relief. She felt like crying again, though for an entirely different reason; thankfully, her diamond form could not shed tears. The girl knew her and knew she'd stop at nothing to protect the children. What she didn't realize was that she was still one of those children. Emma would save the day this time. She'd save these children, and maybe, just maybe, if she was really, truly lucky, when the dust cleared from this battle, there'd be more than two people who realized and recognized she would do anything and everything in her power to save the next generation of mutants.
Maybe she'd actually end up with some students who would listen to her after all. Maybe, at least, they wouldn't fear her or hate her quite so much after all. A woman could still dream, even if she was made of rockhard diamonds, couldn't she? And in the blaze of the setting sun, she knew she could. She could, because others had died for her right to do so. She could, and she would protect the right of all mutants to do so as well to her dying breath, if and when that's what the battle took.
The End
Title: Blanche, Mistress of Dorothy's Boudoir
Author: Katya Starling
Fandom: Golden Girls
Characters/Pairing: Blanche/Dorothy, Sophia, cameos Miles/Rose, Coco
Rating: R/M
Challenge/Prompt: FFFC s.93: Bingo - Charades and r20.05: Temper and Ficlets 59: Film
Word Count: 1,162
Date Written: 6 March 2020
Warnings: Slight AU
Summary: Blanche and Dorothy partake in charades, and much more.
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Dorothy grumbled underneath her breath when the game turned to them and Blanche insisted on giving the clues. She was horrible at charades, and already proven that to be true with all her failing guesses at the other scenes that had been acted out. She stared, dumbfounded, as Blanche pretended to eat something, and then dropped that something down her low-cut blouse. She shook her gray head as she tried feebly, "Eating . . . something? Dropping food? McDonald's?"
Blanche slapped a hand across her wrinkling forehead and was still shaking her head in dismayed disapproval when she finally lowered her hand. She tried again, holding her arms out and shaking her breasts. All the men in the room whistled appreciatively. Some women looked away. A couple grew irritated, and a few even watched in admiration and envy.
Dorothy just shook her head again. "Dirty Dancing? Madonna? Kirstie Alley in, hum, that Thanksgiving movie?"
Blanche stopped, perched her hands on her hips, and glared pointed daggers at her partner.
Dorothy sighed and threw her hands up in the air. "What do you want from me?!" she cried exasperatedly. "I told you I was horrible at this!"
Blanche pursed her lips together and narrowed her eyes at Dorothy. Then, suddenly, she opened her mouth in a wide gasp that would have been quite loud had she been allowed to make sounds. Instead, it was a huge but silent gasp emphasized with her hands slapping her cheeks. Dorothy looked even more confused than before.
Blanche tilted her head to one side, her lips still pursed and eyes narrowed at her lover. Finally she started to slowly raise the hem of her bright, red blouse while shaking her breasts. There was something off about the movement, but Dorothy couldn't tell what it was. The men clapped, roared, and whistled while some of the women actually left, stomping out of the room and house in anger.
"Strip tease?!" Dorothy snapped, her temper also flaring as some of the men hooted, cat called, and even told her woman to take it all off. "She's not taking it off for you -- " Dorothy started to declare heatedly but was silenced abruptly when silk smacked her head.
The men thrilled, their pleased, eager shouting echoing all throughout the house and onto the street beyond. Dorothy snatched her lover's blouse off of her head, jumped to her feet, and stalked toward her -- but with one sight at her naked breasts, each twirling in a different direction, she knew exactly the film Blanche was trying to indicate. "Elvira," she cried out, "Mistress of the Dark, and I am your mistress, and you will get your damn clothes on and get to our bedroom!"
The men were starting toward her now, but Dorothy cut between them and threw Blanche's shirt at her. Blanche started to pout. "Don't pout at me, Scarlet! You should've known better than to dress in front of these horny jerks!"
"It's nothin' they haven't seen before, Dorothy -- "
"DON'T REMIND ME!" Dorothy shouted. "Now get to our room!" She turned her back on Blanche, who, having realized she'd gone too far and especially pushed her lover too far, actually did don her shirt again and slide off toward their boudoir. Dorothy, her hands again on her hips, glared down at the men. "And any one of you who think you're going to get to her will have to go through me first! She's mine now! Mine now and forever!" She held up the hand upon which her wedding band gleamed. Blanche may not know how to act like a taken woman, but she was, and she'd fight every Tom, Dick, and Harry for her woman!
Rose, Miles, and Coco all exchanged nervous glances, but suddenly, the men started to shriek. Cackling loudly and wielding two big butcher knives, one in each hand, Sophia chased the men from their house. Her daughter was finally happy, as was the Slut Puppy, and no man was going to intervene in their wedded bliss -- or chaos, as it seemed to be more often than not!
For once, Dorothy didn't chastise her mother. There was no humiliated or stern cry of "MA!" as Sophia chased every last one of Blanche's former suitors not just from the house but from their yard as well. She was too busy chasing after her wife instead.
"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" she thundered, slamming their bedroom door shut behind her.
Blanche pouted up at her, as seductive and coy as she could possibly look as she kneeled before her in nothing but silk hose on their bed. "Ah just wanted you to get it right -- "
"BULL!"
"Ah don't know how you couldn't figure out our favorite movie, especially this time o' th' year."
"I should've known it'd be Slutty, Mistress of the Dark," Dorothy bit off irritably, but then her tongue seemed to swell with need in her mouth as Blanche started the movements all over again. She watched, eyes wide, mouth watering, and loins burning, as her wife effectively shook her breasts and rotated her nipples in opposing directions.
Slowly, she moved toward her. Her eyes were transfixed, and she could no longer think angrily. She fell to her knees onto the bed as well and managed to moan out, "One day I'm getting you the flags to go with that!"
"Oh, just shut up an' suck, dahlin'," Blanche retorted, laughing, and thrust her left breast into Dorothy's ready, open, and eager mouth. Dorothy clenched on, and as Blanche threw her head back in a gleeful cry, their living room was meanwhile filled with laughter.
"Sophia -- " Coco spoke fondly, shaking his head and wagging a finger at the elderly woman.
"You really shouldn't have done that, Sophia," Miles backed him up. He was surprised Rose hadn't spoken up, but then she was the shyest of the four room mates and rarely spoke an offensive or scolding word. He was really lucky to have her as his woman, and he knew that was only one of very many reasons why. He reached out, took her hand in his, and stroked her, knowing she had to be embarrassed, but to his utter surprise and amazement, she was smiling!
Sophia threw her head and thin shoulders back and cackled some more. "It's Halloween, boys! I've got to have some fun!" She paused in her cackling and eyed them both. Slowly, she arched an eyebrow. "It's not like you're willing to let me turn someone into a frog . . . Are you?"
