#Torturing Gordon some more

[wonderlandleighleigh]

A follow up to this

Gordon Ford is not a man who is used to rejection. Not only is he charming and funny and handsome, but he is Gordon fucking Ford, dammit. Women love him. Women are impressed by him; want to be with him.

But, apparently, not Midge Maisel.

He drinks his drink distractedly as he watches her from across the bar, laughing at something Lenny Bruce is saying, her hand resting on his chest comfortably as she cracks up, and he looks...

He doesn’t even look smug. He just looks delighted. Smitten with this beautiful women.

Ugh. They’re in love.

“Look at them,” Gordon grumbles to Mike. “They look so...happy together.”

“Who?” Mike asks, looking confused, before following his boss’s sight line. “Oh. So?”

“What do you mean so? She’s supposed to be free-wheeling! Unattached!” Gordon complains. “Available!”

Mike frowns deeply. “Uh...”

Gordon huffs. “I’m going over there.”

“Why?”

“Because- because!”

“...Sure.”

*****

Lenny loves making Midge laugh, ad he has to admit that he’s missed it since he’s been away.

He misses her.

It’s so good to spend time with her like this. Even if it’s brief; even if he has to leave again in two days.

This feels...

Good.

Right.

He turns to order them another round of drinks from the bartender and when he turns back around, Gordon as standing there with Midge, a little too close.

“Seems like the party is over here tonight,” Gordon smiles.

“No, no party,” Midge tells him coolly. “We were just chatting.”

“What about?” Gordon presses.

Lenny hands Midge her fresh martini. “Apparently Midge’s father told her son about some of the horrifying events in human history to assure him he could sleep in his own bed instead of Midge’s.”

Midge laughs again and shakes her head. “I love Papa, but he is so fucking terrible with children sometimes. I have no business being as functional as I am.”

“Well, you’re not that functional,” Gordon tries to joke.

Lenny blinks as he sips his own drink. “Her dysfunction is your gain, you know.”

“She’s only had two jokes on the show,” Gordon points out, starting to look out of his depth.

Lenny just smirks and sips his drink. “That says more about you than it does about her, Gordo.”

Midge grins a little to herself as she sips her drink.

“You know what I think we need?” Lenny asks her, leaning in, officially ignoring Gordon now.

“What’s that?” Midge asks.

“Coffee,” he tells her. “Good coffee. And very good pie.”

“I think you might be right,” Midge nods sagely. “Good coffee and very good pie really sound like something we desperately need right now.”

“You makin it?” Gordon asks, obviously trying to be funny.

“He’s starting to sound like my ex,” Midge comments to Lenny.

Lenny grins behind his hand. “Didn’t your ex bomb on stage so hard he left you?”

She nods. “Yes, he did. Coffee? Pie?”

“Cafe Reggio?” Lenny offers. “They got that pecan pie.”

Midge sets her glass down and takes his arm. “Lead on.”

Lenny pats the hand that’s resting on his elbow affectionately and grins at Gordon. “G’night, Gordon.”

“See you tomorrow, Boss,” Midge smiles happily.

They head for the door, and he glances down at her, grinning widely. “How good did it feel to leave that guy in the dust?”

“So good,” Midge confirms. “Especially since I got to do it with you.”

He leans in and kisses her temple affectionately, and he works on getting them a cab to the Village.

[mikalame]

I'm Scared

so this is like reader going to a music school where she meets bill and tom and they start Black Question Mark its mostly implyed that they start it never really said tho.

Reader is a nevrous wreak and may seem like a cry baby SHE JUST SCARED 😭 this isnt realy a tom x reader and tom is kinda mean

i may make a pt2

"Dad i'm kinda scared" You say holding your dads hand tight, sweat forming in your palm making you even more nervous. Your family had just moved to Hamburg and you had shown some interest in singing so after a look around on posters and talk around town you found a music school for 10-15 year old, beginners and more experienced musicians.

You were buzzing with excitement with the days counting down to when you could start your first lesson but when the day came all the excitement left and was turned into a big bubble or anxiety.

"Come on sweets what's wrong you've been waiting for this since last month you were so excited"? your father asks, staring at your knitted eyebrows, the frown on your lips paired with your bottom lip shaking and your eyes watering he'd have to be blind to not notice you were scared.

"M-maybe ill come here next year dad, i'm not that good anyway" you say wiping your eyes a bit and ushering you two back to the car. Swiftly dodging your attempts of escape you dad holds you by your arms keeping you in place, moving a piece of your hair out of your face and speaks to you again.

"Look i know you might be nervous and i understand, were at a new place and you don't know anybody yet but this is a good chance to make friends here and maybe some might even go to your school" Your dad whispers wiping the few stray tears that roll down your cheeks and straightens your clothes.

"Okay dad, i can do this" You say more confidently grabbing the little mirror from your bag fixing your hair as well as making sure your face isn't blotched. Taking your first couple of steps away from your dad was hard wanting more than ever to just run back and never speak of this again but you pushed through and opened the door to the music school.

Sitting down on the wooden floor along with everyone else was awkward people around you were sitting in circles with their own friends some peeping over their shoulders to look at you but they majority of them of them talked within their groups.

The first couple lesson of class was torture first when some boy said "Who's that" when your name was called on the role then everyone looking at you when you said here then there was a game where you had to partner up and you were pared with someone who didn't seem to want to get to know you and was constantly looking back at their group of friends watching them as they all laughed and joked.

The week consisted of you wondering why you even came then remembering what your dad had told you and you felling a tad bit more confidant then seeing peoples faces drop when they get pared with the 'new girl' then the cycle repeats its self over and over again.

This week was just like any other seeing some people from your school that you recognise from music class whisper to there other friends while pointing at you not in a mean way but its not very nice to be having peoples eyes on you constantly, not knowing whats being said about you.

Hoping into your mum's car she drives you home waiting for you in the car while you get dressed into some non-school clothes then driving you to your music lesson. Gordon (the music teacher) hasn't really taught us much music so far but instead doing ice-breakers to ease the tension in the class though it hasn't worked well for you yet.

"Today is a big day students" Gordon says walking back and forth his shoes clacking with the wooden floor with each step "Do you know why ?" he questions looking at the facing in the room look at each other trying to come up with ideas on what Gordon was on about.

"Well i have decided that we aren't going to ease are was into talent i want to see your true raw talent that you posses at this very moment in time" his voice booming around the room and hushed whispers or excitement and nervousness flutter around.

Hands shoot up with questions as you look around, Gordon picking the first one he sees "Yes Rebecca" he nods his head at her "Will we be able to pick our bands" a hopeful smile on her face "Yes you will the max for a group will be 4 but f you can manage it you can have 3 though it will be harder" he ends roars of cheers come up.

You are left with worry tho as you look around you see people pairing up into groups you see a couple trios that you could join but you just couldn't muster up the courage for it so you resort back to your slumped position and wait for Gordon to speak again.

BILL POV

Excitement buzzes through me as i shake Tom who's equally exited next to me. "AHH" i scream at Tom who's eyes widen at me before scrunching back into a thinking face making the excitement die down a bit as i wonder what hes thinking.

"What is wrong Tom?" i ask "Who are we gonna go with" He asks stumped as he looks around at all the groups and not seeing anybody without a group. I turn around joining him on the hunt for a band buddie scanning the room looking for any stays but still not seeing any until he sees you slump in the back of the room.

"Her" I pointed at the girl in the back not so much that she would see up straight away but enough that tom could see who I was pointing to. Toms eyes follow my finger and his jaw drops "Bro really her, shes a loser and has like no friends even at school" Tom says letting out a exasperated gasp "Shes our only hope unless we wanna go with Gordon" i look at Tom my eyebrow raised "fine" tom says quietly.

"HI, Im Bill and this is Tom do you wanna partner up with us for the assignment" i was trying to be as nice as possible though with tom behind me staring off into the distance its hard to be genuine seeming. "Oh um sure" The girl says moving over a bit so me and tom have somewhere to sit down. "Im ____ by the way' She says giving us a small smile.

YOUR POV

I smiled at the two boys after i introduced myself and watched as Bill dragged tom to the ground as he wasn't paying any attention to the conversation. "Tom shut up " Bill snaps when Tom yells at him for hurting him. A awkward silence washes over the group you end up listing in to others conversations to try and think of ideas as you just assumed you would be put into a group and them already having an idea.

"Okay what ideas do you have" Tom mumbles looking at him he's cross legged and using his hand for resting his head your eyes lock and you pull away but still feeling his eyes on you unsettled you a bit. "Uhm, not much this is my first time really doing music so i don't really know what to do" you say looking away embarrassed from your lack of knowledge.

"Oh great bill just had to pick a newbie" Tom groans rolling his eyes looking at the other groups. You head snaps at the boy your embarrassment long gone and anger fuels you as you snap back at him "How bout you go find some one else then, i didn't tell you to come over here and quite frankly i don't want you here if your gonna be rude"

Both the boy's jaws drop Bill's eyes slowly move to his brother who stands up angrily and stomps away looking for a new group. You anger washes away quickly and you quickly apologise at Bill hoping he doesn't think your rude "OMG i'm do sorry about that i really didn't me-" "BAHAHAHHAH, omg that was so funny" Bill laugh's in hysterics at you telling his brother off.

"Your all good, Tom can be do rude some times don't worry he will be back everyone else is full or not wanting people to join so there is really know where for him to go" He laugh's grabbing some paper and sitting down with you.

You and Bill had been working on some lyrics after you two came up with an idea following an energetic theme with a catchy chorus that started the whole song. Few minutes go by and you see someone thump down beside you along with a groan.

"So glad to have you back Tom we have started a song song already" Bill says sitting up cracking his back before leaning back down again "What that's not fair i didn't get to add any of my ideas in" Tom whines "Next time don't go have a tantrum and maybe you could contribute your ideas to the group" you faux smile at him rolling your eyes and looking back at the lyrics.

Bill's smile follows the insult and looks at his older brother whose face is screwed in in offence. Toms eyes look to Bill looking for some help but bill ends up laughing in his face even more causing some people to turn and look at the group, Tom buries his head in his oversized jumper.

"Give me the sheet....please" Tom asks holding his hand out to you waiting for the lyric sheet. As Tom reads over the sheet you and Bill talk about other things some being around music and others not really. You find out that Bill sings and Tom plays the guitar and that they go to the same school as you but they are in the year ahead of you.

"Oooo with both of us singing and Tom playing the guitar that could sound super cool" Bill says he thinks about what parts you and him could sing together and separate. Tom hands you back the lyrics and add a few of his own ideas with wording and says what cords he could do for each part.

Tom, Bill and You all talk and practise a bit on the singing tom just had to listen as he left his guitar at home. "This is going so well"you say clapping your hands your first proper smile etched onto your face as you look a what your group has down so far.

"Are you free this weekend so we can practise some more and i can use my guitar as well"Tom asks as everyone starts packing up for the lesson some grabbing there school bags and heading out the door. "yeah i think i am ill need to ask my parent though" you say throwing your little bag over your back heading to your mums car.

"okay well hear is my mums number" Tom says grabbing your hand a writing down the number on your palm "Hopefully you can come....sorry about before by the way it was rude of me to do that" he smiles at you softly before heading over to bill as they walk away.

You quickly hop into your mums car, looking at the number on your hand "Oooo got a boys number huh" you mum teases you. "Gosh no mum!" you yell your face going red. "Today was the best, i have a music group and im not just sitting in the back being all sad, this is the boys mums number i was wondering i could go to their for a practice". You ask nodding your head.

"I don't see why not but your father may not be so happy with you being around a boy just yet" she giggles. "Mum" you groan moving your hands over you face.

HOPE YOU LIKED sorry i was away but i has stuff going on i may make a part 2 if you want.

tag list: @oppopotamus@violentnewmarley@adissonsss@saumspam

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Lawrence/Mark x fem!reader - Jealousy

Warning : jealousy, blood, saw horror, kiss, use of Y/n, fluff, comfort

Mark Hoffman x fem!reader, Lawrence Gordon x fem!reader

Summary : Two men, two successors to Jigsaw and yet, besides the latest game, there is something in both of them that they want...you.

masterlist

Costas mandylor - masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since John had chosen his successors, the last thing he hoped for from them was an intimate relationship. Lawrence was his biggest project and at the same time his biggest secret. Amanda for a short time like a daughter but for her he was the father.

Mark had gotten by the serial killer again a sense and Y/n the newest member of the almost cult was Johns second hand which concerned the creation of traps. Behind the young reporter's friendly demeanor, however, was a goddess who, like John, ruled over the living and the dead.

A woman who since she had emerged, especially the doctor and the policeman had not been able to get out of his head. Lawrence for the first time again felt his heart beating for someone after his wife and Adam.

How the blond came more and more often to the factory instead of being at work to take care of the medical things and to keep an eye on how it would cause physical pain.

His friendliness and just slightly insane mixed and he enjoyed the time together with her. To his surprise, she had worked as a nurse for a few years and both had an interest in the medical field.

Mark, on the other hand, scored with his sense of justice and his direct manner. He made it clear to everyone that he wanted something from her. The way he rolled up his sleeves to work on the machines when they tightened something together.

The way he made remarks and flirted, much to the chagrin of John and Amanda, neither of whom wanted to hear about it as long as the three of them didn't forget their goal in the work. The umstruckturieren, punish and judge the people.

The sun was already low in the sky when Y/n returned from her lunch break to her office for the last few hours. Closing the door to her office and enjoying the coffee she had bought just a few minutes before. Settling into her chair, she finally saw the bouquet of red roses lying on her desk.

Is it a birthday? she asked herself and looked at the calendar on her wall where the birthdays of her colleagues were listed. But there was no little cake to be seen that month.

Taking the bouquet in her hand she smelled the sweet roses, the redness of the blossoms matched her lipstick. She saw the small card in the bouquet and took it in her hands while she fetched a glass of water and put the bouquet in it.

,,For the most loving co-worker as a token of my love," she murmured the words that someone had written in cursive with a fountain pen. A message from a mysterious admirer had bought her the roses and seemed to be looking forward to them.

She looked at the roses with a smile and went back to her work. But during the remaining hours, her eyes kept going to the roses. The sweet blossoms, the scent that surrounded her, was intoxicating. Intoxicating until she walked out of her office and picked up a single one.

You could make any murder factory more beautiful, which is why she was even happier. ,,Hello, I'm here!" she called into the factory and got a cheerful hello back from Amanda who was working on the bear trap and John already seemed to be making new plans.

She put the rose in a coffee cup and filled it with water and put it on the small table by Amanda's bed. ,,Thank you" the black haired girl said and winked at the older one before Y/n disappeared into the corridors of the factory with a nod.

She looked into a few of the rooms and saw the various torture devices, some still in the middle of finishing work or in the testing phase. But that was not her goal. ,,I hope the stomach doesn't burst open again" she mumbled and could still remember the last time they wanted to place a bomb in one of the victims.

This, however, shortly after a false start led to complications and both died. A mistake that went on the cap of Lawrence and Y/n who had not switched everything on correctly.

Knocking on the door frame of the doctor's room she went in and saw the blond working on a person. He turned to her and seemed to be expecting someone else, but when his bright eyes went to her he smiled.

,,Hello Y/n, good to see you," he said cheerfully, pointing to the instruments he had laid out. She saw how he had already sewn up several wounds and was about to use hoes to probably hang the victim later. ,,A new device?" she asked and put on gloves before she started to hand him the things one by one.

He always gave her a thank you back and they both soon fell into a new conversation topic. She would be lying if she didn't like his calm and friendly manner. The little smile that was on his lips every time he pulled the needle with the thread through the man's skin.

He is always perfectly calm she thought and couldn't help but smile herself. The older one had noticed this and smirked as well, ,,What's so funny?" he wanted to know although they both seemed to know how absurd this all was. Two adults picking at one person.

Until they both burst into giggles and put away their medical tools to calm down. ,,Let's just hope that no-" she was about to continue when Lawrence put down the cutlery and stepped up with his prosthesis.

A mistake, as it turned out, when he drew in the air sharply and the bloody cutlery and tray fell off as he held onto the wall and almost toppled over. ,,Lawrence!" she cried, frightened, and hurried over to him, pushing the victim aside and supporting the blond doctor before taking him to a chair.

With a pained sigh, he tried to find a reasonably comfortable position before she pulled up his pants and looked at the prosthesis. ,,A screw came loose and cut your leg a little...I'll fix it...wait a minute" she said and he couldn't help but smile at her professionalism and caring.

More than once he had let his thoughts wander to her. He knew that his heart was beating for her but he didn't want to press her. Not like Mark.

He approached her and took off his prosthesis - he hadn't used his cane lately. ,,I shouldn't have been so independent of my cane," he said aloud and saw her give him a look of understanding before she came to him with the things.

,,It may have been a while now...but Gordon even I had to get used to my prosthesis," she said cheerfully and he looked at the three fingers of her right hand. Instead of flesh and blood, there was metal and leather and several joints connecting the three fingers.

Mostly, however, she wore a glove to hide the injury, not to mention the relatively large piece of her left ear that was missing after a bullet from a pistol nearly blew it off.

She didn't see the slight redness on his cheeks as she tended to his wounds and the blood. He had winced as she dabbed the disinfectant on the wound. His fingers briefly tightened on her shoulder and she gave him a moment to give himself time.

The position they were in she was kneeling in front of him practically between his legs and the pain stopped paired with her warm soft hands was something that made him draw in his breath sharply.

,,That should do it," she said in conclusion, tightening the bandage before sliding the prosthesis back onto his leg. Suddenly Lawrence's hand touched her cheek and she smelled that sweet smell again.

,,You gave me the roses," she said, and she felt as if someone had removed the board from her head. His smile widened and she felt the gesture of Lawrence pulling her closer. His fingers slid lightly over her body and he touched her gently.

She felt him pull her up, almost onto his lap, and she closed her eyes, hoping for the kiss, when suddenly a loud clearing of the throat was heard. ,,Doctor shouldn't you take care of your patients and let the living ones go?" Mark asked bitingly and gave the blonde a warning look before winking at the younger one and walking back into the hallway.

,,I need your help honey!" he called and she heard Lawrence shake his head in annoyance. ,,Thank you Lawrence" she said hastily and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek and handed him his walking stick before walking behind Mark.

He seemed to have just returned from work, she smelled the smell of his gun, his aftershave and that smug feeling that surrounded him. ,,You can be nicer to him, you know," she reminded him, not liking that they didn't like each other. She knew that if they were going to keep doing this, they had to get along.

As soon as the next game was on, they all had to work together. ,,Don't be so sugar he'll get over it as soon as he can walk again" the brown haired man waved her off and she rolled her eyes as she walked with him to one of the machines.

She knew he had a more than deft hand for the traps. ,,Honey, can you get me the hooks from the main hall?" he asked and was already working on the metal. In answer to his question, she watched him for a moment before she disappeared.

A sigh inevitably escaped her and Amands patted her encouragingly on the shoulder. ,,Don't let it go to your head," she said, and John seemed to rebound from the whole affair.

His own relationship and love had been shattered by it all and the last thing he wanted to do was deal with it. ,,See that you get our new one and the trap ready...I don't want any delays Y/n" he said and she nodded showing him a look in which he let her know that she had finished it. Before the white haired one went back to his work himself. With the target in her hand she returned to the room and paused.

That's extra she thought and saw how the policeman had opened his shirt slightly, rolled up his sleeves and smiled broadly at her. ,,I knew it, good girl" he praised her and she threw him the heels which he found surprisingly good and started to work.

She leaned against the wall giving him new metal from time to time, but most of all she knew how much he enjoyed her looking at him.

How her eyes ran over his body and he was just wallowing in her gaze. After a few more moments of her looking at the trap and Hoffman in particular, he set the welder aside and tapped on the trap. ,,Sit down," he said, tapping the seat of the trap, which she knew could kill someone as soon as it was finished.

Sitting down on the cold metal, she was about to grab the blades when she felt his hand move up her thigh. Leaning against the metal and preventing her from escaping while she did not take her eyes off him.

At least he didn't allow that as he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. ,,You know, I could give you more than the doctor" he whispered to her and she saw how he came closer to her and the kiss seemed inevitable.

Suddenly a cane crashed against the metal of the tubes and he rose from her. ,,You're disturbing, you know that?" came the sarcastic question and Lawrence smirked smugly as Mark moved away from Y/n and grabbed the welder before the three went back into the main room.

But before that she had hastily risen and given Mark a kiss on the cheek as she did with Lawrence, standing in the middle while the two men stared at each other dismissively. ,,John, we're done," she said to the oldest, who nodded contentedly and withdrew.

She seemed to sense what was about to happen, which is why she was grateful that Amanda took her by the hand and the two women retreated together.

