#THE PAST LIKE FIVE RUNS HE'S TARGETED HER THE MOST

[todayisafridaynight]

through all the practice sawashiro fights ive done this morning ive decided he has a really weird grudge against eri for whatever reason

[autismserenity]

know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

[snows-2am-thoughts]

PM and ADA deal Theory

Hey guys, friendly reminder that Mori is likely still gonna ask for someone from the ADA to join the PM. It honestly hurts my soul to think that the ADA will lose someone this soon after all the shit in this arc went down but Mori isn’t one to care about that kind of stuff. 

SEASON FIVE SPOILERS

This is about 1.7k words so be warned

I know a lot of people are sold on the theory that it’ll probably be Tanizaki since Asagiri is big on foreshadowing and Tanizaki does have a homicidal side but I don’t think he’d let himself be put in a position to where his sister might be in danger or get a target on her back. He’d probably run away or kill the people in question before that happened. Not to mention since his run in with Akutagawa and the black lizard that he sort of hates most if not all of the mafia members. He was so ready to go to war with the PM to defend the agency and someone like this would be super hard to control, deal with the ADA or not.

Mori isn’t stupid, in fact he’s very calculating and very cunning and who are his biggest obsessions? He’s always so focused on Dazai and Yosano but both of these are off limits in his eyes. Yosano is off limits because of the terms of the deal with Fukuzawa and Dazai is off because Mori wants him to come back on his own. Now we have Kyouka, Atsushi, Kenji, Ranpo  and Kunikida left to choose from. 

Kunikida is off the table I think because he’s a child bombing away from just completely breaking. There is a part of me that believes Mori could pick Kunikida solely to break him and watch Fukuzawa and Dazai suffer but Mori is also the type of boss that doesn’t want to waste powerful allies if he doesn’t need to. I mean, he’s literally letting Tachihara choose his loyalties, he’ll probably still get punished severely but Mori isn’t one to just waste men unless it’s for good reason or worth the risks. Also Kunikida is Fukuzawa’s successor and something tells me that Mori doesn’t wanna deal with the strict moral types. 

Ranpo is definitely off the table. Fukuzawa would go batshit if Mori picked him. He just lost his childhood best friend. Do you think he’s gonna let Mori take his son next? No he will not. Also Ranpo would blatantly refuse to work with him. He’s smart enough to survive but Ranpo is disinterested in most things and Fukuzawa is really the only one who can make him do something. I don’t think Mori would want to deal with that either. 

Now we have Atsushi, Kenji and Kyouka. Mori usually chooses children to take under his wing because they’re easy to manipulate and easy to mold into his ideal subordinates. However Kyouka was already in the mafia once and Kouyou even used up her slight favor with Mori to let her leave the mafia with no consequences. I don’t think he’d want to deal with the hassle of internal conflict since Kouyou would be pissed if he took Kyouka away from the light that she enjoys so much. However much Kouyou wants to deny that she can’t help Kyouka anymore, she’s only human and she’s very much attached to the Kyouka who shares a similar past and ability. 

Kenji’s situation is kind of hard to determine. As stated, Mori does prefer to mold and manipulate children rather than adults but Kenji is kind of an oddity among humans. Not because of his ability but because of his personality. He’s very much a “you fuck around and find out” type of guy is willing to believe the best in people despite what they may do or have done. I don’t see many reasons why Mori wouldn’t choose him other than there are better options than Kenji. Sure Kenji is super powerful with a very useful gift but there are other members that would fit his goals better. 

Now Atsushi, he’s the biggest contender for the mafia recruit in my mind for a few reasons. Now we saw in the series that there were gonna be three main villains (The Guild, the Decay of Angels and the Order of the Clock Tower) and now we have finished out with two of them. This means that we’re possibly getting into the last major arc or two of the main plot of the story and there are still so many unanswered questions about Atsushi. 

Atsushi was deemed the envy of all ability users by Fyodor which was why Shibusawa originally held an interest in him. My question is why Fyodor was interested enough in Atsushi to know of him and what is their connection that Fyodor was even able to know of him. Fyodor is a genius but the orphanage headmaster said that he was a randomly dumped toddler and he lived most of his life in a cage in the orphanage. This in itself is fishy but I’ll get to that in a second. Moreover, Atsushi’s ability seems like it just resists almost all other abilities with the ability to cut through space itself and high regeneration abilities that causes most wounds to go away instantly when he’s in his full tiger form, most other abilities don’t affect him when he’s fully a tiger. 

Who is called the most powerful ability user? Natsume is, and he is able to turn into a cat. Seeing the pattern here? When did the headmaster die? When he was trying to find Atsushi and talk to him again. It’s very suspicious timing and I wholeheartedly believe that he was silenced by someone who didn’t want Atsushi knowing something important about himself. And then we have the seven billion bounty that was put on his head because of his ability. I don’t think that it’s a coincidence that Fitzgerald, who wanted to find The Book, wanted the tiger so badly that he was willing to spend that much. 

Asagiri is a beast at foreshadowing and he doesn’t do anything for kicks, all of his moves are deliberate. There is something about Atsushi that we’re missing and I’m willing to bet that Mori, who was going to accept the bounty, wants to know what it is as much as we do. Atsushi’s strange ability, the holes in his past from before the orphanage, Fyodor and Shibusawa’s interest in him, his correlation to Natsume, his probable connections to locating the book and the fact that Dazai was coincidentally there to save him when he came to Yokohama? Yeah, there’s definitely something up with Atsushi and the poor kid doesn’t even realize it. 

So yes, I do think that Mori either a) wants to figure out Atsushi’s situation in relation to everything or b) he knows something and wants to exploit it out of him. My second point is that Mori wants to break Dazai down and build him up as the perfect PM boss. Mori is someone who manipulates and breaks from the sidelines then watches conflict and in the aftermath, glues the pieces of what once was back together in a collage of his own liking. He knows he can’t beat Dazai but he can make him suffer. Who is Dazai the closest to at the agency? Atsushi. 

Dazai always says, “Atsushi and the others” while making sure Atsushi makes it out alive in any situation that he is in. Dazai has a big soft spot for Atsushi, the kid he took in as a mentor and the kid who wholeheartedly believes without any hesitation that he is a good person. He brought his own chair and made a home in Dazai’s heart without his permission. Atsushi knows he was in the PM, knows he’s the reason for a lot of Akutagwa’s issues, knows about some of the atrocities he’s committed but still smiles genuinely at him. Of course he doesn’t know everything but Atsushi is probably Dazai’s biggest apologist (It’s not Akutagawa but that's for a different post). Atsushi is the personification of Oda’s last wish to Dazai and Mori definitely knows that he can hurt Dazai by hurting his beloved mentee.

Mori is also very aware of the new generation of soukoku. If he’s able to wrangle and manage Akutagawa (he’s alive shut up) a little more because Atsushi is his partner then all the more reason to choose him. Atsushi covers all the bases, a mysterious power that could make his organization that much more untouchable, mess with Dazai, mess with the agency and manage his own employees better. It doesn’t help that Atsushi’s mental state isn’t the best. He’s not a kid but he’s traumatized and doesn’t have the same development other 18 year olds do, and that can be just as easily to manipulate as a child. It would be difficult because Atsushi genuinely believes in Dazai with everything he is but every person is able to break and Mori is especially good at that. 

I know that Fukuzawa’s ability is the reason we don’t see any more late night weretiger situations but Atsushi has so much more control now than when he did at the beginning of the series. It’s also very much possible that Mori is looking for a degree of uncontrollable tiger to help him with his goals. It’s also been confirmed that pain can manage his transformations as seen with his collar in BSD BEAST. 

It also doesn’t help that Asagiri tends to go through the trauma route to have his characters develop and experiencing the “darkside” of Yokohama just may be what he thinks Atsushi needs to develop more. 

So yeah, I think Mori may choose Atsushi as the new PM member but don’t quote me on this if I’m wrong, it’ll be embarrassing. They also may just throw this plotline out the window since both sides suffered this past arc, they may find it illogical to go through with the deal when the truce between the PM and ADA is still sensitive but I doubt it. Mori isn’t one to care for those things. 

[cemeteryspider]

House of Us

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: A prank turned into a memory of a sweet moment.

Trigger Warnings: Red Room *Mentioned Briefly*

Word Count: 723 Words

Today was like any boring day in the Avenger's Tower complex. Tony and Bruce were away tinkering in the lab attempting to analyze a lab-created sample of Vibranium.

Meanwhile, Peter was tucked away in a corner, immersed in perfecting a new prototype web shooter. Despite his best efforts, he had shockingly successful encounters with the electric web—shocking himself at least five times in the last hour.

Thor was away on Asgard with Loki, doing mysterious sibling activities, probably visiting their mother.

Natasha, on the other hand, was on a mission with Clint. Given Barton's status as the perennial target for y/n's pranks and general mischief, she already pulled off a daring escapade, swapping out Clint's training arrows with plunger arrows.

With most of the usual suspects occupied, only a few remained. Steve Rogers, currently training with Bucky Barnes in the gym, was one of them, and messing with their workout routine wasn't high on y/n's priority list.

However, a sudden recollection changed the game.

Then, a memory surfaced with Wanda—a playful tradition from the past.

Before they officially started dating a month ago, y/n used to, at least once a week, change the background of Wanda's phone to the most ridiculous pictures of their friends, and occasionally, even Wanda herself.

Reflecting on the last time she played this prank, just before their first date, with a goofy picture of Wanda making a silly face during a silly Christmas movie, a mischievous idea sparked.

Wanda was currently in the kitchen making some delicious Sokovian dish that her mother used to make on special occasions. What was the special occasion? Their one month anniversary of course.

So as stealthily as possible, I utilized my training from the Red Room to make my way over to Wanda's phone and snatched it from the counter. Ready to Airdrop the goofiest picture of Peter Parker to make Wanda's lock screen, I stopped dead in my tracks. The picture that was already there was the one of us before we started dating.

~~~

Wanda practically dragged me across New York to show me something. Apparently something so important we couldn't even stop at the Bakery to get their new line of Avenger's themed donuts.

Wanda's was said to taste like mixed berry and magic.

While at dinner we were talking about family traditions. In Sokovia they had a tree that was strung with lights and glittering paper snowflakes.

When I said that I don't have traditions, and every day was the same in the Red Room. Train, practice, eat, sleep. Again and again. She thought this was unacceptable.

Then we were running through the streets of New York.

"You will love it I promise! This is so much better than donuts" She swore up and down.

Then all of a sudden she covered my eyes with her soft perfect hands and told me to walk forward.

"Are you ready?"

I nodded and started to giggle. A sound I didn't even know I was capable of making. She removed her hands and I saw the most gorgeous Christmas tree I had ever seen.

It was so tall that the star on top of the tree looked like it could be in the sky. Rainbow lights strung all around it made it shine like nothing I'd ever seen, except for maybe Wanda's eyes.

Around me couples were taking photos with the tree as a backdrop and families wrangling kids. Somebody else getting down on one knee and the coos of single people around.

I turned to look at Wanda to exclaim how amazing this is, but she was just looking at me and smiling.

"You deserve the world y/n and I want to give it to you"

I buried my face in the fur of her jacket.

~~~

We asked some random stranger to take a couple pictures of us, and this is one of them. Wanda is laughing at a joke I made her face crinkled and my eyes were closed laughing at her reaction.

That was the moment I knew I had to ask her out, but I didn't work up the courage until a couple weeks later.

That probably was one of the best nights of my life, and I wasn't expecting it to be.

Well I guess I won't be changing her lock screen today.

[nocanonhere]

Happy Wyll's Week! Day 1/7

-Nice Trick (SFW): Inspired by in-game dialog of Wyll remembering Duke Stelmane. Him talking about his little boyish crush was so adorable, he’s just so cute! Coupled with a baseline desire for adoration, and you just know fancy tricks and smooth poetry were in his arsenal. He will get a smile out of you! (Centered around my Tav, Aiya. Elf-Dragon Sorceress)-

Even though it aches, Wyll likes to ruminate on his past.

Retrospect didn’t always bring pleasant memories. But he still spent time thinking about his life at home, despite how he was made to leave it.

His earliest memory is one of him tumbling behind his father; anywhere from three to five years old. Ulder had looked behind him briefly, smirking at the barefoot boy pitter-pattering behind him, before turning back around and greeting their usual courier walking toward their arched entryway.

He smirks to himself then, sorting supplies by his and Gale’s tents while the latter, Aiya, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart were out gathering resources.

He remembers when he first began sword training. It hadn’t been with Ulder, not that first day. It had been with Theya. She was a high ranked Fist, often at the Ravengard estate for conversations Ulder refused to have on base; someone Ulder considered a family friend. She was always kind with Wyll, despite being well aware of his very obvious and juvenile crush. But she always took the time to speak with him, recounting her latest excursions with the organization while omitting the details not polite for a child to hear.

And she had insisted on using wooden swords; never mind how he whined. He had been eager to go over slashing techniques, finally convincing her to go over those with him after he had surprisingly and successfully demonstrated proficiency with parrying. Ulder had not let Wyll handle weapons just yet, but Wyll had eyes. He had watched his father and other Fist members practice many of times on base. Baguettes were shorter, lighter, and probably not a proper substitute for swords, but his days of running off with two of them to practice had paid off when the time came.

She agreed to show him the most basic of slashing techniques, stepping him through the arch little by little. For what looked like a basic swinging move, there was certainly a lot to remember. His stance, his squat, his eyes. His face also, because being open and predictable in combat was a negative.

He felt excited after that session, raring to try with the real thing. But once again, Theya laughed and said no. But that had not stopped him.

That night, he had snuck outside to the shed armory and picked a sword. He remembers the lurch in his chest, knowing he was doing something forbidden, but not faltering.

He took to the dummy outside and began to go through the motions of what he learned that day, breathing labored breaths and smiling through it.

He wasn’t picturing the dummy as anything other than what it was; just a practice target. Rather, he was imagining impressing his father; showing him what he accomplished in a few hours. And he certainly liked the thought of impressing Theya just as much. With this, he attempted a flourishing move with the blade. He was going to flip the blade at the handle with his right hand, and catch it mid air with his left. He saw it done at a festival once. It couldn’t be that hard.

And as it goes, he failed to get a grip on the blade, fumbling it and inevitably slicing open his right palm in the flurry.

He cried out, stunned at the line of red that formed before blood seeped down his hand.

Needless to say, Ulder had not been pleased. He hadn’t chided him too bad, but he had let him know unsupervised training would not be tolerated; not until Wyll was older and more experienced.

“What is the rush, Wyll?” he asked, beginning to wrap the injured palm.