Miles gulped, but Coco grinned. "Sophia!" he scolded lovingly.
To Miles' surprise, Coco, Rose, and Sophia all laughed. After a moment, he threw his head back and joined in the laughter as well. Their family and friends were happy after all, and that truly was all it took to make a good night or a good holiday, whatever the time of year.
The End
Title: The Ability To Dream
Author: Katya Starling
Fandom: Batman
Characters/Pairing: Batman/Catwoman, Joker/Harley
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: FFFC r:20.01: City Lights and Fan-FlashWorks 286: Box
Word Count: 1,656
Date Written: 4 January 2020
Warnings: None
Summary: Selina's falling back into the old trap.
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She arched upwards, like a cat yearning to be stroked, when the city lights started to come into her view. Her sleek, black car pulled noiselessly closer to the city, and as she entered her old territory, her emerald green eyes searched the streets and the faces, both familiar and new, whom she passed by. There were always the rich and elite, and always the poor and hungry, and constantly various faces and lifestyles in between. But of them all, tonight, there was only one in which she was interested.
Only one who had pulled her back here yet again after she had, as she always did before leaving and right after, swore she'd never return. Only one who haunted her every dream. Only one who made her everything within her yearn, purr, and sing each time he touched her. Only one who still had power over her.
Selina's gaze flicked to her rearview mirror. She'd been so happy to leave Gotham behind, so relieved to leave him behind, and yet here she was again. Here she was once more drawn to the enemy, one more being a silly, foolish kitten unable to leave home alone, unable to leave what she knew she was better off without alone.
She shouldn't have come back. She should turn around right now, leave, and stay true to her word this time -- stay gone. She should take her own advice. How many times had she told her girls this place wasn't good for them? How many times had she begged and pleaded with Harley to leave her cherished Mistah J behind and keep him from ever having power over again? How many young girls had she taken in off the streets and taught to never give a mere man that kind of power?
Yet he had power over her. He had since the first time they'd met. He would, she knew, bristling inside, until the day she finally died. Some nights, she yearned for that moment, for that sweet release of death. Tonight wasn't one of those nights, not yet. She didn't think it would be -- as long as he stayed to his territory and she to hers. She wouldn't lie to herself. The problems she had with that great, big, bad Bat were most often what led her to those kinds of thoughts.
But not tonight, she swore. Not tonight. She knew better. She always did. She was stronger this time, however, brighter, and braver. But then, she always believed herself to be all three of those things every time she relented and let herself come back here. She shouldn't have come, but to not return to Gotham also meant never seeing him again.
"Damn it, Bruce." Her lips curled as she hissed the words underneath her breath. If she'd had a tail, it would be lashing, but though she named herself after cats, those elegant animals were far better, and most especially wiser, than she'd ever be. You never saw a queen tying herself down to a single tom, after all.
But he was all she wanted. She could distract herself with elegance and riches, with diamonds and endless cash, with the causes of young girls and street cats, but in the end, her mind, and most especially her heart, always came back to him. He was all she really wanted. Yet, if she was honest with herself, she also knew that he was the greatest danger to her -- to her freedom, to her wilds, to her survival, even to her own sense of peace in mind and heart.
He looked at her as the enemy. He always would, no matter how many lives she saved or how hard she tried to change. He would always see her as the enemy. Either he or time or old or new enemies would always test her, and eventually, each and every time, she failed. And each and every time that he locked her away or told her to get out of Gotham, another piece of her died. There was no peace there between them, no love in his heart for her, but she still couldn't stop the way she felt for him. She still couldn't stop loving him.
She never would. She'd come to terms with that knowledge quite a number of years prior. She would never stop loving him, not the man, Bruce, or the hero, Batman. She would never be able to shut him entirely out of her heart, her mind, or even her dreams. He was her master, even though he didn't know it or perhaps simply wouldn't admit it, and he wielded the power grandiosely.
She jumped as another light, this one far brighter, bolder, and more golden than the rest, lit up the busy night sky. Emotions warred within her, sounding out in a harsh growl that ended in a weary sigh. Well, at least she knew where he'd be tonight, saving Gotham again, this time from a true foe, one that was not herself. That meant she knew where to stay away from.
She knew where to stay away from, all right. Her eyes flashed. This time, when her growl sounded, it filled the car and was aimed entirely at her own stupid self. Yeah, she knew where to stay away from all right, but she was still too naive, still as badly and sillily as "in love" as that naive, little Harley Quinn, for her own good. That was why she kept coming back to this same, damn litter box time and again, and why, despite everything in her reminding her that she knew better than to make this mistake, she was staying in this place again.
She just wasn't heading after that light, not tonight, not tomorrow night, or even the night after. She would have plenty to do as she emerged back into the seedy life of this rathole, plenty of lives to save, plenty of credible villains to have to fight again. She'd be able to keep busy, and he'd find her. He'd always find her. He'd find her. They'd love; they'd fight. He'd break her heart again, and leave her again, probably behind bars once more.
Selina sighed, her thin shoulders sagging, and shook her head. Yes, in her own right, she was every bit as fool as Harley Quinn. She slapped on the brakes as bodies were hurled into the street before her car. Men got to their feet and scampered away, and for the first time in weeks, Selina smiled genuinely. The corners of her mouth turned up and kept turning up until she looked not just like any, old cat but like the Cheshire Cat himself.
"AN' YA BETTAH KEEP RUNNIN'!"
Selina stopped her vehicle and rolled down her window. "Is this a private party," she called out, "or can anyone join?"
Her girls looked so happy to see her. Harley jumped for glee and clapped her hands. Her hyenas, circling around her, yipped their excitement. Even Ivy beamed from where she bounced on top of a giant Venus flytrap. "It's about time, Cats. It was getting lonely. This is a three-woman city, after all."
Selina sighed again, but this time, she didn't let it sound aloud. She kept it muffled, not wanting to upset the two people she could come the closest to calling actual friends. She didn't have friends -- friends, true friends such as were written about in stories and depicted in movies, didn't exist --, but these two had come to mean quite a bit to her over the years. Perhaps, at the very least, they could distract her from the big, bad Bat for a while, and maybe, while they were distracting her, she could distract Harls and keep her safe for a while longer.
She cast a glance back at the Batsignal still lighting up the sky in her rearview mirror. Yeah, the man of her dreams, and her nightmares too, could wait a while. He'd break her heart again, and her spirit too, soon enough. Maybe she could live a little while while she was waiting on him this time. Maybe she could somehow learn to hope again.
