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written-in-knife · 2 months ago

Note

Love love love you Floyd jump ring fic- the leech boys deserve more love 🧜‍♂️

Would you be able to do a pre relationship of similar epic misunderstandings with Jade, maybe with Yuu not understanding merculture and/or Jade GREATLY misunderstanding human courting culture in his attempts to learn about land culture, I die thinking about how merpeople might misinterpret sayings like “the way to the heart is through the stomach” or “gotta get that ring” when enthusiastically trying to court

Rocks and Flowers

Jade Leech x gn!reader, pre-relationship

they/them pronouns, fluff, miscommunications/misunderstandings, a single use of my dear, poorly translated french damn you Rook

Word Count: 3616

I'M HERE I'M ALIVE. I'm getting ~*Diagnosed*~ finally. Lots of appointments this past week im so tired lmaoo Also I'm changing out all the character banners, so lemme know what yall think as stuff comes out

Jade had a baseline knowledge of land culture, of course. Before they came to land to go to Night Raven, he, Floyd, and Azul had all gone to land camp. It taught them how to avoid social faux pas with the people they'd meet on land, various human traditions, even how to walk. What it did not teach them was just how many turns of phrases the common language had. Some made sense, some even overlapped, but some were... notably harder to understand. And why were so many of them about ways to kill animals? He never bothered to ask questions, he knew they were just phrases that land dwellers often used to get their point across, and most of the time the meaning could be derived through context clues. Most of the time.

When Jade realized his own attraction towards you, he was hesitant to act on it. Land camp had explained a few things about human courting, but mostly in the context of how to avoid making acquaintances feel uncomfortable. He wasn't sure how exactly to go about it. He spent a lot of time trying to look things up online-- a mistake-- and in books, trying to figure out how humans even started their courting rituals let alone what the entire process entailed. He wasn't about to go around asking, knowing anyone who would be willing to give him an answer in the first place would also be the most likely to give him false information. So he was stuck looking through various books trying to find answers for you.

And he had no idea you were doing the same for him.

It was easy to fall for Jade once you got past the subtle menacing aura that was always surrounding him, and you fell hard. You didn't fully realize it yourself until you found that you'd listened to him talk about the mushrooms he'd found on his hike to fill out his most recent terrarium for two hours. You learned more about mushrooms in those two hours than most people would want to know in their entire lives, and you were excited to hear more. When you got back to your room that night, you started researching merfolk romance online-- A MISTAKE-- trying to make sure you wouldn't do anything to insult him. The only people you could ask about the topic were Azul and Floyd. Azul would almost certainly make you sign away something in return for the information, and Floyd... yeah, no. That's a nonstarter. So you ended up in the library, sneaking back to your dorm with books about merfolk courting rituals, both ancient and modern, praying no one would catch you on the way back.

Jade had read through the few informational manuals he could find on human courting-- one written by a merperson decades ago, and another that seemed to be angled towards preteen girls and had some truly terrible advice-- and had to move on to... more unconventional methods. Which lead to him reading romance novels in a far corner of the library. There were a surprising amount of them, many with musclebound men with long hair and a petite woman in his arms on the front. Jade opted for the other plentiful options that wouldn't blow his cover immediately. He was engrossed in his book, one hand propping his head up on the table and the other flipping pages, fingers lightly drumming on the cover as he read. It wasn't a terrible read, but it seemed wholly unrealistic. How would owning a dog get you a romantic partner? He was too deep into the book to notice someone lurking, barely keeping his composure as someone gasped loudly beside him.

"Monsieur Prémédité!" Not many people could sneak up on Jade, but Rook was definitely one of them. "I was not aware of your exquisite taste in literature! Comme c'est merveilleux!"

"This is actually quite far from my usual choice, I'm afraid." Jade corrected as Rook beamed down at him. He carefully flipped the book closed, back cover up, as two others approached from behind him. "Are you familiar with this one?"

"Oui! I find it most interesting how the dog is a pivotal part in the budding romance!"

Of course he does.

Vil leaned forward to skim through the description on the back, confusion growing on his expression at each word. "If this is so out of the norm for you, why are you reading it?" He asked.

"For research purposes." He admits, flashing the Pomefiore students a sharp smile.

"Un étudiant en l'amour?" Rook gasped excitedly as he quickly sat down across the table, lacing his fingers under his chin in intense interest as Vil rolled his eyes and straightened back up. "Monsieur Prémédité, je n'aurais jamais deviné! For what are you researching? Please, tell me everything!"

"Now you've done it..." Epel muttered from behind Vil, sounding exhausted.

Jade hesitated for a moment. The Pomefiore students would certainly be the ones to ask when it came to these sorts of things. They at least would be the least likely to lie to him about the particular subject. "I'm researching human courting rituals. There is little in the way of instructional manuals in our library, so I have turned to these." He gestured to the book in front of him before turning back to Rook, who practically had stars in his eyes. "Unfortunately, there isn't much to be gained from these, as it turns out."

"Are you trying to find information so you can court someone?" Epel asked, looking mildly concerned before Vil swatted him lightly upside the head with a mutter of "too blunt."

"Land boot camp never covered the topic, and I must admit, I've been dreadfully curious ever since I first heard the story of the mermaid princess." It was as easy for Jade to lie through his teeth as it was to breathe, piling on the pitiful tone and expression to try to play at least one of them for a sucker. "The stories never went into detail on how the land prince courted her, I thought I would find more information here, but alas..."

It was unsurprising that Rook took the bait, hand resting on his chest as he nodded along sympathetically. Vil rolled his eyes again and Epel muttered something about courting rituals to himself, neither nearly as invested in the lie.

"On land, courting must be bold!" Rook began without prompting as he stood from his chair, Vil only just keeping him from propping a foot dramatically on the table by grabbing his arm and pulling him back. "Loud proclamations of love! Flowers! Doves! Music!"

"And some people don't enjoy that at all." Vil sighed, shooing Rook down from his soapbox. "You just have to play to your audience. But it does often involve flowers."

"My Meemaw says the quickest way to anybody's heart is through their stomach." Epel chimed in, getting a quick glare from Vil at the accent slip.

"Your grandmother is correct on that front."

Jade stared for a moment at the phrase. Another he didn't recognize and wasn't exactly provided context clues for. The way to win your affections lies... in your stomach?

"The most common way to begin a human courtship is by bringing flowers, admitting your intentions, and inviting them out with you on a date." Vil explained further, Rook quietly waxing poetic about each point next to him. "Which is why it's more commonly referred to as dating, rather than courting."

"I see... This has been enlightening, I thank you all for your input." Jade nodded to them.

"Do let us know how it goes, Jade." Vil gave him a knowing smirk as he spoke.

Jade flashed back his own sharp smile, narrowing his eyes just slightly at the housewarden. "I've no idea what you mean, Vil."

Meanwhile, you'd found some fairly decent information on merfolk courting rituals, turns out their methods were significantly better documented than humans' were. Unfortunately for you, however, a lot of the courting rituals varied between the different species of merfolk and there wasn't a lot of overlap as far as you could tell. The biggest overlap you could find had to do with small gifts; pebbling, as some species of merfolk called it. It seemed to be finding something cool or pretty on the ocean floor and bringing it to the person you were courting, which sounded easy enough. You were already a fan of picking up cool rocks, it wouldn't be any trouble to just bring them to Jade instead of putting them on your windowsill.

Another common overlap you found was the importance of jewelry across all species of merfolk, but it seemed to be... maybe a little too important for just trying to date him. From what you could tell, giving a merperson jewelry was their closest equivalent to proposing, or maybe a promise ring? You weren't entirely sure, but it seemed like too much. Specifically to eel merfolk, the book you found talked a significant amount about a dance that you couldn't quite understand. It was definitely an underwater activity, as far as you could tell, but maybe dancing in general would be good enough on land? The way the book talked about it made it seem like it was common enough knowledge that no one would even bother writing down the details. You were too engrossed in the notes you were taking-- yes, you were taking notes on this-- to notice the floorboards on the other side of your door creaking.

"Hey Yuu, I got yer--" You scrambled to cover up your notes, the book, to be nonchalant about it as Epel walked into your room, holding your potionology notebook in his hands. He looked surprised at your panic as you blocked your desk with your body, definitely not looking completely suspicious. "--notes. What, uh... Whatcha doin'?"

"Nothing. Studying." You spat out, not moving from the uncomfortable position you found yourself in. "Thank you for bringing those back, you can leave them on the armchair."

"Or... I could just hand 'em to ya." He smirked, inching towards you and watching as you leaned backwards over your desk to keep hiding the evidence.

"Or you could just hand them to me!" You agreed in a tone too upbeat to be believable, snatching the notebook out of his hand as soon as he was close enough. "Thank you, Epel, but I really have to study so I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure, sure..." He nodded slowly, just managing to peek past one of your arms, smirk growing devious. "Ya writin' an essay 'bout merfolk courtin' rituals?"

"OUT. GET OUT." You shouted as your face began to burn, leaping up from your awkward position to shove him out the door while he cackled.

"Aw, c'mon, I ain't gonna tell nobody!" He protested. "In fact, I got some interesting information myself in the library today--!"

"DON'T CARE, GET OUT. TELL NO ONE." You shoved him out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him.

Out in the hall, Epel simply shrugged, smirking to himself as he walked away. "They'll figure it out eventually." It was nice to be the one in the know.

You were mortified but at least you were fairly sure he wouldn't run to tell anyone about it, you don't think you'd ever be able to live it down if Ace caught wind of this. You twisted the lock on the door into place before going back to your desk to continue your research, face still burning red as you flipped everything back to where it had been.

Vil had given Jade a decent jumping off point, but he found himself going back to the phrase Epel had used. The way to the heart is through the stomach. Of course that had to be a way to win your affection, but through your stomach? He hadn't read anything about the abdomen being involved in any courtship rituals, at least not the initial stages. Perhaps he had missed something? Maybe it was something lesser known that older generations did? It couldn't possibly be as simple as food, could it? The common language turns of phrases were never so simple, even the ones he understood. He turned the phrase over in his head for a few days, too busy analyzing it as he walked into his Ancient Magic class to catch who had put a rock on his desk. Why was there a rock on his desk? He stopped to stare at it for a second before glancing around at his fellow sophomores, none of whom seemed to be taking even a passing interest in his confusion. It had definitely been placed with purpose, squarely in front of his chair so there was no way of him missing it or mistaking it as being for someone else. He picked it up as he sat down, turning it over to examine in his hand as Floyd flopped down in the seat next to him.

"I don't suppose you saw who left this, did you?" Jade asked, presenting the rock for Floyd to see.

"Nah, couldn't give a shit less." Floyd grumbled, barely glancing at the rock before draping himself forward over the desk.

Jade hummed lightly, glancing around one more time before depositing the rock in his bag. He could maybe make use of it for a terrarium, if nothing else. He didn't think much of it the first time, but as the week went on, there continued to be rocks on his desks. Not ever in the same class either, so he could confirm that it was not an accident the first time. They were just small rocks that could fit in the palm of his hand, some of them having interesting patterns or colorations, some having interesting shapes, but they were still rocks. He kept the nicest few to put in his terrariums, the rest were left in his bag to bring with him on his next trip to the mountain.

By the end of the week, you were out of your coolest rocks that you were willing to give away. You were almost certain you were doing this wrong, leaving them for him to find instead of just handing them to him, but you were so afraid that maybe pebbling didn't apply to eel merfolk, or that the rocks weren't good enough. You didn't find them outside in the grass or still in the classrooms, so you considered that a win at least. And Epel was the only one smirking at you whenever Jade walked into the cafeteria or down the hall, so he hadn't told anyone what he'd seen. Another win!

You planned to spend your weekend figuring out how to go about dancing with Jade. The books weren't clear enough on what the dance entailed besides that it was done with tail fins while underwater, but it was very clear that it was done while courting. You were on the couch in the Ramshackle lounge on Saturday evening, rereading the courting book for any sort of clues you'd missed when there was a knock on the door. You quickly shoved the book between the couch cushions, making sure it was completely hidden as you got up and headed for the door, immediately glad you'd hidden the book as you opened the door to Jade standing on the front porch. He was dressed in the outfit he usually wore to go up the mountain, mud still on his boots from his hike and gloves dangling out of his pockets.

"Hello, Yuu." He said pleasantly, looking over your obviously startled demeanor. "I do hope I'm not interrupting."

"No, not at all." You waved him off quickly, trying desperately not to somehow give yourself away. "Just, uh... reading. What's up?"

You froze as he stepped forward, into your personal space, and placed a hand on your stomach, just above your navel. Even through your shirt, his hand was cool, sending a shiver up your spine. You stared wide eyed as he smiled down at you before reaching into his bag and pulling out a bundle of small flowers, presenting them to you. They were a little squashed from being in his bag, and it looked like he had picked them off the mountain himself. You felt the heat rising on your cheeks as you took them from him, the fact he’d taken the time to gather them himself was flattering by itself.

“I was given advice on how to go about this, and was told to just be straightforward with my intentions.” He began plainly. “I’ve found myself drawn to you recently, and would like to begin courting you. I was told it was called “dating” and that I should invite you out with me, if you’re interested?”

You could feel how hot your face was getting as he spoke, not believing your luck. Maybe you wouldn’t have to figure out that dance? Maybe you still should? Would it be rude not to? He, on the other hand, was getting nervous in the drawn out silence that your internal reeling was creating, worried he’d done something wrong. He wouldn’t show it on his face, of course, but he was getting uncomfortable.

“Oh, uh, yeah!” You spat out quickly, chuckling nervously as you realized just how long you’d let that moment drag out. “Definitely. When? And where?”

He paused for a few confused blinks, smile slipping as you watched a light dusting of pink grow on his cheeks. If he weren’t so close, you might’ve not even noticed. “I was... unaware that was something I had to plan ahead of time.” He admitted slowly, internally cursing himself for not asking more details when he had the chance.