Ulder had set him on a study table in his bedroom when Wyll came walking in, voice shaking. He quickly grabbed medical supplies and began tending to the wound.

“I want to be good at it,” Wyll said, eyes trained to the floor instead of his father.

“And you will be,” Ulder assured, voice even and unperturbed. “But there is no need to rush. This was your first day.”

Wyll swallowed, finally looking up to meet his father’s eyes once his hand was tightly wrapped.

“I want you and Theya to see that I’m good at it.”

Ulder stared for a moment, before blinking slowly and smiling gently.

“We know you will be,” he answered, stepping back and gesturing for Wyll to hop down.

He walked Wyll back to his bedroom, which was down the hall and around the right corner, and stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed while Wyll climbed back under the covers.

“Sorry, father,” he finally offered, feeling scrutinized with the man looking down at him.

Ulder sighed. “You just need to be careful. You’re young. You have plenty of time.”

Back in the moment, Wyll was satisfied with how his supplies were stocked in a small trunk he used for his personal items. He smiled at the memory, turning his right palm over and noticing the thin, white line of the scar left over.

Newer scars along with calluses had layered the evidence of his desperation. But his father was right. As he got older, his dexterity improved. By thirteen, he was comfortable writing and holding weapons with both hands.

Ulder had even walked him through how to perform the move. Wyll had explained to him how he tried to recreate it based on what he saw. Ulder corrected him and let him know.

“No need to flip the sword multiple times,” he said, standing off to the side while Wyll held a wooden sword. “Flip it once. Have your left arm raised halfway at your hip so you can be ready. When you catch the handle with your left, then you may flip the blade by the handle as many times as you like before resuming your base stance.”

It took him a few tries, but he was able to do it. He had always been a quick study. And Ulder had smiled. Theya had smiled too when he felt extra confident with the move and showed her (still with a wooden sword).

He heard Karlach greeting the venturing group as they returned back at the edge of camp.

“Find anything worth a damn?” she asked.

Gale nodded. “A few magical items I may use for my current condition. But mostly, wares that will most likely be sold unless anyone here can make use of them.”

Lae’zel set the sack near the campfire and walked off. Looting didn’t exactly seem like her thing, and Wyll could see the visible annoyance start to roll off her now that she was no longer being used as a pack mule.

He looked at Aiya then, as she sat on a makeshift log bench while beginning to go through the bag.

“First things first,” she started, pulling out a jar and holding it above her head to catch the attention of the man a few feet away. “Halsin, this is for you.”

It was a jar of honey, well preserved. The older man walked forward and accepted it gladly.

“Many thanks, Aiya.”

She continued to rummage, but still responded. “Thank Gale. He found it in a basement pantry,” she mumbled. “Among other things.”

She pulled out a weapon then. A slim blade, golden handle on the end.

“Wyll,” she said, looking up. “Can you make any use of this?”

He walked forward and accepted the sword from her. She had stopped for a moment, looking up at him as he examined the find.

“Hm,” he began. Then he smirked. He knew a great way to test its balance.

He tossed it in the air; one flip, then swung his left hand as it fell back to chest level, managing to swing it three times in his hand before bringing it down to his side.

“Balanced,” he answered, lifting it back up and holding it at eye level to observe the quality of the metal. “Light. In good condition.”

He looked down at her. “I can certainly take it off your hands.”

She smiled at him gently. “Nice little trick,” she nodded, and Wyll recognized it was only partly sarcastic, yet it still made something in his chest bloom. “Glad it will work for you.”

“Thank you,” he answered gently.

“How many times did it take you hurting yourself to get that one down?” She asked. Wyll laughed.

“You know, I was just thinking about that earlier. The times I snuck off to father’s armory and practiced flips and fancy deflects on dummies and barrels of hay. I have plenty of scars to attest to that.”

She smirked at him. “And how many noble ladies have you done that in front of?”

He inhaled in disbelief and huffed out another laugh. “I see I’ve been had.”

“Exactly,” she said, then starting pulling more items out of the bag. Wyll watched her for a moment, then asked if she needed any help splitting and sorting items. She denied, but thanked him for the offer.

Dinner was the same sort of chaos it normally was, considering the type of group they were. And it was decided they’d all pick up and move tomorrow. The team today had efficiently searched the area for any supplies that could be worth anything, so it was time to move on.

As Wyll lay in his bedroll that night, he let his mind wander again.

“And you think this will impress the young ladies?” Ulder had asked, mirth in his voice.

Wyll smiled wide. “I know it will.”

[lifesupreme-if]

sorry if this is intrusive but what’s this crossover that keeps getting mentioned with your girlfriend? is it something you can talk about or it supposed to be private? sorry again if this is too much have a nice day

brigid and i screamed, high fived, and started jumping around in their room and yelling about this ask thank you so much

the crossover is between lost birds (@if-lostbirds), my favorite western dystopian post-apocalyptic-and-also-on-the-verge-of-the-apocalypse sci-fi game, and a life supreme! the cast of a life supreme remains in their original universe and positions while the lost birds cast crosses over into the world of cyberpunk 2077.

find brigid's take on it here

dylan remains a fixer but the merc who takes the place of The Merc and stands by her side most prominently is the gunslinger/eli sharpe, born the child of some arasaka executives and run away. they are Disgustingly in love and obsessed with each other because they both are characters with an insane sense of devotion and loyalty. sharpe would kill for her, has, would throw themself into certain death for her — and dylan, in all of her love for them, would pull them back from it: her greatest merc is also her greatest weakness.

(shoutout to the AU within an AU where the two of them stayed at arasaka and fall headfirst into the most toxic, loyal, blood-bound relationship that will kill them both)

stéphanie interacts most prominently with the ghost and the traitor/william rhys, both of which she's brought into her home without a second thought for stranger danger.

ghost is still an odd thing that doesn't talk and can throw a grown man over their head, but they look like a lost and hungry child and so stéph is keeping them and feeding them. they are polite and quiet and helpful, working in the kitchen with stéph and owning all of her heart.

william washed up on the shores of pacifica and though he's skittish, clumsy, and awkward, stéph's taken him in and thrown him to work front of house for the diner. when he wakes screaming in the middle of the night, she offers kindness, a listening ear, and a warm mug at her table. (they're only a year apart in age and naturally they are developing the biggest crushes on one another.)

dorothea is of the roving band of nomads that snuck the ghost into the city after picking them up from a desolate area of the NUSA.

[locked] is assigned the hunter as a corporate bodyguard. only one fleshy limb between the two of them, and both with reputations with teeth, they open their soft sides to each other. contractually speaking, she owns them. in practice, however, she's wrapped around their finger, happy to find a friend, and in love with them—they dig up old vids from the hunter's baseball playing past and watch them together.

while aspects of the crossover mimic the plot of A Life Supreme to get the ball rolling, the merc is not there to connect everyone together, and so it does not follow the same storyline. the ranger/swann and the archangel take on an antagonistic role that targets eli sharpe and features them amongst their grandest plans. dylan, for fear of the sway archangel has, has no choice but to send sharpe on the jobs given from them.

little tidbits under the cut because i will take ANY opportunity to talk about this crossover thank you so much!!!!!!

• dylan and sharpe both work on getting sober together.

• they also do things like stare at each other uncomfortably and kiss with tongue in public. the mox have been trying to find a way to kick them out of lizzie's for months.

• sharpe is widely known as dylan riley's attack dog: they are aware of this. they revel in this. they do scare off other mercs, sometimes.

• rhys watched vids on chivalry to learn how to treat stéphanie in a relationship, and also he is. a foot and a half taller than her. stéphanie is THRIVING.

• ghost, stéphanie, and rhys all sleep in the same bed together at night: rhys is too tall for the bed, stéph starfishes over him, and ghost curls up like a cat on top of them both.

• [locked] and the hunter look frightening in public and then go home and infodump about old movies together.

• the hunter cherishes the feeling of [locked]'s human hand against their skin. they hold it to their face in tender moments.

[manonblaqkbeak]

Scaling in the Moonlight

Hello everyone!!! Long time no see!!! It's been eleven months!!!!! since I last wrote anything. I hated the fact that I missed last years rowaelin month and was determined to write something for this years rowaelin month (and a special thank you to @goddess-aelin for her lovely note saying she missed my work <3)

And thanks to the lovely people that run rowaelin month!!! you are all amazing!!! @rowaelinscourt

Apologies in advance if my writing and grammar and characterisation is a little rusty, like I said, it's been eleven months since I last wrote anything and I'm slowly getting through my ToG re-read (which has really opened my eyes to how traumatised Aelin is as a person/character).

Words: 800+. CW: none, I don't think.

Day 18- Aelin and Rowan's hawk form.

It was two AM and Aelin was out, wondering the dark city streets of Orynth, looking for the right building.

Instead of using the castle's obstacle course like most sane people would, Aelin decided that she needed to do this the way she was trained too—by scaling the side of buildings, using every muscle in her body to pull herself up to reach the top of the building, to run across the rooftops to get closer to her target.

She needed the reminder that she could—and that she hadn't lost her edge.

Although, she was sure she had lost it. She did still train, from magic to weapons to hand-to-hand combat, she did whichever she was in the mood for with what free time she had, but as Queen and mother to five children, she had no need to scale buildings and jump from rooftop to rooftop.

So she had decided, as she ate her dinner with her family, she was going to relive her past life; if only for a couple of hours.

Aelin walked through one more street before she found a good starting point—a shoe store that she did frequent with Rowan and their children. It was two storeys tall and she knew that no one occupied the apartment above the shop so no one would see her.

Hopefully no one would hear her either.

Stretching before climbing, Aelin told herself that it would be fine. She had given birth to five children, all without pain relieving herbs, she could—would—scale this building with ease.

Finding her footing was easy enough, so Aelin started her trek—and thankfully didn't fall off, although she did slid time a few times and had to grit her teeth to stop her cursing from echoing around town.

The burning in her muscles took her back to how she used to be, how she used to be able to demand any contract and fat coin purse she desired.

She didn't miss that life, not at all, but it was part of who she was and she was not ashamed of it.

Taking one last gulping breath, Aelin hoisted herself over the roofs ledge and let the accomplishment rush through her.

So determined she was in proving herself that she could still do this, she hadn't been aware that she had a follower.

A follower that now clicked his beak at her.

Aelin's head snapped upwards, taking in her mate's large hawk-form as he perched on the chimney.

“You were asleep when I left,” was all Aelin could think of to say.

Rowan clicked his beak again, as if to say And now I'm awake.

“Clearly,” Aelin said, “how'd I go from your end?”

She waited for him to shift back but he didn't. He wasn't mad at her, she knew that much, but she didn't want anyone to see her talking to her mate like this—it felt too intimate to be like this in public, but after two decades together, Aelin could converse with Rowan in his hawk form as easily as she could talk to him in his Fae form.

Rowan didn't say anything but flew to the building next to her. He clicked his beak. You can climb well enough, let's see how you can jump.

Aelin moved to the ledge, looking down to the ground, if she didn't make it, she wouldn't die, but she'd probably be bruised all over.

She looked at Rowan, who was waiting patiently. “Will you nurse me back to health if I fall?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at her husband, who rolled his eyes.

“That better be a yes,” she said and moved back to take a running jump.

Gods, if she fell, she'd never get over the embarrassment.

Aelin ran and jumped—and just made it. She hit her chin hard enough that when she made it over the ledge of the building, she laid down and stared at the open night sky.

A flash of light brighter than the moon came and went, and then there was Rowan, taking her in.

“Fireheart,” he said, his voice deep and concerned. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” Aelin said, her chin sore but she would live. She eyed her mate up and down, however, and said, “But I would still appreciate being nursed back to health—especially if you take your shirt off.”

Rowan rolled his eyes again, but obliged her, his shirt coming off in one easy movement that had her contemplate making a sixth baby.

“Where does it hurt, milady?” her king-consort asked, his rough fingers moving across her collarbone.

“Here,” she said, pointing to her chin, and soon she was better, especially as she chased Rowan around in his hawk form, easily jumping from roof to roof as the hours went by.

[fayeandknight]

Last week our agility instructor said she wanted Forte to trial soon. There's an AKC trial at our club in May and there are CPE trials in March and April. She wants us to do one of the CPE trials to get real trial experience without worrying about a Q and then trial for real at the AKC event.

My initial thought was oh shit, I'm not sure we're ready for that. Forte runs nicely most of the time but gets sniffy when I'm unclear on our next move (aka me getting lost on the course). He also still gets distracted when dogs/people come or go. Not enough to pull him off course but I can see the attention shift.

My biggest fear is that he finds a trial too much and bails like he did last year at the ACT. In that instance he ran three times, not cleanly - we NQed, but stayed with me for the most part. Mid fourth run members of my household showed up in a well meaning way, but they brought Faye and he heard her complaining in the car. He slipped through a gap in the fencing ring and went to run circles around their car. Compounded on that fear is anxiety around what might happen if he leaves the ring. Will he run past the wrong dog who in turn has a go at him?

As horrible as our first instructor was, I cannot unhear her telling me to be extra careful with Forte. If anything happens between dogs, the Belgian will be blamed regardless of him actually being the aggressor or not.

So I was nervous for our first run tonight and got lost on the course and in my mind. Forte responded by alerting and then going for a sniff when I brushed it off and tried to cue him to the next obstacle. We did the whole run but it was bad. Honestly we haven't had such a disjointed run in almost a year.

As we waited for our next run I waffled between confirming that we definitely are not ready and trying again to see if I could pull myself together. Our second run was indeed better because I didn't get lost but it still wasn't great. I still wasn't fully there with him mentally.

So for our third run I said fuck my anxiety. It is just him and I here in this ring. I trust our relationship and both of our skills and we absolutely have this. And just like that we had the cleanest, smoothest run we've ever had, even with the next class coming in. He never even flicked an ear in their direction.

I was on cloud 9 all the way back to our seat. Until a person and dog from the next class I've not seen before came in. Dog stepped into the room and immediately targeted Forte, body low and forward with teeth fully bared and low growling. I expected them to give us space. But no, the handler strolled pretty much right up to us - with less than a foot between the dogs.

I felt like I was moving in slow motion, watching Forte get stiff when this dog just kept coming into his space. I thought about how this is different from the overly reactive dogs he is fairly frequently called upon to play neutral dog for. This dog had serious intent to hurt him. I gestured for Forte to move to my other side to create more space, he did without hesitation but I could feel his weariness. The other person/dog moved behind us, closing the distance between dogs again. I had Forte come around the front of me and to the other side, again trying to create space. As Forte moved away this other dog shot forward to make a grab for him. I stood up to be more of a barrier and while Forte was clearly tense, he continued to not react and follow directions.