Between all that, they both seemed to have found each other the most. The kiss she got at the end of the day from Amanda herself. But the arguing noise could still be heard in the hallways of the factory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@lola-max-sugar , @megustadilf , @slut4hoffman , @agunislover

[tobisoundx3]

Half Life Headcanons

In no particular order QuQ

~~~~~~~

-Half life Return to Ravenholm tales place before half life 2 and its episodes. Adrian and Grigori end up bonding and having a father/son type relationship, both of them relating to being alone for so long. At the end of it Adrian dies to a complication with a headcrab zombie, leaving Grigori truly alone.

-Some resistance members actually doubted that Gordon was real, their only proof being hearing stories from people who actually knew him. Most of the people from Black Mesa weren't bothered by it, although it did bother Barney a bit.

-When Gordon and Alyx first met Alyx had a crush on him, but as time went on and they become closer friends it went away.

-When Gordon first joined Black Mesa, because of how young he was compared to the other scientists Barney assumed he would be a stuck up rich kid. He and Gordon now joke about this.

-The Combine tried using Poison Headcrabs as a torture method but they were hard to find outside of ravenholm, so they eventually moved onto other methods.

-When the Combine first started their journey of taking over worlds, they had reason and mercy but as time went on they forgot their ways and become cruel and merciless. They now only know power and hunger.

-Gordon lost his sense of smell after the Resonance Cadcade. He could be smelling absolutely AWFUL and wouldn't know unless someone told him.

-Eli lost his leg in the 7 Hour War. Alyx and Kleiner don't like him leaving the bases but they can't rlly stop him.

-Gordon is Autistic and is selective mute. When he does actually talk its in singular words and only around people he'd trust his life with.

-When the Combine first came to earth many people actually willingly joined because they believed the Combine would be beneficial.

-Colinne and Gina end up dying in Xen. They have a teary goodbye before they die where they confess their love for eachother.

-Barney got a bit of a drinking problem and threw himself into work after Gordon went missing. Kleiner was the one who helped him get his life back on track.

-Adrian loves dogs and ends up growing very fond of the houndeyes.

-G-Man actually doesn't have a proper gender. He goes by He/She pronouns but prefers to be called a man and dress masculine.

-Stasis consists of a dark void with a watery floor. To save time people who are put in there are put into a deep sleep.

-Alyx smokes weed.

-Gordon was somewhat scared of vortigons because of what happened at Black Mesa, but after they helped Alyx his fear went away entirely.

-Alyx can get extreme back pain if she over works herself. This originated from when she was impaled.

-Adrian has body dysmorphia and doesnt like to take his gas mask off because of this. When he was dying he took it off so he could feel truly vulnerable infront of Grigori before he died.

-When Gordon and Barney first became friends they made a trade. Barney teaches Gordon how to shoot a gun and Gordon teaches Barney how to tie a tie.

-Barney has gotten more sarcastic as he has aged.

-The resistance will often make fun of Breen's broadcasts and can't help but giggle at them when they walk by them.

-Kleiner feeds wild headcrabs like someone would feed feral cats.

-Although skibidi toilet is not a thing in the Half Life universe, G-Man knows about it. She doesn't know how and it scares him.

-Gordon doesn't know how to use a microwave. This is why the microwave incident happened.

-EVERYONE in the resistance makes fun of Barney and exaggerates his age to the extreme.

-Most scientists at Black Mesa were snotty to Gordon because he was so young.

-Gordon wants a cheeseburger so bad during half life 2 and its episodes.

~~~~~~~

I'll probably be updating this list in the future but these are my main big ones!! :D

[elena-mayfair]

Fighting fear

Paring: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, with elements of slow-burn romance Warnings: rating T+/M, disturbing images, strong language, violence, depictions of illness, depictions of trauma, depictions of mental and physical abuse, lost of angst Summary: You wanted to close your eyes and disappear. Disappear forever. Push away the thoughts of the nightmare that was yet to come, dismiss the memories of the nightmares that were yet to haunt you, forget the deep blue eyes and the wandering barely perceptible smile you were destined never to see again, erase the feeling of safety and inspiration you were never meant to follow. You longed to escape. To disappear. To start all over again somewhere else. To become someone else. Word count: 18.2K Note: Some gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Series masterlist

***

For the past few months, Gotham citizens had been living their lives under the fear of a mysterious criminal who, through sophisticated psycho-control methods involving unidentified chemicals, had led to the deaths of twelve people and the suffering of at least another eight. Twenty people. You heard that right, twenty people fell victim to a madman who swore a vow to first do no harm. Can the people of Gotham finally live peacefully or is horror only about to come? This is Summer Gleeson, GCNN's news.

Doctor Jonathan Crane, head of the psychiatric ward at Eliot Memorial Hospital, has been identified as a criminal alias Scarecrow. Investigative reporter Vicky Vale is currently at the scene. Vicki, how dramatic is the situation?

The situation is truly horrific, Summer. I am currently outside the residential building where Doctor Jonathan Crane lived, and inside which the police have discovered a chemical laboratory, as well as eight more victims that Doctor Crane has been holding captive and torturing. Eight of Gotham's citizens, seven adults and a child had been imprisoned, subjected to physical and psychological torture, right in the center of one of Gotham's most secure neighborhood. The madman's victims were found in various physical states, ranging from mild to critical, which only suggests that Scarecrow had been committing these atrocities for a very long time. All victims are currently being transported to Gotham General Hospital. Among the victims was Matt Bower, known to police drug dealer working for mob boss Salvatore Maroni. Police and emergency services are currently working on securing the building to reduce the chemical hazard. Commissioner Gordon refused to comment, but we are all probably wondering what involvement Batman had in this discovery and where Scarecrow is now?

Thank you, Vicki. Where is Batman? And what connection does this gruesome discovery have to the late evening chase that ended with a shootout on the Metro-Narrows Bridge? Witnesses have reported that not only Batman but also his known associates, Nightwing and Red Hood, were involved. GCNN investigative reporter Jack Ryder is on the scene. Jack, how is the situation on the bridge?

Pretty typical for Gotham, Summer. Bridge is currently out of service and will be closed till midday as stated by the fire department. Scraps of a wrecked van, bullet shells, damaged pavement, nothing Gotham hasn't seen before. Three criminals, apprehended after a dramatic chase, were already handed over by Nightwing to the police, represented by Sergeant Rene Montoya, who declined to provide further explanation. Based on witness testimony, I was able to determine that the chase originated near Arkham Asylum and initially involved only Nightwing and Red Hood. Witnesses also informed that the criminals had a hostage, a woman, but her identity had not been established. Was the woman an accomplice or another victim? We will get to the truth. The people of Gotham deserve it.

Thank you, Jack. Despite the late night hours, we attempted to contact the Chief Executive Officer of Eliot Memorial Hospital who refused to comment. Shameful behavior in the light of current events. We do not know whether the Doctor's practices were known to him or not. However, we did receive a brief phone call from an Eliot Memorial Public Relations representative, who informed us that all ties between the hospital and Doctor Cran had been severed with immediate effect. But how much does this change in the eyes of ordinary residents?

Doctor Crane is the second medical expert in recent memory who, instead of protecting human lives as he swore to do, has chosen to cause harm. Most recently, Doctor Harleen Quinzel, a psychiatrist at Arkahm Asylum who is now widely known as Harley Quinn and associated with the Joker's criminal activities, is currently detained in the institution as a patient. She will face charges of attempted murder and armed assault. Unfortunately, Doctor Crane, or as we should be saying, Scarecrow is still at large. Was he involved in last Sunday's failed assault on the Gotham Medical Society? How long did his crimes go unnoticed? How long will it be before Batman manages to stop him?

"You shouldn't be watching this," Red Hood snatched the remote from your hand and turned off the TV, "enough of drama for one evening."

"Gotham's media works shockingly fast," you muttered then added quietly, "and I should, it's my fault."

"How is this any of your fault?"

You sat down heavily on the couch, threw the jacket off your shoulders, and accepted the glass of water he had handed you, quickly finding his way to the kitchen. Despite his commanding physique, two guns strapped to his belt, and face hidden under a red helmet and the hood, his presence filled you with a strange sense of safety. Still, within your apartment's four walls, the masked man somehow appeared incredibly surreal. You smiled amused, despite your weariness, as you watched him roam around your apartment.

"Something funny?" he glanced at you.

"I'd say make yourself comfortable, I'd offer you water or something hot to drink, but I don't think you'd take it," you scoffed, "can you even breathe under that helmet?"

"Outstandingly well!" he took off his jacket and removed his gauntlets, "you'll need something stronger than water." Not waiting for your permission, he once again headed to the kitchen and began looking through the cabinets and drawers. "You're not a tidy type, are you? I know someone who would get a heart attack seeing this mess."

"Relative tidiness. No one usually goes through my cabinets."

"There's always that first time," he sassed, "the first time to be caught in a shootout, the first time to be kidnapped, the first time to discover that your friend is a sociopath!"

"That's the second,"" you corrected him somberly.

"Damn, you're right! There is Harley Quinn! You don't have a good grasp on people, huh?"

"Thanks for reminding me."

"No problemo!"

"What are you looking for?" you followed him curiously as he went through cabinet after cabinet, and drawer after drawer.

"Your common sense," he quipped, "I was hoping you stored it somewhere."

"Very funny."

"But seriously, chill out. You're not the first and you won't be the last to get a knife between the ribs from so-called friends," he turned to you and although you couldn't see, you were convinced he was smiling under his helmet, "I need a clean towel."

"You're going to take a shower?" you put aside your glass to get up from the couch but your body refused to cooperate. The adrenaline that had kept you on high alert completely disappeared leaving you sore, drowsy and completely exhausted.

"Just tell me where," he placed his hand on your shoulder gently forcing you to sit back down.

"In the bedroom, in the dresser by the wall," you instructed, "right-hand cabinet, top shelf."

He nodded and disappeared into the bedroom only to return a moment later with two clean towels.

"Where do you keep booze?" he asked, folding one towel next to you.

"The cabinet next to the bookcase," you pointed to a corner of the living room, "you should find some whisky there."

"At least for alcohol you have good taste," he chuckled.

"It's not like I'm drinking a lot."

"You'll start."

"You sound like you want to tell me that shit like it's going to happen again!" you eyed him as he paced around your apartment collecting things one by one. A bottle of whiskey was placed on the table in front of you right next to a clean towel, followed a moment later by a clean glass which he filled with whisky.

"Somehow it's hard for me to imagine that you'll suddenly stop getting into shit, as you called it," he placed the sanitizer, lighter, needle, and thread in front of you, then returned to the kitchen, "trust me, I've seen it way too many times!" he chuckled as he rolled up his sleeves to wash his hands thoroughly.

"Stupidity?"

"That too," wiping his hands dry he returned to you, "but that's not what I meant. I was talking about that raging fire that burns in your eyes. Believe me, we've all seen it," he sat down beside you, "he's seen it too, more than once," he unfolded a towel on the table then placed a few cotton swabs on top of it and soak them in sanitizer. ""You blame yourself for what happened. You blame yourself for what happened to Quinn. You blame yourself for what Crane did to those people," he heated the threaded needle with a lighter then wiped it thoroughly with the cotton swab, "it won't leave you. It will haunt you and keep you up at night. It will feed that anger," he put down the needle, disinfected his hands and wiped the needle again, "anger at the world, at him, at yourself, at what happened to you, at the violence you experienced," he pointed to a glass of whiskey, "you will need this."

"I don't follow," fatigue slowed the mind, causing confusion.

"You have a fucking hole in your shoulder!" he pointed again to the glass, "drink up. It's gonna hurt like a bitch."

"Wow! Wow! Hold your horses mister!" you flung and moved away from him instantly, "it's just a small wound! It will heal on its own! There's no need to…"

"Shut up and let me patch you up!" he snapped at you, "you didn't want to go to the hospital then we'll take care of it my way! Damn, and here I was thinking that after tonight we have some trust between us."

"You said it yourself that I don't have a very good grasp on people."

"It's a little too late to change that," he snarled, "drink up and give me your arm."

"Have you done this before?"

"The charms of this job."

You downed the contents of the glass in one sip, closed your eyes, and stretched out your arm.

"Not so fast," he scoffed, "one more."

You did as he ordered. Ignoring the glass, you took a deep sip straight from the bottle, feeling the scorching liquid spread through your core. You took a deep breath, downed another and stretched out your arm again.

"Well, now that we've covered painkillers…" he knelt down in front of you and gripped your hand securely above the elbow immobilizing it. His strong hand steadied you painfully but the pain was nothing compared to the burning sensation of the sanitizer on the wound. You hissed in pain. "Hey, you took a cut you'll take the stitches," the feeling that he was smiling continued, "ready?"

"No," you took another swig from the bottle.

"Stay still," he ordered before piercing your skin with a needle. You cursed viciously but he only laughed. "You'll get used to it. But if it makes you feel better, I know someone who patches much better and much more gently."

"You couldn't take me to him?" you breathed through clenched teeth.

"Not this time," he quietly answered while pulling the thread across, "he'll come, you know that right? He'll come and he'll be fucking furious."

"Who? Jonathan?"

"I meant Batman but that one too," the needle pierced your skin again, "he's going to huff and growl. He'll probably tell you to leave town. Tell him to go fuck himself."

"I'm stupid but not that stupid," you snorted through the pain.

"He means well you know…" the pain in your arm faded despite him continuing to stitch, "I should tell you to let it go. That you should seriously, get out of Gotham and not look back. That you should fuck this godforsaken city and whatever is keeping you here. Or rather, whoever," he freed the end of the thread and placed the bloody needle back on the towel, "but I know you won't do that."

"You say this as if you know me."

"I know him and that's enough," he tied the knot and stood up, "he's an asshole and a self-righteous hypocrite but he means well. He will try to push you away. Something tells me you won't let him."

"I am so confused right now…"

"You'll get it. Eventually," he snatched the bottle from your hands and screwed the cork shut, "I'm taking this with me," he quipped before heading for the kitchen to wash the blood off his hands and put his gauntlets back on.

"Thanks," you muttered glancing at the stitching, "for everything."

"Burgers, remember?" he threw his jacket over his shoulders then reached into his belt pocket to pull out a small device to hand it to you, "do you know what it is?"

"A motion sensor…" you examined the tiny device closely.

"Yup! If you agree I'll install one at the door, one each at the windows and two at the balcony door. Batman was right. If they haven't caught him yet you'll be the first one Crane comes after," anxiety crept in, "each of us has the ability to remotely disable the sensor if needed. But if someone else tries to enter your apartment we will know. I'll also leave you this," he handed you a tiny switch, "should you want to leave. You can't be a prisoner in your own home. Although I wouldn't recommend wandering around the city as long as Crane is out there."

"Do it," you closed your hand over the switch, "you think he…" you didn't finish. A cold shiver shook your body at visions of what could happen.

"I think he'd be a fucking idiot if he tried, but we don't want to risk it."

You watched as this curious man roamed your apartment installing sensors. Red Hood, they called him. Adequate to his appearance which should make you frightened and yet did not. He was the only one among them who hid his entire face under a helmet. He was the only one among them who carried a gun at his side. He looked more like a criminal than a hero, and yet to you that's what he was. A hero. A man who risked his life to get you out of the trouble you had put yourself in.

"You carry a gun," you noted as he crouched down to install a sensor by the frame of the balcony door, "it's…. odd for a hero."

"Heh, I'm no hero," he chuckled dryly, "I carry guns cos they are damn effective! But rounds are nonlethal. Batman's rules."

"Hey, I'm not judging! Psychopaths and murderers, would it be a crime if the rounds were lethal? Cops have no problem with that."

"We're not cops," he walked over to the window in the living room, "and believe me, you don't want to bring this subject up in front of Batman." He installed the last sensor and returned to you. "All set. I gotta go. You'll be alright," Red Hood crouched down to level with you and the image of a keen gaze immediately popped into your mind. "After I leave you're going to be scared. For a while at least," he dropped the sarcasm while something familiar crept into his tone of voice, the empathy and compassion so reminiscent of Batman, "and that's alright. Everyone gets scared. Take it as an opportunity to fight that fear. As a chance to be brave," you listened in silence, "and do yourself a favor and get some sleep."

"I'll probably gonna sleep for two days," you smiled faintly, "thanks again. You say that you are no hero, but to me, this is exactly who you are. Hero."

"Damn! Just stop! You making me blush really hard under the helmet," sassiness returned.

"I'm serious!" you laughed as he got up, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and headed toward the balcony.

"So am I!" he opened the door, "burgers! I'll hold you on that!" he stepped outside letting the icy air into the apartment.

"Hey! Red Hood!" you called out after him, "you saved me today. At least tell me your name."

Red Hood stopped just before the railing, holding a grappling gun in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other, turned and looked at you as if weighing his answer.

"I'll wait for him to tell you that," he answered finally then fired his grappling hook and soared into the air.

***

Tim and Damian knew that Batman had appeared on the Arkahm grounds. They heard the frightened whispers among guards, heard the taunting laughter between inmates once the information reached them, saw his signal displayed on the computer screens embedded in their gauntlets. His appearance was always followed by fear. It always stirred tension. Not only among those who had reason to fear him but also among those who worked alongside him. They expected him to appear at any moment, to emerge from the darkness, as it was in his habit, measuring them with a stern look and demanding an explanation. They expected him to call them in awaiting a report, demanding a detailed account of past events. Yet it did not happen. The certainty of him watching them from the shadows made them even more uneasy.

Tim lost the trail of Crane faster than he would have liked. For several long minutes, he followed him through the dark corridors of the Asylum, retracing his moves, tailing his footprints leading through Intensive Treatment, past the office that Strange used, down the corridors of the block to the Visitors Center entrance. The trail stopped. He hacked into Arkham's CCTV system and traced his escape route to the point where he rushed into his car and drove off into the night. He had his registration and the brand of his car. He could have followed him. He could have followed him to Gotham and tried to pick up his trail in the city's winding streets. Instead, he decided that at this point a chase was not the best course of action that he could take. Damian didn't need help, of that he was sure, and yet he should check on him. Nightwing and Red Hood were in the town while their comms were silent, a fact that bothered him deeply and formed another path he could take. Finally, the most important thing remained. Strange.

Weighing his choices, he ultimately determined that at this point the most important thing was to find the answer to the question why? With that in mind, he returned to the building to head straight for Hugo Strange's office. He did not expect to find anything evident there, but his detective instinct did not allow him to ignore the probability of discovering new leads. Even if the probability was slim. Ensuring that no one was around he picked the lock and stepped inside.

Stacks of papers, documents, and files perfectly sorted and buried in numerous drawers told him nothing more than what he had already suspected. Strange masked his operations effectively. To a cop or a regular detective, it would have been proof of his innocence, proof that he was an outstanding doctor who, as the transfer papers told him, had returned to Arkham to care for the most challenging patients. Among the records, he found psychological profiles of Two Face, Joker, Riddler, Mad Hatter, and Poison Ivy but also more unusual ones. "PM-X1, PM-X2, PM-X3," read the files of unidentified people as one by one he pulled out folders to study and scan the documents. Statements and reports he was unable to link to anyone he knew detailed the tests and results conducted on voluntary subjects. Vague, incomprehensible, written as if in cipher, ensuring complete anonymity and the inability to link them to him. "You're clever Strange, I'll give you that. But I'm genius here…" he tucked the scanned file away to reach for another. "Project Manticore… what is Project Manticore?"

"You should know that you won't find here anything that can be used against me, Robin," Strange stood in the doorway and measured Tim with a superior gaze.

"And you should know better than to come back here!" tucking the folder behind his belt he adopted a combative stance, "just give up Strange. We both know you're not a fighter."

"No need for violence boy. It's not like I'm gonna fight you. That would be utterly pointless."

"Let me guess, you gonna stall until your goons show up."

"My goons?" a mocking smile twisted his face, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Quit playing games Strange! We have them in custody!" he clenched his fists trying to control his emotions, "the back of the building is riddled with bullets that were aimed in our direction at your command!"

"Prove it," it sounded like a challenge Tim couldn't meet, "prove it. You have nothing boy. You are smart, I presume the smartest of them all. I'm assuming you've already managed to hack into Arkham's CCTV system while trailing Doctor Crane. And if you've already hacked into the CCTV, you must have discovered that the cameras at the back of the building as well as those in the corridors leading to the back exit don't work," he calmly and confidently revealed all the potential vulnerabilities he had long foreseen and eliminated, "you have nothing. Even the files, which are probably already on your computer drive somewhere, pose no threat to me. So why don't you politely give me the file you hid behind your back and in return, I'll tell you where you can find more evidence against Doctor Crane?"

"You talk too much."

The shadow behind Strange's back suddenly took shape as a glowed hand emerged from the void grabbing him and slamming his head against the wall. Strange's face twisted into a grimace of pain, but the groan that should have followed did not come out of his throat. Instead, a malicious grin crept up his face again.

"Where were you taking her?" Batman asked in a chilling voice emerging from the darkness.

"Ah, Batman… I should have guessed that birds don't fly on their own."

"Where were you taking her?" Batman repeated the question with emphasis while pressing his face harder against the wall. The glasses on his nose cracked.

"Do you really think you're going to get the answer to that question out of me with violence? Batman. Emotions cloud your judgment. So unlike you."

Tim stood stunned watching as Batman bared his teeth in rage and, grabbing Strange by the halves of his lab coat, lifted him off his feet to slam him against the desk. The wood shattered into pieces as he lunged and, pressing him to the ground with his boot, growled again.

"Give me something Strange before I send you back to Black Gate!"

"On what charges?" he coughed when Batman's boot pressed harder on his throat.

"The list is long…" he snarled menacingly, "Cadmus, Strange. Talk! Waller assured the Justice League and the President of the United States that the project was closed definitively after the first trials!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Detective," Strange dismissed stubbornly evoking even more anger from Batman. He grabbed him again by his coat and slammed him violently against the wall only to repeat it again.

"I am not playing your games, Strange," he gruffed dealing a punch to his stomach, "talk or they will send you to Black Gate in pieces!" his fist crashed savagely into his face as drops of blood stained Strange's coat, "you tortured her!" another blow shattered the glasses on his nose, "you tortured others like her!" Strange spat blood as Batman's fist hit his ribs painfully, "talk!"

"Batman!" Tim jumped to him catching his arm and preventing him from dealing another blow, "that's enough!" he looked into his enraged eyes, "not like this."

"You can't touch me, Batman," Strange groaned, "no amount of brute force can make me talk and you know it. Just as you know that you have absolutely no proof except the words of a woman who can so easily be dismissed and declared insane. Pitty, to what madness Doctor Crane can drive a person."

Tim tensed his muscles but Batman was stronger. With one sharp pull, he yanked his arm out of Tim's grip and, clenching his fist, delivered another punch. The wall next to Strange's face crumbled. Chunks of concrete scattered all over the ground.

"Next time it will be your face," it was a promise, "stay away from her."

*

On the other side of the ward, in the darkness of the long-unused corridors, Damian was finishing up his crackdown on Strange's thugs, those who, in a glimpse of sanity, had decided to escape. "Fools," he scoffed stalking from hiding the last terrified man cowering silently through the darkened corridor, "you think you will hide? From me?" His cawl read his accelerated heartbeat, over 120 beats per minute pumping adrenaline through his body. His eyes read his every faintest twitch, every rapid movement of his head, every drop of sweat running down his terrified face. Part of him immensely enjoyed the little game he played with them. He was better, smarter, more cunning, superior in every possible sense. They were hardly prey who, out of fear, tried to flee to the shadows and hide in the darkness. But he knew the Shadows, he was raised by them, shaped by them, the Shadows served him.