Her reverie was shattered as her doors were opened unexpectedly and slammed shut. "You're just in time," Ivy told her, her voice sounding almost as fatigued as Selina felt. "Tell this twit, Sel, that she does not need Joker. No woman needs a man."
No, Selina thought wistfully. No woman needed a man, but some women couldn't stop the feeling that they did, herself included.
Harley stuck out her tongue at the back of Pam's red head. "So where to, toots?"
"You tell me. My night's open."
Ivy started filling her in on their latest plan, and Selina listened with rapt attention, though she did keep glancing back at the Batsignal until it finally disappeared. This was exactly the distraction she needed. She'd meet him again one night that would be both too soon and not soon enough, but maybe this time, it would be on her turf, on her discretion. Maybe somehow she'd turn the tables on the Bat this time, and make him see her for all she was, not just another villainess who was passionate in the bed. Maybe this time she could teach him to love her.
She sighed inwardly and glanced back at Harley, who was lost in her own imagination and doodling the Joker's name in a heart. Yeah, maybe this time, he'd be the idiot and not her. She batted away the tears that rose in her emerald eyes, but not the gloved hand that came to rest on top of hers. Ivy knew why she was back. They all did, though none of them voiced it. Maybe she wasn't the idiot. A girl could still dream even in this nightmare of a town and life . . . couldn't she?
The End
Author: Katya Starling
Fandom: X-Men
Characters/Pairing: Storm, past T'Challa/Storm, mentions Gambit/Rogue and Cyclops/Jean
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: FFFC S.93: Bingo - Fortis et Liber - Strong and Free
Word Count: 2,500
Date Written: 4 March 2020
Warnings: Spoilers
Summary: Storm comes home . . . again.
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Tears mixed with the slanting raindrops as she flew the long, sorrowful flight back home to the States. She never would have thought, growing up, that the United States would become her home, but it had. Africa was no longer her home, and although it would always hold a special place in her heart, she had, if she was truthful, missed her true home the entire time she'd been gone.
She circled around the State of Liberty just to take a view of the grand, old lady and remember what so many people before her had thought upon seeing the majestic figure. For millions upon millions of people, the sight of Lady Liberty had meant freedom, and although her people had started out in this grand nation as slaves, they had not been gifted with such a sight upon entrance. Yes, America had meant slavery for her people for well over a hundred years, but despite what many people still refused to acknowledge or accept, it had been their own people who had first turned them into slaves.
She couldn't imagine being turned into a slave by her own kind, even despite everything she'd endured over her years as a thief, a wanderer, a homeless urchin, and an X-Man. She couldn't imagine hating her own race so greatly or loving the all mighty dollar so much that she would gladly allow another living being to be beaten just to gain a fortune, let alone the hundreds of black people who had originally been sold into this land.
So much blood had spilled in America over the centuries, but then, too, so much blood had spilled in her homeland. A great deal was still being spilled, both here and abroad. Ororo took her time flying over one city after another. On occasion, she would dip low enough to check out the nightlife, and upon spotting the inevitable thief, she would strike them down with a quick lightning bolt. Breezes carried purses and even televisions back to their original owners through the rain that accompanied her every move.
She couldn't stop crying. A part of her was glad to be coming home, but she still could not stop crying -- or regretting all that had happened to bring her home at last. She should have just left T'Challa, but she had tried so hard to be everything he and their nation wanted her to be -- not just wanted, really, but needed. They needed a strong, leading lady. They needed a ruler who was not afraid of anything and would face impossible odds and turn down temptations to do what was truly best for the country. They needed someone who would lead them into a bright, glorious future not just for themselves but for the generations to follow.
She had thought she was that person. When the Goddess had apparently blessed her by bringing T'Challa back into her life, Ororo had believed that it was a sign. She had believed her time here in the States was over, that it was time to go home, and most of all, that he and she could bring Africa into the future it and its people deserved as its King and Queen.
But she had not been a Queen. She had not even been a ruler. She had had to argue with her husband for the simple right of connecting with her friends back home. She had had to sneak out of her own home to do anything freely. She had been left with marks on her face and tears on her pillow every single night for so very long now that memories of pleasant, untroubled sleep seemed but a dull dream. She'd been fighting for the rights of every African to be whatever they wanted to be; yet, she herself, had been cast down from freedom in the skies and in her life to a mere housewife, a woman meant only to carry her husband's heir and to never, ever question her husband or his guard.
Lightning crackled through the sky with Ororo's mighty anger. She should no longer be sad, she thought. She should not be grieving. Her grief, her sorrow was over. She was free. So why then, she puzzled, did she not feel free? Why did she feel as heavy as the clouds that hung so low and pregnant with torrents of rain? Why could she not just let go?
Even entering Westchester County did not bring with it the relief and happiness that she had once felt at coming home. A part of her was happy or, at least, far happier than she had been since very shortly after leaving this great country to marry a man she could now acknowledge had never loved her. Love, true love, had never entered into their relationship. She knew what true love was. She had experienced love twice before in her life. She had not yet experienced the kind of grand love that Scott and Jean, some of her dearest friends, shared, but the loves she had experienced had given her strength to do things she never otherwise would have been able to do.
She'd thought her love for T'Challa would enable to do that, but whatever it was she had felt for T'Challa had not been love. She had not married him for love. She had married him to help their nation, their people, and she had married him, in part, she could admit to herself now, because she'd been afraid. Once before, a man had asked her to be his wife, and she had narrowly missed that adventure because she had paused to consider her duties with the X-Men and had lost the opportunity to be Forge's bride.
She wondered, not for the first time, how her life, and those of the X-Men, might have changed if she had married him. They could have been the King and Queen of the X-Men. She would not have had to leave. After all, Forge was still working for the X-Men's dream of a better tomorrow for all mutants and humans, only under a different team. They could have forged a brighter future for mutant and human kind together, and she now realized they most likely would have had far greater success with it than she and T'Challa had had in building a future for the African country.
Yet there she went again, Ororo recognized. She was doing the very thing she had tried to explain so many years prior to Scott and Jean both was not good for her. She was placing duty above all else, just as she'd done when she'd chosen to leave the X-Men, where she'd actually been happy, to try to build a better future for their people with T'Challa. She had wed him not out of love but out of duty, and out of the naive belief that they could build love and a better future for all together.
Thunder roared her anguish and the winds swept higher as Ororo neared the mansion. She had wondered who had left since her own departure and how many new faces would look at her and not even know who she was. The last thing she expected was to see the mansion lit up with bright, golden lights. She had told only Logan that she was coming home, having asked him, quite shyly and, if she admitted it only to herself, with more than a little fear, if she would still be welcome.