The other handler did then finally move away from us. It felt like the whole thing went on for five minutes at least but was probably much shorter. I can't say for sure because of the way time gets distorted when I'm that stressed.

And while I give Forte all the props for letting me handle the situation I'm not really sure how I feel about potentially going to trial. On the one hand, I do believe if I have my internal shit together he'll do well. And he's proven, again, that he will not engage with reactive and/or aggressive dogs - at the very least if I'm supporting him but probably even without that.

But I'm worried about a full trial experience because I don't want to put him in a situation where he's in danger from another dog. No ribbon or title in the world is worth having another dog go after him. We both worked so hard to get through his own reactive phase and I would hate to send us back to that. But I also know that when I'm stressed/worried I tend catastrophize and my perspective gets warped by it.

We will keep showing up to classes, because we both enjoy agility. But I feel more mixed up about potentially trialing than I did last week. Hopefully between getting my thoughts out here and having some good weeks going forward I'll feel more confident entering a trial. But if not, I won't.

As much as I would really love to earn an agility title my mindset is very much dog first, sport second. Though in our case it's more like dog first, service work second, and sports third.

[luxaofhesperides]

those who serve.

CHAPTER FIVE: a mission.

read the previous chapters here or read the whole fic on ao3.

surprise! it's time for an alfred pov. 5k words of it, in fact.

. . .

“Robbery two blocks away, due west from you, Nightwing,” Alfred reports, eyes flicking over the map of Gotham. Different spots are lighting up as calls come in about disturbances or crimes. Alarms go off and known criminal hideouts blink rapidly, demanding attention as Oracle’s system automatically updates from her network of cameras.

It’s a busy night as usual, running comms for the Bats. He can only be grateful that all they’ve run into so far is petty crime; no rogues are striking out, which means plans are still being made, but that’s a problem for later.

For now, Alfred is glad his wards are as safe as they can be, swinging around Gotham to fight crime.

“On it!” Nightwing replies, and his marker on the map moves through the streets quickly.

The others are scattered around the city, working in pairs, save for Nightwing who flits to and fro, joining everyone for a few streets before going off on his own again. They rarely split up from each other and always return to each other before Alfred can berate them. It’s a nice night. Long, as they always are, but he can’t rest until he sees everyone back safe and sound. 

The years are heavy on him, weighing him down. Danny’s assistance around the manor has been wonderful, but there’s only so much work he can delegate when his most difficult responsibilities involve their night life, a responsibility that Danny had firmly refused to do anything with.

Alfred can’t begrudge him. He often wishes Bruce would hang up the cowl, but his crusade to save Gotham from itself is never ending and he’s never been one to give up. All his children are equally stubborn.

“Quiet night, isn’t it?” Spoiler comments. She and Black Bat have been sitting at the same corner for the past five minutes; they likely stopped for a snack break, buying from corner stores even though Alfred always makes sure they take high calorie, healthy snacks with them before they leave. 

“Let’s hope it lasts,” Red Hood says, “Quiet’s never a good thing in this city.”

“It does always lead up to something bad,” Red Robin agrees. “Seen any sign of Venom out on the streets yet?”

“Not yet, but my men have been hearing rumors about the Venom gang getting real bold lately. They’re going for bigger targets to steal funds. Still don’t know where they’re getting their Venom.”

“Think they’ll go after the Wayne Charity Gala next week?”

“I will be prepared for all possibilities,” Alfred cuts in. “Movement of an illegal arms shipment has been called in near the ferry in West End.”

“We’re on it,” Batman says. 

The comms go quiet for a minute as everyone moves around the city, hunting down petty criminals to protect civilians and investigating their own ongoing cases. Alfred scans the map once more, but there’s nothing more for him to take note of. Such is the pace of quiet nights.

If he’s lucky, they’ll call it an early night and return to the manor (or their own safehouses) before 4AM. 

“So,” Nightwing says, carefully casual, “Danny.”

The comms erupt with noise as everyone chimes in with various replies of Danny! Has anyone found out more about him? Tell me you have some fun stories about him!

Alfred clears his throat loudly and is pleased when they all settle down. 

“Danny is settling in well,” he says.

“Any chance of him joining us on patrol soon?” Spoiler asks.

Robin scoffs. “As if. He has no training and will not be able to keep up with us. Even keeping him on comms is unthinkable.” And, quieter, “He has no desire to be a part of this, in any case. He made that very clear.”

Nightwing whistles. “Yeah, those conditions. He sure is something, isn’t he? So are we thinking human experimentation or something else?”

“I considered the possibility, alongside cults,” Batman says. “Red Hood, have the Outlaws heard about either of those things lately? With Danny having the powers he does, I wouldn’t be surprised if people were searching for him.”

“I haven’t heard anything yet,” Red Hood answers after a long pause. “Don’t even know where the kid could have come from.”

“Agent A, you said he saved you from a mugger, right?” Nightwing asks. “Wait, give me a minute. Carjacking in progressed just down the street.”

“Powers?” Black Bat asks. Batman only replies with a grunt.

“Back!” Nightwing says before Black Bat can decide if she needs to go hunt down Batman for a proper answer. Alfred would have given her his location if she did, but the conversation is enough to distract her. “So. Danny saved you, yeah?”

Alfred thinks back to that night, after spending so many dawns walking with Danny, talking to him quietly. He didn’t get a response often, but as Danny began to open up more, he would close the distance between them, listening intently to everything Alfred said. He’d even ask questions from things Alfred had discussed previously and it was clear from there that Danny was a kind, attentive young man doing his best in a bad situation.

Looking at Danny, hunched into himself in a dirty hoodie and stained jeans, tired and gaunt, had reminded Alfred of Jason. Admittedly, he had met Jason as a child and had cared for him until his was murdered as a teenager, but they had the same aura about them. The same distrust, the drive to survive, the kindness despite it all. 

Danny isn’t Jason. He’s his own person, unique from anyone else in the family, but that was the initial reason Alfred kept seeking him out. 

He’s glad he did. Now Danny is in the manor, under his care, slowly learning to trust him and the others of the family enough to use his powers. 

It is clear, from Nightwing’s questions, that he too had experienced Danny’s protectiveness. 

Whatever was done to him had stripped his humanity from him. There is no other way to describe him as monstrous in that moment when he ran back to Alfred; the snarl, the sharp teeth, the glowing eyes, everything about him screamed not human. But he only used it to protect, to scare away the man seeking to harm Alfred, and he had come back quickly, hiding that part of him away.

Alfred isn’t scared of Danny. He had seen the control Danny had over that aspect of him, saw the way he curled into himself, awaiting judgment as Alfred checked him over for injuries. Changed as he may be, Danny is his apprentice. He is not a threat, but a protector.

He believes that the others will understand that, but he also knows that they are just as protective of him as Danny is. Should they try to keep Danny away, Alfred will show them exactly why he’s been the sole and strongest guard for the manor all these years.

“Yes,” he says, “Danny did indeed defend me before I was able to convince him to return to the manor with me.”

“Did you see how he fought? Or what he looked like?”

“I take it Danny reacted similarly when you were in danger.”

Nightwing laughs. “Boy, did he! He’s small for his age, but he’s crazy strong. Maybe not Superman levels, but he knocked down a guy twice his height and four times his weight like it was nothing.”

“He also growled at me,” Red Hood adds thoughtfully. “We really gotta find out who had him, because if they’re to artificially enhance people, they’re doing a pretty terrifying job of it.”

“Do you think he could be an alien trying to blend in?” Red Robin muses.

“Shit. Add it to the list.”

“Red Hood,” Alfred warns.

“Sorry, A.”

“There is something strange about him, beyond his powers,” Robin comments thoughtfully.

Red Hood makes a noise of agreement. “Yeah, no kidding. Something about him sets me on edge. I know he’s just a kid trying to survive, but he’s got some sort of bad vibe.”

“Hood!” Spoiler berates, “That’s so rude! He’s an abused kid trying to find someplace safe. Is that any way to talk about him?”

He sputters, trying to defend himself. Alfred stays quiet; Red Hood did this to himself, and should know well enough by now that his words have consequences just as actions do.

“Wait! Hood, get over here, I think I got something!” Red Robin says, cutting off everyone’s attempts to guilt Red Hood even more, and on the map, Alfred can see him stop in an alley, Red Hood just a street behind him. He manages to hear the beginning of a sentence, then both of them turn off their comms.

This is nothing unusual. They often need a moment to think without any distractions, or need to have a private conversation to sort something out. Batman never likes it, always fearing the worst, but Alfred is content with just monitoring their locations and vitals. As long as they can be found and their hearts are beating steadily, he allows them to have their silence as needed.

“Man,” Nightwing says, breaking the silence, “I’m beat. Think I’m gonna call it night and head back to the manor if everyone else has things covered.”

The rest of the bats respond with a chorus of reassurances and good nights, and Alfred is pleased to see Nightwing’s marker moved towards the manor. He swings across a few streets, then stays on the road, likely having called his motorcycle to cut down travel time. 

“It’s good that you aren’t pushing yourself, Nightwing,” he says, both happy Dick is taking care of himself and pointedly ignoring everyone else not doing the same thing. “I will see you soon.”

“Wonder what the Reds found,” Spoiler says, quickly distracting everyone from the shame Alfred is trying to make them feel. 

Red Robin’s comm goes back online as soon as she finishes talking. “Got some info on Venom distribution. Good news: it’s not Bane. Bad news: it’s a copy who has a grudge, so we can expect whoever it is to do something big and stupid soon.”

Batman grunts in acknowledgement. “Red Hood?”

There’s no answer. His comm stays off, but Alfred can see his marker following after Red Robin; being questioned too much by Batman always leaves him in a bad mood, and ignoring him is a better option than going after him, guns out. 

An alert pops up on the map, flashing. “Spoiler and Black Bat, there appears to be a situation unfolding in the brewery on Johnson Street. Do be careful.”

“You got it, Agent A!” 

Spoiler and Black Bat move quickly, ending their snack break to go right back into crime fighting. 

Though she refuses to stay and always moves between the Bats and Oracle, Stephanie is a welcome presence. Her start as a vigilante was rough, as were her relationships to others, but Alfred is glad she preserved and stuck around despite it all; her cheer and stubborn optimism is a welcome change from Batman’s severe demeanor. Her sense of justice is strong, and her experiences in the rougher areas of Gotham provide a much needed perspective that was lost with Jason. 

He does hope she agrees to spend her birthday at the manor just so he can spoil her a little. Pun not intended. 

The others go back to focusing on their own patrol routes around Gotham, keeping an eye on the streets for anyone who may need their help. It’s a routine patrol, though it’ll likely end early once Alfred makes a few comments about the late hour and convinces everyone to return to get some sleep before sunrise. 

Nightwing is only ten minutes out when Alfred suddenly becomes aware of a shift in the air. 

He’s alone in the Batcave. And though he may be getting on in the years, he prides himself in his situational awareness; war and years spend in the secret service have given him instincts that cannot be buried deeply, no matter how many years he spends pushing them aside to tend to the Wayne family. 

Those instincts tell him he’s no longer alone.

Alfred smoothly takes off the headset and sets the comm system onto the Batcomputer to take advantage of the powerful microphone it uses. He can’t alert anyone to his situation, not without giving away his awareness of the intruder, but once the altercation begins—and there will be an altercation—they will be able to hear it and know that they need to return to the Batcave immediately.

A security breach of this severity is rare. 

Rare is not impossible, and Alfred has dealt with all such breaches in the same way: with a shotgun.

There’s one in a weapons case just on the other side of the Batcave. If he can get to it, he can go after the intruder and have better chance of taking them down. The problem is if he can keep the intruder from taking that chance to attack him.

Well. No point in wasting any time.

Alfred stands and prepares to make his way to the weapons case.

And Danny stumbles into the Batcave from one of the side passages and says, “What the fuck did I just wake up to?”

“Language!” Alfred scolds reflexively, because the rest of him is reeling. He knows this cave system very well. He is the one who explored it with Bruce when they were first converting it into the Batcave, a base of operations for the Batman during his second year as the Dark Knight. He knows that the passage Danny walked out of is a dead end, that there is no way into it other than from the main cavern itself, and Alfred would have seen Danny pass him if he had been down here.

So the question remains: how did Danny get into the Batcave?

The Batcomputer is suspiciously quiet. He’s sure that everyone is listening in, keeping silent to avoid alerting Danny to the fact that they are there.

“A whole cave?” Danny asks, incredulous. “I thought a basement was bad enough, but an entire cave?”

“Danny,” Alfred says, hoping to cut in before Danny could properly get started on his rant. He’s taken care of enough teenagers to know that once they get started, it’s incredibly hard to stop them. 

“A cave!”

“Danny, how did you get down here?”

The question makes Danny stop. He closes his mouth and his expression shutters into something neutral. His shoulders are tense, and Alfred can see how his eyes dart around as if seeking an escape route. 

“I will not be angry no matter what the answer is,” Alfred hurries to reassure. “I just want to know how you got here and if you are alright.”

Danny stays silent for a long moment, then mumbles something beneath his breath.

“Pardon?”

“...Fell,” he mutters.

That’s not a great answer to hear, though Alfred still doesn’t see how it explains his sudden presence in the Batcave. “Would you mind speaking up, Danny? My ears aren’t quite what they used to be.”

Danny takes a deep breath, then walks closer to Alfred so he’s only a few feet away, carefully staying out of reaching distance. It makes his heart hurt, the clear apprehension in each movement; he would never hurt Danny, but it’s clear that others have not held the same sentiments. If only he could find them and ensure that they would never be able to hurt Danny again…

“I fell,” Danny says, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor.

“You fell,” Alfred repeats.

“Through the floor. And my bed.”

“You fell into the Batcave? Are you quite alright, my boy?”

He hears a small sound from the Batcomputer, a slight catch of breath. Danny must hear it too, for his eyes flick towards the monitors, then back to Alfred. 

“It’s fine,” he says, as if falling from his room into the Batcave, a considerable distance to say nothing of the stone and hardwood he had to go through, isn’t a big deal at all. “I didn’t break anything.”

That is not at all what Alfred is concerned about. “Are you injured? Come, we have a med bay just over here and I am a trained field medic.”

Danny tenses immediately and stumbled back a few steps. There’s a wild look in his eyes that reminds him of cornered animals, ready to lash out in fear. “No!” he yells, “No. No examinations, no nothing. Don’t touch me. Please.”

The possibility of human experimentation looks more and more likely. 

He raises his hands, trying to calm Danny down. He carefully doesn’t move any more than that. “Alright,” he says, “I will not touch you. But please let me know if you are injured from your fall.”