"Not so brave when you're not hiding behind a machine gun…" he quipped, eyeing the man's reaction. He jumped up spooked raising his fists to his face defensively.

"You're not Batman!" he shouted into space, "show yourself you fucking psycho!"

"Awh, big talk, that's cute…" he swooped over his head silently, holding onto the ventilation shafts hanging from the ceiling.

"I'm not gonna go to prison! Fuck no!"

"Behind the bars of a Gotham County cell, you won't be so snarky."

"He made me do it!"

"They always do…" situated just above his head he prepared to jump, "tell me why? What did Strange want from that woman."

"How the fuck would I know?!"

"Wrong answer."

"I'm just a gun for hire! Come on man! Tell your boss that I run away!"

"He is not my boss…" he growled through clenched teeth, "what is Strange doing here?"

"I don't know!"

"Wrong answer again," he could have taken him down at any time but he enjoyed it too much. He reached into the pocket of his belt and pulled out a birdarang, "all your associates are down. You are going down too." He threw the birdarang straight at the man's feet.

"Where are you!?" the man shouted in fear, "Where are you!?"

"Here…" a low voice emerged from space, followed by a blow, and the hollow sound of collapsing body. The shadows betrayed him. The shadows did not belong to him but to his father who embraced them long ago. Batman stepped out of the dark and, without even looking in his direction, said, "You were playing with him. You could have eliminated him three minutes and seventeen seconds ago."

"It's called intimidation techniques, Father. Something you should know very well," he snarled, jumping off the vent and landing next to Tim. Tension hung in the air between them.

"Report," Batman ordered standing over them and glaring menacingly.

"In the driveway in the back ten thugs. Unconscious, disarmed, restrained, ready for transport. Two more in the eastern part of Intensive Treatment, four at the entrance to Holding Cells, one in the restroom in the west corridor, and this one here," Damian reported.

"Crane got away," Tim began, "I hacked into the CCTV system after I lost track of him at the main gate. He took his car and drove off. Given that we know his registration, where he lives as well as his office and workplace locations I decided that trailing him was pointless at this point and chose to investigate Strange. He is a much bigger threat."

"Not exactly."

"What aren't you telling us?"

"Crane is the murderer we've been looking for," Batman began, "he won't go home because his house is currently being secured by Gordon and his men. He won't go to one of his offices or the hospital because he knows we're monitoring them. If he doesn't attack again tonight he will hide somewhere, wait and strike again. But this time it won't be a stealth attack."

"I should go after him…" Tim clenched his jaw suppressing his anger, "I decided, I decided that…"

"You made the best possible decision based on the information you had," he interrupted him, "we'll talk about it at home. Both of you, you are dismissed. Go home."

"You are not going with us?" Damian asked.

"No. I have one more thing to do."

*

You stood on the balcony calmly smoking a cigarette, watching his shape fade into the distance as the dreadful meaning of his words began to creep in. A slowly increasing fear seemed to be looking at you with green venomous eyes from every dark corner of the surrounding city. He was there. You knew it. You could feel it. He was watching you. He was furious. But so were you. The soreness and weariness of your body, the mental exhaustion, the heavy eyelids, and the numbness of your muscles could not subdue the rage you felt. "I've seen monsters. You're not one of them. You are their victim." Batman's words echoed in your mind.

"Victim…"

"The accomplice or another victim…"

"His victim…"

You closed the balcony door with a slam and made sure the sensor was on. You crossed the apartment checking each window and making sure the red light was steady. You turned the bottom lock on the front door and, just to be sure, inserted the key into the top one, turned it, and left the key inside. You were tired. So very tired. The weight of the past day's events was slowly beginning to settle in depriving you of that little bit of strength that kept you on your feet, pushing into your mind thoughts and feelings you didn't want to face. Not yet.

You stripped off your clothes, all of them, from your underwear to your skirt and blouse, but instead of throwing them in the laundry basket you folded them into a garbage bag, then another as if trying to hide your shame and disgust, and threw them in the trash. You needed a shower. A long shower that you didn't plan to get out of for many minutes. Maybe even hours. You needed to wash away the nightmare you had experienced. Needed to wash away his toxins. To wash away him. Tears ran into your eyes but you swallowed them. You couldn't fall apart, not yet.

Before you headed for the shower you lit another cigarette and sat down in front of the computer. You needed to endure for a little longer, you needed to do one more pressing thing before your mind completely crumbles under the weight of your emotions. The light of the screen blinded you, hurt your tired eyes but also brought a much-needed brief awakening. You inhaled the smoke deeply, opened the WORD document and, with a heavy heart and strong determination, tapped out a few important words.

"This is the right thing to do…" you tried to console yourself however the heartache was weighing down. "The right decision…" you inhaled again, opened the email, typed in the recipient, added the attachment and, with a heavy exhale, clicked send. "Now I can fall apart."

You didn't cry. The pain of the decision you made was nothing compared to the overwhelming feeling of helplessness gripping your body and mind. A numbness shutting out your sense to the surrounding safety of your own home, binding you in a cage of your own thoughts. The softness of the carpet under your bare feet did not bring a feeling of comfort as you headed through the bedroom to the bathroom with a dragging step. The warm light of the wall lamps did not bring a smile when you faced your own reflection in the mirror. A bloody wound on your arm covered with three black stitches was the only trace of comfort remaining on your body. "It's funny how a wound can bring comfort," you scoffed somberly while sweeping your eyes over your naked body. "What have I done…" you ran your hands over the traces of your mistakes. The red marks around your breasts were painful to touch, the scratches on your arm barely visible formed a path to the redness on your neck that slowly began taking on hues of purple, yellow, and green, the sad face and dark circles under your eyes revealed complete exhaustion, a nervous breakdown lurked behind them. You raised your hand toward your face to brush away your falling hair and paused to stare at the dried blood on your palm. You touched the wound but it didn't hurt. Not as much as the imprints of his hand on your neck. Not as much as the breaking pain in the back of your head. You looked your reflection in the eyes. "Is that what I wanted?" you searched for the answer within yourself, "is that what I deserve?" tears came to your eyes, "what now?"

You wanted to close your eyes and disappear. Disappear forever. Push away the thoughts of the nightmare that was yet to come, dismiss the memories of the nightmares that were yet to haunt you, forget the deep blue eyes and the wandering barely perceptible smile you were destined never to see again, erase the feeling of safety and inspiration you were never meant to follow. You longed to escape. To disappear. To start all over again somewhere else. To become someone else.

"The past has a habit of following us wherever we go…"

His words invaded your mind, concealing all the glaring pain with a thick shadow, and even though they seemed sad to you at the time now they brought a strange sense of solace. There was no way out. Escape was not a solution. You couldn't. Part of you knew that the only path you could take was through fear and horror, through anger and pain, toward a hopeful future. You couldn't turn back. You had to find the strength within yourself.

You let the warm water run down your body, wash away the cares and worries, hide the tears that began to flow down your cheeks, to take away the weaknesses and fears that tried to take over you.

"Fear, if you let it, can be a paralyzing force, can be the thing that sabotages your every move, your every plan. But if you take control of it, it can become one of the strongest forces driving your actions. It's all a matter of choice."

You stepped into the shower whole and, slowly changing the temperature to cold, watched as the remnants of blood flowed from the cut on your arm, from the wound on your hand, from the cut on the back of your head, running down the drain along with all your despair. Your body trembled under the icy stream but you clenched your teeth feeling as the pain gave way to determination.

"Take it as an opportunity to fight that fear. As a chance to be brave."

You clenched your fists breathing deeply. Trembling from the cold, you closed your eyes and sank deep within yourself, searching for the strength that lay dormant. Looking for that spark that guided your steps, that energy that seemed to bend reality to your will. It was there. Weak and stifled. Barely shimmering under the weight of reality. You reached for it.

"It always comes down to the choices we make. Do we let it control us, or do we control it."

You breathed deeply. Tears stopped streaming down your cheeks. The stinging feeling in your heart disappeared. You felt no pain nor cold. Blue sparks danced faintly over your arms and everything that was painful disappeared. All that remained was an unshakeable determination, a burning anger, a hope that perhaps a path through the nightmare would lead you toward a better future. Toward something good.

*

Bruce cursed under his breath upon seeing the parted curtains and their complete absence in some of the windows, promising himself that the day will come when he will bring it to her attention. Although he knew that the height of her floor provided a measure of privacy he felt that she should be more careful. He looked away when she dropped the towel, waiting longer than necessary to return his eyes to her windows. The light in her bedroom was still on when, wrapped tightly in a warm fluffy sweater, she opened the window to let the cigarette smoke outside. Wet hair fell over her face but she seemed not to care. She leaned against the sill and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. From afar he could see the exhaustion on her face and the sadness in her eyes, a sight that burdened his heart. He longed so badly to go to her. He wished so much to take her in his arms and hug her, to take away her sadness and pain, to make her feel calm and safe, to cradle her in his arms until she fell asleep. He couldn't.

"It's all my fault…" the painful realization struck him again, "I should have told her. I should have stopped her. I should have protected her…" She looked in his direction, and even though the distance separating them made it impossible for a moment he was sure she was looking straight at him, that she could see through the darkness and fog and was gazing straight into his eyes. The illusion of her frail smile played on his imagination.

"I want to believe that in this vicious rotten world there are still people who care about the well being of others."

The memory of their first meeting still lingered vividly in his memory. Completely random, two strangers in a big city, and yet at that moment neither of them realized how close they were to each other. Her effortless charm, genuine smile, and the sparkle in her eye captivated him. Her brightness shattered his darkness, and although he didn't allow the thought at the time, at that moment she took possession of his heart.

For months he denied himself acknowledgment of this feeling and yet it was there, guiding his actions, with each passing day bringing him closer to her. No matter if by day or under cover of the night, he felt connected to her. Like two souls lost in the ocean of life who finally found their way to each other. A way from which he had to turn back. There was no place for love in his life. The burden of his life would destroy it. He longed for it but knew he couldn't have it.

He zoomed in on her face, watching as she raised her head towards the night sky and sighed heavily. The burden of the past day was dragging her down. The weight of everything she had experienced, everything she had seen, everything he had discovered. The memory of Crane's apartment crushed his heart as he angrily clenched his hands into fists. "I should have protected her…"

"Life is like poker you know! Sometimes a hand is dealt poorly and you have to wait it out. And sometimes you just go all in! We don't get to choose how we start in this life. Real greatness is what you do with the hand you're dealt."

The memory of her smile and the spark in her eye once again shattered the darkness that lingered over his thoughts. She didn't know it, but that day for the first time in a very long time he felt close to someone. Unknowingly, she wove with her words the silver thread that connected the two of them. Every day she drew him closer to her and he didn't try to stay away. "I should have..." Silver tears ran down her cheeks and she didn't even try to wipe them away. In her eyes he saw determination and strength to face the painful reality. So courageous. So naively idealistic. She reminded him so much of himself just a few years ago when life seemed simpler and the mission had not yet left its mark on him.

Mission. His dedication and the sacrifice he had chosen to make years ago. His whole life.

"Let's be open with each other. No secrets."

If only it was that simple. Even though the mission had become his life years ago, and all his attention and dedication was focused on fulfilling it there was a part of him that wanted it badly. Faint and repressed, barely breaking through all the regime he had imposed on himself but it was there. It surfaced sometimes when together with Damian he watched movies, when along with Tim he discussed the latest technological trends, when alongside Dick he worked on repairing equipment and modifications to the vehicles while discussing his friend's problems, every time Jason showed up at the mansion. That fleeting sense of ordinariness when, in Alfred's company, he sometimes opened a book to read to the accompaniment of classical music. Yes, in those moments he was himself, in those moments he was just Bruce. If only she knew how many moments like these he experienced in her company. If only she knew how many times he felt just Bruce when she was close to him. If only he could tell her how much he treasured those moments, how much they meant to him. If only he could tell her the truth.

She closed the window, turned off the lights, and, burying herself in the black sheets, she closed her eyes. He knew she would not be sleeping peacefully that night. He suspected that the nightmare would wake her once or twice in a cold sweat with her heart pounding in terror. His heart was aching to go there, knock on her window, take off his mask, kiss her, embrace her, and stay with her until the dawn of day. "She'll be better off without me. I won't ruin her life…" he sighed heavily suppressing the feelings inside him allowing cold logic to take over.

"I'm not a good person, Batman…"

She was wrong. She was so very wrong. It was he who was not a good person. "I condemned four lives for this fate. I will not condemn her as well."

He jumped off the roof and soared into the night.

*

On the other side of the city, below the rich mansion built on a hill, the night was slowly drawing to a close with each safe return. Alfred observed with a wary eye the boys' behavior, listened to their conversations, assessed situations, and drew conclusions. The most important thing for him was that they all returned uninjured, unharmed, and in relatively good spirits. No matter how many nights he stayed awake awaiting their return, no matter how many times he saw how highly trained they were, his heart always fluttered at the thought that any of them could get hurt. Too many times he had seen them on the brink of death.

The first to return were Damian and Tim. Their hung faces and focused gazes told him a lot and the conversation only added to the facts.

"I should follow him…" Tim repeated to Damian, "I should know better."

"Father should tell us everything, provide all the facts and details instead of withholding them from us!"

"Bruce is always hiding something from us."

"If we knew everything the situation would have turned out very differently. Don't make a martyr of yourself, Drake. It's beneath you."

"Alfred!" Tim turned to him putting down his equipment on the big workbench, removing his mask, and unfastening his cape, "if I could ask you for a strong coffee and some carbs. Work for tonight is not finished."

"Are you going to track him?" Damian threw in a surprised question, "I'm sure he's not going out of town. He has a reason to stay here and carry out the plans Father thwarted for him today."

"That's precisely why I need to find him before he attacks again!" he took off his gauntlets and sat down in front of the computer, "we know the registration of his car, we have his facial recognition, we know all the locations he has gone to in the past. With the help of the city's surveillance cameras and by using the triangulation of our satellites, I can still find him today and stop him before he strikes again."

"Timothy, he's only human. And the whole city already knows what he did. He'll hole up somewhere and wait out the first storm before he makes another move."

"All the more reason to find him now."

"Master Timothy, I understand that the conversation is about Doctor Crane," Alfred began calmly, "given the evening's news I take it that Master Bruce's assumptions were correct and that unfortunately, Doctor Crane managed to escape."

"He did not manage, Alfred," Tim corrected him quietly, "I let it happen."

"Master Timothy, I'm sure we'll find him in no time but I insist on a decent meal and an adequate amount of sleep. The past night was intense enough for all of you."

"I'm fine Alfred, we are all fine…" Tim wasn't listening as he activated the tracking system and entered the data into the computer.

"A few thugs with machine guns, hardly a challenge!" Damian added smugly yet Alfred could clearly see the fatigue on the boy's face.

"I insist."

"I need a few extra hours…" Tim ignored his pleas. Taking control of the city's surveillance systems and synchronizing them with the satellite he set the target, "and coffee."

Before Alfred had a chance to issue another argument the cave filled with the growling sounds of motorcycle engines. Nightwing drove in front and Batman followed closely behind. They parked and, without exchanging a word, walked through the cave to approach the same table and remove the equipment. It didn't take Alfred more than a few seconds to assess state of their minds. Bruce was furious while Richard, by contrast, seemed restless to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Jason?" Bruce asked noticing his absence.

"Master Jason has not returned to the cave," Alfred replied.

"Maybe he's still with Y/N?" Dick suggested.

"He isn't. I've been there," he cursed quietly which he didn't usually do in their presence, "call him up," he ordered to Dick.

"Maybe you should…"

"Just do it!"

"Listen, man, I get that you're pissed and all but…" Dick snapped meeting his stern gaze, "I'll call him up."

"I've set the CCTV cameras to search for Crane's car registration and for facial recognition," Tim didn't hesitate to inform him of the steps he had taken, "I've synchronized it with our satellites and set the scan field to Gotham, Bludhaven and Metropolis. We'll find him before he makes his next move."

"Well done Tim."

"I'm also uploading to the computer scans of the files I managed to find in Strange's office," he continued, "and then there's this," he handed him a folder labeled Project Manticore.

"Let's hope letting Crane go is worth it," Damian glanced at the caption, "Project Manticore…" he mused, "a hybrid, a chimera, a legendary creature being a fusion of a lion, a dragon, a bat, and a scorpion."

"Deadly and stealthy…" Tim continued.

"A weapon," Dick added walking up to them, "Jason will be here soon," he informed feeling Bruce's stern gaze on him, "first Cadmus, now this. Bruce this is getting bigger by the minute."

"What is Cadmus?" Damian asked curiously.

"Something that to Justice Leauge's knowledge should not exist," Bruce muttered flipping through the files.

"Father, I think in light of tonight's events we would all appreciate more transparency on your part," Bruce's menacing stare did not work this time. They were right, and they knew it.

"Cadmus was a secret government project designed to counter and control the expanding power and numbers of metahumans in the world," Dick began the explanation, "using highly developed technology and with the help of scientists of questionable reputation, they conducted research and experiments in order to create an army of metahumans in the service of the government."

"The practices and intentions of those involved in the project were extremely unethical, bordering on criminal activity. Some joined the project voluntarily when a well-timed persuasion was applied to others," Bruce continued, "the good and safety of humanity was just a fancy slogan they used to cover up the drive for power and the arms race in the form of superhumans. Justice League led to its closure and complete dismantling."

"Apparently not," Damian scoffed.

"Strange's attempt to extort Y/N now makes total sense and explains the complete lack of any trace of her for roughly four years," Dick began to connect the facts out loud, "no records of where she worked, no home address, no activity on social media, not even a credit card transactions! They must have been holding her somewhere! The question is how she got free. Did she escape or is she a manticore? If Cadmus has resumed their activities we must…" The words caught in his throat as the sudden realization of his own carelessness struck him. Bruce's cold gaze rested on him while his stone face masked the rage boiling beneath the surface. "Bruce listen…"

"Jason assured that none of you knew about the files," he growled through clenched teeth.

"Fine, I knew! Jason lied!" he sighed in exasperation, "you can get angry if you want!"

"I knew too…" Tim added quietly.

"We all knew. Big deal," Damian huffed.

"I clearly told you that I do not wish…"

"Okay man, stop! Just stop! Yeah, you told us and so what! That's what we're trained to do! That's what you trained us to do!"

"She jumped in front of a gun and made Jason fly with the power of her mind," Tim recalled their first meeting.

"Father, surely you weren't expecting us to stay away when you were getting increasingly involved. She's not exactly an ordinary dame."

"We only did what you should have done a long time ago! But since you decided to be a stubborn ass…." the growl of an approaching motorcycle drowned out his words, "we only did this because you refused."

"We needed to be sure that she is one of the good guys. Especially since she kept getting herself into all kinds of troubles."

"A coincidence that should have long ago aroused your suspicions, Father."

"We couldn't just let go and let you…"

"It's called privacy."

"You gotta be kidding me!" Dick couldn't hide his frustration, "she ain't just some chick that you are hanging with to keep up the appearance! Dude! I saw you two! Half of Gotham's elite saw you!"

"And we all interacted with her," Tim remained calm while trying to reach Bruce with logic, "after the incident at the Amusement Mile, she stopped being the woman who caught Bruce Wayne's attention and became the person of interest for Robins, Nightwing and Red Hood."

"Not to mention the Joker and, as it turns out, the new supervillain, Scarecrow," Dick continued, "you have no right to be angry with us."

"I have no right?" the illusive composure faded into an increasingly gravely voice, "I have no right?"

"Father…"

"You went behind my back despite my clear order. You violated my privacy. You've carried out an investigation which I did not want to do due to my personal reasons," the muscles of his shoulders twitched in tension as he approached Dick, "has it occurred to you that maybe I didn't want to know? That if I had cared to find out everything about her in advance then I would have checked it out myself?"

"Imagine that it did! That's why we didn't tell you anything about it until today!"

"Bruce, it was a right thing to do," Tim kept reasoning, "I'm sure some part of you knows that."

"First you follow her despite my direct order. You get Damian and Tim ivolved," Bruce aimed a furious stare at Dick, "and now this. And you have the nerve to tell me that I have no right to be angry?"

"So what now? Are we grounded or something?" Jason sneered joining them, "for fuck sake, man! Listen to yourself! We're all telling you that we did what you trained us to do, that we did the only right thing that could be done, that fuck, I don't know, maybe we wanted to make sure that you stubborn, all-knowing, self-righteous ass won't get hurt and that we won't get hurt in the process! That maybe we do give a fuck!"

"Master Jason…" Alfred tried to calm him down.

"Nah, I'm sorry Al but he gotta hear this!" Jason was boiling, "you always know best, huh? You're always right and your reason is always the most valid! You give orders and expect us to follow them like good little soldiers! Newsflash asshole! Some of us are fucking adults and the fact that we are here is our fucking choice!" he stood between him and Dick and pointed his fingers at his chest, "you insisted that you wouldn't do a background check on her and man, I get that, I totally do! Good for you and all! But you have no fucking right to be all pissed!" Bruce remained silent clenching his jaw in rage, "if we had listened to you your girl would have been long taken away to fuck knows where! If we had listened to you we wouldn't know shit about Cadmus! If we had listened to you we wouldn't know that Hugo fucking Strange is back in Gotham! If we listened to you we would have jack fucking squat! So why don't you pull your head out of your ass for a change and admit you made a mistake! 'Cause thank you would probably burn your throat out," he huffed heavily while Dick's hand placed on his chest held him back.

"Jason is right Bruce," anger blazed in their eyes and the last thing Tim wanted was for them to start exchanging blows, "you should tell us everything. This wasn't just your personal case. This is a case that concerns all of us and which you have made personal." He got up from the computer and walked over to them focusing Bruce's angry gaze on himself, "you taught us how to be a team and despite your best efforts we are a team."

"A team that worked extremely well despite the fact that the leader chose to keep it in the dark," Damian joined them standing next to Jason, "I'm sorry Father but you failed. Out of all of us, it shouldn't be Todd giving me the talk on how to be part of the team only you," despite the visible tension Bruce's gaze softened, "but don't worry. Even without you, we did just fine. Grayson is an outstanding leader on the battlefield."