His response had been fierce. He'd assured her in his gruff, strong way that not only would she always be welcome at their home but he'd gut anyone who said or acted otherwise. He'd actually made her laugh, the first laugh Ororo remembered emitting in far, far too long. Indeed, even now, she couldn't remember the last time she'd so much as smiled with amusement.
Still she had not expected the light show she was receiving, or the people her blue eyes, which were widening with her growing surprise, were already beginning to recognize as she began a slow, circling descent. Jubilee stood in the shadows, looking as much at home in the darkness as any Vampire or Morlock had ever been. Ororo winced suddenly with the thought of those people. She should have learned her lesson, she realized, back in the '80s. She could not be a Queen, a mother, or a leader to more than one people at a time, and she had tried, through marrying T'Challa, to build a future for mutants, Africans, and the Wakandians, the latter, of course, for whom T'Challa had given everything. No one else could ever compare to the Prince of Wakanda, or accurately compete for his affection, than his own people.
She couldn't blame him for that, she realized as she continued to look around her home and her own people, for no one could ever take the place in her heart of her own people. The Morlocks had failed to do it, and so, too, had her own countrymen. Hank was swinging through the trees in her direction. Rogue and Remy huddled together on the rooftop. He had waved to her, though Ororo had only acknowledged them with a mere nod of her graceful head.
Scott stood looking out his window, gazing directly up at the night sky, while Bishop had chosen to clean his guns underneath the open garage. She knew there was only one reason why a warrior such as himself would do so: he was watching the premises, waiting for the arrival of an enemy or perhaps, she preferred to think, a friend. Bobby was making snowmen though out of season, and each one's head was pointed upward with a charcoal smile at the night sky.
Warren glided through the night sky, holding Betsy close to his heart; she was glad to see they were still together. Kitty burst into a huge grin at the sight of her, and Lockheed circled around Pryde's head, cooing so loudly and excitedly that Ororo could hear him clearly over the distance that separated them. Even X-23 was stalking the premises at full alert, and Ororo nodded the sly smile the girl grinned before she turned away from her.
Yet, of all those clearly waiting for her, it was Logan beside whom Ororo finally landed. "I . . . I did not realize that you were going to tell everyone." She would not meet his gaze.
"I didn't," he said, tossing back the last of his beer, "believe it or not." She watched him through narrowed, blue eyes. "I didn't," he insisted. "Your breakup with T'Challa's all over the news, 'Ro, and when the freak storm showed up -- "
She let him witness her wiping tears from her eyes. "They assumed it was me."
"They knew it was you."
"And we were thrilled!" Kitty exclaimed, throwing herself at Ororo and hugging her tightly.
Finally, Ororo smiled truthfully, and her tears began to subside. She returned the tight hug, relishing in her old best friend's warm, reassuring embrace. Hank pounced onto the ground next to them, quoting Shakespearean about how though no matter where a soul might roam, only one place was ever truly home.
"I . . . I suppose you are right, Henry."
"It does this old boy's heart good to see you, Ororo."
"It's good to see you too."
Thunder rumbled away into the distance, and the rain had stopped falling when Rogue and Remy arrived.
"Hush your complaints, chere. You'll get everything righted soon enough." Remy reached out and hugged Ororo even more tightly than Kitty had. Into her ear, he whispered, "You never should have been brought down by dat bastard anyway. You're too strong for him, too strong an' too good, and you're free at last."
He was right, Ororo knew, her heart beginning to surge. She was strong, stronger than almost anyone knew, any one except herself and just two of the people standing in this small but growing circle. And she was free. She'd been freed at last not only to leave Wakanda but to come home where she belonged, where she'd learned decades ago that she belonged and where she never should have doubted was her destiny.
Remy stepped away, and Rogue moved forward. "Shugah, Ah'm gonna tell you somethin' a very wise, brave, an' strong woman told me once before what feels like many years ago." She laughed. "Ah feel like an' old woman -- "
"You're not old, chere."
" -- even though Ah'm not." Rogue flashed her boyfriend a bright smile. "But this person . . . She meant th' world to me, an' Ah thought she was th' bravest, strongest woman Ah'd evah met. Still do, matter o' fact. But she came to me when Ah was scared an' runnin' like a child an' she told me that it didn't mattah what anyone else thought. Mah home was where Ah felt like Ah was home, an' no one had any right to keep me from it." She looked directly into Ororo's eyes. "You don't let no man tell you where you belong or don't belong ever again. You hear me, girl?"
Ororo's smile continued to grow though new tears pricked her baby blues. "I do," she whispered in admission.
As Rogue was still hugging her, Logan's strong hand clapped her back. "An' if you do, I'm gonna gut the bastard."
"If I don't fry him first."
"We'll all get him," Kitty said, and Lockheed cooed in agreement. "Kurt, Peter, and Brian once told someone that they were going to tear his head off, doodle all over it, play soccer with it, and then bamf it into the sea if he hurt me. If anyone ever tries to take you from us again, 'Ro, we're going to do all that and way worse."
"Agreed, liebchen," Kurt said, having appeared from the black shadows. His tail whisked. "Now zen, group hug!"
Laughter spilled from Ororo as she was surrounded by her true family, all eager to hold her, hug her, reassure her, and never, ever let her go again. This was where she'd belonged, she remembered. She'd learned it so many times over. She should have known it would not change. She was going to fight to forge a brighter future for her people, but she was going to do it from right here right beside these people she loved and who loved her in return, not as a pregnant, barefooted wife but as the strong, free, and even glorious Queen the Goddess had made her.
Thunder blasted through the night sky again, but this time, it wasn't accompanied by rain. She had no more reason to cry. She was strong, free, and home again. The world would be her oyster, and together, the X-Men, her family, could accomplish anything with enough time, including the dream of peaceful coexistence between species, and countries, that would one day become reality.
The End
Title: A Knight's Castle
Author: Katya Starling
Fandom: Labyrinth
Characters/Pairing: Sir Didymus
Rating: G/K
Challenge/Prompt: FFC s.93: Bingo: Knight's Castle
Word Count: 1,109
Date Written: 6 March 2020
Warnings: None
Summary: A Knight's castle is his home.
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Sir Didymus looked up as the wind shifted, bringing truly horrible scents with it. His ears perked up, then laid back against his furry head. He bared his teeth silently. Every one who had ever come to his little piece of the kingdom had always complained of some imaginary, wretched odor. It had to be imaginary, although the other creatures did put up quite a show every time without fail, for he'd never once smelled anything horrible in his territory.
The wretched scents that did come, such as those currently accosting his delicate senses, were always from beyond the Bog. It was funny that the King had chosen to call this place the Bog of Eternal Stench, for although the friendly spirits of the swamp did tend to make very gaseous noises, they never actually smelled -- not like that child's dirty diaper. Of course, he could scarcely blame the King for the smell, even if it was horrible enough to wilt the few flowers that occasionally appeared in the Bog. Jareth had little choice than to keep trying to find a heir, after all, and he certainly didn't know a thing about raising children.