“No, I’m… I’m fine. I was having a nightmare and went intangible and just… sank through the floor until I got here.”

Alfred didn’t know that Danny could make himself intangible, but that’s not important right now. He files the information away for later, and makes a note to forbid anyone from questioning Danny without his permission or presence. “That’s good. I am glad you’re unharmed.”

The sincerity of his words much come through; Danny relaxes, just slightly, and the hunted look on his face fades. He glances around the cave again, eyes catching on the giant penny and the cases lining the wall, filled with various suits.

“I imagine you have questions.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Danny scoffs. “Like, I expected something shady since you’re working for a crime family, but this is on another level.”

A crime family? Alfred has to bite back a laugh; they are the opposite of a crime family. They’re a crime-fighting family, if anything. 

“Seriously, why would you need a giant penny? Some sort of intimidation tactic while you’re having meetings down here to keep underlings in line? And the dinosaur. That’s just excessive. Couldn’t you just have a torture room instead and call it a day?”

“Oh my God,” Spoiler laughs, her voice ringing out from the Batcomputer. Multiple comms unmute themselves then to frantically shush her, but the damage is done. “This is the best thing I’ve ever heard. Danny, you’re the best. I’m going to hold this over their heads forever.”

“Guess that means I can come in now,” Nightwing says. The distant rumble of an engine echoes through the cave as he enters the tunnel that leads off from the road. It’s barely a minute before Nightwing reaches the main cavern and smoothly comes to a stop, the engine cutting off.

Danny moves then, placing himself between Alfred and Nightwing. It’s unnecessary, but Alfred can’t help but by touched that despite Danny’s clear upset upon discovering the Batcave, he won’t let his emotions stop him from caring. 

“Hey,” Nightwing says and carefully peels off his mask. “I guess I should introduce myself again, huh? I’m Dick, and at night I go fight crime as Nightwing.”

“You fight crime?” Danny repeats, doubt coloring his tone.

“Yeah. All of us do. Gotham’s the most crime-ridden city in the world and most of the cops are corrupt, so someone has to protect people.”

“And that’s you.”

“And that’s me,” Dick confirms with a bright smile. “Well, me and everyone else.”

Danny stares at him for a few moments, then steps back, looking between him and Alfred. “So you’re all Gotham’s heroes?”

“Yep.”

“I thought you killed people.”

“Woah, what? We don’t kill people!”

Red Hood scoffs very loudly, the sound ringing out clearly from the Batcomputer’s speakers. Dick winces. “Alright, so we try not to kill people. Most of us, at least.”

“That’s not an answer that inspires a lot of confidence.”

All Dick could offer was a weak shrug, a look of what can you do? on his face. 

In return, Danny raised an eyebrow and stared him down, unimpressed. It didn’t take long for Dick to falter under that gaze and shrink into himself, fidgeting slightly. The sight is unexpected but Alfred can’t help but smile; Danny certainly picked that up quickly. 

Instilling a sense of shame into the members of the Wayne families is one of the most important skills required for this job, after all.

“I do believe this is a conversation better saved for the morning,” he cuts in smoothly, stepping out from behind Danny to reach Dick and fuss over him. “Any injuries?”

“Just a few scrapes and bruises. Nothing too serious tonight.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Master Richard.” He ushers Dick off towards the changing room, then busies himself with prepping the med bay for a check up. Without any serious injuries to tend to, the work is done fast. There’s only bandages, salves for bruises, and painkillers necessary for now, though he keeps the heavy medical kit nearby just in case anyone else has a more severe injury. 

Through it all, Danny watches with sharp eyes, keeping his distance but still drifting closer towards Alfred. At some point, his feet lift off the ground, leaving him to hover in midair, observing everything Alfred does. 

The sight of Danny floating makes him pause for a moment before he carries on as if nothing is out of place. 

It’s a relief to know that, despite having their night business found out so suddenly, Danny still trusts Alfred enough to use his powers around him rather than hide them away. Admittedly, the flying is unexpected.

Could he be another clone with Kryptonian DNA? 

His black hair and blue eyes could come from Clark, but the same could be said for Bruce and his children. It’s a surface level comparison anyway; the rest of his features are too different to come from Clark. He’s met Conner enough times to know that well enough. 

“I understand that you do not wish to have any part of this,” Alfred begins, tidying up his workspace needlessly, only to have Danny cut him off.

“You said you’re a trained medic, right?”

His eyes are strangely intense as his floats a little closer to Alfred. Then they drift to the side and look over all the medical supplies he’s prepared for Dick.

Alfred stops his fussing to turn his full attention to Danny; he has a feeling that this is an important moment. He only hopes he doesn’t mess it up.

“Yes. I was proficient in first aid before I came to work for the Waynes, and their nightly activities have only giving me more incentive to better my skills to help them.”

“Can you—” Danny hesitates for a moment, drawing into himself. It’s not quite insecurity as it is defensive. Alfred hopes he’ll be able to find the people who taught Danny to be so fearful, always expecting pain and violence, so he can give them a piece of his mind. “Can you teach me? It’s just—I’ve never learned, not really, and you can only trust the internet so much when it comes to medical stuff so what I know is mostly from trial and error when I tried to patch myself up.”

Alfred feels his blood run cold. He presses his hands flat against the metal cart carrying the medical supplies and fights to keep his composure. It takes a few breaths before he can speak without sounding murderous. 

“You have had to tend to yourself,” he says, not quite a question.

Danny hesitates, before he quietly answers, “Yes.”

“And there was no one who could help you.”

“There were… No. Not really. It’s not their fault though, they were kids too.”

More kids. More children who had to learn to patch themselves and each other up because no one else would help them. Because the people who should have helped them were the ones hurting them instead. 

He does hope they can find where Danny came from soon. He’s even willing to lend Jason one of his guns. 

The lack of a response has Danny wringing his hands, beginning to babble to fill the silence. “None of it was ever too bad!” he reassures, “And I heal fast so it’s fine. But sometimes I had to stitch myself up and that was never fun, and it’s hard to set dislocated joints by yourself, and I didn’t have a lot of supplies to work with.”

“Danny,” Alfred says, cutting him off firmly. He holds onto his composure by a single thread. “I would be happy to teach you. I do not expect you to add medical assistance to your duties, however. We have a doctor who can help us for more severe injuries and I am more than capable of handling everything else myself.”

“...Okay,” Danny nods after a long pause. “Okay. Thank you.”

The conversation is over for now. Alfred doesn’t want to distress Danny any further after such a hectic night; any questions he has can wait until later. 

Dick, who has more than likely eavesdropped for the entire conversation, finally emerges from the changing room. He’s much more relaxed outside of Nightwing’s suit, wearing an old college t-shirt he stole from Bruce when he was a teenager and a pair of sweatpants. He also doesn’t react at all to seeing Danny slightly curled up in the air, knees drawn toward his chest, five feet off the ground.

“I promise I’m totally fine, Alfred,” he says, “We can skip the check up tonight!”

“Absolutely not, Master Richard. Sit down.”

Sighing, Dick does as he’s told, giving Danny a small smile as he does. It doesn’t falter even as Danny drifts back from him, staying out of grabbing distance. 

The check up goes quickly. For once, Dick isn’t lying about not being hurt. He doesn’t need any bandages or painkillers, just a little salve on his left shoulder and his right hip. As soon as Alfred leans back and begins to clean up, Dick hops off the bed and says, “See? I’m right as rain. Why don’t you take a break, Alfred? I can run comms until everyone turns in for the night.”

“No need,” Alfred reassures, “You go and get some rest. You as well, Danny. We’ll be up bright and early tomorrow.”

Danny casts his gaze around the Batcave once more, then looks over Alfred, assessing him for something. There’s an unreadable expression on his face that makes concern rise up in him, but Alfred doesn’t get a chance to ask what’s wrong before Danny nods and flies up through the ceiling of the Batcave.

He’s seen a lot over the course of his life, but seeing a teenager silently pass through solid stone is up there with some of the more startling things he’s witnessed.

“Man,” Dick says after beat, “What a night, huh?”

Immediately, the comms explode with noise as everyone rushes to speak, talking over each other. 

Alfred lets them, taking the time to put his own thoughts in order. They all settle down soon enough, though it takes Batman pointedly clearing his throat a few times. 

Dick grabs a spare seat and pulls it over to the Batcomputer, sitting in it halfway there to roll the rest of the way to where Alfred sits back into the main chair. He looks over the map as Dick spins in his chair next to him, making note of where everyone is and any new crimes that may have popped up.

Nothing new catches his attention, nothing that isn’t immediately taken care of by the vigilantes still out. 

“Agent A,” Batman says, “How is Danny.”

Alfred sighs. “Shocked, but he took it much better than I was expecting. He appeared to be more tired and stressed than outright fearful. I do believe our identities will be safe with him.”

“Who would he even tell?” Robin mutters.

“Everything he says has me so concerned,” Red Robin adds. 

Dick shoots out a hand to grab onto the desk, stopping his lazy spin. “Guys,” he says, very seriously, “Danny can fly.”

“Superman clone?” Red Robin asks. “If no cloning was one of his conditions for employment…”

“Actually. He can go intangible. And remember how he was super excited to hear about Martian Manhunter?” There’s a grin stretching across Dick’s face, one that promises only trouble.

Alfred knows what he’s angling towards, what new idea he has about Danny’ background. Worst of all, Alfred can’t deny that it makes sense to some degree. It takes the rest of the family another second to connect the dots and reach the conclusion Dick wants them to see.

“No way,” Spoiler gasps, “You think he’s a clone of Martian Manhunter?!”

“Or!” Dick says, “He was made with Martian DNA and human DNA and was kept from the outside world so he couldn’t find anyone who could help him.”

“We’ll consider it as a possibility,” Batman says, which is as good as confirming that Dick is on the right path.

As much as any of them can be, considering how little they truly know about Danny.

“I suggest you all return to the Batcave,” Alfred says, “It’s time for a family meeting.”

Red Hood whistles lowly, his way of saying oh shit without actually saying it. “Good luck to all of you,” he says solemnly.

“That includes you, Red Hood.”

Spoiler snickers as Red Hood sighs. “Right. Of course. See you soon, A.”

Dick pushes away from the desk slightly. “We having the meeting down here?”

“I believe that would be best. I shall go get everyone’s post-patrol snacks while we wait.”

“I’ll help!” Dick stands and kicks the chair away. He walks away before Alfred can insist on doing it himself and can only fondly shake his head as he follows Dick up to the manor. He had thought he had convinced them to let him handle most of his duties on his own over the past few years. Apparently Danny’s insistence on helping has sparked that fire again.

The need to investigate Danny to better protect him has also brought the family together; it’s rare to get Jason to return to the manor more than once every three months. 

Truly, Danny is a gift to them all and Alfred fully intends to protect him as thoroughly as possible.

Having Batman in his corner is a good start. But Alfred’s got firearms and doesn’t keep to a no killing code. 

No one’s hurting another hair on Danny’s head. Not if he’s got anything to say about it.

[magic-is-something-we-create]

WHISPERS - A Formal WIP Intro

“Why don’t you run?”

“Because I’ve seen people try.”

Ivan takes a drag. I watch him let the smoke linger on his lips before exhaling, wonder when he picked up the habit.

“They always come back.” He taps the ash away, and it catches in the breeze like snow, almost enough to distract from the dead resignation in his voice. “The alternative is always worse, and you always know it was your fault.”

The blaring of a train horn in the distance bridges the silence briefly before it fades, the chug of its wheels rumbling through the mountains and building like a crack of rolling thunder.

“Think,” Dakarsa mumbles.

Ivan glances to him. “Hm?”

“You’ll think it was your fault. But it’s the Shadow’s. All of it is.”

Ivan lets the cigarette drop, snuffs it with his shoe. “And whose fault is it if I skate despite everyone’s warnings, only to fall through the ice I was told time and time again was too thin to carry me?”

Genre: Tragic Dark Fantasy/Noir

Target Audience: Adult

POV: Dual POV First-Person present, where one POV frequently drops into First-Person past

Blend pitch: Six of Crows x The Magnus Archives x Carrie

Recurring content warnings: R+ rated violence; emotional abuse; episodes of unreality and loss of autonomy; gambling, smoking, and alcohol addictions; sex and sexual harrassment; transphobia.

Themes: The effects of losing loved ones unexpectedly and without closure or explanation; being trapped by the mistakes you made in the past; the inability to help those around you without digging their graves right next to yours; what do you do when the villain is right? When you see your face, your actions, in theirs?

Marika Swiftfoot has hidden from the Shadow for ten years, but ten years isn't a life complete.

She has a debt to pay, and the Whisper who indebted her has finally come to collect. And once again, she is ripped away from everything she calls home as the result of a poor choice she made years ago, when she didn't know what would come.

But she will not go to Fowden without a fight.

And she swears the man who brings her there will die by her hand, no matter how much she once loved him.

Lorelei, too, is steeped in the regrets of her past, in the legacy of her forebears. For she is known by three names: Softheart. Witmouth. Vowbreaker.

She wants to earn Hopebringer before her legs give out for good.

But first, she needs to find out what happened to her little sister. First, she needs to find the man who's disappeared with just as little trail left behind, thirty years later.

First, she needs to end the Shadow of Fowden.

For she is not her father; she does not break her vows.

WHISPERS is a standalone novel with its first edits complete at 176,000 words. It is in the hands of beta readers as of January 10th, 2024, and will begin querying once the critique period has finished in July.

The taglist for this WIP will be maintained under the cut, alongside a few short character overviews!

Marika Swiftfoot - Narrator I - The easily-angered woman with a past she's buried under soot and blood, who owes her life to the Shadow because of an offered kindness with strings she couldn't see at the time, and who now has to work with the one who offered it in the first place, as well as a naive young man who looks five years too young for a debt of his own.

Lorelei Witmouth, Softheart, Vowbreaker - Narrator II - The woman who has dedicated thirty years of her life to trying to find what happened to her sister between attempts to better the world in her name - including finding answers for all who disappear the same way, and ridding the world of the Shadow.

Ivan Greyheart - The man who helped, loved, and indebted Marika ten years back, and who has spent all of those years forced to shove his humanity aside for the Shadow's purposes.

Dakarsa - The man who looks more innocent than he is, and who has all but the Shadow convinced of it, despite the darkness he's more familiar with than most.

The Shadow of Fowden - The Sorceress who leads the Whispers to her bidding with magical tattoos and more knowledge of the world's depravity than any other, and uses it to strike fear wherever she can.

Katya Witmouth - Lorelei's eldest sister, bettering the world by helping those most easily left by the wayside, and worrying over each and every one that ceases to stay at her hearth without warning.