"We've got Scarecrow on the loose, Strange and Cadmus to investigate, and whatever Project Manticore is," Tim continued calmly, "we'll all be working on it whether you want us to or not."

"Don't forget Luthor's investigation in Metropolis," Damian threw in and, upon seeing the surprise on his face, added, "Kent has super-hearing. Honestly, Father, you shouldn't be surprised."

"You heard them," Jason growled relaxing a bit, "stop bitching and start working with us instead of against us."

Bruce remained silent for a moment. Sitting down heavily in his chair, he looked at all of them closely and at each of them individually. For most of the day confronted with his mistakes, all day analyzing every wrong step he had taken in the past days and even weeks at this moment he could not help but feel pride. So different from each other and yet so similar. They had been through so much together, so much had divided them and yet they chose to stay together. As a team. As a family. Perhaps one of the few things he did right in his life was to bring them together.

"Hey, don't rush it, man! Let it sink in!" Jason snarled, "I have almost a full bottle of fine single malt in my trunk! You with me Wing?" he turned to his brother.

"Damn, and just like that you talked me into it!" Dick smirked, "let's get changed and head out."

"You're right…" Bruce finally spoke, "you're all right. I'm sorry."

"Wing, hold me I'm having a heart attack!"

"I don't know when but Y/N…" he stopped his words, "I care about her and yes, I took this matter personally. I focused on myself and let my feelings overshadow the greater picture."

"Emmm, B? You sure you're feeling alright?" Dick quipped helplessly trying to disguise the amusement appearing on his face.

"It's not just about your commitment. You made the right decision, and I thank you for that…" he rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head but the boys only came closer like curious children awaiting a good story.

"Go on! Don't stop yourself," Jason grinned, "tell us how badly you fucked up."

"Badly," he scoffed, "I fucked up badly."

"Let's guess," Dick wasn't about to give him the chance to back away, "you wanted to do things your way, at the same time trying to fight off the obvious feelings you have for her…"

"Explaining to yourself that the mission is everything and that you need to stay away…" Jason continued.

"Justifying your own behavior with the need to protect her…" Tim threw in.

"Yet simultaneously doing absolutely nothing to stop her from delving into our world," Damian pointed out.

"And thus falling deeper and deeper into the loop of your own lies, so contrary to your intentions…"Alfred remarked quietly, standing next to him and leaning against the computer.

"And now everything that happened today is your fault," Dick concluded, "from whatever you discovered in the Crane apartment to everything that happened in Arkahm."

"And of course you blame yourself for it, cos that's what you always do."

"That pretty much sums it up…" he sighed heavily, "now she is in danger because of me."

"Bullshit!" Jason sneered, "dude we all know how much you love to mope and suffer but she is not in dager because of you! She did this all by herself!"

"Besides, there are four of us against Carne!" Damian quipped with a smug, "at least until Mother finds out. Perhaps she won't kill her when she finds out that you brought a woman into the house."

"Damian!!!" all four exclaimed simultaneously.

"What! All I'm saying is nothing but known facts and an expected sequence of events! Aren't we all thinking that?"

"No one is talking about bringing her home, son. Nevertheless, that doesn't change the reality that her involvement in the Cadmus case as well as the fact that she is the most likely Scarecrow's next target makes her our priority. My priority."

"Oh here we go again!" Dick rolled his eyes, "Bruce! For the love of god!"

"She's not gonna stay away. She's hell'a stubborn just like you, man."

"She will need our help. Perhaps help of Justice Leauge," Tim reasoned, "even if you want to, which we all know you don't, you can't just stay away from her. You can't just leave a meta-human alone without oversight."

"Simply put, you are fucked!" Jason snarled, "so stop with all the bullshit excuses which lead us all to this place and fucking talk to her! If she has any sense left she'll tell you to go fuck yourself but hey, at least you could try."

"You should tell her the truth, Bruce," Dick encouraged gently, "the whole truth."

"That's gonna be a disaster," Damian scoffed.

"But we're all okay with it," Tim assured and the others nodded, "it's the right thing to do."

"Master Bruce, I'm afraid that boys are right," Alfred spoke up, "if you think about her as seriously as we think you do you should tell her the truth. And if not, you should stop deceiving the woman and meddling in her life. Socializing publicly with you does not go unnoticed."

"Boys, I appreciate but…"

"Just sleep on it!" Dick interrupted him, "let it sink in and sleep on it."

"I have to check on her."

"She's fine," Jason cut him off, "she's numbed herself with a few deep ones and I patched her up. Surely she'll have a nasty scar but she'll be fine. I installed motion sensors at the windows and doors."

"You did all that?"

"She allowed me! So you can go to sleep. No one will enter her house and if the sensors get turned on we will know."

"Thank you, Jason."

"Just doing my job."

"See!!! Teamwork!" Dick gushed grinning, "TEAM-WORK! We discovered the killer's identity, saved seven innocent victims, discovered Strange's involvement and saved an foolish idealist from serious trouble! TEAM-WORK!!!"

"You did a great job. I'm proud of you boys."

"Well fuck me…"

"Teamwork?"

"No more keeping us in the dark, Bruce."

"Your transparency will save us a lot of work, Father."

"I will do better," a frail smile affected Bruce's face, "you have my word."

"Damn, enough of these feelings! I'm starting to feel uncomfortable," Jason snapped as he grabbed his jacket to head out, "you with me Dickie-bird? I think our job is done here."

"Jason, stay for the night," Bruce stopped him, "this is your home too."

"Now you're just making things awkawrd on purpouse."

"Your bedroom is always ready for you Master Jason."

"Damn you guys… I'll stay if Dick stays."

"I won't let you finish that single malt alone little-wing," Dick smirked.

"No loud music at night, gentlemen."

"You got it, Al!"

"And no hangovers at the brekfast table!

"Yes, Alfred!"

"And no…"

"Sure thing, Al!"

***

A deep gloomy night descended over Gotham. The lights had long since faded from the surrounding buildings, leaving the city illuminated only by street lamps and the shining glow of the full moon. Gotham seemed to spread its veil of stillness and serenity but it did not reach you, it did not soothe your nerves into sleep. Interrupted sleep brought no rest. Haunting images pulled you back to lonely reality time and again, with a racing heartbeat and cold sweat. The pack of cigarettes grew emptier with each heavy sigh and each quiet curse. A faint tears running down your cheeks seemed to chase after the lonely raindrops trickling down the window panes as you got up once again to gaze at the moon. "Are you there?" you wondered, "are you watching me?" you asked.

In silence your thoughts seemed to scream louder, in the dark your fears seemed to stare at you from every corner of your home, at night you couldn't find solace. Letting slowly smoke out, you regretted that you allowed him to take that bottle of whiskey with him. "He knew what he was doing," you scoffed sourly to settle for a glass of water and return to bed. Behind closed eyes, you could see a clear picture of all your mistakes and when sleep finally came you could feel them all over again.

*

The white light once again blinded you hurting your eyes. The chill of the sterile surroundings brought a shiver to your skin while the sight of countless closed doors filled you with doubt.

"I see curiosity is eating you up," the man walking in front of you noted. He wasn't tall but his posture seemed to fill the room. His prying eyes glanced at you over his glasses but betrayed no emotion. His perfectly balanced words reflected a high intelligence that left you feeling small. "Soon the entire compound will become your new home and all these doors will be open to you. But first, we must clear the formalities."

He led you through a wide, empty corridor toward a small office, and once the door closed, he took a seat behind the desk and pointed to the seat opposite him.

"Professor, I was told that the facility is designed to develop and discover abilities in people…" hesitated, "that are gifted."

"Meta-humans is the proper term to describe someone like you. You'll learn everything, but first the paperwork," he reached into a drawer and pulled out a file of documents, "a few signatures, declarations and you'll be part of the program."

"I'd like to know exactly what the program is before I sign anything," you set the pen aside and flipped through the thick folder.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to reveal the details until you have signed the declaration of will," there was something unpleasant about him, something that made your skin crawl, "you must understand that the program is highly classified."

"What if I won't sign?"

"You will sign," he smiled tinctively, "after all, no one forced you to come here. Curiosity won't let you leave now."

You picked up a pen and pressed it against the first page only to stop for a moment and leave a single black dot.

"It says here that I waive the right to adjudicate my own will…" you uttered, "this is illegal. I'm sorry, but I can't sign this."

"Don't you want to discover your abilities?"

"I want to but…"

"Don't you want to find out what you can actually do?"

"Of course I want to but it doesn't feel right."

"Don't you want to know if you could save them if you only knew how?"

"I do…"

"Then sign."

You pressed the pen to the paper again but a trembling hand objected. They knew. How did they know? You were a nobody, and yet they knew. You dragged the line and gasped in shock. The black ink spread across the paper covered the entire page, spread across the desk, over the chairs, over the floor to reach the walls and cover the white underneath the implacable black. You jumped away from the table frightened, knocking over a chair that seemed to disappear silently under the black surface. It surrounded you on all sides and only the professor's face, twisted in a sinister smirk, seemed to be staring at you in a frozen expression.

"You remember…" from the darkness came a low deep voice piercing the void, "you keep coming back to the same memories," distant but close, coming from every direction and yet seeming to be right next to you.

"I know you…" you whispered into the void.

"Yes, we have met before."

"Morpheus…" you uttered silently as his name felt familiar and strange to you equally, "your name is Morpheus. And I'm not supposed to know that."

"For the convenience of this meeting, you shall know it. Just as you shall know me," the blackness parted revealing a statuesque man of skin as fair as marble and eyes as deep as depths of the endless starry abyss of the darkest night.

"It's a dream…"

"It is. Yet it is also a memory. A memory that you try to conjure in dreams but you can't."

"You can control it…"

"I can," he moved closer to you as if drifting carried by the darkness itself.

"You control all dreams and nightmares…" you uttered yet your lips did not move. The stars in his eyes glowed pale, "why do I know this?"

"Because I allowed it."

"Are you a god?"

"No."

"Who are you then?"

"The concept of my existence will not be conceivable to you at this moment," his lips moved but his voice seemed to echo out of the abyss beyond time and space, "I am no threat to you."

"Why are you here?"

"You need help Y/N Y/L/N," the breath of the universe swept coldly over your skin, "you keep coming back to the same dreams, the same memories, that you cannot escape from. You can't move past them. I find you here every night. Every night your memories create a new nightmare. This needs to stop."

"If you control the dreams why do you let it happen?"

"I am here now, am I not?" the endless black of his eyes deepened, "I have stepped into your dream once again and chose to reveal my presence to you."

"Will you stop the nightmares?"

"No."

"Then why…"

"Be quiet," he interrupted you sternly, "you must understand the exceptional nature of this moment. Decades passed since the last time I resolved to interfere with a mortal's dream. Yet my siblings ensure that your desires are pure, for most of the time at least," the marble face seemed to brighten in a barely discernible smile.

"Are there more like you?"

"Is that the question you want to ask?"

"I guess not…" the galaxies in his eyes mesmerized, "why me? Why are you helping me?"

"I get curious when a magic user emerges in the mortal world," the stars glimmered intensely.

"Say what?" your lips moved but no words came out. Yet he seemed to hear your thoughts.

"You are not a meta-human Y/N, not in the way humans understand it. You are something else. But you already know that. You have always known it. Your mind tries desperately to remember but it can't." Slowly he moved his eyes toward the professor while the stars in his eyes dimmed. "These humans. They have wronged you. They hurt your body, soul and mind. They have taken your intentions and perverted them to suit their needs. They violated your will. Your memories are full of pain and suffering."

"Will you show them to me?"

"I could send you all the memories at once if I only chose to. I will not do that. It would be pointless. Your mind would surely collapse under their weight," out of the midst of the darkness he reached out a marble slender hand towards you, "Instead, I offer to guide you through them. I can help you remember."

Although your hand trembled you reached out to grasp his. The blackness around you faded away. Golden grains of sand appeared as if out of nowhere enclosing you, dancing and swirling around you, blurring the image, lifting you above the nonexistent ground to spread into nothingness a moment later and reveal a new image, a new dream, a long-forgotten memory.

*

It felt as if the memories in your head blended together just like the colors of unsorted laundry carelessly thrown into the washing machine. The past far and near clashed together to create a new distorted reality. The space around you appeared white and sterile again, like the one from your horrific memories, but at the same time obscured and dimmed much like one of the rooms in Arkham. There was no blinding white light, no heavy metal doors, no machines, no cables, tubes or monitors. Only a vertical bed with wide safety straps so reminiscent of the one in Crane's lab, only a single metal frame with a narrow beam of light aimed straight at it.

"I don't remember this place…" you said silently as the darkness around you formed a shape revealing his figure, "I don't remember this."

"You do remember. After all, we are in your memories," he replied softly.

"You created this?"

"I merely took what you had hidden deep at the bottom of your consciousness and brought it to the surface," he explained, gazing not at you but into the space in front, "this memory, this dream, were particularly difficult to retrieve. They ensured that you would not remember it."

"Who did?"

As if in answer to your question, the door to the room opened letting in a sliver of light that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Professor Strange, assisted by two stout, strong men, stood a short distance from you and fixed his displeased eyes on you.

"I should have known there would be trouble with you," he clicked his tongue, "but the intrigue of your abilities doesn't allow me to simply write you off," he came close enough for you to smell the starch on his apron, "your insubordination, your defiance of orders, your deliberate sabotage of your training, and your stubbornness. Why do you resist when you saw for yourself the consequences of such behavior?"

He waited for the answer you should have given but couldn't. Your mind could not recall the event while your body seemed to remember all too well. Your muscles tensed as if in anticipation of the pain that was about to come. Your heart sped up as if in premature response to the distress you were about to experience. The headache attacked without warning piercing your head, cracking it, penetrating every thought and memory, shattering them into the thousands of pieces you were so desperately trying to put together.

"Big mouth and snarky words won't do you any good," he mocked, "we have ways to control the likes of you."

You looked at Morpheus horrified as two men came up to you and grabbed you painfully, one by your shoulders to lift you off the ground and the other by your ankles. You called out to him but he only watched everything with a marble emotionless face, only the stars in his eyes seemed to dim in sorrow.

"Make it stop!" you shouted to him as they pressed you to the bed, "I beg you! Make it stop!" you cried as they twisted your wrists to strap them down, as they grabbed your ankles to steady them, "Morpheus please…" you stifled as they forced a rubber guard into your mouth while fastening the last strap over your forehead.

"Insubordination we can correct, painfully," Strange smiled wryly, "how long you suffer depends only on you," he moved the metal frame closer directing it straight at you and activated the switch.

Your body shook in convulsions as the red laser entered your pupil piercing into your brain. Muscles contracted rapidly, bending your limbs at an unnatural angle. Breath caught in your lungs for a moment only to escape with a desperate panting. A cold sweat coated your skin soaking your clothes, blending with the warm trickle that ran down your leg. Red was penetrating through your wide open eyes, burning holes in your brain, distorting your consciousness. It was erasing your identity, turning everything that was yours into a blur. One by one, thoughts disappeared from your mind, feelings got erased leaving you hollow, leaving you numb. Anger, rage, frustration, will to fight, fear disappeared one by one devoured by the red. You felt nothing. You thought nothing. Only the brightly electrifying energy continued to simmer in you trying to protect the essence of your being.

*

The pale full moon light crept into Bruce's bedroom chasing away sleep bringing with it the chill of reflection and analysis. For few long minutes he laid with his hands under his head staring at the sky outside the window as if waiting for a signal to brighten in the sky, waiting for the needed distraction, for a way to escape his own thoughts. But the signal did not light up. "I wonder if she is asleep…"

For a moment he considered getting up and returning to the cave, to plunge into work, work out, to drown out his thoughts with the sound of punches, to turn emotions into the strain of muscles and tendons and the rush of doubts into a cool sweat on his body. Clear the mind if only for a moment. "Pointless…"

He got up from the bed, reached for his laptop, plugged in the flash drive he had taken from the cave earlier and hesitated. For so long he had resisted the information he could have at his fingertips. For so long he had fought off the temptation to learn everything he could about her. He wanted to savor every moment with her, to discover her, to learn her, to get to know her, as normal people do. He enjoyed it. For the first time in a long time, he felt truly good. She brought a smile to his face in the most effortless way. He wished he could preserve this moment. He wished for the illusion of normality to last.

"Delusion… naive desires…" he opened the file folder once again confronting himself with his mistakes. "There is nothing normal about me or her. We are far from normal. I was a fool…" reaching agreement with himself, he dragged his finger over the first folder and opened the file. Her entire life unfolded before his eyes.

School. Family. Friends. Retained in a few words and pictures found in the government institutions' records. Date and place of birth, age, height, hair color, eye color, parents' names, birthmarks. An ordinary girl from a small town, with an ordinary life, a good life. "She was born in Europe…" he paused at the information, "then moved to Bludhaven when she was only a child. She never mentioned Bludhaven. Why?" He trailed his eyes over the story of her life. "She was hospitalized, twice…" he opened the hospital records, "a broken leg and arm the first time," the image of her climbing trees entered his mind, "and neurological problems the second…" he frowned seeing the date on the file, "she was so young." Minimizing the file littered with medical details, he returned to her story. Elementary school, high school, college, first job at a far too young age. "Computer sales…" he chuckled quietly seeing her picture in a blue polo with a company logo. She looked like a sweet, innocent girl to whom nothing bad could ever happen. He opened another folder filled with photos. Mountain trips with her parents, her first bicycle, an adorable biscuit golden puppy that surely brought her a lot of joy made him smile fondly. Graduation, her first boyfriend, the academic year inauguration, concerts, parties, her first martens and leather jacket, "rebellious," he scoffed amused. Each photo depicted her happy and smiling, full of joy and passion for life which he continued to see in her eyes despite the passage of years. "What happened then?" he clicked through a few more photos, screenshots from social networks when in love she posted heartfelt lyrics, photos where she smiled joyfully in her boyfriend's embrace, posts where she uploaded clips of Linking Park and Thirty Seconds to Mars in anger. As the years passed, darkness crept into her life but she seemed to retain her smile, especially in those moments when Harleen accompanied her. "How did you get here…" his nature and curiosity took over as he closed away the years of her youth to display her adult life. Happiness seemed to vanish as she stepped into adulthood. Maturity reached her too soon. "She fell in love again…moved out from home before she turned nineteen… moved away…" he swiped through not so distant facts, "traveled the world, worked abroad, got engaged…" he frowned pausing at the photo. One look was enough for him to know everything. She loved him dearly, he loved only himself. "Why did you end up with someone like that?" he moved through the records of her life and smiled involuntarily seeing how short the engagement lasted. She returned to Bludhaven, resumed work, bought a new car and "…suddenly disappeared…" he mused over the fragmented story. "What happened?"

*

High walls surrounded the compound on all sides obscuring the greenery where twelve young people trained fiercely in the brightness of the morning sun. Men and women, all dressed in military style sweatpants and gray T-shirts, divided in pairs punched, kicked, flipped and knocked each other to the ground.

"In combat, you cannot rely only on your supernatural abilities!" a tall, muscular man with thick but snow-white hair roamed the field peering at them with a sharp eye, "your abilities are your weakness! Your abilities are your disadvantage! The first thing your opponent will use against you!"

The blows fell one after another, brutal, painful, aimed deliberately and precisely, drawing blood and marking bruises, twisting joints and straining muscles. But they kept fighting. Someone grabbed his partner's arm hard, bent it in an unnatural direction breaking the bone with a snap. A cry echoed through the walls.

"Hesitation means death! Death is a mercy given to the weak and useless! You are meant to be strong! Better! We don't train you to fight! We train you to kill!"

You watched everything as a movie projected in front of your eyes. Faces contorted from pain, blood stained shirts, sore bodies and despair in the eyes of those who were praying for death.

"Attack to inflict pain!"

The bones in your body creaked opening long-forgotten injuries, wept in forgotten pain.

"Block to maintain the advantage!"

The pain pierced your muscles like a memory hidden beneath the surface of your skin.

"Strike to kill!"

A shudder ran through your body, convulsions twisted your insides as if trying to fight off the poison that seemed to consume you entirely.

"He trained us…" you whispered, "he was merciless."

The sun illuminating the greenery beneath your feet dimmed as the shadow surrounded you with a warm, soft veil.

"They wanted to make us into weapons…"

"I know," Morpheus spoke softly in an eerily human voice, "I was there. In every dream and every nightmare you have dreamt while being here."

"They promised help and guidance but instead tried to use us, weponized us against those they deemed a threat…"

"The pages of human history have been marked by many like them."

Someone broke under pressure allowing his emotions to take control of his body. Applying superhuman strength, he struck his opponent breaking his neck in the snap.

"No powers!"

"Apologies, sir," the man leaned his head as he put his hands behind the back to stand at attention, "it took over me."

"I have no interest in your apology," with a heavy slow step he approached the terrified man, "you are a soldier. Soldiers follow orders. If you are incapable of following orders you will be useless in the field." In one swift motion, he drew a narrow long sword from behind his back. The steel flashed in the sunlight. Blood gushed widely staining the green beneath their feet. The man fell inertly to the ground.

"No one touches him! Back to training!"

The blackness swirled around you while the golden particles danced as if carried by a nonexistent wind.

"Are you ready to move on?" Morpheus asked while watching your furious gaze.

"Yes, please."

*

"She disappeared…just like that she disappeared…" Bruce leaned back in his chair and stared at the computer screen. "No one disappears overnight." He opened the files again and carefully traced the events of her adult years convinced that he had missed a detail. He had not. The few clicks and fractions of a second required to run his computer's systems were enough to fill his mind with countless questions. "Jason left something out…" He typed her name into the system, combined it with facial recognition, and personal information to momentarily display endless information about her. All aligned with the ones on the flash drive, all merely confirming and duplicating facts he already knew. "Something is missing…"

A part of him didn't want to dig deeper, but it was too late to back out. It was in his nature to investigate, to find the truth, to look for the smallest, least significant details, to see things that others could not see, to piece together the tiniest facts into a previously unknown truth. He could not back down now.

With a few clicks he changed the scope of the search, typing in the names and details of her parents only to freeze in stillness once the computer displayed the results. His heart ached with pain but his mind understood.