Sir Didymus could lend him a paw, but that would mean leaving his post at his precious Bog and journeying closer to the castle, the castle that was not his. The wind shifted again, and Didymus lifted his head, barking with joy. His whole body wagged, from the ends of his whiskers to the tip of his bushy tail. He could hear singing far off, and he felt like singing himself. He joined in the song, making up the words as he went and singing about the wonders of his Bog.
Most Knights defended a castle, but not he. He didn't have anything nearly as boring or ordinary to look after. Most also secretly wanted to be King or at least be very close to their royal leader, but again, not Sir Didymus. He would be quite pleased to stay in his current post for the rest of his life, and he wasn't lonely one bit, not with the rocks and other spirits with which to commune. The rocks that appeared in his Bog had been around since the very beginning of the Underground kingdom, and they had stories to tell from even times Jareth could not recall.
After all, Jareth had not always been their King, and the rocks were the oldest of all the beings to roam the labyrinth. They knew the stories of all the earlier lieges, both good and terrible. They knew how each, too, had received their heir, almost always through deceit and traveling to the world above. Jareth had been one such heir, so of course, it only made sense for him to have grown tired of his role and be desperately seeking a heir to replace him. Sir Didymus only wished the wretched beasts didn't smell so much, or cry so loudly.
He shook suddenly, biting off the words of his song, and again flattened his ears against his head. That child was not only messy. It was hungry as well, and crying quite loudly because of it. Oh, the things he could teach his King! If only Jareth would listen, and if only he himself was willing to leave his Bog which, of course, he very much was not.
Sir Didymus jumped into one of the most ancient trees in the swamp. It glittered more brightly than all the rest because of its age, but that wasn't why he always chose this particular post to strike up his guard until the next girl came. Along with being the oldest, prettiest, and wisest, this tree was also the tallest. From its ancient boughs, the dog Knight was easily able to spot his King's latest foe. It was a wonder, he thought, scratching, that there was always some naive girl ready to give up her brother, cousin, or even son, and then of course, once they'd realized what they'd done, they always regretted the deed, whined and simpered, and eventually threatened to fight his Royal Majesty.
As though any one could truly wage war against the great Goblin King and hope to win. It wasn't possible, not with all the power and magic that Jareth had at his disposal. He could easily beat any opponent and could just as easily turn these girls into snakes or cloths as he did his own Goblins. The thing that saved them was also the very thing that was this particular King's saving grace, and the very reason why Sir Didymus considered helping him freely when he did -- his honor. No matter how greatly Jareth yearned for a heir, he was not willing to take the child unfairly. The girls spoke the words, so he took the babies, but when they wanted them back, if they could play their roles correctly and stand up to the King until the very end of his test, he always gave the children back.
What none of the human children seemed to comprehend was that Jareth did not have to play by the rules. He made the rules himself. As King, he didn't have to bow to any one, but he also needed a heir in order to be able to leave the kingdom for as long as he wanted. Without a heir, all the creatures of the labyrinth would be in danger in his absence, free to be conquered and ruled over by any other magical being who saw fit to take them over. Goodness knew there were plenty of those, and most of the Labyrinth's citizens were no more powerful than Sir Didymus himself.
Which, of course, was not to suggest that he was not a foe with which to be reckoned. He might not possess magic, or much physical strength, but no matter the opponent, he would never stop fighting for what he knew was right in his heart and his code of ethics. He would never, for example, stop protecting this swamp. He would never stop protecting his Bog, his very own castle. Jareth could have his labyrinth and his castle and all the Goblins in the world. The girls could keep their wretched, screaming brothers and their world above which was supposed to be so much prettier and grander than anything they had down here. It was supposed to be, but Sir Didymus knew it wasn't. Nothing could be better than his Bog, and he would protect it to the very end. He yipped, seeing the girl named Sarah moving closer to his Bog, and readied for the fight again.
The End
Title: Blazing Embers
Author: Katya Starling
Fandom: X-Men
Characters/Pairing: White Queen, with references to several het couplings
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: FFFC s.93: Bingo - Phoenix
Word Count: 1,988
Date Written: 6 March 2020
Warnings: None
Summary: She's given so much for the dream, and will still give more.
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
"This is it," Kitty Pryde, a mere child to whom Emma had never thought she'd listen a day in her life was saying. The girl prattled on, indicating where the direction from which their enemies were coming. It was the fiery orange light in that direction, however, that truly caught Emma off guard. Pryde was doing her best to lead the current team of X-Men, and experience had finally taught Emma that the children, naive fools that they were, were never going to listen to her. She was there to try to keep them all alive, including Kitty, not to let the girl think she was commanding her. None of that mattered, and she'd grown accustomed to it all.
The sunset, however, was what truly bothered Emma. A multitude of deaths flashed through her mind. The flame-red streaks first reminded her of the Phoenix, a being she'd once feared, until Scott had made it clear that his heart finally belonged to her. It had too, for a short time until the real Jean had returned, proving Emma right after all. He'd never loved the cosmic entity who'd tried to claim them both. It was that pesky redhead to whom all the X-Men had turned at one time or another and for one reason or another, that do-gooder to whom Emma could never truly be compared. Jean was swathed in power and goodness while she was as tainted with blood as her wardrobe was spotless white.
She had feared her return, and for good reason. Jean's return had taken Scott from her as she had always known it would. She had loved him, but she'd always known that his love for her was little more than skin deep. She had been temptation, and power, and wickedness, all things he'd once sought, but in the end what he wanted more than anything else, including more than being Charles' whipping boy or the X-Men's purportedly fearless leader, was to have his Jean back.
She snorted derisively, ignoring the glances that came her way. Let them think what they would. They would anyway. Every one did, rather they were supposedly good, heroic, never-done-wrong-in-their-lives X-Men or not. Every one saw her. Every one saw her, saw the way she dressed, fearfully watched the way she acted with the power she knew she possessed, heard her history, and made up their minds about her before she so much as spoke one word to them. Many of the fools thought she was one of the worst things to ever happen to mutant kind, never understanding, fully knowing, or caring the sacrifices she'd made along the way to try to help their species, to try to help the very kids with whom she was now surrounded.
Taking orders from Pryde was far less than the greatest sacrifices she'd made. Nothing could compare to the pain of losing her first students, the Hellions, because of her own pride, but after that, her pride had taken a fatal nosedive. She had still acted the part everyone expected of her, but she had realized that being that person would never give the kids what they needed and deserved. She would never be able to protect them that way. Indeed, part of the reason she'd lost them was because she'd been unable to let go of her past and had still been trying to gather more power for herself rather than simply protecting the children who'd needed her and trusted with their lives and very souls.