“That’s alright!” You were quick to assure him, fiddling with the little bouquet he’d given you. “We can figure that out together, if you want?”

His smile returned at the offer, warmer this time, fonder. “I’d enjoy that.”

“Great!”

There was another pause as you looked down at the small blooms in your hands, then at his hand, which was still rested on your belly. You glanced up at his face, then his hand, then his face again.

“Hey Jade?”

“Hm?”

“What... What is this?” You tried your best not to sound like you disapproved as you glanced down at his hand again. What if it was something the books didn’t cover? Other than the dance-- and the inadvisable internet searches-- there was no mention of physical contact. There was dancing, there was biting which was less for courting and more for established couples, but not... this.

He pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned, the blush on his cheeks growing slightly. “Ah. That wasn’t correct then?”

“I don’t know? What was it?”

He groaned slightly, pinching at the bridge of his nose as he spoke. “Epel had said a phrase that I didn’t quite understand, about the stomach being the key to affections. Even Vil agreed that it was correct, I thought it must be a common courting method.”

You muttered the words to yourself, trying to piece the phrase together, biting your lip hard to keep from laughing when you realized what he was talking about. “The way to someone’s heart is through their stomach?”

“Yes, that’s the one. I’m not familiar with many common language phrases.”

“Food. The way to someone’s heart is good food.”

It really was that simple. Damn it. He let out an awkward chuckle, trying to hide his embarrassed expression from you by rubbing at his eyes. “I suppose I should’ve just looked it up, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay!” You laughed, wanting to reassure him. This was going way too well for him to back out due to embarrassment now! “It’s hard to find information on what’s allegedly common knowledge! I mean, I can’t figure out that courting dance for the life of me--!”

You slapped your hand over your mouth as you realized what you were saying, watching as Jade slowly looked up at you in confusion. You wanted to cringe all the way back up to your room as you watched him mouth the word “dance,” gears turning in his head as he looked you over, before a smile grew on his face. You broke eye contact as you realized he’d clicked everything into place.

“Yuu, have you been pebbling me?” He asked, tone equal parts teasing and astonished.

Well, this was going too well for either of you to back out due to embarrassment now, you supposed. You lowered your hand, narrowing your eyes at him with a smirk. “That depends, has it been working?”

He laughed, hiding it behind his fist as his eyes scrunched closed, and your heart absolutely fluttered. You really did fall hard. And so did he. He was flattered that you’d also done research on courting, relieved that you hadn’t gotten it quite right either, glad it hadn’t deterred either of you.

“It would’ve worked better if I’d know it was you, my dear.” He responded through his laughter, giving you a look of pure adoration. “Typically, you hand the items to people, not leave things for them to find themselves.”

“I wasn’t sure I was doing it right!” You defended lightheartedly.

“Well then,” he started as he held a hand out for you to take, which you did, of course, “how does dinner sound? Since food is the way to the heart.” He pulled you a little closer, tone dropping a bit as his smile grew. “Then, perhaps, I can teach you that dance.”

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK TO TRAIN AI

MASTERLIST

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader #twisted wonderland fic #mine #rossignol throw back to epel being the one who Knows #i hc epel as someone who likes to hear gossip but not spread it around #he just likes to know things #the end of this is so dialogue heavy but i didnt know how to end it for like a straight week #idk if jade is super out of character for this but i really liked making him a little awkward it was fun lol

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yanderedrabbles · 8 months ago

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Yandere Cyberpunk Riot Control Officer - NonCon

There's nothing he hates more than degenerates and rioters. When he gets his hands on, he's going to pound some law and order into you. Warning: general noncon, anal, abuse of authority and unorthodox baton use

Yandere! Riot Cop with his bulky body armour and faceless glass helmet. With his baton and falsely justified sense of violence.

Yandere! Riot Cop who initially runs into you when he's off duty. Who thinks you're totally his type. Who even flirts with you a little and smirks at the pretty blush he causes.

Yandere! Riot Cop who tackles you during the riot and gets one hell of a surprise when he pulls down your mask.

Yandere! Riot Cop who hates your politics, who hates that you're one of them. A girl like you should know better.

Yandere! Riot Cop who says 'degenerates' and 'anarchists' when you say 'revolutionaries.'

Yandere! Riot Cop who slams you into the concrete and bends your arm so far up your back you scream that he's going to break it.

Yandere! Riot Cop who holds you down and presses his boot into your face. His blood is way up and he gets rougher than he needs to. A little handsy too.

Yandere! Riot Cop who throws you into an unmarked police hovocraft and takes you down to the Statzi headquarters instead of to jail.

Yandere! Riot Cop who claims he wants information but who really wants to pin you down to a steel interrogation table and fuck you from behind until you're begging him to stop.

Yandere! Riot Cop who is just aching to use the excessive force you're always accusing the police of.

In custody, Yandere! Riot Cop takes you deep underground. Until you can't hear the hovocraft or the chanting of the crowds. Until you feel entirely alone.

Yandere! Riot Cop who asks his captain for permission to personally interrogate you.

Yandere! Riot Cop who who takes you to a stark, bare room and chains your wrists to the interrogation table.

You're a nobody now, he tells you. Just another terrorist. He can keep you in here for as long as he wants. Hell, even his boss doesn't care what he does, as long as he keeps you alive.

Yandere! Riot Cop who gives you a choice - give up your allies or stay here and suffer.

Yandere! Riot Cop who grins like a cat with the cream when you put on a brave face and tell him to fuck off. You're a scared little girl caught up in a bigger mess than you realise and he's going to take full advantage of it.

Yandere! Riot Cop who grabs the back of your neck and forces you down onto the table, cold steel biting into wrists and his fingers biting into your skin.

Yandere! Riot Cop who is so much stronger than you. Who has years of training that let's him maneuver you however he pleases.

And you bent over the dull steel of the interrogation table pleases him plenty.

Yandere! Riot Cop who tuts at your attempts to get away. So weak... Did you really think you could challenge the State?

Yandere! Riot Cop who slams his baton against the table right next to your face. It sounds like a gunshot in the quiet of the room.

Yandere! Riot Cop who loves the way you jump and tense up. Is it finally sinking in? It's just you and him and right now he holds all the power.

Yandere! Riot Cop who slowly runs his baton up and down your thighs. Who goes a little higher each time.

He can't mean to go through with it, you think desperately. There's cameras, there's records, there's the law for God's sake.

Yandere! Riot Cop who uses the tip of his baton to flip your skirt up and over, so your ass is bare. Who rubs one gloved hand over your cheeks. The material is cool and rough and nothing you do can shake off his touch.

Yandere! Riot Cop who let's his baton climb even higher, until the thick rubber tip is rubbing against your good girl cotton panties.

Yandere! Riot Cop who gives you one last chance to give up information. Who laughs when you tell him what he's doing is illegal. You're a terrorist, remember? You don't have rights.

Yandere! Riot Cop who pulls your panties aside with two fingers and nudges the baton against your entrance. Who takes in the site of you and savours it. A filthy rebel entirely at his mercy.

Yandere! Riot Cop who slowly pushes his baton into your cunt. The rubber is cold and unyieldingly hard, the shaft thicker than it looked.

Yandere! Riot Cop who pulls back out and sets a slow, drawn out pace. He's as implacable as a machine, never letting the pace drop because he knows your body will respond to it eventually, no matter how much you try and fight it. Who puts his free hand on your lower back and shoves you against the table when you try and squirm away.

Yandere! Riot Cop whose cock is so rock hard he can barely think. Who grips onto his baton so tightly the handle creaks from strain.

Yandere! Riot Cop who loves watching you scrunch up your nose and try not to cry. You brought this on yourself and he's enjoying every second of it.

Yandere! Riot Cop who can see your pussy getting wetter, can see the way your thighs shake. Who isn't surprised at all when you finally come, biting your bottom lip to keep your moans quiet.

Yandere! Riot Cop who gives your ass a hard squeeze, sucking air through his teeth when your skin turns red under his hand. You look so damn good like this - skirt up, ass blushing, pussy dripping. And you're all his.

You cunt is an aching mess and your hair sticks to your cheeks in damp strands, and still you refuse to talk.

Yandere! Riot Cop who feels every sadistic instinct rising up to play.

Yandere! Riot Cop who tears a condom open with his teeth.

Yandere! Riot Cop who rubs his tip against your tight little asshole. There isn't any lube besides the juices from your pussy and whatever came with the condom but he's far past the point of caring - if he had one to begin with.

Yandere! Riot Cop who grabs his cock with one hand and your handcuffs with the other. It's a damn struggle to push into your ass and when the tip is in, he throws his head back and groans.

You're unbelievably, unbearably tight.

Yandere! Riot Cop who finally has enough leverage to go all the way. Who plants his hands on either side of your face and forces himself in with a brutal thrust.

Yandere! Riot Cop who loves the way you scream.

He's fucking huge. It feels like your whole body is being stretched to its limit. When he pulls almost all the way out and slams himself back in, the shock makes you sob. Finally, you give in. Beg him to stop and you'll tell him whatever he wants.

Yandere! Riot Cop who's honestly impressed you lasted this long. Who pulls out almost all the way but keeps the tip inside you.

Names, he demands.

And you give them to him. Student leaders, writers, underground information runners...

It's betrayal, pure and simple. But in this empty room, miles from the open sky, your comrades and your cause feel irrelevant.

They aren't here with you. He is.

Yandere! Riot Cop who gives a satisfied purr, his hands cradling your waist. See? That wasn't so hard, was it?

Yandere! Riot Cop who can feel you finally relaxing.

Yandere! Riot Cop who uses it as an opportunity to snap his hips forward and bury his cock in you again.

"The first bit for was interrogation. The rest is just for me."

Yandere! Riot Cop who grabs your hair the entire time he's railing you, the other hand on your handcuffs to pull you back onto his dick with every thrust.

Yandere! Riot Cop who tells you to scream as much as you can, the people who can help you can't hear you and the people who can hear you won't help you.

Yandere! Riot Cop who fucks like a stallion and growls like a dog.

Yandere! Riot Cop who can feel you orgasm again with the nerves his hitting. Your ass and cunt both shivering around him. He's giving you the worst sort of pain and the worst sort of pleasure at the same time.

Yandere! Riot Cop who pulls your hair until you're practically bent backwards, his voice a rusty growl right in your ear when he comes.

Yandere! Riot Cop who smashes you face into the table when he's done and lifts up his visor just to whisper to you.

Yandere! Riot Cop who tells you that you don't even know who he is. He could be your neighbour or your friend's boyfriend or even someone you flirt with at the gym.

You'll never know who fucked you and you'll be filled with dread about every man you take to bed.

Yandere! Riot Cop who drawls that he might pay you a visit. He knows exactly who you are now, and such a tight little ass shouldn't be wasted on degenerates and rebels.

"Well sweetheart, how does it feel to really get fucked by the State?"

#I actually hate him #He's getting put against the wall as soon as the revolutionaries win #yandere blog #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere drabbles #yandere #reader insert #x reader #yandere oc #Riot Police #Riot Control Officer #Yandere Cop

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bioethicists · 1 year ago

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i wish trans ppl could have conversations about bottom surgery without it quickly devolving into really cruel, callous commentary. i also am not thrilled with the current options for bottom surgery available to me, because they are not a good fit for me + what i would want from that particular procedure. other people are going to have different needs + desires than my own.

outside of carefully curated facebook groups, every time someone brings bottom surgery up on social media, the comments are filled with "x surgery results look DISGUSTING" "why would i want genitals that don't even work" "what's the fucking point? it's a waste" "it'll never look like/be a real x, anyway" alongside absurdly false or outdated information about risks or outcomes (do not let people convince you that the sexual gratification or aesthetics you desire are 'impossible' without doing your own research- the options are much more advanced + plentiful than you might think)

there are members of our community who have had those surgeries. those are their post-surgical bodies you are calling disgusting or accusing of being fake/useless/wasteful. these are surgeries that people pursue for their entire lives, run through their savings for, lose their relationships or jobs for-- would it kill you to talk about their bodies respectfully? transitioning bodies are so vilified in day-to-day life, could we at least commit to not feeding that?

#imagine if you logged on + saw a bunch of tumblr ppl calling your genitals disgusting fake unusable #then incorrectly stating you were incapable of having sex or peeing correctly or whatever

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lemonanddeepspace · 17 days ago

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𝐓𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐨 𝐔𝐬 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭

Sylus

[Chapter 1] No Way Out

Story Masterlist

Pairing: Sylus x f!Reader

Story Warnings: Angst, Smut, Arranged Marriage, Second Chances, Infidelity

Chapter Warnings: None

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

Your husband doesn’t care if you live or die, it’s all the same to him. You’re no one of importance to him, he’s made it clear. After nearly five years of marriage, he barely remembers your name. Sylus has never, and will never care about you– It hurt a little at first, you won’t lie, but now you’ve grown indifferent to his treatment.

Since the beginning you knew the marriage was out of convenience. Sylus sought power that only your family could bring to him so he made a deal that they couldn’t refuse. You never got the details about it, you just knew you were the bargaining chip. You were thrown in the middle even though you aren’t allowed to know what’s going on.

You were upset at first. You threw tantrums, demanding an answer from someone. Anyone. Yet no one spoke up. However, the marriage didn’t upset you as much as it should’ve. You were finally free from the birdcage, given a false sense of freedom as Sylus took you under his wing.

Freedom. You almost scoff at the mere thought of it. Your prison just grew in size, but you are in no way free. He doesn’t care if you live or die but he does care if you escape. There’s someone constantly watching you, no matter where you’re at.

Sylus controls everything and everyone in the perimeter. You can’t even have a proper conversation with a stranger because they know who you are, and they want to maintain their distance. Sylus can’t even look you in the eye but he still manages to control everything in your life.