*

The gold dust settled, the blackness thinned to reveal an environment so familiar to you, one that you so desperately didn't want to remember. The brown wallpaper on the walls you had long planned to replace, the brown rug under your feet that should have been vacuumed days ago, the warmth of the yellow ceiling light that could not hide the surrounding decay. You were home. A purple cashmere sweater hung on a hanger just as it always did. Funny pink slippers were placed at the entrance in the same place they always did. A pleasant scent of apples and cinnamon lingered in the air, barely covering the foul odor of sweat, sourness, and death that wafted through.

"I don't want to be here…" you whispered in a trembling voice as tears came to your eyes, "please…" you looked into his endless eyes but his sombre face remained unmoved, "please take me away from here."

"I will not do that," he replied in a stern but warm voice, "this is where it all started. This is where you need to be."

"I can't, I don't want to…" tears slipped down your face, "don't make me."

"I would not force you even if my power allows it," compassion reached from the depths of the universe, "there is nothing wrong with being afraid. There is nothing more human than to be afraid. You tried to control your fear, you tried to get rid of it. You have allowed him to exploit that," he extended an open hand to you, "the time has come for you to face your fear."

You took his hand and allowed yourself to be led down a narrow hallway toward a darkened bedroom. You wanted to close your eyes and not see death standing by the side of the bed. You wanted to close your heart and not feel the pain tearing your soul into a million pieces meant never to become whole again. You wanted to close your ears and not hear the weak voice you would never hear again. You wanted to run away but his cold, steady hand kept you close.

"Y/N?" your legs buckled under you at the sound of the forlorn voice. Your throat tightened painfully straining breath in your lungs, forcing tears into your eyes but you only exhaled deeply and forced a smile.

"Hey, Mom," you let go of his hand and walked over to the bed, "how are you feeling? Have you slept at all?"

"I'm better," she lied. Eyes veiled with fog, a tired face, and a limp body disappearing into the folds of the sheets betrayed more than you wished.

"Mom…" placing a hand to her forehead, you brushed away her sweat-damp hair. She was cold. So very cold, "I'll make you some tea. And I'll open the window for a moment, it's terribly stuffy in here."

"How was work?" she asked, continuing the game of pretend.

"As always, all good," you pushed aside a bowl filled with black and yellow liquid, "did you eat anything?"

"I can't stomach the food…"

"Mom you have to eat. You take morphine, you can't take it on an empty stomach."

"I can't eat…" she said weakly, " I vomit everything I eat."

You took her cold hand feeling as painful realization tried to extinguish hope. Hope that everything will be fine, hope that the next operation will fix everything, that you will travel over the sea next summer.

"Don't worry my star," she smiled faintly, "this will pass."

"I know Mom," you sighed heavily forcing a smile, "they just have to cut out that fucking tumor. I'm sure it's pressing on your stomach and that's why you can't eat. They'll cut it out and everything will be fine."

"Exactly," she wanted so badly to believe it, and yet something seemed to hide behind her eyes, "I need you to pack my bag and call an ambulance," she had never asked before.

"Something's wrong?" your heart leaped to your throat.

"I feel that I shouldn't have been discharged from the hospital. At least at the hospital, they would give me an IV."

"You're right. At least your body will strengthen before the operation. Wednesday isn't far away," you helped her up and held her steady making sure she would not lose her balance, "we need to change your pajamas."

"I don't think I'll be able to stand up," once strong and full of life she now seemed frail and weak, "call an ambulance. Get my papers ready. You can drop my bag off later."

"Got it!"

Even though it was only a memory you played your part just as intently as you did on that day, feeling everything just as strongly as before. Panic when she couldn't stand on her feet, worry when logic took over from false hope, determination when you gathered her things and helped her get dressed, composure when the paramedics helped her sit in the wheelchair and carry her out of the house for the last time.

"You'll see, they'll patch you up and you'll be dancing again," you smiled as you hugged her one last time.

"Drive home carefully," she uttered her last words of concern letting go of your hand and disappearing inside the ambulance.

You stood in the middle of the street for a moment watching the ambulance drive away. At the time, you still believed your words. At that moment, you rejected the possibility that it might end differently. Full of belief and hope, unaware of the nightmare that was about to come just two days later.

"I never saw her again…" you wanted to cry but couldn't. Locking your emotions deep inside you, you chose numbness. "She didn't get to live to have surgery. Two days later, at five-thirty in the morning, she died."

"People despair when Death comes for them, comes for their loved ones," Morpheus spoke softly, "They fear the Sunless Lands. They deny Death. I have always found it strange. It is as natural to die as it is to be born and yet some seem never to accept this fact."

"Death leaves scars that never heal," you countered, "it leaves a void that we desperately try to fill. We wonder if we could have done something more if we could have prevented it somehow."

"There was nothing you could have done."

"You're wrong," you glared at him angrily, "if only I had known how! If at that moment, I had known, understood my abilities! Maybe I could have saved her! Maybe I could have healed her! Maybe she would still be here!"

"It was her time."

"Fuck that! She was too young! She was supposed to be with me until old age! She was supposed to be with me when I would get married! When I would have children!" anger burned in you igniting your blood, "she should have been here!! But I was afraid! I was afraid of my abilities! I was afraid of the fact that I was different! I didn't understand! I tried to suppress it inside me! If only I wasn't afraid! Maybe she would still be here!!!"

"Your mother got what everyone gets. A lifetime."

*

A quiet knock at the door pulled Bruce out of his deep thought. For a moment he wondered if he had misheard. The night was deep, everyone in the house should already be asleep or at least pretending. But the knocking repeated itself. He didn't want to answer it. He regretted staying home instead of leaving for the city. He needed this moment to himself, he needed to think, he needed to be alone with his emotions and nothing was more conducive to thinking than the lights of Gotham scattered in the darkness of night like millions of stars in a black sky.

"I know you're awake," Dick's quiet voice came from behind the door, "I saw the lights on in your windows. May I come in?"

"You may," he replied reluctantly, convinced that even if he hadn't answered and given permission he would have barged into his bedroom anyway. Dick had no hesitation to invade his personal space. He didn't even manage to turn off the laptop screen and he was already closing the door behind him. Dressed in loose sweatpants and an old Gotham University t-shirt, he minced barefoot across the soft carpet and, if it weren't for his height, imposing build and two whiskey glasses in his right hand, he would have looked just like the kid whose years ago crept into his bedroom when he couldn't sleep.

"I thought you might need this," he smirked innocently placing the glass in front of him.

"You know I don't drink."

"A glass of good single malt to calm the mind never hurt anyone," he glanced involuntarily at the computer screen, "you read it."

"I did," Bruce pushed the glass aside and locked the screen before adding in a serious tone, "your investigation was incomplete."

"Oh, it was complete, trust me. We simply decided not to include certain details," Dick replied observing him closely, "you wanna talk?"

"No."

"You sure? Cos you kinda look like you do," he smirked.

"How's Jason?" a quick change of subject seemed at this point to be at best a failed attempt to slip out of an uncomfortable situation.

"He's asleep. Drinking more than half a bottle by yourself after an intense night of ass kicking and car chasing will do that to you."

"You got him drunk pretending that you're drinking," Bruce glanced at him with amusement in his eyes.

"Indeed I did!" he grinned, "he needed this more than I did. And pretending to drink after years of observing how you do it was way to easy."

"I'm glad he stayed the night."

"I'm glad you asked him to."

"He should move back in."

"You should ask him."

"I should."

"Maybe that's not the only thing you should do, If you know what I mean." Silence fell as their eyes met again. Bruce was struggling, Dick could see that clearly. Unused to talking about feelings, he needed it so much and at the same time shied away from it so much. Without a word, he grabbed a glass and, crossing the lavish bedroom, sat down in one of the large, comfortable armchairs, waiting for Dick to join him.

"Maybe I should…" he sighed as Dick sat down on the bed opposite him, crossed his legs and took a small sip from his glass. Despite having a quarter century behind him, he still looked uncomfortable drinking alcohol in his company.

"Take your time, we still have a few hours before dawn," he smirked.

Turning the amber liquid in his glass, Bruce merely stared at the moon outside the window silently informing him that he would rather be in the city right now, would rather chase villains through the dirty streets of Gotham, would rather glide between buildings, sit on the roof and listen for trouble than have to confront his own feelings.

"It won't light up, you are stuck with me," he quipped forcing his attention back to him.

"Am I that obvious?"

"To me, yeah you kinda are."

"I don't know what to do…" Bruce finally said fixing his gaze on him, "for the first time in a very long time I truly don't know what to do," he sighed heavily while warming the golden liquid in his hand then hesitantly took a tiny sip closing his eyes, "I fucking don't know what to do."

"You care about her."

"I do."

"And you are so in love with her."

"Love is just a brain chemistry. A mixture of norepinephrine, dopamine and…"

"Bruce, seriously? I swear if I keep rolling my eyes like this I'll totally get to see the back of my skull!" he snarled then added gently, "come on. Let's be real for a moment. I've seen you two together. Even you can't hide your feelings that well."

"My feelings for her don't matter," he sighed while his tired eyes grew dark, "and I know what you're going to say. I've heard you before. But what happened today is my fault. I should have stayed away from her but I didn't. I should have warned her, protected her, but I didn't. And it is because of me that she got hurt."

"A few scuffs and bruises, she'll be fine…" he paused seeing the expression of pain on his face, "Bruce, what happened earlier? What did you find in Crane's apartment?"

A moment of silence preceded the answer. A moment of long silence that screamed a thousand unspoken words and concealed emotions. A silence that Bruce needed and Dick was willing to give him. A silence of quiet understanding. A moment of support.

"He hurt her," Bruce finally said, as he set his glass down on the coffee table to stand up and walk to the window, "He violated her. Perhaps at first with her consent, her willingness, it had to be..." he trailed off recalling the scene, "but the fact is that in his apartment's air, I discovered chemicals sufficient to rid her of boundaries and alter her behavior." The recurring images caused him pain but he needed this moment of honesty. Dick was the only one he could talk to about it, the only one he could really open up to, the only one who really understood him. "I think they got close before Crane discovered the transmitter I gave her, before he became violent. I found a dent in the wall and traces of blood on the floor…"

"Bruce, you can't put this on yourself. I know it's personal but still, she made her own choices."

"I knew something was wrong about him. I suspected him for a long time. I knew they were close. She told me that," anger tinged his voice, "I should have prevented her from being alone with him. Instead, I drove them both to his house! To the house where he tormented people! To the house where he hurt her! I drove them and left them there!" he looked at Dick with anger burning in his eyes, "you want to know why?" Dick remained silent, "because I chose to do so. Because I deemed that her friendship with him was my best chance to find out the truth. To expose him! Because I chose to use her relationship with him to solve this case."

"I understand that you blame yourself, but…"

"I don't blame myself. I despise myself. I will never forgive myself for this."

"It wasn't you who put her in danger!"

"But I didn't do anything to stop her."

"Your presence in her life changes nothing. The situation with Crane would have turned out exactly the same if you hadn't been there. Probably much sooner. And it would have ended much worse."

"That doesn't justify the decisions I made."

"Bruce, you're only human. We all make mistakes."

"I made a cold calculation, I made a decision that led to her harm. This is not a mistake. These are consequences."

"And now what, you're going to distance yourself from her or push her away like you usually do?"

He remained silent.

"The situation is different. You can't ignore the fact that she's meta."

"She's not," Bruce denied immediately.

"She's not?

"I verified that theory when we were in Metropolis. Or rather, Clark verified it. Her abilities are most likely magical."

"Damnn!" Dick gasped, "well that's an even bigger problem. With metas we have some experience but we have never trained magic users."

"And we won't."

"You're right. We are definitely not equipped for that. Good thing we know at least three, maybe four people who are more qualified for the task than we are. Zatanna would be the best here, although Constantine has an advantage over her due to his wide range of abilities, but I know there's no way in hell you'd ask him for help. Doctor Fate is definitely the most powerful but he doesn't seem like a people person to me."

"We won't train her, period. Neither we nor anyone else.

"You can't be serious, Bruce!"

"I am."

"No, you're not! You're just a stubborn dumbass who can't deal with his own feelings!"

"Why does she keep getting into trouble…" he sighed as if to himself, "why can't she just let it go?"

*

The gold particles swirled and fell around you for the last time revealing a void in nowhere, a vast and infinite blackness in which the sky and the ground seemed to melt into one. You couldn't feel the ground under your feet, yet you stood firm. You didn't feel the wind blowing, yet your hair waved around your face. You couldn't see the sky above your head, yet the stars seemed to spread against it, shining as brightly as the ones in his eyes when he appeared right in front of you and gazed into your soul.

"Now you know everything. Now you know the truth," he spoke in a deep, low voice.

"I don't know whether I should be happy or sit down and cry…"

"This is what you wanted, is it not? This is what you desired."

"And now that I have it I don't know what to do."

"What you do depends only on you. Your feelings are yours, as are your memories and experiences that have been taken from you and now are yours again. Your decisions, whichever you make, will also be yours. So will their consequences."

"If that was supposed to comfort me then it failed," you scoffed.

"I am not here to comfort you Y/N. That is neither my function nor my role," the black of his eyes deepened, "still, you should find comfort in the fact that there are people in the Waking World who care about you. You are not alone as you seem to think."

"You know who he is don't you?" you asked certain that there was no need to say his name.

"I know."

"You've seen his dreams."

"He doesn't dream like ordinary people dream every night. His mind is highly trained to avoid distractions as he sees dreams. But, yes. I have seen his dreams, rare as they are."

"Who is he?" the question snapped out.

"That is not my truth to tell," a shadow of a smirk ran over his marble face, "trust yourself. Trust your instincts as you have trusted them so far, especially now. Now that your consciousness is free from corrupting influences."

"Trust yourself…" you repeated under your breath, "how can I trust myself when I have no idea what to do!"

"You do know. You simply have not understood it just yet," the depth of the universe seemed to see into the future, "when you wake up, you will know."

"Will I remember you this time?"

"I don't think you will."

"Why not?"

"Because your future must be in your hands. Yet I can assure you, we will see each other again." With a wave of his hand, the dream faded away and disappeared.

You opened your eyes abruptly, welcoming the full moon's cool glow peeking through your bedroom window once again. You knew what to do.

*

Dick walked over to Bruce to hand him the glass of amber liquid again, which he accepted gratefully. Lost in his thoughts, he took a small sip and gazed back at the full moon in the cloudless sky.

"You thought about telling her the truth," he stated with certainty.

"It crossed my mind."

"Why don't you do it then? Think how differently today might have turned out if only she knew the truth!"

"I won't bring her into this life."

"Knowing the truth, she would know the risks and how to react in a threatening situation! She would know what to do! Hell, even without it, she acted instinctively. The transmitter hidden in her arm was a bit insane but an impressive solution you gotta admit that!"

"There is nothing impressive about putting yourself in danger for the sake of satisfying some senseless need to do the right thing," he growled angrily.

"That didn't just come out of your mouth," Dick scoffed.

"It's different and you know it."

"How is that any different!"

"I was an angry kid balancing on the verge of a mental breakdown who desperately needed to find a purpose in life! You were the broken kid whose world came crashing down and who needed care and guidance to not end up like me! Jason, Tim, Damian…"

"You are failing to make a point."

"We were all angry kids who needed to turn their grief and anger into something meaningful."

"And she is an angry adult who has had her will and identity taken away and who needs to turn her pain and trauma into something meaningful…" Dick interrupted him harshly before adding gently, "age doesn't matter here."

"I won't do that. I won't do that to her…" turning his gaze away from Dick he gazed wearily at the sky, "she deserves better."

"Bruce, for someone of your level of intelligence you are behaving like a complete idiot!" it was high time to abandon gentleness and strike directly, "she doesn't need your say so, she doesn't need your guidance to find the way to achieve her goals. The fact that she joined Cadmus is the best proof of that!"

"We don't know that."

"Bruce!"

"Fine. We know that."

"She'll find out the truth sooner or later, and it would be better if she learned it from you."

"Perhaps she won't," he so adamantly refused to accept the facts, "maybe today's situation will make her turn back from this path. She will choose a normal life."

"You really believe that?"

"That would be better for her."

"Sorry but that decision isn't yours," frustration slowly rose in Dick, "just as it wasn't your decision that I created the mantle of Robin, just as it wasn't your decision that Jason would adopt it, it wasn't your decision that Tim found us. Those decisions were ours, not yours!"

"I should never have allowed that to happen."

"You should have understood long ago what kind of impact we have on people, what kind of impact you have on people. How you inspire those around you."

"I have condemned your lives."

"You gave us purpose, strength, inspiration, the will to fight! You gave us hope…" Dick grabbed him by the arm and looked at him like a son looks at his father, "it seems you are thinking that you have failed us, but you are wrong. Each of us would be lost without you. We are here because of you. I am here because of you. My life crashed and fell apart before my eyes, but you gave me a new one. You gave me a purpose, a home, a family."

"Dick I…" his voice broke.

"Bruce…each of us had our own reason for getting into this life. And yes, we were kids but you seem to forget how many of our friends started out as adults. Ollie, Dinah, John, Barry even Uncle Clark. They were all adults when they decided to take on their secret identities. It seems to me that she is on a straight path to the same thing. The question is whether you will be there to help her and guide her as you have guided many before her. Not just us."

"She's already asked me that…" he sighed.

"She did?"

"Last night, just before shootout in Bristol," he explained, "just like today she dropped that she wants to come with me. She said she wants to help. That she could do more. That I could teach her how."

"What are you wating for then? You found a woman who wants to be part of your life. Your whole life."

"It's not that simple…"

"It is very simple Bruce. You are just making this so fucking complicated with your misguided sense of morality. She's a good woman, honest and kind with a clear desire to do good. She's obviously into you and she is obviously drawn to Batman. What's so difficult about that?" he blocked the window forcing Bruce to look at him. "Some perverted idea in your head, a flawed perception of love makes you think that you can't be happy. That Batman can't be happy. That the mission precludes that possibility. But Bruce, you're not thirty anymore. You have surrounded yourself with family and friends who day by day are proving to you that it is possible. So if they can be happy why can't you?"

"I guess…" he hesitated, "I guess I am scared," he finished quietly. "I guess I am simply scared."

"Hey, remember what you used to say to us when Jason was a kid?" a bright smile spread over Dick's face. "It's okay to be scared. Everyone gets scared. Take it as an opportunity to fight that fear. As a chance to be brave."

A single tear glistened in Bruce's eyes as the pain on his face faded away overtaken by Dick's kindness. Perhaps he had not failed after all. Perhaps there was still a hope for him to have it all. He reached out and pulled Dick in a strong hug.

"Thank you my son. I needed this."

***

~~TBC~~

~~***~~ Author note: Phew! It's good to have this one finished, way too much angst am I right? But it was needed. A lot happened prior to that. We needed that moment of feels and emotions and struggles and all the angst in the world. I was hoping that I would get to the point in this chapter but as you see that did not happen. And I'm glad cos it would be twice as long. And I'll admit, it was really hard to write and even harder to edit. After eight years of working half-night shifts I switched my role at my company and suddenly I'm working regular nine to five. Let me tell you, my body is in shock and my sleep pattern is all over the place! But I am very happy with the change! Just gotta align my writing with my new reality, no more writing in the night. I'm starting to write the next chapter right away cos I know exactly what will happen. For now, I thank you for reading my Dear Reader and till the next time.

~~***~~ Tag list: @mrsgrahamsdesign @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming @julesjewelss36 @cherryflavoredcoke @grandstrangerphantom @maripositanoctruna @pluckastarfromthesky @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @pirate-with-internet-connection @ooldcardigan @amandarobertsboyce

[soullessjack]

talk to me about saw. just bullet points ranting

thank you (you will regret this).

One of my favorite yet also most frustrating aspects of the franchise is that John is a complete hypocrite. His entire philosophy is grounded in the concept of the value of life, and the games are intended to teach various victims said value because John has deemed them ungrateful and wasteful for various reasons. Adam wastes his life by spying into others’, Eric destroys the nerve house peoples’ lives by framing them, etc., but there are so many victims who simply do not deserve to be there, and I’m absolutely counting the ones picked by John’s apprentices because while he didn’t make the choice himself, he still approved of them, ergo deeming them ungrateful.

Paul, the barbed wire room victim from 1 strikes me as the biggest example because he was literally just a depressed man, and the fact that John accuses him of cutting for attention because his life is superficially perfect just makes it worse. I don’t want to sound like I’m whining about mental health awareness in a torture porn franchise, but genuinely it’s so frustrating that John instantly refutes Paul’s reasons for cutting simply because he’s a healthy middle class white guy. Hank the smoker from 3D is literally just a smoker, another addict victim among the others, which is even more ironic given that his career in civil engineering was spent on making housing for people in need due to poverty and addiction, as was Jill’s clinic. John spent his life helping the very type of people he’d come to target.

Brad, Ryan and Dina from the opening power saw trap are nothing more than a cheater and the two men she manipulated. Of course cheating is a terrible thing to do, but putting them alongside a serial rapist and crooked cop is beyond incomparable. Forcing Brad and Ryan to choose between killing Dina or the other while they were completely unaware of her manipulation is unfair, and sentencing Dina to be cut in half for cheating is even more unfair. I can’t see any way how cheating could fit into John’s philosophy about the value for life.

Bobby Dagen and his team 100% deserved to be a victim for what they did. Exploiting tragedy and trauma for personal gain, so much so that he even attends support groups for actual victims and lies to their faces, is something even someone of the most sound mind would want to punish him for. But his wife, Joyce, literally believed he was a survivor, and she didn’t find out Bobby was lying until her trap had set in motion. Daniel Matthews had no involvement in his father’s job or the fact that Eric framed several people, and while John did spare Daniel in the end, he still placed an innocent child in danger for the sake of his game—which can also be said for Gordon’s family in Saw 1.

For a man who so fervently believes in the value of life, John has no problem wasting it to teach his victims The Lesson, even if it’s an innocent one (which, I personally think could have some connection to Gideon’s death, but idk). And I’m not sure if this is a purposeful element to his character or not, but either way I actually think it adds to the franchise overall. There’s such a poignant sense of hopelessness and unfairness to it, to seeing all this suffering and brutal death and to know that, not only was it undeserved, but that it all happened because of one man’s sheer, unrelenting entitlement.