Arkady Starsent - The Police Commissioner of Myshari who has worked with Lorelei to try and catch the Shadow for twenty years, and who is losing his battle with addiction and temptation in the process.

Whispers Taglist (ask to be +/-):

@dragon-swords-prophecies ; @indecentpause ; @authoralexharvey ; @ceph-the-ghost-writer; @doriians ; @hungryslothwrites ; @muddshadow ; @kaiusvnoir ; @kd-holloman

NOTE: If you are a minor or are uncomfortable reading excerpts that may contain sexually explicit or similarly mature material, let me know so that I can filter the taglist accordingly for relevant excerpts. You do not need to state your age or any other reasoning; just saying "NSFW exempt, please!" is enough!

[nerdieforpedro]

Pleasure Principle

Chapter 2: Expectations

Dave York x plus size OFC

Fanfiction: 18+ please read warnings

Masterlist / Dave York Masterlist

Summary: Kiara has completed her prep work. Dave told her he was coming by and still managed to surprise her. Ground rules are set.

Warnings: breaking and entering, voyerism, dirty talk, use of derogatory language (Slut, whore, etc.), rough foreplay, choking, smut adjacent, edging, sub/dom relationship

Notes: I’m not great at writing sub/Dom relationships so hopefully this isn’t too cringy. The bulk of smut will be in future chapters. We’re setting things up for these two.

Link to Chapter 1

Despite the three-code blues that happened and the oncoming nurse wanting to read through the last five doctor’s notes on each patient together, Kiara sped home and dropped her stuff that the door of her apartment. She looked at the time, it was a quarter before nine. She rushed and threw her scrubs in the hamper, knowing she would actually have to check the pockets before doing the laundry, it took too much time right now to check. She has gotten a text from an unknown number, telling her to be ready for him at nine-fifteen. She didn’t have to wonder who it was: Dave. 

Her shower was through but quick as she stepped out of the bathroom and dried off. She delayed which nightgown to put on. Since she was assuming it would likely be a video call, it would need to be decent. She picked a red silk one that she rarely wore. She loved the feeling on her skin, but it didn’t breathe like cotton and made her hot. She sat on the edge of her bed, waiting for his call, she had five minutes left.

Dave and his team had a small reprieve due to his colleague’s injury, so he told them he was going to be busy tonight and went to his studio apartment that he had in DC. He packed some tools that he typically used for break-ins, and some other tools he thought might be fine for the night. He had spent his time researching Kiara, her background, job, where she lived, criminal history and anything he could find about any potential complications like lovers, children, and the like he may need to take into account. There was nothing, she has a clean slate, if she wasn’t a real person, it’d an excellent cover.  Dave had grown fond of the No-nonsense nurse that cared for his less than respectful colleague. He was well aware that this would be temporary, and he would likely get his new job within a week or two, no longer than a month, but who said he couldn’t enjoy himself, besides, it was the process that he enjoyed most. Methodically making someone crave you, although he had never quite gotten his plan to go accordingly since the women, he had met in the past were disobedient. He wondered if Kiara would prove to be different. The assassin had scoped out her townhouse and found two points of entry. After this initial meeting, he would have her change the locks to better ones, he had been able to get in the other night on his trial run where she had stayed late at work to try and make sure things went smoothly.

Tonight, he would bring his duffel bag and surprise her, Dave was curious if she was home. It was ten after nine. He arrived at her townhouse and saw that her car was parked outside. “Good.” He smirked and removed his bag from his sedan and made his way around to the back of the house as he had done so earlier in the week, the surrounding neighbors appeared to be either out or occupied so he was able to infiltrate her home once again without issue. The assassin was used to being near silent when moving around a target’s home. He removed his boots and socks but kept his forest green cargo pants, black sweatpants, leather gloves and black beanie on, he drew his back to his chest to decrease the likelihood of it hitting something and giving his presence away. Up the stairs he crept and saw the light on in the room at the end of the hallway, he checked his watch, 9:13pm. He decided to take his time down the hallway until he heard a small whimper. Dave crept toward the door, the soft cries continued, and he opened the door at 9:15 on the dot. His eyes widened as did his smirk and he licked his lips.

“Oh ho…is my peach starting without me?” The nurse was sitting on the edge of her bed, thighs pressed together as she looked up at him her eyes filled with need. Her hands though were at her sides, pressing into the bed, she appeared to be trying not to touch herself. Dave relished it, she had obeyed. He felt his own heat rising, what could he do with her? He may need more time than his next mission would allow. He stood in front of her and looked down, taking her round face in his gloved hands. She was biting her lips, whimpering still. “You didn’t cum without me did you Kiara dear?” His thumb ran across her bottom lip as her tongue grazed it. The leather felt cool against her skin, why had the thought of this man made her into a pool of desire? She wanted to drown in it. 

“Dave, please touch me. I want to feel your skin.” Kiara moaned, reaching up to touch his arm, but stopped mid-air, he hadn’t said yes yet. Her body craved him though, she wanted to know what his skin felt like on hers and that tongue that he always made sure to be licking, biting or sucking on something every time he spoke to at the hospital. “Please.” Dave chuckled and removed his right glove, tossing it on the floor and ran his hand across her neck, she reflexively leaned back, exposing more of it to him. He kissed and took her lips with his own, crashing his tongue onto hers and swirling it, sucking it as he began to grip her neck tighter, curing his fingers into it, when the lips parted, he kept his hand there and leaned down to peer into her eyes.

“You belong to me Kiara. You won’t let another man touch you.” His grip, lightened as he let go and swiftly grabbed her legs under knees and flipped her on her back, pushing her up toward the middle of the bed. He towered over her and held her legs open. Dave wanted to see her wetness, the nurse squirmed as she wasn’t used to being stared at, she turned her head away and the assassin pushed her legs to his left and used his right hand to slap her ass. “I didn’t tell you look away you damn slut. Don’t start being a bad girl now, you don’t earn my cock that way.” Kiara yelped and a shiver went down to her cunt as more of her juices dripped onto her thighs.

“Dave, I’m not used to this. Give me a minute, please.” She explained, her hands her in fists holding onto the sheets, Dave chuckled leaned forward and kissed her shoulder.

“No Peach, you adjust to me, not the other way around. You will roll back over and watch while I appraise you when I say so.” Dave gave her ass another slap and leaned back, getting off the bed and removing his pants, hat and boxers. The woman moved to turn over, but Dave raised an eyebrow and she remained on her side. Her eyes scanned his body, broad shoulders, chest lightly sprinkled with dark hair, prominent nose and plump lips, lead her to rub her thighs together once again. When her eyes landed on his slight tummy, dusky hair that led to his thickened member, throbbing and dripping. Had he been like that this whole time? How far would he stretch her, how deep would he go inside her? Kiara’s hands let go of the sheets and started fondling her breasts under her nightgown. “Sit up and take it off.” Dave commanded, removing her from her trance. She obliged and sat up on the bed, keeping her eyes on her assassin and slowly pulled up her gown, revealing her soft belly, stretch marks and breasts. She closed her eyes, feeling the cool air touch her exposed skin and tossed the gown on the bedroom floor. Hearing Dave move closer to her and feeling his weight on the edge of the bed, her eyes snapped open when his hand took hold of her neck again. “I didn’t say to close your eyes. I told you to watch me dumb slut. Why did you close them?” He spat, opting to lick her shoulder and bite it, running his tongue over the teeth marks and then biting deeper. Kiara moaned his name as her hands ran over his back, sensing his muscles tense at her touch and the relax with a smile on her skin. She didn’t answer and he pulled away, removing his hand from her neck and grasping her chin, tilting it down so she would look at him and wouldn’t be able to avert her gaze. The nurse’s eyes closed and reopened, David saw fear in them. He didn’t get the feeling it was from what they were doing so took a few seconds to realize what it was. “My silly Peach,” he cooed, his thumb traced her bottom lip as he pecked her cheek and placed his free hand on her soft belly and ran his calloused finger across her warm skin, learning to her hip and the thigh. “I told you you’re mine. There’s plenty for me to explore, don’t you think I knew what you looked like the past few weeks?” Her eyes widened and tears started to form, is that why she was alright with this because she knew deep down that he accepted all of her? The hands that were on Dave’s back pressed into it to give her leverage to pull him close for a kiss, Dave did not resist and took her hungry kiss gladly sucking her lips and tongue as the competed for dominance, the assassin won and gradually laid her back on the bed, his kissed left her lips and went to her breasts, both ample and with hardened nipples poking out from the areola that started as milk chocolate closest to the nipple and transitioned to caramel areoles and wrapped his mouth around one, sucking it with his full lips. Hollering his name, Kiara’s hands ruffled Dave’s hair, she felt close, so close to her high, but he pulled away, licking his lips. He rolled one of her nipples between his thumb and trigger finger.

“Kiara, you’re close aren’t you, my peach? Your core’s about to gush for me and I haven’t inserted a finger into yet. My sweet whore, you think you can always be this wet when I come to you?” The nurse nodded continuing to moan as she reached down to touch his chest then toward his soft belly. Dave flinched but did not move, letting her continue. He took one of his hands and ran a finger around her lower lips, tracing them but not touching her clit or entering her. 

“Dave please, at least a finger. I need it. Or let me use my hand further down on you.” She whimpered, wiggling her hips, but she knew better than to buck and try and work a finger of his by mistake. Then he would never let her cum.

His eyes scanned her body, the panting, how open her legs were, the glistening heat, the light bruises on her body that would be dark by tomorrow. Her face contorted with lust and desire for him. How could she look like this the first night? 

“This is what I expect form you, Kiara. Anytime we’re together. You be obedient and I’ll make you cry for me, my lovely peach.” Dave may have become as drunk as the woman he commanded. He would find himself chasing this high whenever he was with her.

----------------

Chapter 3

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added for future posts):

@fhatbhabie @morallyinept @pedritapascal @pascalsanctuary @nissaimmortal @grogusmum @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @goodwithcheese @iamasaddie @psychedelic-ink @modernperplexity @pamasaur @pedrodascal @marcus-is-my-muse @clawdee @mintypossum @trulybetty @perotovar @joelslegalwhre @josephquinnswhore @mandoisapunk @awilderi @deviinci @secretelephanttattoo @for-a-longlongtime @tessa-quayle @legendary-pink-dot @sin-djarin @maggiemayhemnj @rhoorl @magpiepillsjunior @intoanotherworld23

[zvdvdlvr]

bloody hands, hospital kisses

z.david

summary: ziva gets hurt on a case.

warnings: bullet wound, smooching, so much uncanoness smfh, blood, passing out, violence, shy ziva omg, LONG ASS ONESHOT, angst to fluff ur welcome 🤧❤

reader's pronouns: she/her

"you take left, i got right." y/n murmured, panting as she quickly reloaded her gun. ziva nodded, slowly moving to a position that would make it easier for her to weave past the insane amount of crate between her and their perp.

pivoting her head, ziva made eye contact with y/n and when they both nodded, the bolted away from each other in the direction of the murderer of petty officer Kayleigh James. bullets quickly followed in the agents' trail, but the two were fast.

now safely sheltered roughly ten and a half feet away from the killer and her 'goons,' as tony likes to call them, the killer, Avon Presley, started to talk.

"i think we all know how this will end up," she started. "you are both severely outnumbered and outgunned. it would be wise to simply give up."

in the moment of silence that followed, ziva foumd y/n eyes already on her. silently communicating through the facial expressions, there was a silent agreement about what would happen next. gibbs and mcgee went dark just before the two entered the warehouse, and there was no sign of tony anywhere.

Avon sighed, the sound resonating. "i really dont want to kill you. you both would be great additions to my little... team." the end word was puncuated with the sound of pride, a disgusting sound.

ziva, still looking at y/n, started the countdown with the nodding of her head, and the raise of her finger.

five.

"if you're waiting for me to explain why I killed that petty officer, i'll tell you."

team gibbs already had Avon's motive.

four.

"she owed me. Kayleigh James owed me money.  she was so in debt-"

three.

"that no matter how much money she made in her life, it wouldn't be enough to pay me back."

two.

"so i arranged for her to be executed, as you already know, and we knew that outcome for tha-"

one.

ziva and y/n stood up and immediately took down bodies left and right, dodging between stacks of crates. in her peripherals, y/n saw Avon yank a gun from one of her goons and flee.

two minutes and many body thuds later, y/n and ziva reload and make their way cautiously to find Avon.

opening the steel door, the agents slink out, looking around. there are no more hiding places.

Avon, in all her glory, is standing with ger gun poised in her hands, ready to shoot if necessary.

"put the gun down, Presley!" y/n calls over the rushing wind.

"let me go!" she responds, desperation seeping into her voice.

ziva squints at her target, head low, ready to take the shot beside y/n. "you know that we cannot do that."

Avon's eyes gleam. "then i'll make you."

before the last word reaches the air, Avon pulled the trigger twice.

then ziva hits the ground, hard.

Avon starts to make a run for it, but y/n shoot her in the upper body, most likely hitting the heart, knowing her aim.

throwing herself to the ground beside ziva, y/n gasps. blood bloomed from ziva's thigh and stomach, somehow puncturing the bulletproof vests gibbs was adamant about wearing.

ripping ziva' jacket and vest off, she pulled the short up just enough to see the wound.

"gibbs," ziva wheezes.

"i know, zee, i know," y/n says, frantically pressing into ziva's stomach wound, turning to tend to her thigh.

with her bloody hand, ziva struggles for her phone. with little grip, she presses it into y/n's hand.

pressing gibbs's number, she presses the phone into her ear with her shoulder and takes her pocket knife to cut into ziva' pants in the area around the gunshot

gibbs doesn't answer. cussing quietly, y/n looks for mcgee's number.

he luckily picks up on the first ring.

"where are you?" he asks immediately.

"We're still by the warehouse, ziva's shot, get here. now."

"okay. stay on the line, we're tracking you and sending tony. he'll be there in-" mcgoo continues.

"timmy i need to talk to gibbs." y/n commands when she sees ziva start to writhe on the ground after pressing on her thigh.

"y/n what the status?" gibbs.

"status is, boss, if tony doesn't pull up quickly, ill beat his ass. david's bleeding out, and i'm not sure i can dig out this bullet." y/n snaps.

"get- get it out." ziva gasps, bloody hand grasping y/n's arm.

"hold on ziver. y/n has ya." gibbs says in the most sympathetic tone the team has ever heard. 

"y/n, put the phone down and get those bullets."

"copy that." in a rush, y/n puts the phone down next to ziva, and looks straight into her eyes.