When you first got married to him, you thought you could handle it, but your patience has grown thin over the years. It’s gotten to the point where you can’t handle it. You seek freedom, and you’ll do just about anything to get a taste of it. Which is why you plan to leave Sylus, one way or another.

Tonight will be the night that you ask Sylus for a divorce. Even if he won’t grant it to you, you’ll still lay the concrete and make it clear that you want out. Even if it’s his sole decision. You have no say in a marriage you were forced into, but you hope that maybe luck will be on your side. Maybe by introducing the idea, Sylus will let you go.

There’s only one thing that feels nearly impossible: getting a moment alone with Sylus.

Lighting doesn’t strike twice in the same place, and neither does Sylus. You see him once a week, and he’s never alone. It’s always at a different time, a different day– Never consistent.

“Luke, will Sylus come around tonight?” You question as you watch the twin slouch on your couch, playing a video game. You stay out of his way, not blocking his view of the television, allowing him to remain focused on his game. That’s your first mistake, Luke barely even acknowledges you’re there because he’s too occupied with his game.

“Luke.” You call out to him again, and he glances at you for a moment before his eyes land on the television again.

“Online game, can’t pause.” He informs you, making you click your tongue.

“Is Sylus coming yes or no?” You repeat your question, knowing that he doesn’t need to look at you to answer. Either he knows or he doesn’t.

“Boss man? I don’t know.” You’re not sure if he’s lying through his teeth or being honest, but you don’t care enough to look into it. The twins are always covering up for Sylus, asking them anything is useless.

“Luke.” Your voice gets stern as your eyes land on the electrical cord. He can ignore you all he wants, but he’ll definitely change his mind once you realize you have the upper hand. When he looks at you again, he sees a threat. He freezes, and he sighs. You don’t have to keep exchanging words.

“He’ll come around tonight. He’s going to be late though.” He panics as he sees your hand get dangerously to the cord. He knows better.

“How late?” You ask, and he shrugs. You end up giving him a subtle nod before turning on your heel and leaving him alone. You’ll just stay up, no matter how late he is. If you don’t tell him tonight, the courage might leave your body the next time you have a chance.

Your eyes are shutting on their own as you wait for your husband. You’re trying your best to fight your sleep, but it’s winning. Luke must’ve warned Sylus to not come home tonight because you’d be waiting. To think a man his size is scared of you– You also are just getting into your head about it when Luke could’ve just lied to you.

You think about giving in until the loud sound of footsteps begin to approach your room. Your eyes are knocked wide awake, and you adjust your posture. You try to look lively, as if you weren’t about to fall asleep. You stand up from the couch, reaching for your class of wine and bringing it up to your lips. You try your best to look nonchalant.

“Heard you wanted to speak to me.” His voice sends a chill down your spine. You want to say that you’ve gotten used to it, but it’s rare to actually hear it.

Your breath is caught up in your chest before you turn around to finally face him. Sylus glares down at you with tired eyes, exhausted from the day– Already tired from what you have to say. He looks the same as always. Sylus never really changes; in five years you haven’t noticed a single hair out of place. Maybe you don’t notice a change because you barely see him, but by a simple comparison with your wedding photos, he still looks the same.

He perks up his brow, waiting for you to finally respond. He can’t idly stand by for hours as he waits for you to answer. He tries to give you some leeway, noting that you’re nervous. It’s hard not to notice when the nerves radiate from your body, even if you’re trying your best to suppress them. Your body gives subtle hints. No matter how stoic you try to be, there’s a tremor that you can’t get rid of.

“Well then, what is it? I don’t have all day.” Sylus is getting annoyed. He’s trying not to yawn as he waits for you to speak.

Except that the courage that you had earlier has faded and now you’re trying your best to come up with the right words. You take a deep breath as you stare at your husband. He’s looking into your soul, trying to decipher what you’re up to.

You can’t back down now, even if your heart is racing. He knows you want to talk about something, and it’s clearly something important since you’ve waited for him. He watches your every move, waiting for you to get something out.

“Well?” He insists.

“I want a divorce.” You finally spit out, eyes looking anywhere but at him. You aren’t brave enough to actually look at him to watch his reaction. Even though you know he won’t care, there’s a twinge of hope in you that he’ll care– And that hope controls your actions, forcing you to look away.

“I beg your pardon?” He responds, making you look up at him. His brows are furrowed in confusion, as he tries to decipher what you just said to him. He takes a moment to think about it, as if his ears are deceiving him. But no, he heard you right.

“Sylus, I think it’s time for me– For us to end this. There’s no point in this, and I’m tired.” You admit, nervously rambling. Your feelings get the best of you, and the confidence you had imagined during this moment is nowhere to be found. “I just feel like that’s the best thing for us. We’re not like an actual married couple–”

The words stop flowing out of your mouth the moment you hear a cold laugh leave his lips. You bite your tongue as you wait for him to say something. You look at him with hopeful eyes, hoping that he’ll agree to your request. But you know better.

“A divorce?” He questions with a mocking tone in his voice. He looks at you with contempt, almost feeling pity for you. “Sweetie, what do you think a divorce is?”

“I’m not stupid.” You answer, rolling your eyes at his response. “I want out of whatever we have–”

“You don’t get to decide that you want a divorce, the same way you didn’t get a choice in marrying me.” He interrupts you, his words getting under your skin. You should’ve expected it. You know that getting out of your situation isn’t easy. But hearing the words leave his lips makes your blood boil.

“It’s unfair!” You raise your voice as Sylus laughs. He turns around and begins to walk away, putting an end to the conversation. Unluckily for him, you aren’t quite done and you won’t let him leave so fast. You follow after him, nearly yelling, “Sylus, I’m speaking to you!”

“Life’s unfair, kitten. Get used to it.” You roll your eyes at his response, and you almost curse yourself for continuing the conversation. The nickname he gives you makes you seethe.

“Kitten? Seriously?” You scoff, almost getting sidetracked. Until you remember that there’s bigger issues at hand. “I feel like a prisoner, Sylus!”

“I believe that’s what they call marriage.” He argues, amused by his own response. He wants to get you off his tail before moving any farther, so he stops in his tracks.

“We’re not a married couple! We don’t have dinner together, we don’t speak to each other, we don’t sleep in the same bed– We don’t have sex! We haven’t had sex!” You raise your voice, making a fuss over something he finds utterly amusing.

“Sex?” He raises a brow, fighting back a smirk.

“Yes, sex!” You shout, making him let out a chuckle. He grabs your wrist, forcing your hand on his chest.

“You want sex? Is that it, kitten?” He leans down, making your face get warm out of pure embarrassment. Your words click as he repeats them.

“No!” You shake your head, jerking your hand out of his grasp. You look at the ground in shame as he laughs.

“What is it then, sweetie? You complain we don’t have sex, but when I ask if that’s what you desire, you tell me no. So?” He responds, and you feel your face burn up. You want to crawl in a hole and hide away forever. Perhaps you shouldn’t have brought that aspect of marriage up, but it’s a little too late to take back your words.

“I just mean that–” You stammer, unsure how to proceed. He’s caught you with your tail between your legs. You bite your tongue before nodding in defeat. “I just want a divorce, Sylus. I deserve romance, love, consideration– And the most basic thing of all, respect.”

“I respect you.” He argues, making you laugh for once.

“Respect? Your response to me asking for a divorce was undermining me. You asked me if I knew what a divorce is.” You point out, and he clicks his tongue. He doesn’t have the energy for this.

“I’m not in the mood, sweetie.” He sighs, turning around to leave you once again. Only this time, he doesn’t care if you keep chasing him. He’ll shut the door in your face, forcing you to go away.

“Of course you aren’t. Whatever helps you, Sylus.” You keep your heels on the ground, refusing to step any further. You can’t keep arguing with him when it’s clear that you want different things, at least tonight. Maybe tonight he’ll sleep on it and reflect on what he truly wants. Hopefully when he wakes up tomorrow, he’ll grant you liberty.

But you know things won’t be so easy, especially not with Sylus.

#lads x reader #love and deepspace #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus qin #lads

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valdevia · 7 months ago

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Very funny that tumblr is having discourse about whether my art is misinformation or not, after I've been posting it all over the internet for years without any controversy. So let's talk about it!

I know people arguing are a vocal minority, but I'm not going to dismiss anyone's concerns. It's an actually interesting topic that I really consider, and it touches some important issues in society. So here's my (rambly) two cents.

My art is meant to misdirect, in some way. Photomanipulation and the tone I typically use are meant to briefly confuse the person reading it into thinking they're hearing a real story, at least for a few seconds.

The Intended Experience™

In this sense, I feel like my art can be misinformation! And it's not only people who don't think critically about things like "how come I never heard about mermaids being real before?".

So, no disrespect to anyone that fell for one of my pieces! My work plays with reality, so if you fell for it for more than a minute, it just means my tone and style worked a little too well for you! And there are legitimate reasons to be confused when you see something online, too. For example, there are people who can have trouble telling real and fictional things apart. When you post something that goes out to a million people, you'll get one million different reactions.

That's why I always take care to make it really clear, outside the main piece and snippet of text, that my art is no more than fiction. There are tags, the tone of my account, even my profile picture is meant to reinforce this. I also have a website which, in part, is meant to capture the clicks of people to wonder if my stuff is real and google it, so they can find a real source that's clearly an art website. You can try googling "mycelium infection 1806" or "pupillosarcoma" to see how my website tends to appear first.

If I get this comment I know I've done something believable!

But let's say, for the sake of argument, that my art wholly constitutes misinformation. What we need to understand is that misinformation is not the same as disinformation. Misinformation is just incorrect information. It's your grandma seeing a little bit of a found footage movie on TV and thinking it really happened. She might be spooked, but nobody is harmed. Disinformation is false information that's purposefully crafted and spread in order to cause harm, division, or further a political view.

Now I ask you: what real world harm does my art create? The worst that can happen is that a tiny percentage of those that see it get a little scared thinking a weird bug is real, or that mushrooms really grow on faces, or that scientists have released millions of trilobites into the oceans. Is that really that bad?

Anyway, that's my take on the topic! I'm obviously biased, but this being my style, I do put a lot of thought into it and I'm always open to people's opinions! (Just don't scream at random people on the replies or you'll get blocked!)

#long post #rambly thoughts #hope it's easy to understand my meaning. please lmk if something is unclear in the replies!

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diz-eaze · 3 months ago

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; yandere albedo.

the people of mondstadt know you. born and raised in the city of freedom, they've seen you grow from a small, boundless child into the refined adult you are today. your next door neighbor practically knows your daily routine by now: at 7:00AM you'll open your room window to let in the fresh air, then get ready. by 7:30AM you'll come barreling out of your house, dressed in your uniform and already heading off to the knights of favonius' headquarters as the acting grandmaster's assistant.

sara from good hunter will have your breakfast-to-go already prepared by the time you drop by. your usual, she'd say with a smile as she hands it off to you. you greet the local bard with gradient hair, and you'll bow down in respect should you encounter the cavalry captain, kaeya. amber high fives you by the headquarters entrance, and you encourage noelle when you see her struggling with training.

in your free time, you'll patrol around the peaceful city, looking out for any civilians that need the knights of favonius for mundane help. you encounter sneaky cats, dogs begging for treats, and dandelions scattering in the cool breeze. by sunset, you drop by timaeus' alchemy bench to see what he's been up to, and then retreat back to your little house.

you leave your mark on mondstadt that way, little bits and pieces of you are constructed together from countless interactions every single day.

they know you from your uniform to your civilian clothes. they know you from the type of smile you wear down to the subtle flinch you do when conflict brews.

though, from your recent behavior, it seems their belief in knowing you stands incorrect. an eerily quiet day passed through the city without any citizen seeing you at least once. the day after that, your odd behavior began.

your mouth struggles with the intonation of common mondstadtian tongue. your legs often give out on you mid-walk, and you stand up shakily, reminiscent of a newborn fawn. your memory is hazy, struggling to correctly place names onto people you've known for years. sometimes, you even look surprised when addressed by your own name.

it's... so very odd. you're like a newborn, in a weird, roundabout way.

but soon enough, your oddity begins to wane off. as if the puzzle pieces of you were all merely scattered to the ground, and it was only a matter of time before you piece it all back together to return to your former self.

you melt into your former routine, as if nothing ever happened. your neighbor sees you punctually leave at 7:30AM, sara gives you your breakfast, you greet venti, and you bow down 90 degrees when you see kaeya. amber high-fives you, and noelle is appreciative of your support. you patrol and help citizens, you drop by timaeus' stall, and go back home when the sun is no longer visible.

your previous behavior looks like a rough patch amidst the seamless silk that is your life. it was certainly a weird era for you, and people brush it off as a delirium of some sickness.

everything is fine. you're back to normal, and that's all that matters.

albedo knows you, more than anyone in mondstadt could ever hope to do so. they know you by your uniform and civilian clothes. they know you by your mannerisms. but albedo knows your inner wardrobe, the articles of clothing that you've yet to show to the public. he knows what makes you tick and what brings you joy. he knows the psychology behind your mind, why you do the things that you do.

they all claim to know you, but he deems that as a false statement.

anyone who truly knows you would know by now that the you in mondstadt is nothing more than a fake - an imitation, created by his own hands. a synthetic human being just like him. their claim of knowledge on you is nothing more than surface-level information; they never bothered to dive into the whirlpool that is you.

had it been him on the clueless end, he would've sniffed out the imposter long ago, because of how deeply invested he is in your identity and existence. he would know just from a glance, a simple overlook of your imitation, before he deems it to be counterfeit.

yet they never even paused to think why you were gone for a day without an excused leave beforehand, why you started acting different.

it was reckless, he'll admit. he should have taught the synthetic you properly before dropping it off in mondstadt. should've fed it everything he knew about you. but it leaves a bitter taste on his synthetic tongue when he thinks about your imitation knowing just as much as him about you. this being is not you, despite the 1:1 appearance.

in the end, he chose to drop the being off to mondstadt just hours after successfully creating it. it'll learn through its environment and grow to adapt, he's sure of it.

ignorance is bliss; a peaceful slumber. he'll let the people of mondstadt believe that the person they're with from now on is the real you. not that albedo has any complaints about their denseness, however, things are better this way.

this serves as proof that albedo is the only one who loves the true you.

the original (Y/N), stranded high up on the snow-covered mountain that is dragonspine. he's your only source of company, the only one capable of lighting a bonfire and putting a thick blanket on you. your hands are bound behind you, a safety measure until he deems you trustworthy enough to untie in the near future.

your new home is here, in dragonspine, where you'll learn to live and love the relentless blizzard and frequent snowstorms. his trips down to mondstadt are cut considerably short, for he aches to part from you. he starts to bring more equipment and items back to the camp to provide you with entertainment.

and when night falls, once he sees you deep in sleep, he'll gently raise the blanket so that he can worm into your warm embrace. a safe haven that is incomparable to the bonfire crackling a few feet away.

if there's one thing he's grateful to his imposter for, it'd be implanting the idea of a replacement in his head.