John calls Adam out for being a voyeur, and yet he makes himself a voyeur into the lives of all his victims in order to judge and choose them. He likes to book himself front row seats to his sick little games.

John Kramer is a hypocrite.

[gffa]

Can I ask your opinion on something? It's about Jason and the way hes written in a lot of batfamily comics, because I can't shake the feeling that in a lot of stories he's in theres is this rather... condescending attitude towards Jason. They are always writing him as this angry impulsive idiot who can't deal with a case or have plan of his own and basically needs Bruce and the others to save him.

For example, take Cheer, a lot of people been calling the best story Jason had, but it still repeats so much of the annoying tropes that Jason gets: He's written tob e really impulsive and dumb and prone to mistakes that the others would never make, and who Bruce to explain him to not attack drug addicts, and them you have to flashbacks that are there to retroactively insert instances of him being a "bad robin" who would torture a random person for no reason and killed someone before he even became robin. And whole story gives the idea that the only reason Jason can be good in anyway is because Bruce stopped from going bad.

then In the failsafe arc when Bruce is praising Tim he has to make a mention about how Jason hated training as a robin, which is not the first time Bruce has compared Jason negatively to prop Tim.

And now in The Gotham War, Jason gets brainwashed by Bruce with that failsafe thing. And it's treated as this big awful thing... until one issue has passed, and then Jason's already resisting the symptons long enough to try to save someone but not enough to actually succeed at by himself, and Bruce saves him by giving him a piggyback ride that treats Jason like child. And Bruce leaves without fixing what he did.

Like compare Jason now with the way he was before the New52 in stories like Under the Hood or the Lost Days. Jason back them as more often than not a villain, but he was a good villain, he was intelligent and competent in a way he is simply not anymore, and makes so mad that nonee these modern stories seem to actually respect him as a character and just make really made and it just ruins most Batfam media for me.

Take this for what it is--someone who is not as deeply into Jason's character as others are and who is more of a general fan (and specifically a fan of my own Blorbo)--but my feeling with Jason's character is that DC doesn't really know what they want to do with his character and so he gets written as incredibly inconsistently by various comics because of it. So often when I look at the bigger scope of his appearances, it's not clear if he's supposed to be a villain, a villain on the way to being reformed, an antihero, a misunderstood hero, or what. And that also tends to influence his relationship with Bruce on a narrative level, how much Bruce is "right" or "wrong" about Jason or even often how he acts around the other Batfam members, especially if he gets an author who is a fan or if he's just there to be the impulsive hothead who needs others to step in. To some degree, that's just how comics are--every character is written as the dumb idiot sometimes when they're not in their own book. I often Suffer as a Dick Grayson fan or a Tim Drake fan or a Barbara Gordon fan, when I pick up another character's book for them. There can be great appearances in non-titular characters' books! But a lot of the time, when I'm reading, I have to look at the title and go, okay, Blorbo's not going to be treated as well as they should because this isn't their book. And I think that's a big chunk of what happens with Jason, one that gets exacerbated because it's not really clear what his role in the group is meant to be.

(Like, there is a VERY noticeable difference in the way Jason is written in Task Force Z--a book designed to center around him--versus when he shows up in a cameo in another book. Or there is a VERY noticeable difference in the way Dick is written when he cameos in a Batgirls book versus who he's written in his own central title. Comics, you know?) So, you're not wrong that Jason gets written weirdly a lot, but I don't see it as totally unique to his character, because it's somewhat just kind of part of the landscape of comics and somewhat just that Jason gets it more intensely than other characters because he never really had the solidification of who/what he was supposed to be in the comics, like even when Tim is written really badly and they refuse to let him evolve, at least you understand what his role is in the family, so a lot of authors have a baseline for how he should be treated. (And I don't know how well he actually does/doesn't sell comics, which is often a big influence in how a character will get treated in stories they appear in, like Bruce is probably DC's single biggest seller, so he's always going to have a baseline of being intended to be cool and heroic--mileages vary on how that comes off, but I think the intention is there, even when writing him as fucking up sometimes--like Jason is tremendously popular in fandom, but does that actually translate to selling comics? I have no idea.) I think it's fair to say that, look at almost any character in the Batfam, and they'll have a period where a lot of fans feel like they're being written the way you're describing Jason being written right now--I could probably find you people who would say similar things about Dick, Tim, Damian, and Babs right now, too, that they're being written as incompetent and like they need someone to hold their hand just to cross the street without messing it up. But also that you're not wrong that Jason is probably getting the worst of it and it's one of those things that I often have just had to learn to roll with when it comes to comics or else just walk away. (Sooooo many times I had to nearly walk away from comics because I dislike what's happening at a certain point and, often times, I have had to walk away. I walked away from DC because of it. I walked away from X-Men comics because of it. I walked away from Thor comics because of it. It's only recently that I came back to DC to give them another chance and, honestly, I'm only staying because I'm getting what I want for my Blorbo. That's kinda how comics often are, if you're here for a Blorbo, rather than here for the entire roster. /says without judgement, as I know what I am too)

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Star-crossed in the Crosshairs (John Price x Reader)

Chapter 3: To My Knees

Fic Summary: This mission is the pinnacle of your efforts for the past three years. Your whole team and yourself have worked countless hours, slaughtered hundreds, risked life and limb for scraps of intel, and now it all boiled down to pairing up with another taskforce to get this job done and dusted. An unexpected spanner in the works comes in the shape of your former best friend, now also a Captain and somehow resurrected from his KIA status, John Price.

You can’t afford to let feelings - old and new - get in the way of your purpose. No matter how much you’ve missed, wished for, loved him, and no matter how much he might feel the same.

Content warnings: Usual COD content (violence, torture, death, guns ESPECIALLY in this chapter), mutual pining, back from the dead, friends to allies to lovers, Reader is GN, some use of Y/N.

Chapter 2 // Masterlist // AO3 Version // Chapter 4

Gaz and Bronze were stretching out this first glass, just hitting the two hour mark, but the conversation cover had yet to run dry. Occasionally, there would be input from another of your team, waiting in shadows and around corners, easing the tension ever so slightly with their addition to the chatter as well as providing repeated remarks on how their target was not yet in sight.

You stared at the map in front of you, brows bent as if you didn’t have it half memorised, as if there hadn’t been any passersby in this alleyway for ten minutes. Earpiece wired through your clothing allowed you to listen into the conversation you had yet to join.

One you’d considered remarking on was Gaz and Bronze joking about:

“Price told me he and Laswell met at a falafel stand.”

“And did they?”

“No. She annoyed him during a football match.”

That sounded more plausible at least. Price’s long-time partner was a neglected Liverpool season ticket. You tapped your fingers on the steering wheel to a familiar footie chant you had learned to chant during your first match. But you didn’t add anything. Nor did you say anything when Gaz insisted he was a catch and too good for Bronze when Crash joked about them being on a date.

You did when Soap talked about how he’d been guided through Las Almas in a mission gone south by Ghost, a bullet in his arm and delirious on adrenaline enough to exchange dumb jokes. After hearing his shellfish joke, you decided to join in with easing the tension that was creeping in through your neck.  

“Two windmills are standing on a wind farm. One asks, ‘what’s your favourite type of music?’ and the other replies ‘I’m a big metal fan’.”

The radio crackled with Soap’s low chuckles, “Pretty good, Captain.”

“I wouldn’t say good,” interrupted Chance.

“What’s good then?”

“What’s red and bad for your teeth?” You could already hear giggling down the radio before Chance jumped in to ensure she delivered the punchline: “A brick.”

“Tha’s awful, actually,” Soap said but with a dark snigger. Then he cut himself off sharpish: “Markovič on the south side of the street, heading towards Los Gatos.”

Your back straightened, “Alone?”

“Affirmative.”

This did nothing to confirm for you whether Markovič either had back-up you couldn’t see, or he was beyond stupid – both dangerous in any man, let alone an arm’s dealer, let alone the glorified sidekick of a terrorist. Your hands flexed then tightened around the wheel, then one held the ignition key, waiting for your signal.

“He’s at the bar,” Gaz reported. A minute later, he added: “He’s a gin man.”

You mirrored his attempts to keep things a little light, “Do they have Gordon’s out here?”

“It’s not the pink one, that’s for sure,” Gaz mumbled, and you could hear its echo in a half empty pint glass he was likely pretending to drink from, “You a gin fan yourself, Captain?”

“Not a big drinker at all.”

“What’s your vice then?”

“Sudoku.”

You’d let them debate whether or not you were serious later; Team Banshee would probably offer a few pieces of evidence to fill the gaps in the 141’s knowledge of you. But here was where your banter ended for now.

“He’s moving to sit alone, outside.”

You could picture him sipping a ballooned glass with ice swilling around, condensation as slippery as his character. The metal of the key warmed in your pinch, map discarded in your lap. Simulating every possible approach to any choice, your brain narrowed down Gaz and Bronze either heading inside for an attack in the bathroom, or directing Ghost, Chance, Price, and Crash to tail Markovič and intercept before he got home.

Your two soldiers continued their cover, ordering some tapas to split and doing their best not to flaunt how good it was to the rest of you. Gaz mentioned how he’d already paid the bill, and filled out the reimbursement forms too apparently. Just left the boxes of the amount blank, ready to be completed upon return. Both Gaz and Bronze dropped titbits of info on Markovič every minute, Soap too from his ledge.

At last, halfway through the third glass of gin, Gaz muttered down his microphone, “He’s headed for the bathroom. We’re on him.”

You twisted the ignition and the engine roared to life, “Meet you at the corner of Liepų and Lajos Street?”

“Can do, Cap,” Bronze said and you heard the scrape of his chair before he stopped talking.

The gear stick shifted, you drove out of the alleyway and took the two minute drive to your location. The mileometer kept your speed safe enough to not be pulled over by any rent-a-cop that might spot you, but quick enough to be with your team. Two back doors were flung open within the second you stopped, Gaz and Bronze hauling their prisoner up then tossing him in with a bag over his head and hands zip-tied. In your rear view mirror, Markovič’s body folded like a sheet of paper without Gaz or Bronze for support.

You heard two bangs after the door slams, so you moved out, ready to collect the rest of your team. Crash and Ghost were from the same corner about a quarter of a mile out. Chance and Price were close enough to the safehouse to have made it back just as you pulled into the garage. No one felt daft for over-estimating the amount of manpower on this mission. This  was, after all, just the first step in the right direction.

You helped haul the dead weight of your prisoner up the stairs in the absence of your regular workout.

A chair stood proudly in the centre of the one room without windows, the one you’d soundproofed that morning with your team. Even just stepping into the room felt like there was cotton wool against your ears. Tarps muted all footsteps. Hanging from the door frame was a black makeshift curtain blocking your captive from seeing anything outside the room.You took it upon yourself to search him whilst Gaz and Ghost bound his wrists and ankles to the chair’s metal frame: a wallet with just two cards, a stack of cash, and a few coins; a packet of tissues; a dog tag without a chain stamped with Odristanian; and an acorn.

Gaz and Ghost led the way out, you taking one more survey of the room before you followed satisfied and with the door shut behind you.

“He was carrying this in his waistband, tried to pull it out on us when we put him in a headlock.” Bronze held a tiny handgun up like it was a pair of dirty underwear. You took it, though he’d already had the frame of mind to empty the chamber and remove the clip.

“Good job, Gaz, Bronze,” You said first, before you could forget to praise your team. “Chance, you’re the lead on this. Ghost, I want you in there with Chance ready to sub in if she wants to take a break. No one else goes in unless Markovič’s somehow a master of withholding information; I don’t want him getting any ideas about how many of us there are or where he is through the door.”

Both nodded, happy with their positions. However-

“He’s got no idea where he is,” Bronze interjected, “He walked right past the toilet to take a piss in the alleyway out back. He’s hardly gonna figure out anything through a gap in the curtain.”

You stared at him, expression once again carefully neutral, and Bronze’s eyes widening told you he knew he’d been caught with his trousers down – in front of his entire team no less. Muting your frustration for now was the best approach, even though you shouldn’t have to tell this fully grown man about taking precautions in the possibility of this being a trap. Instead, you continued delegating your team for the night ahead.

“Still, we’ll approach with standard caution. Crash, Gaz, you’re on watch: one in the sitting room, one from the roof. Make sure no one’s tailed us. Soap, Price, I want you observing from here, and you can feed any info you think helpful to them via their earpieces. Bronze, you’re with me. We’ll swap around in shifts when times comes to sleeping and watch, but again, we keep Ghost and Chance on Markovič.”

Bronze trailed behind you as you entered the sitting room, where all the packs were (yours included). Following the cable you’d plugged in that morning, you found and began fiddling with your tablet to get it live and onto the webcam that Gaz had installed amongst the padding on the walls. Price and Soap already had theirs set up whilst you were patting down your prisoner.

“I was part of a capture or kill mission about fifteen years ago,” You mused aloud, knowing Bronze was paying attention.“Capture was easy, and folks got cocky. Turns out it was a catch and release. Our target’s army was on our location within the first minute of interrogation. Killed half of us, wounded the rest. Botched everything beyond belief, set some of us back a year in terms of recovery and intel, and we were considered the lucky ones.” Then you rose to your feet and made carefully practiced eye contact with your Sergeant, “You understand why I’m telling you this?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Don’t make me tell you again, and certainly not in front of others.” You held out the tablet to him with the grainy footage displaying Ghost entering the room, Chance settling in, “Every behaviour is communication. Figure out what’s being said. You’ve got the rest of the hour then you swap with Crash.”

Into the dining room, sat around the table like some fucked-up family dinner. Soap was checking his sniper rifle, Price smoking, Bronze without any distraction to aid his redemption from earlier. So you set yourself apart to make the MREs up, an eye on the spare tablet streaming the torture live.

After receiving silence as the answer to her first question, Chance started by plucking out Markovič’s nose hairs, Ghost holding his head still whilst Markovič attempted to wriggle away from her tweezers. Then she moved onto something more interesting. Technically you were to thank for that technique, for suggesting a viewing of Paddington to boost team morale and bonding after a particularly shitty close to a mission in 2020. You just hadn’t realised she’d been taking notes during the screening.

As you heated up the chilli, you felt Price’s shadow blot out some of the sting of the stove’s flame. His cigar left smoking in a gaudy ashtray, clearly bought from a tourist boutique nearby.

“I can help,” He said.

You snorted, “Two Captains making tea for their teams, now that’s a laugh.” But you still shoved over the mess tins – clean from when Crash had scrubbed them clean earlier.

“It’s our jobs to make sure we all stay on our feet. You included,” Price said as he unstacked them, handing you the one with a little bar of soap drawn on the underside in permanent marker.  

“Which is why I’m making the dinner.”

“You know I meant you resting, not you staying on your feet.”

“Had plenty of rest in the driver’s seat,” and you dolloped the chilli into the tin.

You four ate in relative silence, apart from Bronze beside you who was noting down the reactions on your tablet’s post-it notes app, responses that Ghost and Chance were certainly logging in their own heads. That was his punishment technically: becoming your secretary for the paperwork you’d fill out at the end of the mission. He fucking hated it but he did it because you told him to, and he never needed to be told twice.

Some of Markovič’s methods of resisting were more akin to mindfulness practices: the deep breathing, the eyes closed, the rocking (limited against his restraints). He started to crumble at the twenty minute mark, letting slip Čiernik’s plan to relocate for the

“That’s new,” Bronze remarked when Chance began digging the tweezers into the wound on his stomach she’d sliced open with the accuracy of a surgeon. Markovič in response had let out a wheeze and told them that he’d give them the location.

“Crash, Bronze is on his way up to swap,” You called down your radio. No response, which was unlike her. Regardless, Bronze was already heading up, your tablet back in hand.

Chance sipped from her water bottle in the top left corner of your screen, behind Ghost whilst she watched what he was like in the interrogation room. Two words: viciously unempathetic.

“Why did the man miss the funeral?” Soap asked, not taking his eyes off the screen.

You sighed, unable to figure it out, “Dunno, why?”

“He wasn’t a mourning person.”

Your mouth twisted into a half-smile that was trying to take itself seriously, “That’s pretty good.”

“Can’t take credit for that one.”

“Then send my compliments to the chef.”

“Ghost’ll be happy to hear them,” Soap snorted.

As you went to direct your smile directly at the Sergeant, you instead caught Price looking at you, though he glanced back down at his screen when you made eye contact. You didn’t like how the implication of him watching you instead of his Lieutenant sent your stomach flipping over the powdered eggs from this morning.

To cover your ruffled feathers, you went into the hallway to smooth them out and collided chest to chest with Crash.

“Sorry, Captain, didn’t hear you,” She explained quickly, catching her breath

“Your radio faulty?”

Crash paused before replying, “I was in another channel.”

Your frown was automatic, “Why?”

Another pause. “Listening to Chance and Ghost in the interrogation.”

“That’s not what I asked you to do.” Your weighted statement shrank Crash in front of you like a cotton shirt in the tumble dryer.

“Sorry.”

“Do better.” Somehow you managed to restrain your additional comment until after she’d left and into a whisper: “Fuck’s sake.”

It was embarrassing, your team showing you up with rookie missteps and trivial unprofessionalism. Now of all the times and places they could choose to be stupid.

Soap offered to swap out with Gaz, let him rest a little, and you agreed to it.

“We’ll start sleep shifts in a few,” You added, then repeated once Gaz was in the room again. He inhaled his MRE, despite being the one to order a bowl of nuts to pick through during the capture earlier.

When Chance exited her torture chambers, you held up her MRE – still sealed in its packet. She nodded and you began to make it as you asked:

“How do you think it’s going?”

Yes, you had been watching and paying attention to your screen, but it wasn’t the same as being in the room. The blurry pixels could only offer so much.

Chance sighed, stretching out her shoulders, “He’s gobby, in the worst way. But he’ll break soon. Just wanted him to remember what relief feels like.”

To be fair to him, Markovič had lasted longer than you thought. Perhaps you should start drinking gin.

“Anything you fancy?” You asked her.

Shrugging, Chance suggested with a wry expression, “Stick and poke?”

You mulled it over, tongue poking in your cheek. Then you gave her a nod of confirmation, your nose wrinkled, as if she was asking if you wanted another pint because it was her round. Stretching out your spine as she returned to her post, you returned to your screen and watched the basis of Chance’s failed tattoo artist dream reworked to suit her current occupation.

Each time Markovič passed out from the pain, Ghost used smelling salts to bring him back to continue a malicious cycle of Chance stabbing him in the same places with a heated needle.

It culminated in the reveal of a piece of intel that struck your partnership. You could see Soap’s fists wringing an invisible neck. Ghost squared his shoulders as he corked the smelling salts. Even Price’s jaw clenched at the mention of a name you’d come across in their files. Markovič begged with his two captors, desperately clawing at the chair and asserting with his remaining energythat it was the truth.Chance continued poking inside his dermis for ten minutes more – just to be certain. Plus you were certain she had read her fellow Lieutenant’s body language and how he wasn’t quite content with leaving the room this way – and he landed a solid punch on the back of Markovič’s head that sent him into unconsciousness and his chair tilting over. Your prisoner looked peaceful for the first time since you'd captured him, folded over and praying in his own putrid blood.

Both the Lieutenants finally left the torture chamber and both their Captains met them outside the door. Chance had very little to add to what she’d already reported. But Ghost shoved his demand right there and then.

“He can’t tell them we’re coming,” He said, his words as harsh as if he’d spat at you.

You nodded in agreement, “I’ll take care of it.”

But Ghost shook his head with the same ire, “S’alright, I’ll do it. Not hungry anyways.”

“Ok,” You said, maintaining the calm to balance his fury, “Good job. You too, Chance.”

“I’ll contact Laswell,” Price stated, the chair legs screeching on the wooden floor as he rose to stand.

“Patch in General Fernandez too; I need a word with him. Ta,” you added the last word quickly as he started to leave. While you stopped yourself looking at his hips, you didn’t quite manage to wrangle the memory of how you’d wrapped your legs around them for a piggy back after a successful football match as rookies, and sometimes imagined if you were on his front instead of his back, arms still around his neck, holding him close, just as eager, just as delighted to be with him.

“Fuck’s sake,” you muttered again, pinching the bridge of your nose. You were worse than Bronze with the unprofessionalism at this point, letting it spill out of your head into your actions. If you were alone, you’d slap yourself. Hard. Get your head screwed on right and tight.

Onscreen, Ghost was clipping open the zip-ties from Markovič, who collapsed onto the tarps, the KA-BAR in his neck hardly leaking despite the angle. He left it in there to recover in the morning, once livor mortis was well and truly underway.

Summoning your façade back into position, you moved to the side room for a little privacy, ready to talk to the equivalent of your line manager. “Laswell, patching in Komodo” was the last you heard as you switched to the appropriate channel.

“This is Komodo Actual,” General Fernandez spoke clear as a whistle down your earpiece, “Nice to hear from you at last, Captain.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you, “Sir,Markovič has given us the details of Čiernik’s next move and one of his storage facilities he frequently uses; Laswell’s verifying the kinks of what we can do about it.”

“Good work. Any damage on your side?”

“Not yet, standby for that. Markovič also gave us intel involving Gold Eagle.”

There was a pause, and you could only assume that your very thorough General was sweeping his room once more to assure absolute secrecy before he asked: “What’s the intel?”

“We’ve stumbled upon another of his pet projects. Čiernik is on his payroll.”

-----------

AN: Thanks for the patience, I've started a new job and it's taking a lot of my time. I appreciate the love I've been getting on this. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea so it makes it all the nicer when it finds folks who like it <3

Next chapter, things start amping up, and some hints/teasers become answers so rewards for those who've been paying attention and those who are along for the ride!

Taglist: @mockerycrow

[inexplicifics]

The long awaited Sashaiden fic has been a balm to my very frayed nerves this month (several family birthdays, a couple disasters & a refrigerator breakdown all in the past 3 weeks), but I think the part that is living rent-free in my mind the most is that Leocadie didn’t follow up on Sasha lying to them about being “fine” when he really in the middle of a panic attack. They reacted when they picked up the lie in the moment, but then they left him alone about it instead of seeking Sasha out & getting to the bottom of things.