"this is gonna hurt like a bitch, darlin'. bite this." y/n slips the arm of ziva's discarded jacket into her mouth. "i'm gonna get the bullet in your thigh."

slipping her pointer finger and thumb into the bullet hole, ziva let out a muffled scream. closing her eyes and screaming again, she claws at the ground while y/n closes her fingers around the bullet and slowly pulls it out of ziva's body. gagging at the amount of blood pooling on the ground, y/n tosses the bullet on the ground.

"hey hey hey, breathe. you're doing great. breathe, ziva." y/n soothes as best she can.

y/n almost thinks she hears a car screech, but it's too faint to tell for sure.

"l/n." y/n hears from the phone.

bringing it up to her ear, y/n hears mcgee telling her tony should be there soon, if not now.

"tony!" y/n screams, ziva below her was probably delirious with the amount of blood she was loosing, from her stomach and her thigh. "tony please hurry up!" y/n called again. y/n did not like ziva looking like this; pale and bloody and falling unconscious.

all at once, y/n felt tears in her eyes, and she cursed herself for crying when ziva was in more physical pain than y/n was.

left hand pressed against ziva's bloody thigh, she grabbed ziva's hand. "c'mon darlin', you gotta stay awake for me, okay? gotta wait for the ambulance timmy called." or rather the ambulance she hope tim called.

the sound of footsteps broke her out of her train of thought. tony, gibbs, and mcgee all rushed up with a flurry of questions, statements, and arguments.

gibbs eased y/n away from ziva's lower body and led her away, though her eyes were still trained on ziva.

"y/n."

she looked up. "i didn't- boss i-"

"tim saw the footage," gibbs explained, pointing to the security camera, positioned in just the right angle to see everything that went down withing the past ten minutes. "ambulance is on it's way. you did good l/n." gibbs praised, scanning y/n. she had turned to look back at limp-bodied ziva.

gibbs pulled her side into him, and she finally cried. her bloody hands wrapped around gibbs as the reality of what happened hit her. "you did good." he repeated into her ear. "but you really need to tell ziva you're in love with her."

y/n pulled away and looked at her annoyingly red hands. "i dont know what-"

"yes you do." gibbs said with a side eye and a smirk. "lets go." he led y/n to the frint of the warehouse, into the ambulance that arrived, and to the hospital.

♤

ziva was in surgery for hours. after hour one ticked by, y/n was taken home by gibbs to get cleaned up, fed, and then drove her back to the hospital.

"gibbs what do you mean that i'm in love with ziva?" y/n asked quietly.

"you know what that means."

"no i don't." y/n answered.

"i mean, l/n, that she likes you, and you like her." gibbs stated, like everyone knew.

y/n's brows furrowed. "she... likes me? really? are you sure, boss?"

gibbs chuckled, a sound only a select few heard. "yeah, y/n, i'm sure. it physically hurts us to watch you guys frolick around each other. so if i dont see any undying love confessions i'm going to fire you both."

y/n gaped at her boss. "i've never heard you talk that much." gibbs looked at her with a glare as he pulled into the parking lot. "but," she continued, "what do you mean 'us'?"

gibbs stopped the truck, and blinked. "abs, mcgee, dinozzo, ducky, hell even leon said something to me. point is, make a move."

y/n turned the words over in her mind as they entered the building. settling back down in the chair beside ducky and abby, y/n rested her head on abby's shoulder and closed her eyes.

two hours later y/n was woken by ducky. "she's awake my dear."

walking through the hallway to ziva's room was one of the longest hallways y/n ever walked through.

the team crowded into the room, completely disregarding the stares of others.

ziva turned jer head and made eye contact with y/n and she smiled weakly. y/n quickly took the chair right beside ziva.

when everyone got their affections over with, y/n was watching ziva talk to ducky about tips on healing.

"lunch, anyone?" tony asked abruptly. catching gibbs' eye, he motions with his head to y/n who was still all heart eyes over ziva. one by one, the entire team minus y/n left to go pick up food.

ziva looked at y/n and smiled a real smile. "hi."

y/n picked up ziva's hand and kissed her knuckles and laced their fingers. "hi ziva." she replied.

ziva looked into y/n's eyes like she was searching for something, anything. an answer maybe, an apology. an apology for scaring the shit out of y/n, and thanking her for saving her life.

"ziva." y/n asked, suddenly looking away.

the mossad agent exhaled. "yes?"

y/n bit her lip. "look, i know that you almsot died in front of me and whatever, but apparently vance thinks we're dating and gibbs said something so i was, y'know, wondering if, at some point, you'd want to go on a date or something?" it all rushed out in an uncalculated ramble that y/n was not proud of.

"i'd love to date you, y/n. i'd absolutely love to." ziva replied instantly.

y/n's heart genuinely felt like it was flying. "really?"

"yes, really."

y/n beamed and stood up and spun around. "holy shit you just made me so happy!" she laughed, making ziva laugh along with her.

when y/n sat down again, smile still on her face, ziva murmured, "my lips hurt... can you kiss them and make them feel better?" she asked shyly.

"don't have to ask darling." y/n ehispered against the beautiful woman as y/n pressed her lips against ziva's. ziva brought her hands up to tangle her fingers in y/n's hair. y/n pressed her hands into the spaces between ziva's head so she didn't topple onto the woman and hurt her.

at some point though, the team came back.

"finally!" tony shouted, causing y/n to fall into ziva's chest, making him laugh.

pecking ziva' neck y/n stood up and smoothed her hair, guiltily with a large smile. ziva turned her back on her team and bit her swollen lips. looking up at y/n, she smiled gently.

"i think we agreed on twenty dollars, tim." ducky said, cheerful as ever, collecting his bet money.

"i personally am not surprised they bet on us." ziva said to y/n.

"neither am i, honestly." y/n replied.

y/n looked over at gibbs. he smiled at her and shook his head.

"well, now that i have my money, i shall go see to making my favorite agents some food." ducky explained with a wink at ziva and y/n both.

"ducky's my ride. bye ziva! i'll be back tomorrow!" abby said excitedly.

"i guess i'll head home too... use protection.'' tony warned, wagging his finger at y/n.

"tony, ziva's in a hospital bed." she laughed, flipping him the bird.

"alright then, lets go tim. we'llbe outside y/n." gibbs said, ushering the crowd out the door.

turning to ziva with a smile, y/n leaned over to press a kiss to her head, but ziva pulled her collar down to kiss her on the lips.

"i'm going to be doing that so much." ziva sighs, eyes fluttering shut.

"i'll be back soon, darling."

"i'll miss you." ziva teased.

rolling her eyes, y/n walked out of the hospital with a wide smile on her face, despite having to sit in the back.

[bellygunnr]

In the Grill

A continuation of " Blood on the Hood ".

The shadow of someone jogging across estate grounds at sub-five in the morning is almost enough to prompt Bonnie to pull over. She’s been here long enough to know the patterns-- the walking trails are less for use and more for show. The only folks up this early are the groundskeepers, cleaning crew, and her. She considers investigating for only a second. If it’s egregious, someone with a better paycheck than her will tell her. For now-- she has other things to worry about.

Like her job, and her dying boss, and the fact that she can already see lights on at her destination. She knocks her head back against the seat with a groan. Either someone beat her there, or someone stayed far too late, and she has an inkling as to who. A yellow Gremlin sitting in the glorified parking lot only confirms her suspicions. It’s with exasperation that she parks next to the little compact and shuts off her truck.

For a moment, all she does is stare past the hood and into the grounds. The Foundation headquarters is a baffling amount of territory. All she knows is she’s somewhere in the middle of it, with the lab and the test track. She climbs out onto the pavement before the ensuing silence grows too loud, lets the cool air ground her, and ducks inside with the swipe of her badge.

But she has to go down. She gives the elevator her retina scan and tries not to feel claustrophobic in the steel gray box. Harsh lights and freezing cold air greet her on the way out.

“April!” Bonnie calls.

Most of the lab is clean. Only a couple techs are in, which she throws looks at, but they’re not the target of her ire, so she blows past them to where a half-dismantled car dominates most of the floor space. Among it all, one woman sits, apparently triple-checking measurements.

“Dr. Curtis,” Bonnie tries again. “Good morning.”

April jumps.

“Oh, Bonnie! You’re here la-- right on time. I…”

April smiles sheepishly. She makes an aborted movement to run her fingers through her hair, which is too busy being clipped into a tight bun.

“Look, I was just trying to finalize some things… We have to completely refab the roof and pillars and I lost track of time. I can leave?”

“Finish up what you’re doing and sign out. You’ve been taking notes, right?”

Bonnie glances over at the vehicle. She decides not to question why only half of it had to be reconstructed-- not until she sees the documentation.

“Of course! Yeah, they’re in the usual place. I’ll kick out the others with me--”

Good, she thinks. KITT is too easily distracted when there’s more than a couple people in the lab, but she doesn’t tell April that.

“Thanks, April. And get some sleep-- I mean it. We’re not on crunch time yet and I don’t-- I don’t want everyone burning out.”

April’s expression softens, but her eyes narrow knowingly. “Then you need to lead by example, Dr. Barstow. I know what you’re doing! You’re not the only one who cares about this project.”

“I know I’m not,” Bonnie says, a touch too hot. “Anyway, have you seen anyone weird out on the grounds lately?”

Mercifully, April turns back to her work (though not quickly enough to hide an eye-roll). “You know? Yeah. I caught one of Mr. Knight’s guests snooping around a couple days ago. He-- she left pretty fast.”

Huh. Wilton never mentioned anything about that, but maybe that explained the measurements her team received a few days ago. The orders tied to the information had tacked tens of hours more onto their work. And Devon rarely knew enough to clarify anything…

She shakes her head.

Eventually, April and the others leave. At six sharp, KITT onlines, but doesn’t speak for a full two hours. An hour after that, the rest of the day team arrives and takes over much of the work.

---

She finds Wilton’s so-called esteemed guest in the bathroom. Or, more precisely, the esteemed guest finds her-- by shoulder-checking her with the door and bleeding from the head. Bonnie takes in their appearance in haphazard bursts. The heavily bandaged face, the shaved head, freckled skin all of the way down, dark pants and a tank top that sits low on the chest. And no bra, which is almost as pressing as the spots of blood dripping down the bridge of her nose.

“Wh-oh, this is occupied! Where’s the first aid kit?”

Her expression is hard to discern from the bandaging and scarring, but her tone is shocked, urgent, nervous. Bonnie shakes her head in disbelief and tries to look anywhere but the blood, nausea already making short work of what little she had for lunch.

“The door was locked,” Bonnie says instead, strained. “Why-- how--?”

“The nurse was coming and I panicked,” she says plainly. “You look a little pale. You good?”

Bonnie waves a hand dismissively and drops to her knees, blindly fumbling for the seam of the cabinet doors underneath the bathroom sink. They come loose with a hollow sound and she finds the medical supplies quickly, mostly because she’s had to use it before. It hadn’t been her brightest moment (and Devon had nearly fired her).

The woman reaches forward, but Bonnie swats the hands away.

“I’m not letting you re-dress your own bandages,” she says hotly. “Sit down.”

She’s a professional, god dammit.

“But—”

“I think you’d rather let me patch you up than get caught by Devon,” Bonnie says sternly.

She steels herself enough to make eye contact. The soft lighting catches the woman’s visible eye, drawing out an intense blue. It’s almost as distracting as her lifting placating hands and shimmying around to sit atop the toilet, teeth bared in a grin.

“I’m Michael,” the woman says.

She-- Michael-- thrusts out a hand. It’s covered in dust and wood shavings. Bonnie frowns down at it and the nitrile gloves she was just about to slip on.

“Or Michelle!” She amends, spreading her hands.

“Not... the problem. Michael’s a fine name. I’m Dr. Barstow.”

Bonnie winces a second after. Michael has a grin, now, and a calculating gleam in her eye that follows Bonnie through the process of examining the bloodied bandages. The detritus that’d covered her hands is on her scalp, too.

“The hell did you do?”

“Climbed out of a window, don’t worry about it. Say, who’s Devon?”

The blood doesn’t particularly smell like anything. It just gleams wetly and dries sticky and is a vivid red reminder of what lays under the skin. She swallows down a wave of nausea. At least Michael has the decency to remain quite still, even tilting her head this way and that when Bonnie asks.

“…Wrong question, uh?” Michael continues on, blithe as anything. “Is it bad, doc? Am I dyin’?”

Jesus. Bonnie shakes her head, surprised to feel a bubble of laughter against her throat. The world spins a little in protest.

“I’m not a medical doctor,” she says. “And if climbing out of a window with a head wound didn’t kill you…”

“Either you will or nothing can,” Michael finishes solemnly. “Got it. You almost done?”

Michael bobs her head in tune with her little joke and drums her fingers across her thighs. Bonnie barely resists giving her an admonishing swipe, directing the energy into finishing the bandages.

She leans back, pulling off the gloves and throwing them into the trash. Now disinfectant sits heavy in the back of her throat. The world rolls languidly. Yeah, maybe she overestimated herself this go around. But Michael’s sheer presence raises more questions than it answers, and Bonnie doesn’t like leaving things unanswered.

Who is she? Why is she injured-- why did she climb out of a window? If she’s here, in the estate, how does she not know Devon? Maybe she’s Knight’s daughter, but-- he doesn’t have any children. Does he?

Bonnie looks down at Michael and her nervous energy critically.

Michael’s palms dig into the tops of her knees while her fingers drum a pattern. Her visible eye moves around, clearly picking out the full depth of the bathroom and the distance from the door. A low-level tension simmering underneath the skin makes toned muscle jump out-- and she’s already a good head over Bonnie.

“Where do you plan on going after this?” Bonnie asks.

Michael blanches. She rocks back and forth, tongue running across chapped lips.

“Well, I was lookin’ for the kitchen, the first go around…”

“Funny. I was just about to go on lunch break,” Bonnie says, suddenly thoughtful.

Granted, she doesn’t feel like eating now. But something tells her it’d be best to keep Michael in her sights rather than let her gallivant around. Plausible deniability and all that.

Michael’s brow pulls forward. Her head cocks to the side, tracking Bonnie intently.

“My truck’s out in the front,” Bonnie says casually. “Can’t miss it, it’s ugly as sin. Meet me out there and I’ll be right behind you.”

Her face lights up-- she cottons on fast and vaults toward the door, slamming it shut behind her. The stone-and-tile bathroom echoes for a long moment with the sound.

Hopefully the truck isn’t locked, because Bonnie spends the next ten minutes hurling and cleaning up.

[yuyu-writes]

city sidewalks

you live a pretty peaceful, normal life

until kaito kid ruins your night with his heist and begins to pay you back

you don't complain because he's kinda cute, to be honest

kaito kid x reader

wc: 3,200

All in all, you’re quite content with your life.