AKA; you've heard of albedo creating a synthetic baby from a single strand of your hair, now have an albedo who created a synthetic (Y/N) so that the real one stays with him <3

#sigh... shadows amidst snowstorms is such a good event #queued post #outro's interlude <3 #tw yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere albedo #genshin impact x reader #albedo #albedo x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader

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madebynarii · 3 months ago

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STOP SCROLLING, PUT THE PHONE DOWN. STOP OVERCONSUMING.

you already know what you have to do. you are consuming the same recycled information again, and again | + slight LONG tough love rant

yall know how your parents are always talking about how it’s the damn phone?? it really is. PUT THE DAMN PHONE DOWN PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY.

you literally have nothing else to learn. there’s nothing else to read, stop scrapping the bottom of the VERY EMPTY bowl like a hungry homeless victorian child whose last meal was 8 months ago.

you KNOW the information, you KNOW what you have to do… and you’re still here? rereading the same information that has been recycled and reworded like at least 800 times?? because you won’t bother to apply to the information???

“but i DO try to apply—” ah. i’m stopping you right there. i’m gonna underline a specific word there. try. you’re TRYING? that’s very cute, would you like a gold star jimmy??

in all seriousness, let’s get ONE thing clear. you don’t try. you either have it or you don’t. you either induce the void or you don’t. you either shift or you don’t. you DECIDE, or you don’t. and i’m not talking about when you get a small little burst of motivation, you affirm for a few minutes, or hours, or days….. and then look around and ask where it is. like… did you even READ the posts you overconsumed, or did it go in one ear and out the other??

overconsumption in general is just so so bad because you’re hearing about this person’s assumptions, and then THIS other person has DIFFERENT assumptions compared to person a. these are all combining in your mind and now you’re just confused about what’s actually “true” and what’s “false”. law of assumption is SUBJECTIVE.

i mean this with all the love i could possibly have in my heart, because we ALL want to succeed and live our dream lives. but please, stop hurting yourself with this harmful cycle. all that time you spent rereading and overconsuming loa/shifting/void content, you could’ve spent saturating. affirming. manifesting. hell, you probably would already be living your dream life, or shifted to your desired reality.

here’s what we’re gonna do instead. pinky promise this will be the only thing you’ll actually need when it comes to loa. holding your hands when i say this rn… it’s not that complicated. no, i’m deadass… it’s NOT that complicated.

let’s start over, like COMPLETELY. i mean barebones, back when you were new to loa and just found out everything you’ve been told in life is a complete and utter lie. 3 things you need to know about loa to get you started.

i. manifestation is instant. the law is instant; the law is quite literally a LAW. it has to happen.

quick reminder: in manifestation, there is NO process. no “purge” transition, no waiting period, none.

let that sink in for a hot minute. no, i don’t wanna hear how you’ve been “trying for so and so years/months/weeks” and nothing happened. if you had your desire… would you be lamenting in the fact you don’t have it? NO. EXACTLY. I THOUGHT SO.

so instead of rolling in the mud of limiting beliefs and reaffirming how you STILL don’t have your desire, pick yourself up, CLEAN that mud off of you, and tell yourself right here right now; i have said desire. it is mine. it is done. it’s the LAW it has to happen. just how the law of gravity literally has to work because it’s a LAW, so does the law of assumption.

ii. affirmations = thinking

you know how we’re always thinking? we’re always manifesting. manifestation doesn’t have an on/off switch.

our internal dialogue literally just keeps yapping and talking, and in that dialogue, we’re subconsciously making assumptions. oh, you’re thinking about that class you have later today and how hard it’ll be? that’s an assumption. you’re thinking about your bank account and how rich and prosperous you are? guess what… that’s an assumption! congrats! you now know the basics to manifesting in law of assumption!

if we’re so used to making negative assumptions and manifesting the undesired, then why would it be so hard to do the opposite? assume what works in YOUR favor for once.

iii. “it’s not logical!” i’m sorry, logic? yeah, we don’t do that here.

this one’s short and easy to answer. here, we throw logic out the window. literally stop clutching it like a purse and there’s some thief nearby, i swear to GOD. IT IS DELAYING YOU AND YOUR ABILITY TO MANIFEST YOUR DESIRES. you think manifesting someone wearing a certain color, or seeing a butterfly is logical, but manifesting your dream life isn’t? do you hear yourself?? MANIFESTATION IN ITSELF IS ILLOGICAL, WHETHER MANIFESTING AN INSECT OR A WHOLE 180 CHANGE TO YOUR LIFE.

excuse my profanity but we quite literally live in a fucking floating rock in SPACE. WITH MILLION AND BILLION OF GALAXIES AND PARALLEL REALITIES… BUT ME MANIFESTING A DIFFERENT EYE COLOR IS ILLOGICAL… OKAY.

okay so you read all this, which i’m sure you’ve already been informed of during your overconsumption spree like 800 posts ago… so how do you actually apply to this? simple. affirm, decide, persist.

WAIT. before you start complaining. i’ll give a small explanation for the poor souls who have been “trying” that for ages and “nothing’s worked”

affirm -> think in your favor.

decide -> assume it’s already yours.

persist -> remember you’re telling yourself you already have said desire… don’t view it as a chore please for the love of GOD. when we say persist, we don’t mean affirm for a little bit then look around and cry because jake from your high school didn’t send you that text. PLEASE.

persist means KEEP THINKING IN YOUR FAVOR. it will always come back to affirming what you want!!! because that’s literally it.. it’s all you have to do. see?? told you it wasn’t complicated.

some tips to get you started? sure, i have some

here’s one: none. there are no tips. all i’ve listed here is MORE THAN ENOUGH TO GET YOU STARTED… PLEASE STOP OVERCOMPLICATING THE LAW ITS THE EASIEST THING EVER I’LL PULL MY HAIR OUT.

okay maybe there is one. don’t give up right away. ACTUALLY apply to the law, because trust me, you’re going to get these results so fast when you finally stop doubting and trust yourself. improving your self concept is a very good start, and while i know there’s like tons of success stories on here about people who were literally shitting their pants and sobbing every night and still got what they wanted, improving your self concept can ALSO help!! and, hear me out, it could actually make the “process” a lot quicker!! but at the end of the day, it’ll all come down to what YOU believe works better.

and genuinely… that’s just it. it’s really that simple, even if i ranted for like 20 whole paragraphs… it’s EASY. ITS SIMPLE. stop deciding that everything costs effort, that it costs time, that it’s hard. how do you expect to manifest what you want with you complaining the opposite all the time… you’re not manifesting anything with THAT attitude.

this is ALL i have to say and honestly maybe the last post you’ll ever need to read if you FINALLY STOP OVERCONSUMING AND APPLY TO WHAT MANY BLOGGERS HAVE TOLD YOU!!! i need to rest now, i’ve been typing nonstop for 30+ minutes now (i’m getting cramps)

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v1x3n · 1 year ago

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TIME TRAVEL ── ripped apart.

♯ PAIRINGS - john price x falsely accused reader x 141

♯ SYNOPSIS - tortured for information by your family and the person you loved, john price. you were harmed for something you hadn't even done, you were framed as the traitor and soon they would find out.

♯ TAGS - angst - torture, mockery, threats, drunk creeps, harassing, tension, blood.

─ previous chapter // masterlist // next chapter ─

A quick yet cold splash to the face awoke you, you cough as your face splattered with freezing water, you jolt up and choke. “Mornin” a rough voice sounds from beside you. You peer over and see Johnny McTavish, “how’d you sleep, bonnie?” he mockingly sneers. “Fuck you” you spit at him, look down at the floor you had passed out on, the dried blood and the water spilled all over below you, you grip onto the floor and slowly look up, meeting your eyes with the door in the corner, you could see prices beefy build standing there on the other side of the bars that held you in this room. The gaps through the metal you could make out a stern yet upset face , one that you gotten used to when you had helped him ease his worries after a harsh mission, or when you had gotten hurt and he was dreadfully worried for you. You sometimes thought that maybe he was nicer and cared more about you than others but you know now that wasn't true - it couldn't be fucking true if this is how he treated you when one fucking person accused you of being the traitor.

Johnny glances over at price then his gaze arrives back at you, “divnt look at ‘im, look at me.” your eyes move down to the floor as you choke once more, a string of saliva drips from your mouth and platters onto the floor, your breath smelt like vomit, you scowl at the memories of last night. Prices fist clenches at the look of you, so so scared. Johnny's hand is brought to your jaw as he bends down, forcing you to look up at him, “are ye gunna talk?” Your continued silence was enough to make him wince. His fingers dug into your jaw, you whine at him and continue looking at him. Trying to make yourself seem the tiniest bit strong - even for one moment, but you knew he saw the nervous, scared look you had in your eyes. “It's not me!” you shout out, your eyes moving back to the spot where price has stood just moments before but he had vanished. You felt like you were almost hallucinating, between this and your dreams - your fucking stupid dreams - you felt like you were going insane. The only thing keeping you sane right now was the pure pain, it kept you realize that you were alive. Still fucking alive, living through all of this shit they are putting you through.

You spit on his face, the small collection of saliva in your mouth manages to spew out onto him, he scoffs at you before swiping it off. “Fucken hell, lass.” that mocking glare peers into you, a sense of danger swells into your heart. “Let.” you shout, “me.” your voice gets louder after each work, “out!” you scream, trying to push him away from you, his breath hot on your face while he forces you closer, almost cheek to cheek. “Keep fucken shoutin’ nd yer gunna lose yer tongue.” the man sighs onto your cheeks.

You shut up real fast, lips sealed and you glare at him, he steps up whilst realizing your jaw from his tight grip. Johnny stands above you and peers down at you. “Sit up” demanding whilst grabbing some pliers from his left pocket, he bends down - waiting for you to obey his command.

Your knees are weak as you fumble, trying your hardest to get up but as you see the pliers you instantly freeze, “wait wait wait!” you panic, trying to back up. Your mutilated hand gripping onto behind you to scoot away. “Awh bonnie, don't be scared” he chuckles, grabbing onto your hair once more, forcing you closer, shards of hair ripping out as he pulls you by the scalp. He drags your hair back so you're looking up into his eyes, one of his rough hands on your head whilst the other holds onto the tool. “Open up, lassy” Johnny's harsh smile pulls a deep concern deep into your heart.

If you felt like you were in danger before who knows what the fuck you were feeling now.

His soul scarring smirk as he tortures one of his best friend is un-fucking-godly. “I said open up.” his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you, the pliers spin around and he brings the handle to your lips, forcing them apart. Your jaw opened by force by the tool, johnny eyes meet with yours as your stomach sinks. “Keep it open, jus’ like tha’” you decide to comply - too scared for what he would do if you wouldn't, you held your mouth wide open, eyes squeezed closed to prepare yourself for what johnny was about to do. The tool brings close towards your mouth and it chips at your front teeth, a spark of your tooth hits the ground.

Your knees scrape against the floor as you unconsciously squirm away, he grips onto your scalp further, pulling your hair so you were kneeled in the position you were earlier. The pliers hit your tooth and create a clinking sound, the tool pulls onto it. Eyes squeezing together as the tooth pulls out and blood pools from the gum, “Aye” the man in front of you grunts and holds onto the tooth with his gimmick. Johnny's expression did not change as he ripped out your tooth, his smile plastered onto his face with a concentrated expression - simply watching his friend and past coworker pull teeth from the person he cared about. A trail of garnet lingering through your saliva and you spit out onto the floor - well, you try too but with Johnny holding your head back. The wetness trails down to your chin and down your neck, the blood mixing with your spit. You stayed silent as the pliers held up with your torn tooth. “Atta girl” he sneers once more and his hand detaches from your hair as his posture straightens up.

That night had started off easy but soon it turned into hours on torture, the one memory replayed in your mind as johnny harmed you, over and over. Trying so desperately to get information out of you but you obviously wouldn't - and couldn't - say anything. The memory you kept repeating was after a long mission. You and the rest of the taskforce decided to go out for a few drinks at the closest bar. Long story short - all of yous were pissed.

That night yous laughed around a small table and passed banter along to one another. You fumble over to the bar and bend over the counter, almost yelling over your thoughts running through your head. Then some fucking creep comes over and starts talking to you.

God, you felt his eyes trail your body as his hand moved down your arm, you flinch back and politely mutter, “oh uhm s-sorry but i have a..boyfriend.” you lie but he ignores your almost plea and he gets closer towards you, “c’monn… he doesn't haf t’ know” he slurs - clearly tipsy. You gulp and back up, looking over at your table to say if anyone was looking. But the table had one person missing, john. Eyebrows furrow and you back up slightly, only to be stopped by a large frame, before you could turn around you heard his booming voice, “he bothering you, sweeth’art?” the gross man in front of you eyes widens, he steps away from you. “N-no he's okay,” you mumble, looking up at the man behind you. His furious face was kinda hot, but you were too focused on how his rough hand moves to your waist. “No need f’ a fight, hm? Leave the bar and get yourself home,” John smiles.