She wasn't as bad as people made her out to be, Emma reflected honestly, but she wasn't as good as she wished she could be, as the leader the mutants needed should be and needed to be if peaceful coexistence with humanity was ever to be achieved. Even Magneto had shed his power and own desires in trying to gain that coexistence, but look at where it had gotten him, Emma thought, gazing out over the shimmering see, alight with all the reds, golds, and yellows of the setting sun. Scott, Jean, and her very own precious Hellions were far from the only connections she'd had and lives she'd seen cast out as the sun was now disappearing. Charles and Erik had died for the very same goals, the same goals for which she, Pryde, and all the others around them were still fighting.
And the Hellions had not been the only children she had lost. Since them, she had buried Everett, Angelo, Mondo . . . The sweet and naive Clarice had never stood a chance because she, Charles, and Erik had all failed to reach the girl in time. More recently, she had buried Paige back in her Kentucky home. The girl had left the X-Men to try to build a life just for her own siblings, but mutant haters had found her brother, ripped every feather from his body, and killed her when she'd tried to intervene. She hadn't called Emma, but Jubilee had when she'd gotten Paige's message. They'd arrived too late, as had happened far too often in Emma's life.
She had been too late to save Paige, too late to save Angelo, Everett, her Hellions . . . She hadn't cared enough to intervene on Erik's life, couldn't have stopped Charles and was as guilty for his murder as Scott, and had had seen no point in trying to keep Scott from sacrificing himself for Jean. She had known, after all, that it would only make the man she had eventually come to love hate her, but she hadn't loved him for the right reasons. Even that romance had started out as a sacrifice.
She'd clung to him in trying to stay with the X-Men, knowing they would not be able to send her away as long as she was bedding their leader. Somewhere along the way paved with deceit, Emma had started to feel true emotions for the man who let so few into his inner core. She'd torn down his walls, started to see the soft, scared boy that was trying so hard for all his friends and family inside, trying so hard even for her when she did not deserve it, and eventually fallen hard. Too hard. She'd allowed herself to be hurt by him, because she hadn't been able to let go and had known all along that it was Jean who he would always love, not her.
She didn't deserve love. Had not Sean Cassidy and Generation X proved that well? The children had never listened to her, never admired her, never respected her as they had him, and although she'd been willing to give up everything for them, even her life, no sacrifice would have ever been great enough in their eyes to make them forget her past and the first set of students she'd failed so miserably. Sean himself had never let her forget that failure or those deaths that had marked her every moment ever since. Oh, he'd spoken well. He'd used the right words to make it sound as though he was on her side and to convince Charles they could work together, but for every good thing he had done, every moment in which he'd acted correctly as her co-headmaster, he'd been waiting to throw her under the bus, as the kids said these days.
She could never be a worthy co-headmaster, or even a worthy X-Man. She could never be worthy to teach the next generation of mutants how to be heroes, or even how to protect themselves. She wasn't really concerned with rather they decided to become X-Men or not. She just wanted them to be able to live to make that decision for themselves. She just wanted them to have a chance for a future. And just like the Phoenix in all the ways it had fallen to ashes and resurrected itself to come back to the X-Men yet again, here she was again, fighting once more to try to guarantee futures for the homo superior children.
EMMA!
Her name blasting through her own mind finally caught her attention and shattered the White Queen's silent reverie. She blinked sharply, acting, as she always did, as though tears were a completely foreign concept to her. She looked down into Pryde's probing, harsh gaze, more than a little surprised that the girl had chosen to open her mind to her after all these years. What? she asked simply, her mental voice as frigid as she felt toward the younger woman she knew didn't like or trust her.
I said I need you --
Yes, yes, Kitty, she retorted haughtily, I am quite aware you need me to cover your --
I need you to get the kids out of here, Frost. If this goes bad, if we can't win, get them out. Guarantee as many of them as you can a future.
Emma stopped, and truly looked into the girl's eyes for the first time in a long time. Kitty was so much younger than her; yet, suddenly, she looked as though she carried the physical and spiritual exhaustion of a woman much older than them both, a warrior much older who was tired of fighting and not only recognized but welcomed the thought that death was coming. This isn't a suicide mission, Pryde, Emma snapped, remembering a much younger girl, a mere slip of a child barely fourteen years in age, who she'd once wanted to protect. We're all coming out of this alive.
And they would, Emma vowed, turning quickly into her diamond form and taking charge. As she led the attack, she thought again of Sean and of the setting sun and how he'd sacrificed his own life for a plane full of strangers. He'd done the heroic thing. He'd always been a hero though he'd hadn't always been much of a man, much of a honest man at least. Unlike Scott, she'd known he loved her. She'd felt the emotions in him and accidentally picked them up off of his mind more than once. She'd even felt him when he'd died, all the way on the other side of the world on his way home from Muir Isle.
He had taken a suicide mission, she reflected sorrowfully. He'd taken a suicide mission, because he'd failed to protect Moira and had felt as grief-stricken, duty bound, and as much a failure as she had when she'd lost her beloved Hellions. He'd sacrificed his life for nearly a hundred strangers who had never known him, but if she sacrificed hers today, it would be for mutants who did know her and did not.
Kitty actually knew her, she realized, her heart surging with joy and relief. She felt like crying again, though for an entirely different reason; thankfully, her diamond form could not shed tears. The girl knew her and knew she'd stop at nothing to protect the children. What she didn't realize was that she was still one of those children. Emma would save the day this time. She'd save these children, and maybe, just maybe, if she was really, truly lucky, when the dust cleared from this battle, there'd be more than two people who realized and recognized she would do anything and everything in her power to save the next generation of mutants.
Maybe she'd actually end up with some students who would listen to her after all. Maybe, at least, they wouldn't fear her or hate her quite so much after all. A woman could still dream, even if she was made of rockhard diamonds, couldn't she? And in the blaze of the setting sun, she knew she could. She could, because others had died for her right to do so. She could, and she would protect the right of all mutants to do so as well to her dying breath, if and when that's what the battle took.
The End
Title: Blanche, Mistress of Dorothy's Boudoir
Author: Katya Starling
Fandom: Golden Girls
Characters/Pairing: Blanche/Dorothy, Sophia, cameos Miles/Rose, Coco
Rating: R/M
Challenge/Prompt: FFFC s.93: Bingo - Charades and r20.05: Temper and Ficlets 59: Film
Word Count: 1,162
Date Written: 6 March 2020
Warnings: Slight AU
Summary: Blanche and Dorothy partake in charades, and much more.