Was that intentional, meaning Leocadie didn’t want to scare Sasha worse than he clearly already was? Or was that more of a “cutting the Gordon knot” thing, where no matter what you write, the whole story bogs down, so you bypass it?

(I have totally done that before in my own fics, so it’s only curiosity driving the question.)

Also, I hardcore ship Esraren already. Aren was a BABY!Witcher when he was taken! Maybe 20 or so, which means he spent as long being tortured as he’d spent being alive before they captured him. If ANYONE deserves a big protective Bear for the rest of his life, it’s Aren.

Lastly, I low-key would love if your muse might encourage a fic of Ciri & Shrike & the Mantikittens all conspiring to some kind of shenanigans. Or sparring together. Or in general just being a team. I think their character dynamics would be very interesting to see fleshed out.

Sending you so much love!!

I'm so glad you liked With Tenderness! That sounds like a very stressful month!

I think Leocadie probably cornered Aiden at some point and asked if Sasha was alright, and then didn't pester Sasha about it so as not to make him feel pressured. But yes, putting it into the fic would have sort of bogged the fic down.

Aren was so young and is now so traumatized and definitely deserves a big friendly Bear to be his companion and support.

Ciri and Shrike and the Mantikittens (and possibly Nix) all in the same place at the same time would be terrifying. The keep might not still be standing afterwards.

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PRELIMINARY ROUND - DC COMICS

PROPAGANDA

Stephanie Brown (CW: Pregnancy)

1.) Steph was created by noted conservative Chuck Dixon, so, off to a good start. She's was a superhero called the Spoiler and was Tim Drake's (the third Robin, yes there's multiple Robins) love interest. From the start, she's consistently framed as a wannabe vigilante who doesn't know what she's doing, who needs to be protected against herself. Pretty much everyone in her vicinity but ESPECIALLY the men thinks she's incompetent, and completely dismissing her vigilantism, constantly telling her to stop, condescending to her non-stop, and we're clearly supposed to agree with them. Her relationship with Tim was fraught with misogynistic tropes, from her relentlessly pursuing him like it's her job to him being one of her #1 condescenders. She gets a teen pregnancy arc by, again, noted conservative Chuck Dixon, where she's used as a mouthpiece for his pro-life stance. Eventually, she gets made Robin for like six weeks as a consolation prize. A consolation prize for what? Being violently killed off in a crossover event, where Steph, after being fired from Robin in an attempt to prove herself, kickstarts one of Batman's plans without understanding the consequences, resulting in an all-out, violent gang war where Steph gets tortured to near-death, and then left to die on purpose by her doctor (a character massacre in its own right btw). She does eventually get retconned as surviving the event and hiding out in Africa (don't ask, it does not make more sense in context), and eventually, things start looking up for her when she's made Batgirl, after the previous Batgirl (yes, there's more than one Batgirl) got forced out of the mantle for entirely DIFFERENT misogynistic nonsense reasons. Her Batgirl run has its issues but is mostly pretty good and deals with the lack of support she received from everyone around her. THEN the universe got rebooted entirely (just roll with it) and bc there were a lot of ppl up high (specifically a guy called Dan Didio, who we all hate) who REALLY hated the idea of Batgirls that weren't Barbara Gordon, Steph not only got forced out of the mantle in favor of a Barbara Gordon (who got magically cured of her full below-the-waist paralysis in one of the worst acts of ableism DC has ever seen and that's saying a LOT), but for years, there was a complete, editorial-enforced ban on even mentioning her or the other previous Batgirl, Cassandra Cain. This eventually got lifted and she was brought back with a completely mangled backstory. Dan Didio has since left the company and she's in a better place now, but her character never recovered from All That imo. DC has SO MUCH sexism it's laughable, and even writing this down I needed to skip or skim over huge examples of misogyny like Barbara's treatment in The Killing Joke and Cass's villain arc, but Steph is one of those characters who's just barely gotten any kind of break ever since she was created. At least Barbara got a cool hero identity which specifically challenged and deconstructed her fridging in The Killing Joke (until she was forced into Batgirl again but that wasn't misogyny towards her it was ableism) and Cass had a long-running, extremely popular Batgirl solo prior to being character massacred. Poor Steph just gets consolation prize after consolation prize bc nobody can be normal about her for some reason.

2.) what if you were introduced to be Robin’s love interest had the most batshit teen pregnancy storyline rooted in the writers views of women and theeeeen after all that when ur boyfriend quit being robin batman took you in as the next batman only to try and make your now-ex jealous to get him to come be robin again and you never got a real shot at it? what if then he fired you, the first time a robin has ACTUALLY gotten legitimately fired without getting to come back and then died after being tortured for his secret identity? and what if this all happened due to the editors mandating you should die at the end of their massive event and the main batman writer at the time thinking you should get to have “a bit of happiness before he crushed you like a bug” (paraphrasing here but. “crushed like a bug” is a pull). what if the whole reason you were fired is because they didnt want to saddle bruce with more guilt in having another dead robin despite the hand he had in your death. and then what if the year after you died jason todd came back from the dead. but this only brings more attention to the fact that he got a memorial as robin and you didnt in canon writing and also from the editors and writers themselves. and then what if years later it was retconned that you faked your death to recover from your GRIEVOUS INJURIES so then writers wrote basically everyone being “betrayed” by you “faking” your death. and it cheapens everything about your death which was already a fucking misogyny hat trick. and all the emotional depth of your death is gone and you come back and only get to be batgirl because once again editorial is having problems and cant decide which of the previous batgirls should come back for the new run so you get thrown in as the noncontroversial pick. and what if after this run ends youre doomed to be written as quirky teen girl supporting cast member for like years up to literally present day in canon AND fanon and are almost always reduced to a girlfriend, a supportive friend for your exs endeavors in dating men, or the super put together girl to “get [x man]’s head out of his ass” for various men you have to play second string too. and what if you finally get a series with other women and even then are a Quirky Teenage Girl before anything else despite literally going to college over ten real life years ago and its taboo for literally anyone to talk about your death-not-death or your teen pregnancy or any of your various problems outside superheroics, which include but are not limited to: your mother being a recovering addict and you two trying to mend your family, your criminal father, your issues regarding your relationship to family as an ideal, and mothers and fathers, in differing ways because of these things, the fact that you are an underdog amongst underdogs in the batfamily to the point where your relationships with all of them should be much more fraught than in canon, considering the shit theyve said to you, and dont get to have any real relationships to the superhero community outside of them, the fact that youre one of the few in the batfam to never be on a team. And of course, the fact that not only do the people in canon hate you but also a decent part of the writers, editors, and fans do too. and if they dont hate you you still are almost always portrayed as a caricature of yourself. even if you just look at how steph was treated next to jason irt their deaths, steph should EASILY advance in this damn competition.

3.) Literally tortured to death in a sexualized manner for shock value:

"There was some controversy in the fan community about both the character's death by torture and the fact that even though she served as Robin for a time, she received no monument or memorial in the Batcave during the years of her apparent death unlike the second Robin Jason Todd.[5]

Regarding the former issue, at the 2011 Auckland Writers and Readers Festival, the former Batgirl writer Dylan Horrocks said that the writers were told from the start that Spoiler would die in this crossover and she was made Robin "purely as a trick to play on the readers, that we would fool them into thinking that the big event [War Games] was that Stephanie Brown would become Robin". The decision was unpopular with both him and Nightwing writer Devin Grayson, and he felt "pleased and vindicated" over the eventual controversy.[6]

Stephanie Brown on the cover of Detective Comics #809 (2005). Art by Jock.

During a Q&A at a convention in March 2007, DC executive editor Dan DiDio responded to questions about the absence of a Stephanie tribute from the Batcave, saying that the official position of DC Comics is that "She was never really a Robin", despite on-panel claims to the contrary.[7] When Alfred Pennyworth asks if Batman's acceptance of Stephanie as Robin was conceived by him as only a temporary measure from the outset and constituted part of an effort to lure Tim back to the cape, Batman evades the question. However, when a dying Stephanie asks, "Was I ever really Robin?", Batman answers, "Of course you were."[8] However, her memorial has been present in different publications since the controversy arose.[9]"

Katma Tui

1.) Katma Tui had her head cut off by Carol Ferris (possessed by the Star Sapphire gem) simply to provoke Hal! She got killed to make mad Hal Jordan. She's been ignored and barely referenced for 30 something years, and whenever she is referenced, its only as John Stewart's dead wife, not as a completely capable gl. She's the worst treated Green Lantern character which is saying something given that gl comics are where the phrase "fridging" comes from. Just god there's so much misogyny in her story.

2.) Prior to her death Hal Jordan talked her out of her impending engagement even though he was planning on getting engaged to his girlfriend Carol Ferris.

She is kinda fridged cause her death focuses on the men that it affected, including her husband John Stewart. Especially Hal because it changed his dynamic and relationship with Carol.

She was later resurrected just to be killed again, by Hal this time. Was turned into a black lantern and then killed for the last time.

[henghost]

Twig Liveblog for Arc 11

"too real" of an arc, as plague stories have taken on a special kind of resonance post covid. the plague itself, however, was very interesting. the imagery of red flowers bursting forth from people dying in agony was beautiful, as well as thematically congruent with the rest of twig: there is a potent sort of echo with the stories of the jamies, life flowing from death, ecstasy from torture. it's the circle of life, man....

the bulk of the plot, though, is taken up not by the plague but by running away from the mercenaries, which felt quite wormlike. the line between superweapon and superhero is thin. dog and catcher my beloved! the meeting between them in the bakery where they just start chomping on sandwiches was like the diner scene in michael mann's heat with deniro and pacino, just a few kings at the top of their games, separated only by the razor-thin barrier of the "law." man telling them that gordon had died, gordon who was one of the few people who had made the effort to understand dog--heartbreaking. i hope they end up okay, dog and catcher. a truer bond is hard to find in this story--they deserve to retire and love each other for the rest of time.

the like cynical camaraderie between experiments is really the crux of the matter. what is needed, in my view, is some pan-experimental solidarity. why don't the experiments, the largest, most powerful players on the field, simply eat all the other factions?

i already did a post on sy/jamie but that is the other major component of the arc. they love each other so much 😭 the tragedy of inhabiting sy's best friend's body, the feeling of betrayal, the love despite it all oh my god. tearjerking fr!!!

then the long duncan interlude had several incredible moments. he is really hateable lol but still pretty entertaining. the most grating aspect of his perspective is the way he clearly does not view the lambs as human. ashton et al are just another few dangerous experiments he has to tolerate to advance his career. also, it frames his lust for helen in quite a sleazy light. the detail about how he had to watch helen undress and popped a boner with ibbot watching and ibbot had to be like "😐 unacceptable, please leave" had me fucking dying lmao. i think it also explains lillian's rage (more intense than the other lambs') at him for betraying the lambs: the parallel between duncan/helen and lillian/sy is an uncomfortable one. i think it indicates that lillian feels a lot of guilt and insecurity about her position in society and her position vis a vis the lambs. when lillian and mary see sy again it might just be the most awkward moment of all time. i can't wait.

[scourgeofgotham]

Batgirl and Robin

Chapter 7

Warnings

Crying, Unresolved Trauma, Stalking, Begging, Stockholm Syndrome

A/N: okay so sorry it's taken me like three weeks to write this, and I've changed it to a span of 2 months from the first chapter to the end.

“I’m irrevocably in love with you.”

They were together again, Batgirl and Robin

It was October 31st, Halloween.

Jason was the Arkham Knight and was creating havoc across Gotham. He was relentless and only wanted to kill Bruce. She tried to calm him down and have him forgive Bruce, but there was no use.

Every chance Jason had, he tormented Bruce about his beloved daughter.

“Did you like the little home video I sent you Dark Knight?

“Your little girl is perfect for me… she's very obedient.”

“You know? She didn’t fight me… She begged for me.”

“To think, for you to adopt a little girl, and for her to love you and call you her father… then when she meets me, she forgets all about you…”

“It appears we have something in common, it's a sweet little name your daughter calls us.”

When Jason kidnapped Oracle he made sure to keep her away from his prize possession. He couldn’t risk her leaving him and his whole plan failing. He knew Barbara would tell her what he's been causing throughout Gotham.

Dick was trying to find them, while Bruce had him distracted. He had to help rescue both Batgirls from Arkham Knight. It was torturous enough seeing the video of his baby sister being violated by Arkham Knight, but not knowing what he was doing… killed him.

Bruce was going after Arkham Knight to rescue Commissioner Gordon. Then the Knight ambushed Bruce in the tunnels with his excavator. Thinking he finally had him ambushed, Bruce escaped and took down the Knights' militia. He walked towards Jim Gordon to untie him.

“Get me out of here Batman, we need to get to Scarecrow.”

Finally being able to rescue Commissioner Gordon, Bruce was interrupted.

“Turn Around.” Bruce heard the distorted voice.

He was standing in front of the Arkham Knight, who was pointing a gun at him.

“Who are you?”

“You really have no idea?” The Knight went up to hit the button on the back of his helmet. “Do you Bruce?”

“Jason? But... You're dead.”

“What's the matter? Lost for words? I expected more... I'm hurt."

Meanwhile, at Jason’s Safehouse

The little canary was watching all of Jason’s destruction. Several militia watch towers, drones, and tanks all scattered all over Gotham. She hardly recognized Jason. He was a completely different person...

She saw a distant figure jumping from the rooftops and looking around. She stared at him for a while, and all of a sudden a bunch of militiamen were after him. He managed to defeat all of them, and once he brought out his weapons she realized who it was. She went to go put on some of Jason’s clothes he left for her. Then when she was fully dressed, then grabbed her grapple gun. She went to go open the locked door. When Jason wasn't looking— she looked at him typing in the codes. She typed in the code and the door opened, she hoped that Jason wouldn't find out...

She found multiple militia guards protecting the safe house, and she took them out, silently. Once she found herself free, she made her way to the rooftop. She looked around for the person, trying to find them.

Then all of a sudden she feels two hands around her, pulling her into them.

“There you are pretty bird.” He spun her around to look at him, “Dickwad...” she giggled.

“What did that awful psycho do to you?” He sounded so upset.

“Dick... It's Jason.” She said to him, looking up at him. “Jason didn't die.”

“What do you mean? Bruce said he saw him die.” Dick sounded concerned.

“Joker had him wear body armor, it stopped the bullet. He paid Slade to get him off the island.” She explained. “He’s been planning this for years."

“Why? After what Bruce did for him? Why is he hellbent on destroying Gotham?” He spat.

“He was manipulated into believing that Bruce abandoned him and that he just replaced him with Tim right after. He even thought I forgot about him, he thought his girlfriend didn't love him anymore.” she started crying, it hurt her to see Jason had turned into such a relentless killer…

Dick wiped the tears that were running down her face, he then put his finger under her chin to lift her head and kissed her forehead.

“When did you two… become a thing?” He questioned, trying to distract her from what was happening. “I just turned 14, and Jason was 15. It was when he started going to the troubled teen's school— I stalked him.” She realizes how insane that last part makes her sound. “Once I found out that Jason was… cute, I ended up sneaking out a lot just to see him.” she grinned. “You stalked a street thug?” He was pissed, “He killed his parents and you thought he was cute?” and now he was furious. “Jay didn’t kill his parents— okay, he got them killed. But Cathy and Willis abused him and tried to sell him— Maroni killed them.” she corrected herself.

“He loaded the gun and he had someone else kill them.” She knew Dick was right, it was his right as her older brother.

“Jason still was a good person, he was misguided by rage. He still wants to serve justice, has just been guided by rage and he can’t see clearly.” she was perplexed. She loved Jason and she knew that inside he was still a good person—

however, reconsidering his behavior, she had no clue if he was beyond saving.

“I still love him, I never stopped loving him,”

she sighed. “Bruce didn't show him that he loved him. Jason thought Bruce was going to love him as his son, and then he felt like just his assistant. Even if Jason didn’t get captured by Joker, he still would have resented Bruce,” she spat. “Pretty bird…” Dick whispered. He ran his finger down her face and pulled her in. “I’m gonna keep you safe—away from Jason.” He confidently told. She pulled away from him, “I don’t want to stay away from him! I want to help him, I want to be with him forever! He saved me, he made me feel cared for! I’ve felt numb for the entire time that he was gone. Dad stopped giving me attention, you went off to Blüdhaven, and my boyfriend was being tortured and presumed dead! I could have brought him home if I thought I could take on Joker, or at least stalled enough till Bruce was there!” she screamed. “Jason is the only one that has ever truly loved me...” she sobbed.

“I'm sorry...” he sighed with sorrow

[gingkos-eldritch-secret]

Fanfiction commentary and recommendations: Lex Luthor´s ascend from supervillainy to fatherhood Part V (chapters 21 to 25)

The Original story by @halfagone can be found here.

The previous parts of the commentaries can be found here:

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part VI

Part VII

We left off with the Joker free, Parental figures and vigilantes worrying and a legendary girl´s night. What could go wrong?

The answer is everything.

I´ll warn you now, because I´ll be discussing the things happening in the fic: be cautious about the gore and torture and visceral descriptions about violence here. I mean, it´s Danny Phantom and DC. So a little bit of this shouldn´t surprise any of us if we think about the subject matter. Especially because it´s the joker we´re talking about. But yeah. Even though I won´t be all to graphicgraphic, I´ll still be referencing these topics.

On another note: the social media part of this fanfiction is giving me life.

○○○••○○•••○○••○○○

Now we dive right into the first scene, where goodbyes are being made. Catwoman goes home after a night of card games and shenanigans and Danny sleeps on the couch squished between two hyenas and please could someone draw this scene? Because it sounds utterly adorable. Or has he slept earlier? I have no clue, my reading comprehension at 3 o´clock in the morning has never been the best.

Or well. Danny already has slept on the couch. Now he just wants to flee from a certain ex-villain who wants to put him into one of her old costumes.

Selina meets Bruce on the way home, who seemed to have had a long night of searching behind him. And still, as exhausted as he must look, she is still thristing after him. Power to you, i guess. I mean it´s the two furry adjacent people, so I´m not surprised xD

They also talk about the reason 'why' bruce is so tired and Selina finally grants him a small respite and just tells him where Danny was - and off the bat goes in the hope that he´ll find Danny before the Joker does. And that´s just the problem, isn´t it? Because when it is foreshadowed like this? It never happens as we hope it does. So, of course the Joker finds Danny first, but that comes later.

First Harley and Ivy´s place gets blown up, while Danny has been on his wa to Wayne manor. Does he go farther away from the explosion? Of course not. It´s Danny 'herocomplex' Luthor we´re talking about. So, of course, he runs towards his new friends´house.

And as hard as Tim tries to get there in time, Danny was faster and the Joker? He had already been waiting. They straight up drive into Danny with a van and pick him off the floor like a ragdoll before they zoom off. Not that it will do the Joker and his goons any good in the long run, but for now they´ve certainly succeeded in their quest for violence.

As the clown realizes that Danny is Luthor´s ward and not Batman's he gets the absolutely hilarious (not) idea of getting a camera. With the thought process 'what will Lexie do when the brat is being being broken and tortured on live camera'? God, he´s such an awful person.

Though I think that is quite degratory to the 'person' part of this sentence. I don´t know what I want to call the joker, but even monsters have more humanity than this. So then what is he? An abomination? A thing? A blight on humanity? Either way, he´ll get his comeuppance.

So the joker broadcasts a torturing session on live television. With Danny already roughed up from the … way he has been brought to unconciousness by the man and his goons.

Meanwhile good old Jim Gordon is feeling faint because. That´s Lex Luthor´s son. That´s a civillian. That´s a freaking CHILD being tortured. And he can´t even do anything to help.

The Joker gets some torture advice from the life stream viewers (and how much do you have to abhro a person to do something like this? How inhumane must you be? How much must you dehumanize the person being tortured to even get the bright idea to bring them even more pain?). And also just uses some of the nice comments for torture adivce. Someone compliments Danny´s eyes? Would be a shame if we took them now, wouldn´t it?

I think poor old Jim worries even more because Danny is so uncharacteristically silent. Not. That him being loud would be much better, what with the Joker being the Joker …

And Lex is just entering boss mode as he watches his son beng tortured on live television. I understand the man.

And the bats are just frantically searching for the warehouse used. One of these days they´re getting a heart attack from all of their regular adrenaline highs.

So while the Joker just gloats into the live stream and taunts the viewers he does not realize that Danny being Danny slipped through his bonds and took the knife stuck in his thigh out all the while slipping into the darkness to ambush the joker with a gun. He took out the camera instead and the chase? Was on.

It really is an action scene absolutely worth reading, but it ends with Danny getting a shot to the shoulder and Joker getting a shot to the chest. Of course that doesn´t stop our most hated abomination though. Oh No. He wants to take Danny with him.

And Danny? He has had enough. He just. Melts the Joker´s brain via eldritch form and that´s that for now. Until Jason bursts in and finds them and just gets Danny the hell out of dodge and into a hospital.

Though at first there´s Jason freaking out a bit at the situation because: how did that happen? I mean, I understand his priorities. Especially because Danny doesn´t look like he could pack a punch and the Joker seems to have died because of fright (though he also realizes that he died of blood loss) - with his hair turned white and his face a mask of horror. But the man who killed him is finally, finally gone. And while he ruminates Danny wakes up.

Jason realizes Danny knows it´s himself. He realizes that Danny somehow knows his idendity and while he wants to talk about THAT, he also sees just how horrible Danny´s condition is and wants to get Danny to agree to a hospital. Good idea, but the trauma is just. The trauma …. Poor Danny.

He´s still a snarky little shit though, because he instantly banters with Jason as he does first aid, horrified at the implications of Danny knowing how to get a bullet out of himself via FORK. Danny what the fuck???

So while Jason gets Danny to some transport vehicle, they talk. And Jason grapples with the inormation that a) Danny somehow seems to be able to see souls and b) has died before.

It´s kinda ruined by Danny telling him that 'I told you guys I had a heart failure. You realize that you technically die when your heart stops, right?`  Never change Danny, never change. Now, we know that that´s not the whole truth, but ... yeah I can see why he´d use that as a shield. It is technically the truth after all.