Before the man could speak, John growls, “if I see you talking t’ my girl again, you'll get your tiny cock cut off.” a dangerous smile plastered on his face as the tipsy man trembles away from both of yous and eventually out the bar doors.

“You seriously okay?” he peers down at you, his hands still lingering on your skin. “Oh yeah!” you smile, turning around to look up at him, “thanks, you uhm- you didn't need t’” a layer of blush covers your cheeks and your eyelashes flutter as you look up at him. “Couldn't let that disgusting bastard touch you up like tha’” a distant shout from the table you were sitting at earlier interprets you and john's conversation, a scottish voice, “oi! Yous two quit flirtin’! Ye’are two drinks behind!!” another swarm of blush fills your cheeks and you two move back over to the table.

You wish time travel was invented, maybe you would travel to that bar on that night, or maybe you would travel to before you met them - start it all over or change choices in your life. Ones that wouldn't end in betrayal and your heart broken. The things you would give to rewind this all.

You gasp and reach out as John holds a dagger to your throat, “last chance” he dares - holding onto your jaw to hold you up whilst he knees behind you. His breath was hot on the back of your neck which in any other situation but this time it scared you. But after all he needed you to fear him. “We both know it's easier if you start talking, told you before. Last chance.” spitting at you and the dagger gently digs into your skin, creating a small slit. Your head leans back to try to get away from the pain but his strong grip on your jaw keeps you steady. The blade digging into you, almost too deep, “you have five seconds or i'm done with you.” after a few weeks you had finally given up.

“Five”

Your heart thumps, was he really going to do this?

“Four”

Trying to squirm away from him yet once more his grip grew stronger.

“Three”

John's hand tightened on the weapon he had in front of your throat.

“Two”

His voice grew deeper as the blade stings, drops of blood trails down your neck and onto your bare chest.

“One”

Two hearts beat in that room as you were about to have your throat slit but John hesitates.

Just as he went too, Kyle stomps into the room, “w-wait no stop!” the blade backs from your throat and the man backs up, “she-” Kyle breathes heavily - obviously trying to catch his breath. It was very clear he had just ran here. “She's not the traitor- w- was framed” Kyle's hands go down to his knees as his breathing slows down. You cough and hands fall to the floor as blood drops from the cut on your neck. Your face looks down at the floor and your hand reaches to your neck to stop the blood. John backs up and straightens himself out, staring down at the body before him trying to stop the blood.

“Oh.”

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star-centric · 4 months ago

Text

I understand that the hype may have died down a little after the season ended but I LOVED the invincible variants— just the idea of it had me hooked that I had to write about it (also I’m trying to improve so I need to write more). Reader is gender neutral!

CW: mentions of blood and violence (nothing too explicit), minor language

He had your boyfriend’s face.

He had his hair, his build, hell you were convinced that this clone was Mark—

But the costume, a homage to his father’s— the one that left your love crumpled into the ground missing several teeth— left you frozen. And the drying blood that was caked onto his gloves made you cower away from him.

When the doppelgänger called your name, it only made you tighten your grip on the rusty crowbar. It wouldn’t do much against him, but it was the only thing giving you the slim ounce of false sense of security.

“I know that you’re confused right now,” he floated down towards you, rubble falling from the hole he put through the roof— when did he even see you run into this place? “And I know that you’re scared— but I won’t hurt you.”

It was comical almost, seeing as to how quick he was to slaughter people in his wake. He didn’t hesitate to crush a man’s head or to slam a woman into the concrete, viscera covering the area and leaving your clothes covered. Now he was approaching you like a wounded animal, hands outreached and speaking the same cadence just like his dear old dad.

This Mark brought nothing but death.

And it was a cruel joke that you would die at the hands of a monster wearing the face of the man you love.

Before you met your grisly end, you would try to swing at him. It wouldn’t leave as little as a smudge on his face, but it would at least give you some satisfaction before he left you mangled—

“It’s no use.” Now he was in front of you, taking slow, deliberate steps. He was already knowing your intentions, but you didn’t care. “I’m stronger than you, faster— we both know how this will go. All I want to do is talk—“

“Get away from me.” The crowbar was shaking in your grip, but it was your only lifeline at this point. “You’re not Mark.”

“I’m Mark, just not this universe’s Mark.” He corrected. “I’m not weak like he is. And I’m not stupid enough to let you go again.”

The crowbar was out of your hands before you could even blink, clattering to the ground with a loud echo. You tried to back away, stumbling over your own feet when he grabbed you— whether to catch you or kill you, you didn’t know. His arms were around your waist, reminiscent of times with your Mark— and it made you scream.

You slapped him, desperate to get out of his grasp. You slammed your arms against his chest, trying to push him away— but he just held you tighter in response.

You held your breath when the variant’s shoulders tensed as he sighed deeply. His hands squeezed your waist, like he was restraining himself.

“You can try to fight me all you want, but all you’re doing is delaying the inevitable.“

“What do you want with me?” You hated how weak you sounded, how small you felt. “I promise whatever you’re looking for or whatever you want, I don’t know anything—“

He called your name once more, sounding offended. “I don’t need information. I want you.”

You flinched when his thumb wiped at your cheek. You didn’t even know when you started to cry. He almost looked sympathetic. Almost.

“I made the mistake of letting you go before, and then I lost you for good.” He picked up your entire body, carrying you as he began to fly. You’ve been in this position countless times before with your Mark. But this time you felt fear instead of giddiness.

You wondered if falling to your death would be more merciful than going with him. You’ve instinctively grabbed around his neck, and you were left filled with dread as you flew past the destroyed roof, spotting another figure heading close to you.

“No matter what you do, I’m not letting anyone take you again— and I’m never letting you go.”

#invincible.txts #writings.txts #invincible x reader #invincible x you #invincible x y/n #invincible variants x reader #invincible variants x you #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x y/n #omni mark x reader #omni mark x you

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areus-in-a-little-cave · 2 years ago

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To add to the previous part about Cat, Dream's choice to accuse her of being the burner has had insane negative impacts on her life. He genuinely, deeply harmed someone on a whim. Cat also does not want to be involved in this situation anymore, but just for clarity about Jaime's situation, I will be involving their tweets. I'd also like to add that Dream retracted his accusation against Cat of being the burner.

Also, to amend something, Jaime's situation was not reported to the police, it was reported to an agency for child exploitation.

From what I have seen of Dream's response, it's quite complicated and there are some issues worthy of noting.

Some notable things he did in the video:

He edited the video like it was a drama youtuber exposé on some fallen youtuber and not his response to multiple grooming allegations.

He compared him flirting (and possibly sexting) with his underage stans (as a 19 - 22 year old with 10 million+ subscribers to people 16/17 years old) to Phil and Kristin's relationship (a late 20s streamer with at most tens of viewers who held a platonic relationship with a viewer who was also in their late 20s for a least one year before beginning a romantic relationship). This is talked about my first post in this long post. It's a bad point.

He discussed many of his controversies, including his speedrunning, before the allegations against him (very strange to talk about how frequent of a liar he is before going on to say that he's not a liar).

*He admitted to having known Manatreed (accused domestic abuser who he added to the SMP for one day before Manatreed left when the allegations came out through doxxing) and apologized for how he reacted back then. (*I haven't seen much about this point, so take it with a grain of salt)

He talked about how several other CCs, like Ranboo and Wilbur, have had false allegations against them (which is interesting to me, as people like his close friend BBH, who has actively defended him, had false allegations as well, so I am curious why he chose Ranboo and Wilbur, but nevertheless).

He made up controversial messages between him and Pokimane, and him and XQC to show how easily you can fake messages without asking Pokimane or XQC for permission to do so or warning them about it? Essentially dragging them into the controversy for no reason, as the messages spread online, even though Dream did state they were fake (or at least implied heavily).

He included tweets against him which showed people's usernames, which reportedly lead to doxxing, in the same video where he apologizes for his previous statement about how doxxing didn't matter.

He talked about Jaime/burner22 and Amanda with a brief mention of Anastasia and no mention of Jay (even if Jay does not consider themselves a victim).

He apologized to Quackity, and reportedly admitted to the fact that he had been accusing Quackity of stealing the idea for USMP.

I would like to add that I have not watched the video in its entirety, but I believe that I have most of the key information from the portions I have seen.

When it comes to the allegations from Amanda, he showed the JSON chat logs from Snapchat. Except, he didn't show all of it. He showed snippets, specifically right before the supposed messages of him flirting with Amanda that we saw in Amanda's videos.

I don't personally use Snapchat, so here is the entire problem explained by someone who does. I've summarized it below.

Looking at the Snapchat logs he showed, they're out of order. The dates are inconsistent, when Snapchat data is chronological. Dream would have had to manually edit them to rearrange the order they're in.

There are also missing messages that exist in Amanda's videos that are not flirtatious or sexual, meaning that Amanda would have faked sending innocent, short messages with Dream when they in no way would benefit her narrative unless she was trying to build their platonic relationship? So either she added those in for that reason, or Dream removed them without realizing.

Amanda was recording her phone screen with another phone, and Dream confirmed that some of the Snapchat messages are real.

Dream's logs also fail to include any sort of reference to a media file, when it's confirmed that there are instances where pictures or other files were shared. It is very odd that these are missing.

Also, this thread showed yet another instance of Dream acting inappropriate towards Amanda that I had never seen.

[Image ID: a screenshot of a camera role that is showing a photo of a phone. The phone is open to Snapchat and shows Dream responding to a bikini photo of Amanda. He wrote "baddd bitch", "fine as HELL", "beach day?". End ID]

When asked about this photo and response, he deflected and talked about when he called her 'gorgeous as fuck'.

I'd also like to add that he once again says that Amanda messaged him from her personal and he didn't know any fan accounts of hers, but it was obvious that she was a devoted fan, as she said so in her first message to him on Instagram.

When it comes to Jaime, the situation is very complicated. Dream apparently had Keemstar helping him behind the scenes, which I just wanted to note due to arguments about the validity of the previous time Keemstar was involved.

There's a message sent to Keemstar from Jaime on Snapchat saying that Jaime did not release the information behind shared, and that it was shared without her consent. She does not consider herself groomed or a victim in any way, and also does not want to be involved.

Regardless of this, there was a large document released that showed evidence that Jaime was 16 and a fan at the time of Dream messaging them. Whether or not Jaime was groomed, it's very inappropriate for a 20 year old to be sending sexual messages with a 16 year old fan.

However, the allegations and their validity are being called into question.

In the video, Dream includes a person by the name of Sam (the previously blurred person in Cat's discord messages), who was the person who sent Jaime's messages to the burner. In the video, they talked very differently about the messages sent to Jaime than they did in screenshots of the conversation between them and the burner.

Most of this information is coming from these threads from Cat, who does not believe Dream to be a groomer. By their own words, they're not 100% sure about Amanda and Anastasia, but they've received personal information about the situation with Jaime that they cannot share. They believe that the burner did not lie about Jaime, but they were purposefully mislead.

It's unclear why Sam has lied repeatedly, but reportedly, they left out several key details when informing the burner of the situation. After the burner responded by saying they did not understand who Sam had lied to (Dream or them), the burner deactivated their account.

Really, I think the best thing to be said about this is what Pyrocynical said, which is that this video probably will not change anyone's minds whether they're a fan of him or not. I doubt this post will either, but I am trying to document the situation for information purposes.

Remember you really don't have to have an opinion on everything, do whatever is safe for you and if this is stressing you, try to step back.

I feel that regardless of what you think of whether he groomed, sexted, or flirted with anyone underage or otherwise, his responses to this situation and the many other situations he has been in definitely show a pattern of behaviour in how he acts in his position. I still personally believe that he was acting inappropriately in messaging his fans and flirting with them (by his own words in his original response) and I still believe he should not have a platform.

I am so fucking angry about Dream stans (mostly on Twitter, though they are here) being like “can you BELIEVE people are upset that a minor 😱😱😱 was messaging with an ADULT!! LMAOO wait until they get into the real world and find out that 17 year olds can be friends with 25 year olds. Next they’re gonna call Tommy messaging Schlatt dangerous!!”

It was not that she was 17 and Dream was 20. The age gap was not the issue.

It was that Dream had a position of power over her and abused it.

He knew he had this position from the very start, as she was a fan of his and their first messages with each other was her telling him how much his content had helped her through depression.

[Image ID: a screenshot of an Instagram direct message to Dream that reads “Hi, the chances of you seeing this are very slim, but I wanted to let you know that your content makes me sooo happy. Ive been really depressed lately, all thats going on in the world and in my life and your videos give me one more reason to stay. You know how people type “LMAO” and dont actually laugh? I actually sit in bed laughing when im watching you. That means a lot [Unclear emoji]. Love you Dream!❤️ -Amanda”. Dream replied and wrote “aw thank you for the kind words :)”. End ID]

This means that he knew full well that her wellbeing was somewhat dependant on his content. She says that his videos gave her one more reason to stay alive.

He confirmed that the Instagram messages are real.

[Image ID: a screenshot of Dream’s twitlonger regarding the allegations that reads “The second thread had instagram dms from me, again, having friendly normal conversation and nothing inappropriate. I believe these message are real as well. Once”. End ID]

Thusly, the Snapchat messages that haven’t been deleted are, without a doubt, real, because he tells her the name of his private Snapchat in the Instagram messages. They cannot be ignored.

It is incredibly inappropriate for Dream to message her on Snapchat knowing that she was 17 and a fan at the time and that messages can easily be erased. That on its own would be uncomfortable, but he was talking to her in a flirtatious manner.

[Image ID: a screenshot of a Snapchat message by Dream/Clay that is a reply to a video sent by Amanda that reads “ur gorgeous as fuck”. End ID]

This is not normal, friendly behavior. Especially with a fan who is underage and has said that she is emotionally invested in his content.