Everything will turn out fine, you think to yourself everyday, and for the most part, things aren’t too bad. You have a nice place in the city, you have food on the table, you have fun and enjoy your little hobbies, and you have a pretty good job.

Being a museum curator wasn’t in your top ten dream careers when you were five, but nevertheless, it pays the bills, you’re happy, and all is well. You’re passionate about the history of your treasured artifacts, you love teaching the world about its origins, and the days are peaceful.

Did I mention, it’s usually, normally, very peaceful, and you live contently without any big hiccups in your day to day life?

You curse under your breath at the sight in front of you.

Everything will turn out fine, you remind yourself again, all is peaceful.

Except when police flood your workplace in wait for the infamous Kaito Kid.

His advanced notice from the day before has you stressed all day, the taunting wide smile of ink staring up at you as you’re trying to stay composed as possible while coordinating with the policemen. They’re setting up their traps as you close earlier than usual with an apology to those who made reservations and turning away patrons at the door. It doesn’t help that they linger on the steps, curious to see the grand performance of the phantom thief with front row tickets.

Turning away from Inspector Megure, your eyes land on the target of tonight’s show.

Crimson Reverie. It’s a brilliant red ruby, said to have been the crystallized blood of the great pirate’s lover, a young maiden who left her home to follow him to the depths of the warfare-ridden seas.

A part of you already knows what the outcome is, but you also feel a sliver of hope as the police get into place, lying in wait as the lights dim, the moonlight making the gem shine so brightly in the center of the stage. And somehow, it goes by so fast that you can barely keep up, shouts fill the air, and you barely stay covered in your hiding spot, watching it all go down, flashes of white filling your vision.

And of course, at the end of it, he successfully steals the gem, his white cape stark against the night sky as he makes his escape, smooth and sly like any proper thief.

It’s well past the time of your usual closing shift at the museum. Normally, you’d be in the comfort of your home, enjoying a warm dinner or spending time relaxing, yet here you were, assisting in cleanup and locking up in the late, late night after a debrief with the police force and detectives. Disappointment and frustration linger in the air, but you’re not too bothered by it—far too exhausted and the work you’re doing is definitely outside of your pay range. After finalizing the details of next steps, you bid the remaining forces goodbye as you run through your usual night routine before closing.

You let out a deep sigh as you lock the doors, eager to return to your little apartment and rest for the night. So much for peaceful; they should pay you overtime for tonight.

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, a drop of water lands on your shoe, followed by another, and another, before a shower soon begins outside.

Damnit, damnit, you think, as you quicken your pace and water begins to splash at your feet. Your shoes are soaked at the toe and you feel water seeping into your socks.

You’re so fucking tired and you just want to get home and out of the rain and you’re soaked and–

A sudden shadow casts over you, and there’s a moment where you’re not pelted by the unforgiving rain. Instead, it is drumming against the umbrella over your head.

Umbrella?

You turn your head slowly, only to be met with the face of the man who had caused you all the stress in the first place.

“Kaito Kid?”

“The one and only,” he says with a smile, pleased at your shocked reaction. “What’s a beautiful lady like you doing out in the rain this late?”

It goes unspoken, but he knows. You know. He surely remembers you, from the crowd of museum staff he flew over just a few hours ago, his eyes meeting yours as his lips are drawn in his trademark smile, the gemstone between his thumb and forefinger as he takes what is rightfully yours.

Technically, the museum’s, but you’re way too attached to it to care about specifics.

Anyways— there’s no way he doesn’t recognize you now.

“You know why,” you sigh, pointedly ignoring his cheshire grin, confirming your thoughts. “So, what about the umbrella?”

“Hm? Not going to ask for the gem back, Ms. Museum Lady?”

You shrug, not even questioning his casual manner and nickname for you.

“You’ll return it eventually, if it’s not the one you’re looking for,” you answer nonchalantly. “Besides, you’re doing me quite a favor when you could be out and about being a little thief and messing with the police even more—you’ve upset them plenty already.”

“What can I say? It’s so fun to play a game of cat and mouse with them.”

He waves the umbrella around, his sudden, exaggerated movements shake water onto your face and you sputter, wiping it off with your sleeve. The rain continues to pour, and while you’re intrigued by his presence, you pay more attention to the sidewalks ahead, narrowly avoiding large puddles to avoid ruining your shoes any further. You grimace as your clothes stick to your skin and your hair sticks drenched against your cheeks.

“And besides, how could I call myself a gentleman if I left you to walk home in the pouring rain?”

You eye his soaked figure up and down, watching his usually flowing cape stick to his frame, heavy and wet. Droplets of rain fall from the rim of his hat, and you can’t help but wonder how his hair is still fluffy and dry, despite the rest of his appearance.

He was looking quite pathetic, to say the least, like a wet dog that resembled a mop more than anything.

You were too, probably. Not your best moment, to say the least, but it’s not like you cared to be prim and proper in pelting rain.

“Maybe if you didn’t steal the gem tonight, I could’ve gone home earlier and stayed warm and dry.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you wonder if he’s truly considering your words before you hear–

“My apologies,” he finally says, laced with sincerity, something that seemed strange coming from the flamboyant, arrogant thief. “Hopefully this makes up for it.”

You hum, not wanting to give him instant satisfaction. You know how people see Kaito Kid, especially on social media, and you have no doubt he takes pride in his carefully crafted persona. The thirst comments are most prominent, followed by the curses and demands for his arrest and other predictions of his next targets. His sweet talk captures all the young ladies’ hearts, and you’re not going to let the man who ruined your sleep schedule for tonight do the same to you.

If you’re sick tomorrow morning, you’re definitely starting clout about him on your Twitter of forty or so followers.

The rest of the walk back is silent, and strangely enough, you don’t feel any lick of malice from the man who walks beside you, his footsteps echoing yours. If anything, you feel safer with his presence at your side, despite him technically being a criminal. But then again, you doubt he would do anything when he already completed his mission for the night.

Rounding the corner, you let out a relieved sigh at the sight of your apartment complex that stands just a few meters away.

“That’s me, over there,” you say, pointing at the building. “You don’t have to walk me all the way, I’m fine from here.”

“No, no, I insist!”

Strange, again, but you simply nod, letting him accompany you with his little umbrella still over your head. At the door, you turn to him, bowing slightly as you thank him for walking you back.

You take a better look at him, illuminated by the street lamps, and you can’t help but return a small smile at the sight of his infectious, boyish grin. He looks younger than you expected, having seen only faraway photos of him on the news. You would even go as far as to say he’s quite cute, but you make sure to keep it in your thoughts. You don’t want your first and last interaction to end with him teasing you with his flirty comments.

“Here.”

He gestures for you to take the umbrella from his hand, and you take it, confused.

“Don’t you want it? You should keep it for your way back home.”

Kaito Kid’s smile grows wider and he turns around.

“Sweet of you to care. Thank you, my lady,” he says softly. “But instead, you should check your pockets.”

What?

You look down, quickly stuffing your hand into your coat pocket and you can’t help the gasp that escapes you as you feel–

Crimson Reverie.

You pull it out, feeling its cold edges against your skin, seeing its polished sheen as it reflects the light from the streetlamp above.

“Hey, wait–”

He’s no longer standing in front of you, and you think you see a flash of white through the curtain of rain, disappearing behind the rooftops of the building across from you.

What a strange, strange thief.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The next day you return the gemstone to its rightful place, reporting it to the police as well with a white lie that it was left near the museum entrance that morning. You felt guilty at the thought of telling them that Kaito Kid had actually walked you home, and all that mattered was the gemstone being safe and secured in its display.

With that, you went back to work, organizing the archives, writing up a report regarding the prior night, and some more cleaning with the help of the janitor. You were quite thankful that Kid seemed to be conscious of his actions, only kicking up some dirt and messing up a few parts of the museum displays, but for the most part everything was intact.

The day goes by quickly, with more tasks on your plate that keep you busy. Luckily, you’re able to close at your usual time, falling back into your routine quickly as Kaito Kid’s great show dissipates into a fleeting memory. The skies are clear tonight, and you feel more refreshed as you step out into the night, taking a deep breath in, letting your shoulders sag and the stress in you release.

Your mind wanders to the night before, thinking back to Kaito Kid who was at your side, in step with you on the rainy night.

That was all.

You were simply a part of the audience, and he was the great performing magician on stage.

But that was all.

You can’t help but frown a bit – you curse at yourself. Of course, it was your fault for even feeling an ounce of disappointment, what did you expect?

A heavy sigh escapes your lips, and you close your eyes for a moment.

And then suddenly, your footsteps have an echo to them.

Your eyes fly open and you see a familiar shadow casted at your feet.

“Kaito…Kid?”

“The one and only.”

An umbrella is over your head again, and the words are the same, but this time, it is only accompanied by the sounds of traffic winding down for the night.

“It’s not raining,” you point out the obvious, and you hear him hum in affirmation.

“It’s not.”

Yet he falls into your rhythm, arm lifted to hold the umbrella above your head as you walk. The question lays heavy on your tongue, the one word, “Why?” is so close from leaving your lips, yet you don’t let it, opting to continue your path home instead, eyeing his white-clad figure at your side.

The streets are a little busier than the night before, with many getting off work and heading home for the night, or even to venture out into the citylife. Without a doubt, you get looks.

Many looks.

Kaito Kid hovers beside you with his little white umbrella, identical to the one you received from him last night. Girls gossip as they pass by, red-cheeked and drunk, their whispers a little too loud as they gush over the man by your side, who simply winks at them as they pass by.

You decide to get another good look at him, turning your head slightly to eye his pristine cape flowing slightly behind him with each step, his white tophat perfectly seated on his hair, and his bright eyes, trained straight ahead and taking in the scene before him, analyzing, waiting.

“No plans to steal anything tonight?” you ask, quietly, and you turn your head to lock your eyes with his. It seems like he didn’t expect you to talk, and he blinks for a moment before he puts on his usual smile.

“Only to steal your heart,” he answers, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his flirtation.

Before you can respond (and point out that maybe it’s just a little weird he’s going out of his way like this), he continues, “But in all seriousness, is it that wrong to pay you back for last night?”

“You already did,” you say. “Last night.”

“Well, I feel like I haven’t. So let me walk you home, safe and sound, my lady.”

And once again, you feel no red flags as he simply stands by your side, and you trusted him and his intentions–after all, he simply steals the finest jewels and returns them anyways, nothing more, nothing less.

So you let him walk you home, your usual route of winding city sidewalks becoming different with the man by your side.

Your journey home seems a little brighter than it used to be.

The next few nights are strange to you, looking back on it. You had just finished your usual closing routine, slipping your arms into your coat and grabbing the keys and your purse. Life is normal during the day, undisrupted despite the strange happenings at night. A part of you doesn’t want to admit how you look forward to the end of your shifts due to a certain white-clad man, but you do. Just a little. Maybe a bit more.

So much for your peaceful, normal life.

The night is empty and quiet as you step out the doors. Yet the moment you turn the key to lock the door, you know he would be waiting at the bottom of the stairs, the little white umbrella tucked under his arm as he leans against the railing.

Like clockwork, he appears as soon as you turn your back to the now locked door of the museum.

Some nights are calm as he accompanies you home, while other nights, like tonight, are filled with quiet conversation, his voice weaving in with yours amongst the city lights, whispers lost in the faceless crowd. But tonight, you ask to take a detour, wanting to walk through the small park near your apartment complex. He simply nods at your request, and you lead the way.

It’s a rather nice park, for what it is in the urban forest. Greenery surrounds the small lake, a wooden bridge cutting through it that leads to a small playground on the other side. Sometimes, small food carts and vendors make shops near the sidewalk, selling sweet treats and snacks for the children.

And for once, you can’t help but ask the question that has been on your tongue since day one.

“Why have you been walking me home?”

You’re nursing a hot chocolate in your hands, one that you got from one of said food vendors stationed near the mouth of the bridge. Kaito Kid holds a cup of his own, one that you forced on him as another show of your gratitude.

“It’s as I said before,” Kaito Kid responds casually with a shrug. “Paying you back for the inconvenience I caused.”

“You and I both know that’s bullshit,” you respond quickly. “The first night or two, sure. But it has been two weeks now–with no rain in sight.”

And in those two weeks, you may even go as far as to say Kaito Kid was more than just your escort back home. You know much, much more about the mysterious, illusive phantom thief, one that you may even consider a friend.

His grandeur riddles and extravagant actions would only spur your curiosity of the man, and you couldn’t help but reciprocate, opening up about yourself, a bit more toned down for your own sake. Your dreams, your ambitions, your pain, and whatever else laying upon your tongue was so easy to spill out, the words filling the space between you and the phantom thief.

He’s silent, and you take the moment to crane your neck and look at him—his usual poker face paints his features, but you’re a bit surprised at his lack of words. It wasn’t common for him to mull over his next words, usually quick to flirt or retort with you, and the silence seemed to drag on longer.

“Is it so wrong to spend time with a beautiful gem like you?”

Stunned, you can’t help but let out a noise at the sudden compliment – he’s given you plenty before, but this time his voice is thick, honest, genuine, a wild shift from his usual playful tone.

“Crimson Reverie didn’t shine as brightly as I had hoped, but you did, on the night of my heist.”

He strides toward you, cape caressing his shoulder as it swipes forward around your frame, and suddenly you're embraced by white. Pulling you to his chest, he leans in, lips dangerously close to your ear, and softly says, “So, will you continue to shine for me, my lady?”

Not a moment later, your hands fisting the front of his shirt, you can’t help but think how strangely soft Kaito Kid’s lips are as you pull him into a kiss. When you open your eyes and pull away, you’re met with a bright grin of pure joy, as if he found whatever gem he’s been searching for, and a familiar white umbrella over your heads.

It’s a silent answer, but an answer that makes both of your hearts soar, regardless.

He’s captivating, and you can’t help but follow in his steps, falling under his spell and wanting more. You’re entranced by the raging, unknown seas of Kaito Kid, and you’ll eagerly take his hand if that means uncovering his mask.

“I’ll let you steal me away, but you have a lot of explaining to do.”

He grins.

“We’ll see about that, my sweet maiden.”