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Dorothy grumbled underneath her breath when the game turned to them and Blanche insisted on giving the clues. She was horrible at charades, and already proven that to be true with all her failing guesses at the other scenes that had been acted out. She stared, dumbfounded, as Blanche pretended to eat something, and then dropped that something down her low-cut blouse. She shook her gray head as she tried feebly, "Eating . . . something? Dropping food? McDonald's?"
Blanche slapped a hand across her wrinkling forehead and was still shaking her head in dismayed disapproval when she finally lowered her hand. She tried again, holding her arms out and shaking her breasts. All the men in the room whistled appreciatively. Some women looked away. A couple grew irritated, and a few even watched in admiration and envy.
Dorothy just shook her head again. "Dirty Dancing? Madonna? Kirstie Alley in, hum, that Thanksgiving movie?"
Blanche stopped, perched her hands on her hips, and glared pointed daggers at her partner.
Dorothy sighed and threw her hands up in the air. "What do you want from me?!" she cried exasperatedly. "I told you I was horrible at this!"
Blanche pursed her lips together and narrowed her eyes at Dorothy. Then, suddenly, she opened her mouth in a wide gasp that would have been quite loud had she been allowed to make sounds. Instead, it was a huge but silent gasp emphasized with her hands slapping her cheeks. Dorothy looked even more confused than before.
Blanche tilted her head to one side, her lips still pursed and eyes narrowed at her lover. Finally she started to slowly raise the hem of her bright, red blouse while shaking her breasts. There was something off about the movement, but Dorothy couldn't tell what it was. The men clapped, roared, and whistled while some of the women actually left, stomping out of the room and house in anger.
"Strip tease?!" Dorothy snapped, her temper also flaring as some of the men hooted, cat called, and even told her woman to take it all off. "She's not taking it off for you -- " Dorothy started to declare heatedly but was silenced abruptly when silk smacked her head.
The men thrilled, their pleased, eager shouting echoing all throughout the house and onto the street beyond. Dorothy snatched her lover's blouse off of her head, jumped to her feet, and stalked toward her -- but with one sight at her naked breasts, each twirling in a different direction, she knew exactly the film Blanche was trying to indicate. "Elvira," she cried out, "Mistress of the Dark, and I am your mistress, and you will get your damn clothes on and get to our bedroom!"
The men were starting toward her now, but Dorothy cut between them and threw Blanche's shirt at her. Blanche started to pout. "Don't pout at me, Scarlet! You should've known better than to dress in front of these horny jerks!"
"It's nothin' they haven't seen before, Dorothy -- "
"DON'T REMIND ME!" Dorothy shouted. "Now get to our room!" She turned her back on Blanche, who, having realized she'd gone too far and especially pushed her lover too far, actually did don her shirt again and slide off toward their boudoir. Dorothy, her hands again on her hips, glared down at the men. "And any one of you who think you're going to get to her will have to go through me first! She's mine now! Mine now and forever!" She held up the hand upon which her wedding band gleamed. Blanche may not know how to act like a taken woman, but she was, and she'd fight every Tom, Dick, and Harry for her woman!
Rose, Miles, and Coco all exchanged nervous glances, but suddenly, the men started to shriek. Cackling loudly and wielding two big butcher knives, one in each hand, Sophia chased the men from their house. Her daughter was finally happy, as was the Slut Puppy, and no man was going to intervene in their wedded bliss -- or chaos, as it seemed to be more often than not!
For once, Dorothy didn't chastise her mother. There was no humiliated or stern cry of "MA!" as Sophia chased every last one of Blanche's former suitors not just from the house but from their yard as well. She was too busy chasing after her wife instead.
"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" she thundered, slamming their bedroom door shut behind her.
Blanche pouted up at her, as seductive and coy as she could possibly look as she kneeled before her in nothing but silk hose on their bed. "Ah just wanted you to get it right -- "
"BULL!"
"Ah don't know how you couldn't figure out our favorite movie, especially this time o' th' year."
"I should've known it'd be Slutty, Mistress of the Dark," Dorothy bit off irritably, but then her tongue seemed to swell with need in her mouth as Blanche started the movements all over again. She watched, eyes wide, mouth watering, and loins burning, as her wife effectively shook her breasts and rotated her nipples in opposing directions.
Slowly, she moved toward her. Her eyes were transfixed, and she could no longer think angrily. She fell to her knees onto the bed as well and managed to moan out, "One day I'm getting you the flags to go with that!"
"Oh, just shut up an' suck, dahlin'," Blanche retorted, laughing, and thrust her left breast into Dorothy's ready, open, and eager mouth. Dorothy clenched on, and as Blanche threw her head back in a gleeful cry, their living room was meanwhile filled with laughter.
"Sophia -- " Coco spoke fondly, shaking his head and wagging a finger at the elderly woman.
"You really shouldn't have done that, Sophia," Miles backed him up. He was surprised Rose hadn't spoken up, but then she was the shyest of the four room mates and rarely spoke an offensive or scolding word. He was really lucky to have her as his woman, and he knew that was only one of very many reasons why. He reached out, took her hand in his, and stroked her, knowing she had to be embarrassed, but to his utter surprise and amazement, she was smiling!
Sophia threw her head and thin shoulders back and cackled some more. "It's Halloween, boys! I've got to have some fun!" She paused in her cackling and eyed them both. Slowly, she arched an eyebrow. "It's not like you're willing to let me turn someone into a frog . . . Are you?"
Miles gulped, but Coco grinned. "Sophia!" he scolded lovingly.
To Miles' surprise, Coco, Rose, and Sophia all laughed. After a moment, he threw his head back and joined in the laughter as well. Their family and friends were happy after all, and that truly was all it took to make a good night or a good holiday, whatever the time of year.
The End
Title: The Ability To Dream
Author: Katya Starling
Fandom: Batman
Characters/Pairing: Batman/Catwoman, Joker/Harley
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: FFFC r:20.01: City Lights and Fan-FlashWorks 286: Box
Word Count: 1,656
Date Written: 4 January 2020
Warnings: None
Summary: Selina's falling back into the old trap.
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She arched upwards, like a cat yearning to be stroked, when the city lights started to come into her view. Her sleek, black car pulled noiselessly closer to the city, and as she entered her old territory, her emerald green eyes searched the streets and the faces, both familiar and new, whom she passed by. There were always the rich and elite, and always the poor and hungry, and constantly various faces and lifestyles in between. But of them all, tonight, there was only one in which she was interested.