This is predatory. Several girls have come forward. This proves that Dream not only has more than once, but likely will again, use his platform and power to engage in sexual relationships with underage girls.

He cannot have a platform anymore.

Please, read this post about the Snapchat messages, this post about why Tommy messaging Schlatt and other CCs was completely different, and these two threads about his response to the situation (thread one) (thread two) and how it was manipulative and more focused on his audience rather than adressing the allegations.

This thread includes most of the information regarding the situation.

#dream situation #// dream #tw mentioned grooming #tw grooming #long post #// cmc #ask to tag #areus rambles #if there's anything inaccurate in this let me know #it's a very complicated situation and everyone is entitled to their own thoughts on the video #I have mine though #and I do not see why he needed to take over a year and include everything else that he got messed up in to respond #it feels like he's trying to cover everything #and the allegations are just one of those things he's been caught up in #instead of. allegations of grooming #and the amount of time had resulted in the situation becoming very muddied as both maliciously and accidentally false allegations #have been released #I feel that the video taking so long to be released made the situation between people who believed or did not believe the allegations worse #as victim blaming and doxxing and harassment became insanely common #and dream has responded to situations in the past year in ways that are just. like straight up unsafe in some cases. and childish in others #as for Jaime. I am neither here nor there.#It all really depends on Sam and idk what the fuck is going on there and it seems like any information coming out would doxx people so #I don't think we'll get an answer #these are just my thoughts of course

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sheepispink · 4 months ago

Text

‘Rest and Recuperation’

supersoldier!reader x lt!ghost (part 5)

part one Series Masterlist

cw: psychological distress,mentions of reader unintentionally harming themselves (as a result of distress), mentions of vomiting(non-graphic), mentions of pulling hair out, HEAVY angst on this one, but comfort too dw

ever wondered what a super soldier crashing out would look like? well, here you go

WC: 5.2k

————————————————-

Ghost sees it everywhere, starting from the day he received the request from you. He had stood at that sink for almost fifteen minutes, scrubbing the copper smell off his hands until the skin felt raw. When he finally left the bathroom, only after the mirror had steamed up to obscure any attempt at viewing, he saw it again; the star on the calendar. Then, Friday night, he had shrugged off his gear by the door, reaching into his wardrobe for a fresh towel, the red mark glimmering in the corner of his eye. He ignored it until Saturday morning, crossing off the prior day only to realise that the marked date was all the more prominent now— it was today.

He knew, somewhere in his chest, that what he was doing was wrong— similar to the countless times he’s been far too ruthless with his kills. His gut knew as he walked past you in the corridor, or when he left the base with his team. His heart knew when Soap and Gaz questioned him about it and yet his brain ignored their concern, because Ghost didn’t feel guilt, no—just like Reaper wouldn't end up upset over a missed birthday.

Reapers didn’t have feelings, they did what they were told.

Still, his instincts screamed at him when he had been carrying those drinks, the first when the two sergeants were concerned over you and the second being the soldier who had offered to help him— the one he now knows was actually you. He wonders if he really had known, somewhere in the back of his head, all that you were going through but had just chosen to ignore it. This whole time, his eyes moved past when he saw shredded carrots tangled in your hair, the red marks on your wrists when he picked you up your separate evac vehicle or even the hazed look in your eyes when he finally commanded you to stop. It was a decision that he made— to ignore all the signs— and now he’d have to handle the consequences.

————-

It wasn’t a difficult deployment, quite the opposite, but for the first time he was angry at that. Whilst his teammates snickered odd army jokes between each other or whispered before they were supposed to catch some sleep, his mind was like a treadmill; the thoughts wouldn't leave, repeating over and over and the same questions as to why he even let this happen and all he could’ve done to stop it. However, the one thing that plagued his mind the most was how he’d rectify this mistake. If he was forced to be honest, you were the best asset to every team the military had and with the highest success rates known. It’d be stupid to lose such a valuable player in the grand scheme of these events, that meant apologising, but not only that-fixing the problem at its root else it’d sprout once more like a pesky weed.

He’d expected that Price would’ve sorted that out by now, giving you sweet apologies then interrogating the information out of you even when you didn’t want to give it up. But now it seemed like everyone was stepping around you like you left glass in your wake, a danger for anyone who stepped to close.

“I’ve been gone for two weeks– how are they not stable by now?” He had to force down the anger as he looked between his three other teammates, the two sergeants looking especially conflicted. Still, they only gave false promises of how they’d get the information, somehow drawing it out of you with soft words and caring touches. Even Price, who had been the one to oversee you entering this base and still allowed it through. He knew there was nothing humane about the super soldier program and still accepted you in.

Price had never felt a touch of worry about you even when looking at the gruesome pictures attached to the medical files, now that Ghost considers it. Though, it’s not like he hadn’t flicked through the pages like it was a mere magazine either.

The point is you’re running out of time, and they have to act fast to prove your worth to the program before you’re pulled back to be a full-time guinea pig again. That is something all their future missions cannot afford.

—---------

Naturally, Missions was his solution to this problem. What would be the point in attempting to prove your worth any other way?

It wasn't the wrong option either; you obliged easily and got geared up as per usual, arm still wrapped with a bandage, and as soon as he gave the order, you were back on your killing spree. It was ruthless, somehow more than you usually were, like everything bullet shot was an intentional thought, something your heart carved the path for. And so, for the next two weeks you were deep in field combat, if not all the time. Ghost saw it as an easy distraction from everything that happened, especially as how each kill was as simple as a flick of the wrist for you, even if it meant you had to dodge all the more bullets.

As expected, the results did not disappoint and with another five hostages safely tucked into a truck to be taken to a safe location, another job was left completed. Though, he had avoided your gaze as you were tucked into your evac truck, sat in the helicopter himself—he already knew what the look on your face would be, he knew he’d be the monster again. He’d submit the report tonight and the general would approve your stay, future missions wouldn’t be compromised and he and Price would go back to not having to break a sweat because you’d do that for them. Then maybe later the others could try to ease it out of you again, with nice words and kind faces—the way it should’ve been done. Nor would he feel this strange feeling akin to regret in his stomach— he’d fix this, things didn't have to change.

The helicopter lands, quelling any last thoughts in his head as he steps down onto the asphalt and heads into base as per usual. That is until he’s stopped in his tracks by an unfamiliar sight, that being your evac truck parked and the doors open. It usually arrived a bit later than the helicopter, but it wouldn't have turned his head if not for the fact a soldier was dragging you out the back with your arms in a tight lock behind you.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Instantly, he forgets about any previous resignation and storms forward, but despite the authority echoing off of him the soldier only gives him a strange look. “Escorting Reaper out? Why?” None of this looked as casual as the soldier made it out to be, especially the tightening grip on your arms as your eyes were in a haze, almost like you were drugged up or something like that. “Escorting? You’re dragging them.”

“This is.. normal procedure, sir? Reaper is always restrained after being on field.” Ghost narrows his eyes at the man’s last words, suddenly noticing properly now the red marks littering your wrists from pulling so hard on your restraints. Even your face is red marked, scratched at but not enough to leave a permanent dent in the skin.

“And why is that?” This idiot must be lying to him, just like those other pricks who decided to pick on you even with him knowing; he’s positive he’s lying straight to his face.

“We’ve sent reports to you and the Captain before, Lt. This is why the Captain ordered for them to travel separately in the first place—post field makes them freak out.” The soldier gives him a shrug, and a grin that’s nothing short of mocking. It makes his blood boil, the way the fool acts as if you’re some kind of freakish turn of nature, something only to be mocked and has no defence of its own—doesn't he know you could snap his neck in two with just a word? Ghost grits his teeth as the soldier pushes you forward, your eyes starting to blink now but still not very awake. He can't even say anything to the fool; Ghost had laughed about you the exact same way not too long ago.

The moment he enters his room, his hands are desperately searching the cluttered expanse of his desk, searching for any sign of said reports through the stacks of files stamped with the big red letters of ‘TOP SECRET’.

‘Behaviour Reports—Super soldier, Subject: Reaper’

His gloved fingers graze over the letters as he picks the file up, flicking open to the first page, only to find that at least fifteen different reports had been noted in this file— all on different missions. Something uneasy settles in his gut this time, a warning, or perhaps it’s that knowing feeling again that he’s tried to ignore before—the one that had him churning with unease on lonely nights and battlefields quiet enough that you’d meet death before you’d even hear a sound.

‘Subject 56 didn’t like being locked in the back of the truck. They continued to keep asking questions on why there was no light until they fell quiet. Doesn’t seem to be a cause for concern’.

‘There are many indents in the walls of our trucks due to Subject 56’s outbursts. They grow erratic every time they’re placed inside, but never seem to attack any soldiers who touch them. Banging and scratching is all we can hear for the better half of the journey, after that they fall quiet. No signs of harm done to their hands.’

‘A change has occurred in Subject 56’s– well, Reaper’s—usual behaviour post field work. The subject is in a haze when leaving the truck, and occasionally a sound similar to gasping for air is heard. We checked on Reaper, however no source of harm seemed to be done to them, and so we continued the journey. They couldn’t leave the truck by themselves, so I had to restrain them and lead them to the base myself.’

‘The haze is a side effect of recent tests that the scientists have run, nothing to be concerned about. It’s been tested and proven to wear off quickly.’—Captain John Price

Ghost’s eyes widen over the last three entries, all of which have only lasted over the event of one month. He hadn’t known that you were going through this, at least he hadn’t read these files before— not that he hadn’t seen them sitting on the edge of his desk for weeks. What he didn’t understand is how the scientists' altercations with you had led to such drastic changes. Sure, he had noticed the significant upgrade in your abilities around that time, but this was insane, you were barely awake when you left battle, and he hadn’t even known this entire time. You were only just functioning, and he had treated you as if you were just some kind of machine that could turn on and off at will. His hands flick over the following reports, landing on the most recent one accompanied by pictures.

’Reaper is dead silent when entering and leaving the vehicle now. They can hold themself up to some degree but still don't seem to be ‘mentally there’, almost like they’re on autopilot. The retaliation has returned, though it seems to be a physical and non-verbal thing— like they’re fighting against something and not the restraints itself. There are red marks on their hands from the handcuffs, despite them being relatively loose, and only there for the purpose of keeping them from grabbing at their hair again. No recurrences of vomiting or passing in a month—a good sign, I hope.’

Ghost had been on many missions with you, since you were better in certain situations than longer field deployments. There were other reasons of course, the main one being to test the use of your abilities in countless situations; as the first of your kind, you were bound to be tested at the every turn.

But he didn't know this.

He should’ve questioned why you were placed into a separate evac truck in the first place, not blindly giving into the excuse of you potentially ‘freaking out’. No, he had all the materials available to him; he shouldn’t have been such an idiot and just opened his damn eyes, seen the facts in front of him and understood what he’s done. Ghost can’t imagine the days you’ve come out of a mission feeling like the world would topple over just for him to tell you to shove a sock in it and push you into something else. Again and again, another training session, again, another mission, again, another killing spree—-again you’d suffer in the back of that pitch black truck, not even sane enough at the moment to guess if you’d be lucky this time and get out with a mere scratch.

For once in his life, he leaves you hanging at your usual time in the gym, stuck in his room hunched over his desk as he mourns all the changes he could’ve made— the littlest of things he could’ve done. This was more than losing an important asset, he knew that, and that’s what scared him the most; this was losing someone in their very self, a humanity so far gone they become nothing but a mindless tool for the higher ups to puppeteer. It’s such a cruel fate, it almost has him going back to memories that were supposed to be buried after years of experience.

When he first saw you, all he could think about was how young you looked, how his eyes were like that one day until they were snuffed out. He scoffed at the thought before, but that’s the only thing you had left, the naivety in your appearance, and even that was used as a tool to increase your performance. Built to deceive and for people to undermine you, only for you to deal the final blow before they realise the grave mistake they had made. He had unintentionally fallen for that too, and now he was experiencing that exact blow right now, striking through his heart.

—— ——

The information is shared with the rest of the team, and you're pulled out of missions for the time being, no notice given to you other than being told to take the opportunity to 'rest and recuperate’. You didn't have a choice, really; there was no way Soap and Gaz would let you do more than some simple exercises a day nor would they let you skip a meal either. They were good at taking care of you, similar in a way a big brother had that protective instinct— he’s been tempted one or two times to tell them off for spoiling you sometimes. But things were getting better, much better; even when Gaz and Soap got sent on deployments, you showed no resentment towards Ghost taking you to the mess hall to eat with him and Price— not that he spoke much either way and not that you showed much emotion on the regular anyway.

In fact, right now he was supposed to be fetching you. Ghost places the weight down and lets out a small huff, shaking out the weight of guilt that’s settled on his chest each time he has a second to think. Things are fine now— he made the right choice, he fixed it. That’s right, everything would be back to normal soon enough, especially with the higher ups now off your back too. After rinsing off his sweat before he makes you pull that disgusted face Soap accidentally caused before, he zips up his jacket and heads through the corridors towards your room. “Oi, Reaper. Time for dinner, y’know the drill.” He raps his knuckles against the door, only to find it unlocked again with the door swinging open as he turns the handle. There’s no sign of any unsavoury presents this time, something he definitely got worried about for a second, but your pills have been left open again and the room is strangely.. Disorientated.

It’s weird, since it’s not trashed nor is it messy like some soldiers around this base. Books have been toppled onto the floor, clothes spilling out your closet onto the hardwood floor and even your bedsheets have been removed from your bed, spread around like they’re dominating the room. That wasn’t the odd thing though, no, it was the fact it looked like it had been ‘placed’ to be that way. Sure the uniform had been thrown out, but there wasn't a single wrinkle in the fabric, or the books looked like they had just been dropped in trail, barely having been pushed off. He had to roll his eyes really—is this what a super soldier tantrum really looked like? You were so perfect that you couldn’t even trash a room the right way, it was almost cute. At least, that’s what the others would say.