So while the GCPD forces Danny into the hospital, Danny …. Wants Jason to come with him. Jason can´t really say no when Danny trembles with fear, now, can he? At least one of them doesn´t have to be alone with their fears for now.

Lex is on a more or less literal warpath as he storms into the hospital asking after his son. And he begins to immediately rip into Gordon beause that is his son. With a hospital trauma. In a hospital. And while he still doesn´t like this, at least Red Hood is with him. Better him than Brucie boy in any way. (And wow, that were many 'hospitals' in a short paragraph ...)

Danny and Jason talk and I think Danny was this close to fist fighting the doctors when they wanted to give him an anaesthetic for the bullet removal. I like the attitude and I know he did it, because those things don´t work on his weird biology, but still. The part of me is just so immensely worried it´s not even funny anymore.

Jason is doing an introspection about Danny and his pain tolerance, the reactions to hospitals and the scars and i think he just wants to put him into bubble wrap and keep him somewhere safe. i feel u bro, i really do. But as you´re part of a story, I seriously doubt you can fo that. We can´t from our past. Even if we desperately want to. Doubly so in fiction. Especially in fiction. I mean. it´s a literary device :')

Lex arrives on the scene and instantly begins to fuss over his son. It´s honestly sweet, even when he threatens the nurses and doctors present to sign NDAs or ELSE.

I also think Jason realizes how important Lex is to Danny when he just instantly melts into his arms and begins to cry, even though he´d held strong before. Nary a tear or reaction. But people do react differently with people they feel safe with.

And he feels jealous. Because he could´ve had this with bruce, couldn´t he? If not for the pit or his reactions. Or is it his own fucked up personality keeping them apart? I don´t think that Jason really knows anymore.

So while Lex thanks Red Hood for being there, Jason reveals that he hadn´t done much. Which leads to attention on Danny who´s basically like 'So I kinda maybe killed the Joker? *jazz hands*'

Which is of course the moment Batman enters. Now that can only go badly. Not that many things in this fic have gone well . I have the feeling that i say this in every part at least once and i DON´T wanna repeat myself so often, but. Well. Ain´t it the truth anyways?

So. Lex may or may not have dwindled in his opinion on both Bruce Wayne and Batman. And really, who can blame him?

One could not keep his son safe in the first place and the other couldn´t save him when the Joker got him.

Of course he´s hating the situation. And of course he´s frustrated with the people here now. Especially as Dick wants to talk to Lex alone as Gordon and Batman interrogate Danny. And it is an interrogation. Or it will be. I think that´s happening in the next part. And oh boy... It will not be pretty. At all.

Dick and Lex --- well the conversation certainly could have gone better. And they certainly could have behaved better in the first place, but …. Lex respects the honesty and the reasons. Honestly, Dick´s a straight up miracle worker in this regard. Props to him! He deserves a cake for that masterpiece. Seriously >.>

Lex not happy about any of them. Not in any defintion of the word. But he accepts it. The family is still on very thin ice for now though.

And Lex ....he now knows what other think of him as a parent. How they fear for Danny. Because a former supervllain as an adoptive father all of a sudden? People do not believe that. He realizes what could have gone wrong now. And that´s just painful to think about. Who would want to think about being a bad parent? What if Danny hadn´t wormed into his cold, dead heart? I think I´d have felt sick if I realized how close I came to being the same as the neglectful parents and the abusive godfather ...

He also thinks of how easily Danny could have been just another Wayne child instead of his own. And while he now certainly hates Bruce less, I doubt that he´ll like him either for a long time.

[skymaiden32]

Tit for Tat

Read on AO3 here

Fandom: Thunderbirds

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn @idontknowreallywhy (Please ask if you would like to get alerts when I update or post new stories.)

Thundertober Day 7: Alive

Scott was just happy his brother was alive. Months later, the roles are reversed. Missing scenes from Terror in New York City and The Uninvited.

Continuity: TOS

A/N: A little longer than usual for these prompts, but here you go! ^^

------

“A few weeks?!” Virgil was outraged at the news his father and brother had just delivered. “But that’s terrible! Suppose she’s needed on call?”

“Well let’s hope she’s not,” was the patriarch’s answer. He really hoped the world would just hold off on major disasters for a while, but the world always had different ideas. And with Thunderbird 2 being as vital to operations as she was, chances were she would’ve been needed in the next few weeks or so. The hope that she wouldn’t just wasn’t realistic. “Now, you relax. You need a lot of rest.” Virgil opened his mouth, about to interrupt, but Jeff quickly stopped him. “You take care of yourself, and we’ll take care of Thunderbird 2.”

Virgil huffed, but relented, laying back in bed. Jeff, satisfied that his son wouldn’t try to get up anytime soon, at least with Scott in the room, left to supervise progress on the repairs. Once he was out of earshot, Scott moved to sit next to Virgil on the bed, finding his brother’s hand and squeezing it. “You’ll be back on your feet and behind the wheel again before you know it, Virg.” Virgil squeezed back, looking up sadly at his older brother.

“What if I’m not though?” Virgil mumbled, breaking Scott’s heart into a million pieces. It hurt to see his brother like this. “What if the damage is too big to fix?”

Scott frowned. “Hey, let’s not have any of that. Thunderbird 2 just needs a bit of R+R. Brains reckons it’ll take some time and a lot of work, but it’ll happen.”

“And if Brains is wrong?” A blasphemous question. Brains was hardly ever wrong. But Virgil asked all the same.

The older of the two brothers held back a sigh. “Then we’ll build a new one from scratch. One way or another, you will fly again, Virgil. I know you will…”

Virgil hummed. “What’s wrong with me then?” He chuckled, before wincing, holding a hand against his head. “Actually, don’t answer that. I’m guessing a whopper of a concussion, a bruised rib, and damaged pride.”

“There’s the Virgil I know and love…” Scott smirked at the pride comment. Virgil grinned right back. A little more seriously, he confirmed his brother’s suspicions. “Got it in one, plus a couple of extra superficial burns from the crash. Me and the others will come in to check on you every hour or so. Gordon mentioned wanting to watch something with you.”

Virgil frowned. “Knowing Gordon, that could range from an absolute masterpiece to straight up torture.”

“True.” Scott agreed. “He did swear to me that it was a good one this time though.”

“We’ll see.” Virgil commented. Either way, it would be good to spend some time with their ocean loving brother. A few short moments passed in silence before the bedridden man broke it again. “Hey, Scooter?” His brother’s eyes were on him in a second. “I must’ve given you quite a scare when I went down like that.”

Scott scoffed, although not unkindly. “More like many, many miniature heart-attacks. Not just me either. We were all scared out of our wits! I’m pretty sure you took decades off of Dad’s lifespan.” 

Virgil’s eyes were downcast once again. “I’m sorry I worried all of you.”

“Virg…” Scott sighed. “You aren’t the one who should be apologising.” He reassured him. “And trust me, the Sentinel did. A lot.” He hummed. “In fact, I’m pretty sure Washington is trying to find out where we’re based just so the Commander can send you a gift basket.” That got a laugh out of his brother. “You’re okay now, that’s all that matters at the end of the day. Just don’t do it again. I’ll leave you in peace for now.” He stood up, about to make his way to the door. “I’ve gotta meet up with Dad in the hangar, but I’ll be back with Alan in an hour to check on you.”

Just before he left the room, Virgil’s voice called him back. “Hey, Scott?” He whirled around so fast it was amazing he didn’t give himself whiplash. “Same goes for you.” Virgil smirked. “Don’t go getting attacked mid-flight and almost dying.”

“I’ll try not to, Virgil. I’ll try not to…”

------

In the vast, blazing sands of the Sahara, two men worked tirelessly on a third’s head wound in the shade provided by the silver rocket plane behind them. Scott winced when Wilson dabbed a healthy amount of cleaning solution on the gash. Wilson apologised quickly, before focussing once again on the injury. Lindsey grabbed a roll of bandages from the first aid kit, and after getting the all clear from Wilson, wrapped them carefully and snugly around Scott’s head.

The two archaeologists stepped back, giving the International Rescue operative a thumbs up. “You’re good to go!” Lindsey stated.

“At least until your teammates get here to check our handiwork is sound.” Wilson huffed.

“Well, it feels just fine.” Scott smiled gratefully. “Thanks, fellas. I really appreciate it.”

Lindsey and Wilson both grinned. “No problem.” The bearded man brushed it off. “If you’d been on your own it probably would’ve taken them a while to find you in this wasteland. From the sounds of it, those fighters were shooting to kill. If they’d realised you were still out here…” He didn’t want to finish the thought. The mere idea that anyone would shoot down a Thunderbird was impossible, at least on purpose. Both he and Lindsey had heard about the whole Sentinel scandal. For the International Rescue crew, this must feel like a scary case of deja-vu. 

“Just glad we were able to do something to help, no matter how small.” Lindsey cut in, breaking Wilson out of his train-of-thought.

Scott smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Trust me, you’ve helped a lot more than you realise. Thanks to you two, the guys back at base know where I am, and that I’m okay.” Just as he finished his sentence, the distant sound of engines was heard throughout what the trio on the ground thought must’ve been a good chunk of the desert. “That’ll be them now…” He commented, shielding his eyes against the sun as he stepped out from his Thunderbird’s shadow to see if he could spot the familiar green.

Lindsey frowned, concerned. “You sure it’s not those fighters again?” Scott shook his head.

“Once you know what a certain craft sounds like, with enough training you can pretty much distinguish it from any other aircraft out there.” He explained, getting back into the shade at Wilson’s insistence. “Definitely not the fighters. It’s Thunderbird 2.”

“Oh.” Lindsey simply said in understanding. Just then, Thunderbird 2’s shadow rolled over the body of her fallen sister, and landed as close as she dared. The three men next to the rocket plane watched as the main body rose from the pod and the door swung open, revealing the other International Rescue operatives. Scott recognised Brains and Tin-Tin, as well as his immediate younger brother. They all looked worried out of their minds, and Virgil was just that little bit furious.

“I’m dead… I’m so dead…” Scott gulped, causing both of his companions to look at him, puzzled. Virgil came bounding up to them at top speed, carrying his medical supplies with him. Brains and Tin-Tin trailed behind him with camping gear, taking in the sight of Thunderbird 1 buried nose-first in the sand.

“Do you have any idea,” Virgil’s voice was dangerously low, “how worried we all were, Scott?” Looking between the two archaeologists next to his brother, he breathed in deeply. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, gentlemen.”

Wilson replied. “As we said to your buddy here, it was our pleasure.”

Virgil hummed, checking the bandage that was already on Scott’s head. “Did they just finish this?”

“Yeah, they did.” Scott confirmed.

“Then I see no reason to change it right now. It’s sound. They must’ve had some sort of first aid training.” Wilson and Lindsey nodded. Virgil looked over at them again. “Well, from the looks of things, it’s going to get dark soon. No use moving on, so you’re both welcome to set up camp with us for the night.”

The men exchanged looks, and nodded in thanks. Afterwards, they moved to their jeep to get their camping supplies, letting the two operatives talk. “Sorry, Virgil.” Were Scott’s first words once they were sure the archaeologists couldn’t hear them. 

His brother simply shrugged. “Well, like you told me three months ago, I really hope this doesn’t happen again.”

Scott sighed. “It might though. This wasn’t a case of mistaken identity this time; they knew fully well I was with IR.”

“And so long as we’re IR, there will always be people out to get us. It’s quite the occupational hazard.” Virgil grabbed a small flashlight from his medical kit. “Let me check for a concussion real quick.” The younger man took his time. “Yep, that’s a concussion alright. Guess we’re sharing a tent tonight.”

“Like I’ll pass up a chance to spend time with my favourite brother…” Scott did his best puppy dog expression.

Virgil snorted. “Brotherly affection isn’t gonna get you off the hook after giving everyone a repeat scare of the Sentinel incident…”

“Worth a shot.” Scott shrugged. “How’re Dad and the others?”

“Coping.” Came Virgil’s short reply as he shut his kit. “But you can hear for yourself in a couple of seconds.” He gestured his head toward the open cockpit of Thunderbird 1. “Brains just finished fixing the radio.”

Scott frowned. “Didn’t even notice he was in there.”

“That’s how you know you have a head injury.” Virgil gave him a look.

Brains stepped out of the silver plane. “R-Radio’s all fixed up, S-Scott.”

“Thanks, Brains. I’ll call Dad and let him know what’s going on.”

Virgil watched as his brother disappeared into the ship, keeping an eye and an ear out in case anything happened. His face morphed from worried but happy, to straight up concerned. There was something niggling at him. 

“P-Penny for your th-thoughts, Virgil?” Brains asked in an attempt to draw out the other man’s concerns. 

Thunderbird 2’s pilot sighed. “I was lucky, Brains.” He began. “Extremely lucky when I got shot down by the navy. At least then, it had been a mistake on the Sentinel’s part, and we’d been fairly close to base.” He looked at his friend. “Scott didn’t have either of those luxuries. He’s even luckier to be alive than I am! If those men hadn’t found him…”

“We p-probably would’ve lost him.” Brains finished. “I’m s-sure he knows that t-too, Virgil. Y-You of all p-people know what he’s like w-when people he loves could g-get hurt. He’s probably downplaying j-just how serious h-he thinks this is. A-At least for now…” 

Virgil frowned, but didn’t argue. Of course, out of all their family, Scott was the most likely to hide certain details. “I know. That’s what worries me…” 

“Do you th-think those fighters will come b-back?” Brains asked. He hated to think about what could happen if they returned to finish the job as much as anyone else.

“I don’t know.” Virgil admitted, watching as Scott finished his conversation with their Dad. “Whatever happens though, I know that we won’t ever fall as long as we have each other…”

[gemini-care-barr]

Interesting you say ur top three heroes are Batman, Hal and flash! I’m surprised superman (or a superman member like superhero) didn’t take place of third and Bruce did! Can you indulge as to why? X

Oof, this one is gonna be a loaded answer haha.

So, just to get it out there, my top 5 heroes, in order, are The Flash (Barry Allen), Green Lantern (Hal Jordan), Batman (Bruce Wayne), Aquaman (Arthur Curry), and Superman (Clark Kent). There have been times in the past where Bruce and Hal have switched places, but they’ve been pretty solidly in their current spots for the past few years and I expect they’ll be staying there in the foreseeable future haha.

Now, I want to kinda defend my love of Clark while I’m here too, so I’ll start by saying I do absolutely adore him. I think he’s an amazing character and I’m absolutely already planning my future PHD dissertation on him and his stories haha. He has a rich history and is so admirable and sweet and good, not unlike my absolute bestest boy Barry, but I almost feel like that’s why he isn’t in my top 3. I already have Barry! And Barry scratches some intellectual and emotional itches that Clark doesn’t, which is the perfect segue into why I love Bruce.

I was a sad kid… lol. Like really sad! Like the level of sad where you can look at a ton of my childhood photos and I’m very rarely looking at the camera because I’d much rather be moping around with my face hiding up against my mom or dad ahaha. And it was with this incredible sadness that I looked upon Bruce’s face for the first time and saw a kindred spirit. Granted, Bruce had a (very well-known) reason to be sad while I was just a very marred by unfortunate events but otherwise mostly blessed child, but Bruce’s sadness was still very raw and real and relatable to me. And still is!

But I love him for more than just his broodiness, I also love him because of his incredible capacity to love and, maybe, hopefully, at least sometimes, be happy despite that sadness. Bruce is an amazingly tortured soul who still finds the time, and puts in the effort, to keep going, keep loving, keep finding and fighting for happiness. Does he get beaten down sometimes? Does he brood a lot? Does he come across as a bit heartless or cold? Self-isolate? Yes, all of the above. But he also has the BatFamily, he created the BatFamily. The BatFamily that includes Alfred, Selina, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Duke, Barbara, Cassandra, Stephanie, Kate, Lucius, Gordon, Luke, and probably several more than I’m woefully forgetting. And he fights for and loves all of them and they are his happiness and light and motivation and I just love that so much because, yeah, same. I can be incredibly sad and mopey and not want to be with anyone, but then I remember my family and friends and I want to fight for them and their happiness too and I get Bruce in those moments.

Still, Bruce is not only intensely relatable for me, he’s also hugely admirable. Because, man, do I not want to do anything for anyone sometimes haha. Yeah, I just went on a whole spiel about wanting to fight for the happiness of my loved ones, but, hey, I’m not perfect and I am very susceptible to thinking “yeah, I care, but I’m sad right now and I don’t really want to care,” but Bruce’s unending fight is the fight to care despite having no reason to. He’s literally a vigilante in the most corrupt and crime-ridden city on the planet, a place where no one cares, and yet he puts on the cape and cowl each night to show and prove that he cares even if no one else does. He cares even if he has no reason to. He cares even when he has a reason not to. He’s so sad and broken and isolated, but he cares. And that is so dang cool.

So, yeah, I’m not here to start any “Batman vs Superman: who is the cooler hero??” discourse, but I am going to point out that I think their true dichotomy isn’t that one has powers and the other is just a man. It’s that one serves as a beacon of hope for a world that wants to hope, while the other is a beacon of hope for a world that is so sick and tired of hoping. The storytelling possibilities are endless in either direction, and I, personally, just find myself extremely drawn to the latter.

Bottom line: he’ll always be my Bruce 🫶

[lensman-arms-race]

Skibidi Toilet: A war crime spree (part 1)

I'm going to re-watch Skibidi Toilet and tally which side has actually committed more war crimes! (As per the Geneva Conventions)

Notes:

I will assume that all Alliance and all Skibidis are military personnel. This saves us from debating whether something counts as unjustifiable targeting of civilians - we'll make it easier for ourselves and just assume everyone is soldiers.

I am primarily doing this for entertainment/shitposting purposes, so I will likely not be as diligent in my reasoning as an actual military law student would be. If you think I got something wrong, corrections/comments are welcome!

I will apply the laws as they are right now. Some people reckon Skibidi Toilet takes place in the 80s, so I'm mentioning this to avoid people saying 'ah, but that didn't get added to the Geneva Conventions until 199x'. Don't care + fart.

On with the analysis!

Season 1: episodes 1-5

Episode 1

A skibidi bites a cameraman and kills him. This is a simple in-combat killing; not a war crime. Biting someone could be used as part of torture (war crime), but I'm not convinced that applies here. By skibidi standards, this is a quick clean kill.

Episode 2

This is getting interesting already. Two skibidis execute one of their own kind (who sings 'we ain't here to hurt nobody'). Is this a defecting member of their own faction, or a member of a third faction that has been extinguished by the time of the following episodes?

If they killed one of their own... that probably does count as a war crime. Emphasis mine:

Convention (I) for the Amelioration of the Condition of the Wounded and Sick in Armed Forces in the Field. Geneva, 12 August 1949. Article 3 - Conflicts not of an international character In the case of armed conflict not of an international character occurring in the territory of one of the High Contracting Parties, each Party to the conflict shall be bound to apply, as a minimum, the following provisions: (1) Persons taking no active part in the hostilities, including members of armed forces who have laid down their arms and those placed ' hors de combat ' by sickness, wounds, detention, or any other cause, shall in all circumstances be treated humanely, without any adverse distinction founded on race, colour, religion or faith, sex, birth or wealth, or any other similar criteria. To this end, the following acts are and shall remain prohibited at any time and in any place whatsoever with respect to the above-mentioned persons: (a) violence to life and person, in particular murder of all kinds, mutilation, cruel treatment and torture

Episode 3

Skibidis parade down the street. The biggest one bites the cameraman and kills him. As with episode 1, not a war crime - we've decided that all Alliance are soldiers. However, there is the matter of the Gordon Freeman-alike getting killed. We decided that Skibidi and Alliance forces are all military, but we said nothing about humans.

Even if this human is a civilian, this isn't necessarily a war crime. Killing civilians is not in itself forbidden; the specific targeting of them is. It seems the big skibidi didn't even notice this unlucky individual was there, making this nothing more than regrettable collateral damage.

Episode 4

Skibidis storm a restaurant full of human diners, who are instantly converted into more skibidis. As with previous episodes, a skibidi kills the cameraman.

Forcibly converting humans to skibidis is undoubtedly a war crime. It's possible that that's not what's happening - notice that the humans are already sitting on toilets. Perhaps they were skibidi sleeper agents using human disguises? We still don't know how skibidis are created or where they came from, so such speculations are pointless. We appear to be seeing humans turned into skibidis, so we will assume that is the case.

If these humans are civilians, it's a war crime:

Convention (IV) relative to the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War. Geneva, 12 August 1949. Article 31 - Prohibition of coercion No physical or moral coercion shall be exercised against protected persons, in particular to obtain information from them or from third parties.

If these humans are soldiers (either fighting with the Hardware Alliance or as their own faction), it's a war crime:

Convention (III) relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War. Geneva, 12 August 1949. Article 14 - Respect for the persons and honour of prisoners Prisoners of war are entitled in all circumstances to respect for their persons and their honour. [...] Prisoners of war shall retain the full civil capacity which they enjoyed at the time of their capture. The Detaining Power may not restrict the exercise, either within or without its own territory, of the rights such capacity confers except in so far as the captivity requires.

You can make your prisoners of war perform labour for you, but you can't force them to fight for you.

Just for interest, the work you can make POWs do:

Convention (III) relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War. Geneva, 12 August 1949. Article 50 - Authorized work Besides work connected with camp administration, installation or maintenance, prisoners of war may be compelled to do only such work as is included in the following classes: (a) agriculture; (b) industries connected with the production or the extraction of raw materials, and manufacturing industries, with the exception of metallurgical, machinery and chemical industries; public works and building operations which have no military character or purpose; (c) transport and handling of stores which are not military in character or purpose; (d) commercial business, and arts and crafts; (e) domestic service; (f) public utility services having no military character or purpose. Should the above provisions be infringed, prisoners of war shall be allowed to exercise their right of complaint, in conformity with Article 78 .

Episode 5

Several skibidis fly in the sky, and one kills the cameraman. No war crimes here. They appear to be in a civilian-dense area, so war crimes could be about to occur, but we didn't actually see any.

End of season 1 war crime count:

Skibidis: 2

Alliance: 0