[inquisimer]

wip wednesday

tagged by @roguelioness (twice!! thank you fren)

I'm slowly rewriting my longfic of Neria's Inquisition arc, so here's a snippet from the chapter I'm adding to capture some of the prologue :3

tagging forward to: @rosella-writes | @plisuu | @blackwallmancer | @fadedsweater | @stonebiscuit

~~~

When she woke next the pain had been contained to small stabs in her palm, except for the occasional burst that sent shock waves of fire up her arm. Bewildered, she stared at the strange magic swirling in her palm as harsh voices clasped her in chains and called out again, for the Nightingale, for the Seeker.

A Seeker.

Neria shuddered as the guards dragged her along dripping stone corridors. Thousands of times stronger than a Templar and the seal of death for whichever mage brought them to the Circle. Powerful enough to enforce discipline on a Knight Commander even, if the circumstances were dire.

What happened? What had she done?

There were holes in her mind that laughed at her when she scrambled for memories that slid through her finger like water. Her terror intensified; if she couldn’t remember how could she keep her footing? How could she stay steadfast? This Seeker, the Chantry—they could say anything about her and without her memories she would have no ground on which to deny them. Not that they were likely to believe her anyway, but certainly no one would if she couldn’t even believe herself.

She sobbed, tripping over the rough stone floors, and it earned her a cuff upside the head from one of her captors.

“Don’t think to try our sympathies, elf,” she snapped. “Were it up to me I’d run you through here and now without any ceremony.”

That only made Neria sob harder, unable to contain herself. Whatever had happened, it seemed they would make her the target of their rage regardless.

They flung her into a cell and locked chains onto the shackles that bound her wrists. The metal was imbued with lyrium—she could taste the cold steel buzz of it on her tongue. It kept her from even reaching for her mana, not that she was eager to try. She remembered little of the brief waves of consciousness before now, but she remembered the nausea and the pain and the helpless cycle of both. No point in putting herself through that when she could hardly get out of this situation by casting.

She would leave this cell in a body bag, most likely. They were clearly past any point where she might mitigate the punishment and anything less would take a miracle. She used to face this sort of reality on the daily, but she’d grown complacent in the years since the Chantry controlled her. Still, the cold resignation was a familiar friend and her sobs faded into steady streams of tears as she doubled over herself on the cold stone floor.

Had they, perhaps, finally drawn the connection between herself and Anders? In theory she’d been affiliated with the Mage Underground at large, but in reality every agent of the network knew that she only worked in tandem with Anders. Though she’d left Kirkwall before his ill-advised protest, Neria was haunted by the thought that some trace, some minute action she’d taken back then would link her to him and she would become a wanted terrorist as well.

She’d covered her tracks well for the last five years, but perhaps this was that moment. It could even be a highlight of the peace talks—not Anders himself, he was too well protected by the Champion. But executing his alleged accomplice would certainly gain the Chantry some traction with both the mages and the Templars.

[litcest]

illicit affairs

Word Count: 2671

Pairing: Father x Daughter (Dave x Nora; yes, I gave "Daddy" a name)

Rating: Mature 

Synopsis: Now that Nora has the man of her dreams, she realises that the situation is much more complicated she had anticipated. Can a relationship survive in secret?

Author’s Note: This is a sequel to my story tolerate it. It's kinda sad. I hope to return to these characters and give them a happy ending. But who knows when it'll happen.

Also available on AO3

"I'm going for a run, wanna come?", I asked Jack as he passed by my bedroom on his way downstairs. 

He stopped on his tracks and frowned, poking his head into my room and raising his eyebrow. "Since when do you run?"

I shrugged as I finished lacing my shoes. "It's good for my health."

"Yeah, but, Nora, you hate sports. When did you even buy all this stuff?", my brother gestured at my outfit, which consisted of a tight crop top, booty shorts, a hooded polyester jacket and running shoes, all in black. "Are you planning on becoming a spy or something?"

I pulled the hood up to hide the red in my cheeks. "I'm just going for a run, okay? And I thought you might want to join, but forget it." I brushed past him and quickly walked down stairs. "I'll be back in two hours or something."

"Have fun, I guess", he replied without much interest.

I left the house and began to run - slowly, as Jack had been right, I wasn't the type to do physical exercise. The houses turned into shops as I left the neighbourhood, heading towards our meeting spot: the parking lot of an abandoned Target. How romantic, I thought bitterly. This hadn't been what I had pictured when our affair started, but after that first night in his bedroom, my dad had never touched me again in our house.

"It's too risky, baby, we can't have Jack finding you", Daddy had told me. And so we had taken on meeting all over the town, kissing in the car and having sex in old motels where no one would recognize us. I didn't like this whole hiding thing, a secret affair with clandestine meetings. I had wanted dinner dates and holding hands, but the most we could do in public was longing stares.

The bitterness melted away when I spotted the red car already parked and waiting. At least I have him, I comforted myself, one day, it'll get better, but this is how it has to be right now. One day when Jack went to college. One day when we moved to another town… That was what he kept promising. "I love you, baby, we just have to wait."

"Hi, Daddy", I said cheerfully as I opened the car's side door.

He glanced up from his phone and smiled, looking at me with those deep brown eyes that could make anyone fall in love. I slid into the passenger's seat and he planted a kiss on my cheek.

"I missed you", he whispered into my ear, making my heart melt. I threw my arms around his neck, pulling him close to my chest.

"I missed you more."

* * *

His touch lingered on my skin as I made my way back home. I could smell his cologne, the musky scent stuck in my nose. I had five more hours of waiting around at home before Daddy came back from work. And then I would have to pretend to be his perfect little daughter, put on an act for Jack's observing eyes.

I spent the time doing house chores: cleaning, washing, dusting, cooking dinner. Keeping myself busy to avoid thinking of how much I missed him. I hated the thought of him in his office, chatting with Inez and the other co-workers. He told me they were only friends, but I knew that, at least from her side, there were some romantic feelings lingering under the surface. I feared that, if they spent enough time together, Daddy might fall for her. Maybe he would decide he liked her more than he liked me and then I would lose everything to that well-manicured whore.

Enough, Nora, I told myself, shaking away the idea of Daddy ever cheating me. But it was useless, if I stayed idle for just one minute, the images of him kissing her full lips would creep back into my mind. And so I found task after task, dusting shelves that were already spotless and polishing silverware we never used.

"You alright?" Jack asked from his room when, for the third time that afternoon, I vacuumed the corridor that led to our bedrooms.

I pulled the plug, ceasing that awful loud noise and stared at my brother. While my face was basically a reflection of my mother's, Jack had looked nothing like our parents. It was as if someone had taken the pieces of our mom and our dad and assembled into something fully new, with dark brown eyes and slick black hair, a pointed nose and prominent jawline. Few people would guess we were siblings.

"I'm just cleaning the house and waiting for Daddy to return," I let out a deep sigh. "Like I always do. Every day."

There was a ruffling sound as he got up from his chair and came up to me. "See, Nora, that's your problem: since you graduated, you have done nothing for yourself. You became Dave's housekeeper."

I pursed my lips. I hated when he referred to our father by his first name. "I stay home to keep you company! I can't go to college and leave you alone."

"I don't need a babysitter, for god's sake, Nora, I'm turning seventeen in a few months, I can take care of myself. We both know the reason you stayed behind was because of father."

I squinted, suddenly scared that my brother knew what me and Daddy had been up to. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing", he shrugged and then turned back to return to his computer. "Just, you should get a hobby or something."

Maybe he was right, maybe I needed a hobby. But above all else, I needed Daddy to look at me the same way he had almost eight months ago, when we shared our first kiss.

* * *

The idea came to me while I organised the master bedroom's bathroom cabinet. When Mum disappeared just over six years ago, most of her stuff went missing alongside her, so as I cleaned out empty bottles of shampoo and shaving cream, I was surprised to find a dusty bottle of Mum's old perfume, Acqua di Gioia. Daddy used to truly love the scent, often telling her it was his favourite smell in the world. That's when it occurred to me, that maybe if I smelled like her, he would want me more.

I wasn't stupid. I remembered how I had been wearing one of her old shirts the night he finally reciprocated my feelings, how I had fixed my hair in the same way she used to. Maybe this can reignite our romance.

It was an expensive perfume, but the little money saved from some tutoring jobs I had here and there was enough to cover the costs. The bottle arrived at my front door step in a small cardboard box, holding all my hopes.

For the past three days, Daddy had been too busy at work for our lunch meetings and, since he had been working late hours, I hadn't seen him much in the house either. I was left without a father or a lover. I felt lonely. Jack hadn't lied the other day. He was almost a grown up now and didn't need his older sister all the time. The Friday after the perfume arrived, he would be going to a party at one of his friend's houses. 

I hadn't planned for that, but I gave a huge smile when he told me he had been invited. He was unwittingly helping me to restore our family. I needed Daddy to love me as a wife, so we could be a complete household again.

"Hey, Jack!" I called out as he passed by his door. He stood in the mirror, trying to arrange his snapback cap in a way that made him look cool.

"Sup?" 

"Have fun tonight, okay? And don't worry about coming home too late; Daddy and I will be fine."

His lips curled upwards, in a knowing smirk that sent chills down my spine. "Yeah, I'm sure you will."

I tried to shake away the feeling of uneasiness. "Just make sure to not drink too much, okay?"

He nodded along, but I could tell he wouldn't be listening to my advice. I had met guys like Jack, who think the rules should bend just for them. He would do as he pleased that night. But, then again, so would I. 

As night fell, I peeked through the curtains, watching Jack walk down the driveway. I held my breath until his figure disappeared into the darkness, swallowed by the shadows. Then, the house was mine to plan. If Daddy kept the same schedule he had the rest of the week, I had at least two more hours for him to arrive, time enough to do what I needed.

I bathed, letting the water carry away the sweat and dust from the day. After patting myself dry, I wrapped a towel around my body and walked over to my bedroom, where the red bralette I had chosen to wear was already set aside, along with its matching lace panties. Once dressed, I took care of the tangled mass of auburn curls that was my hair, which even wet refused to cooperate, each strand a stubborn snarl clinging to its neighbours and meeting my brush with stubborn defiance. I worked through the knots, each stroke bringing a sense of order and purpose to the chaos in my head. As the curls fell into place, cascading around my shoulders like a fiery waterfall, the transformation was almost complete.

It was the determination in my eyes that, above anything, made me look so much like Mum. I practised a seductive smile in the mirror, but it felt foolish. What if it wasn't enough? What if that inkling in my brain had been right and, instead of working late, he was actually in bed with Inez or some other cheap whore?

"Fuck!" I shouted, my voice echoing in the empty house. Fighting back tears, I got up to set the scene in his room. Candles, ambiance music, rose petals. I set up the whole scene, making it as perfect as it could be. In the dim light, I looked irresistible.

 My heart beat heavily in my chest, each thud echoing the seconds that ticked by as I awaited my father's arrival. Finally, a car's headlights appeared around the corner, and my heart skipped a beat. As it approached our house, I recognized the familiar shape of my father's car. Relief washed over me, mingling with an undercurrent of anxiety.

I rushed back to the bathroom for the final touch. Picking the perfume from the shelf I had half hidden it in, I dabbed the cologne onto my wrists, the base of my throat, and behind my ears.

The beeping sound of the car locking cut through the silence of the night, followed by footsteps on the gravel path outside the house. I laid seductively on his bed, propping myself on my elbows and waited for him to open the bedroom door.

"Nora?" his voice called from the entryway, probably finding it strange that I wasn't by the door to greet him. I stayed quiet, suppressing a giggle and feeling a bit like a kid playing hide-and-seek. His footsteps continued up the stairs. "Kiddo, are you home?"

The door handle was pushed down and the door swinged inward. Daddy's eyes fell upon me. He stopped in the doorway, dazzled by the sight before him.

"Hi, Daddy", I said meekly, pushing my chest forward to showcase my boobs, whose natural size had been enhanced with the help of some padding.

Finally coming out of his stupor, Daddy came forth, his face twisted in a frown. "Nora, what are you doing? I told you that we couldn't -"

"Relax", I interrupted him, already knowing what he would say. "Jack's gone for the night, so I thought we could spend some time together."

His lips formed a smile and sat on the bed near me, his eyes fixated on my exposed skin. "Oh right, the party! I totally forgot."

I pouted and shifted so I was sitting half behind him and placed my hands on his shoulders, slowly massaging the muscles. "You're working too much. You need to relax more", I leaned so my lips brushed against his ears before continuing, "with me."

He took a deep breath and his eyelids fluttered. I was sure Daddy would take me right then and there. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide and he got up, pushing himself away from me. "Why are you using Teresa's perfume?" 

"Mum doesn't own a scent", I tried to sound unbothered, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. I hated that he seemed almost mad at me. "Besides, I thought you loved it", I added with a shrug.

Daddy shook his head and crouched, so his face was levelled with mine. Gently, he took my hands into his. "Nora, my dear, what are you trying to do with all this?" he gestured around the room as he asked.

I blushed. I clearly had gone way too over the top.

"It's just… I missed you, okay?" I blurted out the words before I lost my courage. "When we started dating, it was magic, and now I can't even wear lipstick because it leaves a trace when I kiss you! You don't take me out in public, you don't spend time with me at home. It's like I don't even exist anymore in your world."

He let go of my left hand so he could brush my cheek. "Nora…"

"No!" I screamed, no longer just sad, but also angry at him. A hundred times before I had believed his promises and been let down, it wouldn't work again. "Spare yours words, Daddy, we both know you talk a big deal, but it amounts to nothing." I pushed myself off the bed, fully intent on stomping out of the room and hoping he wouldn't let me.

"Come one, baby, I know I screwed up", he tried to reason. His hand made motion to grab by arm, but then retreated, his touch never arriving. "I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry."

I pivoted on my feet, feeling very conflicted. "I want you, Daddy, as a husband, as a lover. I don't know how else to show you how much I need you."

An ugly whimper escaped my throat before I could stop it. I closed the distance between us and he wrapped his arms around me.

"I need you too, baby, but it's complicated. We have a lot to lose if the truth of our relationship ever gets out, it could ruin me. The cops would tear us apart, I would go to jail and Jack to the foster system."

By then, I was full-blown crying, my sobs so loud they muffled any sound coming from outside the room. "You call me 'baby' like I'm your girlfriend. You call me 'kid' like I'm your daughter! Make up your goddamn mind! All that I know is that everyone else would pale in comparison to you." Tears rolled down my cheeks and there was a wet spot on his shirt from where I had blown my nose. My beautiful night had turned into a godforsaken mess. "I feel like a fool by the way you lead me on. Please, Daddy, please, let's just… I don't know, run away and be together. Move somewhere new, tell everyone we are husband and wife."

He patted my hair. Somewhere else in the house, a door slammed shut, which I credited to the wind. His silence was worrying me. Finally, I raised my face to look at him. His eyes gleamed with tears in solidarity with my pain. He wiped my cheeks clean with his sleeve, his head hovering just above mine

"For you, I would ruin myself a million little times."

His lips met mine and I melted into the kiss.