Ghost decides to check the track next, but it’s void of any presence of you, and even when he checks your other usual exercise spots you’re not there either. He even peeks into the mess hall, considering you might’ve gone there first, but it’s to no avail— there’s no sign of you anywhere. He swallows sharply, trying to keep his head from steering to any other crazy possibilities which didn't actually seem too farfetched anymore. That’s a lie, it won’t happen again. He fixed everything. Of course— that’s why he knows exactly where you are right now, and no, he’s not worried about your safety either.

He walks through the muddy forest floor, having only rained a day prior, but it makes your footsteps all the more prominent. Eventually he reaches their end, his hand nudging forward the wooden door just a smidgen to let his eyes peek through. It should’ve been obvious really—where you’d be right now. After all, it was the last day before the fox would be taken someplace safer. It was supposed to be earlier, but some complications arose, and hey, you looked a lot happier anyway.

You nearly always come by, sit before the fox and just watch it move around you, intrigue in your eyes. He sometimes watches, wondering if you’ll say anything to it, but you catch him staring anyway. Either way, you always looked content, sitting there with your hands in your lap as you just sat still and observed, eyes dropped and relaxed, tension lost in your shoulders and head likely empty from the usual thoughts he hopes.

That’d be the same today, except probably a little sadder if you had that emotion— the others told him you had cried, but he doubts that it was actually because you were sad but rather a byproduct of pain. He’d have to take you for dinner eventually, and hey maybe you’d even talk to Price properly, since he said you’ve been a lot quieter since Ghost returned. But then again—when did you ever speak much? When were you allowed to speak that much?

He pushes the door open, seeing you standing before the fox, who sits upon a rickety table, looking back at you. “Oi, time to eat. You can see him tomorrow mornin” He scoffs, rolling his eyes up at you when you stay motionless, not reacting to him in the slightest. “I’ll tell Price to come ‘ere and help me drag you back y’know.” His voice is gruff and echoes across each wall of the cabin, but it’s no use, you’re still as a mannequin.

But your palms are clenched. Your eyes are blank and hazed, and he only realises now that the fox plush he knows you own is torn on the floor between you and the actual fox, who can only whimper at you. Your nails dig into your palms, red marks on your arms from nettle stings and harsh shrubbery on the path up to this cabin—easily avoidable if you paid much attention on the walk-up, though not if you were in some kind of rush. Strangest of all is how your eyes are bloodshot red, not even blinking as you stare forward, like you're stuck in your own time and space. “Look, I know you’re upset but–”

—----------------

The floor is crumbling beneath you, cracks that sprouted a week ago spreading across the crappy wooden planks down to the hardened stone that makes up the ground which holds you upright. Your feet are unstable, teetering on the edge as it splinters beneath; you’re struggling to manage even more than usual, shifting the weight back and forth in a way that makes you all the more dizzy. That’s not important though, no, it’s the walls disintegrating all around, everything you know and love dissipating with it. The fox stares back at you, black eyes so glassy they may as well be the beads of a bracelet you’d wear if you were like any other person your age; it knows it’s leaving you too– the both of you have been hanging on this edge for the past week. You could handle any mission, any bullet, any punch thrown your way and that was the problem in itself. You couldn’t handle anything else. It was a ruse, a whispered lie, one they meticulously planned behind closed doors on those same meeting tables used to control your entire life.

Change–that’s what you said you wanted, even if you had to grapple at the chains on your neck and leave rope burns on your palms. You got exactly what you wanted.

Ghost had returned, reclaimed the control over you that had always belonged to him, and he pushed you into mission after mission. Retaliation, that was your choice. So when he used the command words on you that day, you fought and screamed and cried– except it only seemed to work in your head. As soon as he spoke, you lost any little control you held, but still. You persevered. Concentration, that was all– you just had to focus. It was your body, not Ghost’s, nor this damn military’s.

Though you should’ve known that the one who creates the puppet controls it, and you wish you had realised that sooner. Longer and longer the missions dragged on, each and every time you fought desperately: refusing to sleep in the evenings, so your body would be weaker in the mornings, denying food, so your fingers could barely keep when they clutched their weapons. Yet still, your body was stronger than your mind, continuing to perform each task it was ordered to complete in a flawless manner and when finally, it was returned to you, you were ruined. You slumped immediately after the battle, the rubble scraping against your throbbing shins as two soldiers dragged you into the evac truck. Drowned in shadows, you had failed to realise that you wouldn’t survive this ride because of your pathetic efforts. Your mind was too exhausted to fight off the visions that always haunted you, too clouded with the disappointment of failure for the voices to stay away this time.

You don't remember when you exited that truck, only that you woke up on the floor of your room, your face raw with scratches and your head sore, hair strands on the floor beneath you.

Still, again and again, the cycle repeated. Missions and retaliation-your mental state worsening by the day. Until it all stopped. An order was given, something was discovered, bad or good you weren't sure. “Rest and Recuperation”. They all dared to smile in your face as they announced it to you, a grin almost devilish the way your rotted brain decided. It had to be some kind of sick joke; who gives a super soldier ‘Rest and Recuperation’ if it was not the order itself?

‘You know which one.’ The voices whispered as you tossed and turned each night. Of course, it could only be one.

The one that would send you back to the labs to be slit open and reattached by scientists with morality worse than Frankenstein’s. Again.

Weakness, disappointment, and regret was all you could manage to cycle between as you were forced into the shameful lifestyle. No longer revered by your peers, you were now merely pitied, like some kind of broken hope.

Every day dragged on harsher than the last, worse than any needle or scalpel that had attacked you daily for years– no this was a new type of pain. You were powerless in your own body, your mind so run down that you couldn’t defy even the simplest things, like a mindless puppet as you agreed to whatever Soap and Gaz had in mind for your ‘Rest and Recuperation’. That was only surface level; none of them knew about the nightmares, the visions you saw each night that had you hurling into the bin in your room, nor the voices that bounced from each ear until you crumbled to the floor in distress. Each and every time you woke up it would repeat, not a second of relief nor silence in your own head. The bile lingered on your tongue, the skin on your face has been carved into by your own destructive hands and the haze grew stronger with each passing minute. You were in a losing battle against yourself– and you couldn't even fight against it because you knew all it’d do for you is get you back onto that operating table again.

Now you are here, the last thing tethering you to this Earth trying to leave you behind and there’s nothing you can do, barely able to feel your own fingertips. You can't step out of line, the higher ups, Ghost, your body won't let you.

—-------

You're grasping at your throat as the breaths come out ragged and Ghost almost stumbles forward if not for him quickly catching his footing. “What’s wrong? Can't you breathe?” You ignore him, nails digging so deep they draw blood out of your barely healing wounds that are always hidden by the tight buttons of uniform. His eyes narrow in confusion as he watches you struggle, swaying all the same. You’re acting up again–why are you always like this? Just like when you saw him in the infirmary.

“Answer me.” He demands, his hand reaching forward, but you push yourself away with so much force that you fall directly onto the sharp edge of the crappy workbench. The wood pierces into your skin, making it throb with pain, but it only serves for your vision to grow more hazed, your fingers losing less and less control as the seconds pass.

“Get off of me!” Your voice is scratchy as it vibrates against your throat, pain tingling down to your stomach and every cell that connects. Still, no action is aimed at him, only returning to yourself as you fail to connect with your own damn body— feeling like nothing but a ghost passing through. He doesn't notice though, consumed by a concern that swells into anger at the sight of you worsening. He’s fought so hard to give you everything you needed to improve so why won't you just take it?

“I told you, you just need to rest–”

“What kind of super soldier takes a break?!” You shout, more of a rhetorical question and something to just force the air out of your lungs. “You– you told me that when you met me.” Your hands slip into your hair, nails scratching harshly against your scalp. “I don't understand– I don't understand! All you do is say all of this ‘rest and recuperate' and–”

“Because that’s what you need, if you just sat down for a moment you’d understand-” He argues back, something in him panging when you stammer over your words, but he’s more annoyed at the fact you’ve repeated his own wrongs back to him. He knows he said things only a monster would say to someone–he knows what he did to you.

“You’re lying! All of you are always lying! Super soldiers don’t bloody rest! I’m supposed to fight!” Somehow your voice has actually got louder than his ever has, enough to make the fox whine and scramble away, dashing out of the door and only making the last of your will wane smaller. “You just want to send me back isn't it? That’s why you keep saying those stupid words, and all of this treatment. I’m not useful anymore, am I?”

Quiet. Silence rings out after your pained cries echo through the room, Ghost’s wide and once emotionless eyes staring at you with regret. This was his fault, not yours. You had been eating yourself alive, literally, because of his own harsh manner and need to validate his actions. Did he ever really think about your perspective? Had he ever really considered what you would want? No, this entire time he’s only looked at you with pity, when that’s the complete opposite of what you need. You knew you were good on missions, you knew that you were an excellent fighter. All you’ve needed this entire damn time is reassurance, confirmation that they won't let you be sent back to be tortured again. He should’ve known by the needle pricks on your arms, the nightmares the others told him about hell even the way you flinched every time a nurse was brought near you. The signs had screamed at him, even when you asked him if you had done a good job back when he first met you. But he was stubborn, he decided he wouldn't give in because you were a ‘monster’, someone synthetically produced. He thought that he decided to determine your worth.

Ghost hates to admit it, but it’s painfully obvious to him even now that he’s messed everything up.

You slide down, unable to hold yourself up much longer, and he lunges forward to catch you, sliding onto his knees as he grabs you firmly. Blood trickles from the wooden corner, leaking forward from a sharp scrape on your lower back as you slump forward, hands still trying to dig into your neck before he pushes them firmly down and instead wraps them around him, pressing your nails into the expanse of his back.

“Not once have you ever failed me Reaper, and yet…again and again all I've done is fail you.”

His own arms tighten like a vice around you, his head buried into his neck as he smells the coppery crimson staining your skin.

“I’m.. so sorry.”

———————-

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deebris · 1 year ago

Text

The Misteryous Visitor 4

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Bruce finally confronts Damian, and hates how tonight's events seemed to turn out just to remind him what a terrible father he is. He felt like he didn't deserve you, and he wanted at all costs to avenge the injustice Talia committed with you two.

Warnings: Family discussion; maternal overprotection; Bruce has psychiatric problems and is mentally unstable, besides being very angry; mentions depression, post-traumatic stress and the like.

Word count: 3.7k

Note: I apologize for taking so long to post the fourth part. I was looking for inspiration to continue in other fandoms. Now I feel engaged again to continue posting

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"She is not a secret." Damian tried to sound firm, looking Bruce in the eyes to avoid suspicion. But no matter what he did or how long he tried to maintain the lie, his father had already decided what to think about this enigmatic and strange situation.

"Hmm..." He let out a disheartened murmur, and the boy never thought something like this would happen, but he frowned with worry as he saw Bruce pour another drink. It wasn't like his father to act this way.

When Damian first met him in person at ten years old, he could have sworn Bruce and Talia were somewhat enjoying themselves that day, even with the barbs hidden in some exchanged sentences. Or maybe he was mistaken; after all, it had been so long. Perhaps he had preserved a false memory.

"How much have you drunk?" The boy asked with a disdainful voice, trying to hide that he was truly concerned.

"Why have you never talked about her? She is your sister, Damian." Bruce ignored the question but in a kind of silent acknowledgment, he rested the glass on the side table, preventing himself from getting drunk.

"Why are you acting like this? As if it's a big deal." He made a face of confusion. "Why do you care so much about this? She isn't even your problem. I won't stay here being interrogated because of her." Damian got up, taking hurried steps to the front door. He was running away, and he knew it.

"Where are you going?" Bruce stood to follow him, finally showing some kind of emotion beyond stoicism since they had been alone in the room.

"I'm going to wait for my mother outside. And when she appears, I'll come back to fetch Y/n. Then you won't have to see her anymore, ever again." Damian said, and although Bruce didn't know if in the last part his son was referring to you or Talia, he didn't dare ask for the detail.

"Why didn't you ask any of us for help when you found out she was missing? If she is someone so close to you, you could have talked to us." Bruce was speaking in that strange way again, like when he found out Jason was the Red Hood. He was hurt, and as if a whistle had snapped in his mind, Damian understood that his father was like this because of him. It wasn't Talia or how she always ended up causing problems; it was him. "You hid from me that you were still talking to your mother."

"And did I need to inform you that I talk to my mother?" The boy tried to maintain a haughty tone, repressing the urge to shout so that Bruce wouldn't see his conflicting feelings.

The truth is that it hurt to lie like this. It hurt even more to lie to you. Damian didn't show or openly say what he felt; his mother once told him that was weakness, but honestly, now he was disgusted with himself.

"You didn't need to inform me, but you made an effort to hide it!" Bruce didn't shout. His voice was grave, authoritative, and deep down had a tone of betrayal that had twice the impact of a shout. He seemed to reflect on something, and patiently Damian awaited a lamentable outburst, but just as he himself would do, Bruce was avoiding becoming emotional.

"I don't understand why, but you came to live with me and seemed to exclude her from your life because of us. She is your sister and didn't even know I am your father! You sent letters, which I'm sure you hid not just from me but from her too. And she ended up here in the middle of the night like a fugitive. Will you tell me again that all this has no reason?"

"Even if there were a reason, it wouldn't be your business." The young man replied harshly, and once again: it was a lie. It was his business. Seeing Bruce's angry scowl turn into a defeated look made one of his fingers tremble. Realizing only after saying something that what he did was wrong made a panic arise in his chest.

Bruce sat back in the armchair, giving up on the discussion once and for all. He felt so stupid for thinking he was succeeding in freeing his son from the League of Assassins' clutches, that he was doing a good job showing him he didn't need the blind loyalty Talia taught him to have. He feared that Damian would succumb to a villain's life, exactly as Ra's al Ghul wanted Bruce to be: cruel and ruthless.