Only one who had pulled her back here yet again after she had, as she always did before leaving and right after, swore she'd never return. Only one who haunted her every dream. Only one who made her everything within her yearn, purr, and sing each time he touched her. Only one who still had power over her.
Selina's gaze flicked to her rearview mirror. She'd been so happy to leave Gotham behind, so relieved to leave him behind, and yet here she was again. Here she was once more drawn to the enemy, one more being a silly, foolish kitten unable to leave home alone, unable to leave what she knew she was better off without alone.
She shouldn't have come back. She should turn around right now, leave, and stay true to her word this time -- stay gone. She should take her own advice. How many times had she told her girls this place wasn't good for them? How many times had she begged and pleaded with Harley to leave her cherished Mistah J behind and keep him from ever having power over again? How many young girls had she taken in off the streets and taught to never give a mere man that kind of power?
Yet he had power over her. He had since the first time they'd met. He would, she knew, bristling inside, until the day she finally died. Some nights, she yearned for that moment, for that sweet release of death. Tonight wasn't one of those nights, not yet. She didn't think it would be -- as long as he stayed to his territory and she to hers. She wouldn't lie to herself. The problems she had with that great, big, bad Bat were most often what led her to those kinds of thoughts.
But not tonight, she swore. Not tonight. She knew better. She always did. She was stronger this time, however, brighter, and braver. But then, she always believed herself to be all three of those things every time she relented and let herself come back here. She shouldn't have come, but to not return to Gotham also meant never seeing him again.
"Damn it, Bruce." Her lips curled as she hissed the words underneath her breath. If she'd had a tail, it would be lashing, but though she named herself after cats, those elegant animals were far better, and most especially wiser, than she'd ever be. You never saw a queen tying herself down to a single tom, after all.
But he was all she wanted. She could distract herself with elegance and riches, with diamonds and endless cash, with the causes of young girls and street cats, but in the end, her mind, and most especially her heart, always came back to him. He was all she really wanted. Yet, if she was honest with herself, she also knew that he was the greatest danger to her -- to her freedom, to her wilds, to her survival, even to her own sense of peace in mind and heart.
He looked at her as the enemy. He always would, no matter how many lives she saved or how hard she tried to change. He would always see her as the enemy. Either he or time or old or new enemies would always test her, and eventually, each and every time, she failed. And each and every time that he locked her away or told her to get out of Gotham, another piece of her died. There was no peace there between them, no love in his heart for her, but she still couldn't stop the way she felt for him. She still couldn't stop loving him.
She never would. She'd come to terms with that knowledge quite a number of years prior. She would never stop loving him, not the man, Bruce, or the hero, Batman. She would never be able to shut him entirely out of her heart, her mind, or even her dreams. He was her master, even though he didn't know it or perhaps simply wouldn't admit it, and he wielded the power grandiosely.
She jumped as another light, this one far brighter, bolder, and more golden than the rest, lit up the busy night sky. Emotions warred within her, sounding out in a harsh growl that ended in a weary sigh. Well, at least she knew where he'd be tonight, saving Gotham again, this time from a true foe, one that was not herself. That meant she knew where to stay away from.
She knew where to stay away from, all right. Her eyes flashed. This time, when her growl sounded, it filled the car and was aimed entirely at her own stupid self. Yeah, she knew where to stay away from all right, but she was still too naive, still as badly and sillily as "in love" as that naive, little Harley Quinn, for her own good. That was why she kept coming back to this same, damn litter box time and again, and why, despite everything in her reminding her that she knew better than to make this mistake, she was staying in this place again.
She just wasn't heading after that light, not tonight, not tomorrow night, or even the night after. She would have plenty to do as she emerged back into the seedy life of this rathole, plenty of lives to save, plenty of credible villains to have to fight again. She'd be able to keep busy, and he'd find her. He'd always find her. He'd find her. They'd love; they'd fight. He'd break her heart again, and leave her again, probably behind bars once more.
Selina sighed, her thin shoulders sagging, and shook her head. Yes, in her own right, she was every bit as fool as Harley Quinn. She slapped on the brakes as bodies were hurled into the street before her car. Men got to their feet and scampered away, and for the first time in weeks, Selina smiled genuinely. The corners of her mouth turned up and kept turning up until she looked not just like any, old cat but like the Cheshire Cat himself.
"AN' YA BETTAH KEEP RUNNIN'!"
Selina stopped her vehicle and rolled down her window. "Is this a private party," she called out, "or can anyone join?"
Her girls looked so happy to see her. Harley jumped for glee and clapped her hands. Her hyenas, circling around her, yipped their excitement. Even Ivy beamed from where she bounced on top of a giant Venus flytrap. "It's about time, Cats. It was getting lonely. This is a three-woman city, after all."
Selina sighed again, but this time, she didn't let it sound aloud. She kept it muffled, not wanting to upset the two people she could come the closest to calling actual friends. She didn't have friends -- friends, true friends such as were written about in stories and depicted in movies, didn't exist --, but these two had come to mean quite a bit to her over the years. Perhaps, at the very least, they could distract her from the big, bad Bat for a while, and maybe, while they were distracting her, she could distract Harls and keep her safe for a while longer.
She cast a glance back at the Batsignal still lighting up the sky in her rearview mirror. Yeah, the man of her dreams, and her nightmares too, could wait a while. He'd break her heart again, and her spirit too, soon enough. Maybe she could live a little while while she was waiting on him this time. Maybe she could somehow learn to hope again.
Her reverie was shattered as her doors were opened unexpectedly and slammed shut. "You're just in time," Ivy told her, her voice sounding almost as fatigued as Selina felt. "Tell this twit, Sel, that she does not need Joker. No woman needs a man."
No, Selina thought wistfully. No woman needed a man, but some women couldn't stop the feeling that they did, herself included.
Harley stuck out her tongue at the back of Pam's red head. "So where to, toots?"
"You tell me. My night's open."
Ivy started filling her in on their latest plan, and Selina listened with rapt attention, though she did keep glancing back at the Batsignal until it finally disappeared. This was exactly the distraction she needed. She'd meet him again one night that would be both too soon and not soon enough, but maybe this time, it would be on her turf, on her discretion. Maybe somehow she'd turn the tables on the Bat this time, and make him see her for all she was, not just another villainess who was passionate in the bed. Maybe this time she could teach him to love her.
She sighed inwardly and glanced back at Harley, who was lost in her own imagination and doodling the Joker's name in a heart. Yeah, maybe this time, he'd be the idiot and not her. She batted away the tears that rose in her emerald eyes, but not the gloved hand that came to rest on top of hers. Ivy knew why she was back. They all did, though none of them voiced it. Maybe she wasn't the idiot. A girl could still dream even in this nightmare of a town and life . . . couldn't she?
The End