Talia stirred bad reactions in him, and his sense of justice hammered in his head. How could he simply hand you back into her hands after you came here tonight? That woman was a bad influence on anyone, and it didn't matter if you were her daughter; you were a child. And wasn't that what he did with all his children? Took them from the streets and bad parents?

He wanted to vomit at the idea of allowing you to continue being raised by someone like her, among those people, but if he couldn't even change Damian, what could he do for you? Bruce couldn't force you to stay, but at the same time, he grappled with the internal conflict of corroborating that one day you would become like they. He is Batman, his duty is to protect. He should protect you too.

Bruce rubbed his eyes, feeling an intense headache and he day was already dawning again"Your mother isn't coming, Damian." He asserted, noticing that a long time had passed since they started waiting, getting up to return to his own room.

"You said we had a lot to talk about." Suddenly, the boy felt the need to prolong the conversation, if this could even be considered a conversation. It was as if they would never speak again if he allowed his father to leave.

"We don't anymore." Was cold, and that made the boy swallow hard. Bruce knew he would regret being so harsh, but at that moment, he wasn't thinking straight. The rational part of his brain was being dominated by his impulsive side.

Bruce opened his bedroom door with unusual violence. Lately, these episodes of anger were frequent, perhaps due to interrupted sleep; this damned insomnia was worse than in the last months. Alfred had already suggested he see a psychiatrist, but Bruce was sure he would leave there with a worse diagnosis than expected, so he avoided it as much as possible.

The butler once dared to mention that he might have some type of post-traumatic stress, but Bruce was stubborn and that led to an argument. He was a controlled man, but that day he shouted. The reaction was not unexpected, considering the tension from the chaos Scarecrow was causing in the city at the time, but Alfred was observant and knew the problems went beyond that.

The death of his parents was a delicate subject, and combined with the pressure of being Batman, Alfred saw Bruce become more obsessive, anxious, and even depressed over the years. Fortunately, the emergence of Dick was a break in the sad loneliness for him. And then came Jason, Tim, Damian, and things improved for a while, but the relapses still existed.

Bruce sighed as he admired his bed, wishing he could sleep again, but knowing he wouldn't be able to without taking another dose of pills, which certainly wasn't an option. Then he noticed your coat there. The garment had been left in his room, carefully placed on the arm of the room's couch.

He walked over and picked up the coat, rubbing the soft fabric with melancholy and noting how well-kept the garment was. It would probably be a good idea to return it to you; Would also be an opportunity to check if you were well accommodated.

Cautiously, he walked to the guest wing. Bruce thought he would need to check the rooms one by one to discover where Alfred had placed you, but a beam of light leaking from one of the doors indicated which one. He hesitated to turn the knob; it felt too intrusive. So, he knocked: three soft taps on the wood. He waited a few seconds, but you didn't come to open it, and he gave in to the act of opening it himself.

In slow movements, he leaned to look inside the room, without entering yet and checking if everything was okay. He saw your figure well wrapped in the covers, eyes closed and breathing in a consistent rhythm. You were sleeping, and the light he saw was the bedside lamp.

He entered, doing everything to control his steps, going to a chair to place the coat there. He felt the need to be gentle with the garment for some reason, handling the coat with such care, as if holding you in his hands.

He was envious of how pleasant your sleep seemed, wishing he could sleep like that too. He thought of turning off the lamp, but regretted it when he saw that his act interrupted your sleep. As soon as everything went dark, he heard the rustle of the covers, signaling that you had woken up. You stayed still for a while, staring at the shadow in front of you, knowing someone was there but too embarrassed to ask who it was, until the light was turned back on and you saw Mr. Wayne.

"Sorry, I think I woke you," he said softly, genuinely feeling guilty. "I brought your coat. I left it to dry better; it's still a bit wet," he continued, gesturing towards the chair.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you replied groggily due to the minutes you spent sleeping. Thinking he would leave, you clasped your hands as if praying and placed them under your cheek on the pillow. A common but funny position.

"Call me just Bruce," he sat on the edge of the bed, looking at your face. He had a question stuck in his throat and thought it would be a good idea to start a conversation. "Are you okay?"

"I am. Thank you for letting me sleep at your house." you answered serenely, and he nodded in agreement. "And you?" You asked back. Bruce blinked, surprised by your question, realizing that your eyes were shining. The truth is he couldn't say how he felt, so he said what anyone would say:

"Yes, I'm okay," he said, more focused on your face, knowing you might be uncomfortable with that but wanting to see you better.

“Can I ask you something?” He seemed anxious, and you waited expectantly in silence, which he took as a yes. “Why did your mother separate you two like that? Why didn’t she tell you anything?”

You stared at a random spot on the mattress, feeling a pang in your chest at the memory. “She did, in a way. Mom doesn’t like you very much, Mr. Wayne. I think that’s why,” you said, looking back at him, seeing him raise his eyebrows in amusement; you corrected yourself with a gasp: “Bruce.”

“Did she speak badly of me to you?” Bruce was curious like a silly child, even though a serious scowl was etched on his face.

“Not exactly about you. Mom and Grandpa hate Batman.” By this point, you had already figured it out. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots between your family and Robin with him after a few minutes of reflection. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Bruce let out a dry laugh, caught off guard. “Yes, it’s me,” he confirmed, and you shifted to sit more upright on the bed, excited.

“Is it true that you killed the Joker?” Your question made Bruce’s scowl turn puzzled. So that was the kind of rumor circulating.

“No, I didn’t kill him. He just... disappeared one day,” the same day Bruce thought he had lost Jason, and although deep down he wanted very much to have done it, he didn’t find it appropriate to admit that to you.

“I’m confused,” your voice became more relaxed, he thought it was due to the casual tone the conversation was taking. “If Damian is Robin now, what happened to the other one? He didn’t die, did he?” You asked the last question in a whisper, fearing it was true.

Bruce laughed at this. He had never thought about how people assumed Robin was a single person all these years. “No, he’s fine. You’d be surprised if I told you five different people have been Robin.”

Your eyes widened, and suddenly you remembered a detail: “There was a girl, wasn’t there? I remember seeing some photos in an old newspaper.”

Bruce was perplexed at how much you seemed to know about him, but in a good way. “Yes, there was a girl. She’s Batgirl now,” when he said that, your smile widened even more. It seemed like you were a secret fan, he would say, since in your own words: "Talia hates him" and Bruce knows she would hardly allow you to have such admiration.

But your smile faded, and that worried him for a moment until you spoke: “I didn’t know that man was Hugo Strange,” you looked at him with regret. “If I had known, I would have caught him for you.”

“Would you?” He asked, doubting you really could.

“Well... I would have tried,” you defended yourself, shrugging your shoulders.

“Very brave. But it’s good you didn’t do anything,” he said playfully, stopping to think for a moment. “Y/n, what did he tell you?”

He saw you wrinkle your nose in a grimace before answering. “I thought we met by chance. I was walking and saw a man smoking a cigarette on a corner. I was going to walk past, but then he asked if I needed help.”

“Which corner?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t far from home. I was trying to figure out the street on a map I found in the municipal library’s phone book,” you sighed, frustrated at not being able to give the information. “I ignored him, but he followed me. I got scared and started running, but he said he was a cop, so I trusted him.”

“Did he have a police car nearby?”

“He said he was undercover. But I don’t know what that means; I thought it was the same as being off duty.”

“It could mean that too.” Bruce saw your guilty expression, your lip trembling and your hands nervous.

“You don’t need to feel bad for believing him,” his larger hand enveloped both of yours like they were nothing. Were warm, and it was comforting. “I know Damian said horrible things, but he speaks in the heat of the moment.”

“It was not in the heat of the moment... He never just speaks,” your voice dropped so low it was almost inaudible. Your eyes burned, but there were no tears. Crying for your brother would be the last thing you would do again. “What was in the box?”

“What box?” He was confused by your sudden change of subject.

“Didn’t Dick give it to you?” You asked, feeling his hand move away from yours and touch his left pocket. What Dick had given him was a card and not a box. Maybe he had taken what was inside. “I guess he forgot.”

“No. He didn’t forget,” he quickly responded, snapping out of a stupor. A curiosity grew in his chest, a need to know what was in that card.

Bruce fumbled in the pocket where the card still was and pulled it out. He quickly examined the paper, turning it over to check the back for anything. For a long time, his voice was muffled, and Bruce could only hear a buzzing in his ear. It was impossible for those words to have any real meaning. His breathing became loud and shaky, as if he were in the cold, and you were startled to see his eyes blinking frantically.

“Are you okay?” You moved to approach him, seeing moisture suddenly form on his forehead. It was cold sweat.

“How is this possible?” You heard him ask himself, bringing his fingertips to his eyes, rubbing them to make sure he was really seeing. That card had left him unsettled, you realized, and hesitantly, you tried to take it from his hands to remove it from him, but his grip tightened at the feel of your fingers, so tight that it completely crumpled the paper. “Sorry. It’s nothing,” he stammered, seeing that the abrupt movement had scared you.

He got up from the bed, completely oblivious to you or anything else now. He staggered before reaching the door, very disturbed and seeming out of it. Maybe it was you who did something wrong and didn’t realize it?

He didn’t seem fit to walk, so you quickly removed the covers from your legs and went to him, supporting and guiding him to the chair where he had left his coat. He was very heavy, but he was so disoriented that he went limp. He seemed so shaken that he didn’t protest and simply sat there. You stood in front of him for a few seconds, not knowing what else to do to help him.

“Shouldn’t I call someone?” You asked.

“Dick,” he mumbled without looking at you, and that worried. It seemed intentional, as if it was too difficult to face you.

“Where do I find him?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of something, but Damian’s voice on the other side of the door caught his attention:

“Y/n, open the door.” You stood still, recognizing your brother’s voice, until he continued: “Mom is here. She’s going to take you home,” he said as a warning, opening the door after a moment without even asking. “Come on. Why are you standing there like a statue?”

He was perplexed when you didn’t respond, and then he noticed his father sitting beside you in terror.

“Dad?” He approached, kneeling to assess the severity. He was having another episode. Lately, Bruce had only been getting worse every day and still refused to ask for help.

“What happened?” Your brother turned to you, but your face already showed that you had no idea.

Damian tried to place his hand on his shoulder, but Bruce pushed it away aggressively. Your father would never act like this just because of the argument they had before, much less give him a venomous look as he did now, but beneath it all, there was hurt. He had found out about you, somehow.

He should have felt bad about how the news seemed to have been revealed, but he was relieved not to have to lie anymore. At the same time, he regretted choosing to cater to his mother’s whims once again, deceiving his father this way. But the omission had grown so much over the years he spent in the mansion and, after so long, it didn’t matter when he told him, the damage was already done.

Bruce wasn’t in a perfect mental state. He wouldn’t react like this normally, and knowing that, the man felt pathetic in front of the two of you.

“He asked for Dick,” you said to Damian, giving him space to breathe by stepping back.

“Forget Dick,” Bruce replied firmly, surprising. In an instant, he had a fit, and as quickly as he entered this state, he left it. Now, he seemed furious. “Where is she?”

This was a ploy by Talia and Strange. They were planning this together to hit him, a way to weaken him. It could only be that. It was too much of a coincidence Strange had found you just that night; nothing made sense. When had he and Talia gotten involved again after that day that led to Damian? He couldn’t remember and wasn’t good at recalling such old things. Maybe that wasn't even true. It was as if there was a big blank page in his mind.

“Get out,” Talia’s silhouette appeared at the door where she was leaning. Like most times when referring to the children, her voice was imposing, leaving no room for contestation. “Both of you.”

“You were supposed to wait downstairs,” your brother tried to contradict her. Despite everything he did for your mother, unlike you, he was the only one who had the courage to face her.

Her frown deepened at Damian’s defiance, but her stern expression softened at your trembling voice: ‘Mom...’ She sighed and opened her arms to you, casting a challenging look at Bruce, who returned it with an even harsher one, as she wrapped your smaller body than hers in a tight hug.

She knelt to your level, her hands gently brushing your cheeks and hair, noting how frizzy and messy it was. ‘Look at you. Your hair is all disheveled.’ She ran a finger down to your lip, grimacing at the cut there.

‘I’m sorry.’ Although less anxious now that you knew she wasn’t angry, you still regretted disobeying her.

‘My sweet girl,’ she said in a soft, genuinely affectionate voice. She kissed your cheek, casting that same malicious glance at Bruce again, as if provoking him. He felt a wave of nausea seeing her use you as a pawn just to taunt him. ‘Let the adults talk,’ she ordered, standing up and regaining her authoritative tone.

‘I’m staying,’ Damian protested. Leaving his father alone with her in his vulnerable state was a mistake.

‘Go and stay with your sister, Damian,’ Bruce was as harsh as Talia, but unlike her, he was seething with anger.

The boy closed his eyes in frustration but gave in, knowing it was useless to argue. He glanced at you, who had already walked out of the room and into the hallway. Damian was about to follow, but his father’s voice stopped him again:

‘She’s not leaving the house, Damian,’ his firm tone carried the weight of undeniable authority, with bitterness seeping through. The coldness in his voice left no room for warmth; it was distant. Bruce had finally gotten the push he needed. The possibility of you being his daughter gave him a sense of entitlement, and it made Talia’s arrogant expression falter for a moment; she looked apprehensive. ‘Do you understand?’ It was a question directed at both his son and Talia.

‘Yes,’ the young man replied simply, avoiding eye contact with his mother as he left. Damian paused in front of the door before fully departing, and his mother slammed it shut in his face.

He resisted the urge to eavesdrop and turned to look for you in the hallway, but you had vanished.

‘I deserve this,’ he muttered impatiently. You were avoiding him, and Damian couldn’t help but feel irritated at how childish that was. But he was one of the villains here; he was the one who lied, insulted, and rejected you. Realizing this filled him with shame, and unlike the first time, he repeated the words, this time with a tone of regret: ‘Yes, I deserve this.’"

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