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aemondsi · 4 months

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anything for you. theodore nott.

in a universe where voldemort won, you and theo risk everything.

reposted from my old account.

warnings: graphic death

pairing: theodore nott x ron weasley's twin sister!reader

“You can’t possibly love him, y/n. He’s a bloody Death Eater!” your brother had jeered at you. Hot tears ran down your face but you refused to wipe them. You wanted everyone in the room to see how deeply this was hurting you.

“I have never been more sure of something in my life. While you were gone – while everyone was gone – he was the only constant. He isn’t who you think he is.” The room broke out into a chorus of repulsed sounds. The Order of the Phoenix wasn’t much these days, the predominant members being the Weasley family. Harry Potter’s death loomed over everyone. Numerous other deaths piled on: those who died at the beginning of the war, but those who have died recently like your older brothers, Percy and George, and your father, Arthur.

“He thinks we’re scum! He would kill Hermione on the spot. How can you stand there and say this shit?” another brother had chimed in. Voices were starting to overlap the more trapped you felt.

“You’ve never given him or myself the chance to prove that’s not true! If you remember, Theo was the one who told me about everything Draco was doing back in school. He has already given us so much information. He’s climbing the ranks, but he is doing it for us!” you fell to your knees, exhaustion and frustration getting the best of you. “Can’t you see that even if he’s not doing it for all of you, he’s putting his life on the line trying to help secure a world that I feel safe in? You know how my beliefs align!”

“Has he stopped killing innocent people? Does he still partake in Voldemort’s plans that don’t necessarily target us? If he’s climbing the ranks, I can’t begin to imagine what he’s doing to do so,” your mother inquired, shooting daggers at you. You couldn’t look her in the eyes.

“He’s doing what he can to survive, too. If he dies, we will lose so much.” Without missing a beat, you added, “If he dies, I am as good as dead.”

This conversation, over a year old, still rings in your head every time you meet Theo. Your current setup in an old warehouse allowed these thoughts to amplify. The only sounds keeping you from spiraling were the rhythmic tapping of Ron’s foot and Bill’s pacing. You never got to see Theo alone, but that wasn’t a horrible thing.

Though you wanted nothing more than to have one evening alone with him, as selfish as that sounds given the climate of the world right now, the positive came in the form of the people who joined you on these exchanges and started to see through the cracks in Theo’s character. This hardened soldier who bears the Dark Mark turns into someone else in your presence. He is more patient and gentle, as compared to the man that numerous members of the Order have seen slaughter people in cold-bold, just to laugh at their frozen-in-death facial expressions.

You had noticed changes in Theo throughout the last few times you’d seen him. He was much more focused on you than the information they were there to exchange. He’d almost become frantic – dark circles that got darker every time you saw him circled his eyes, and his face had become much more caved in. He was starting to look as though he were actively being tortured. He didn’t look better this time around.

You sprang up from your spot when you heard the metal door grind against the floor, opening quicker than anticipated. Ron and Bill quickly put their wands up and took aim at Theo, refusing to put them down even when you yelled, “It’s just him!” Theo didn’t respond much better, raising his wand and aiming at Bill, who you knew Theo saw as more of a threat than Ron.

“Are you being followed? What made you come in here like that?” Bill growled, eyes flickering between Theo and the entrance. Theo narrowed his eyes at the older man.

“You think I would lead them straight here if I was? If it was just you two, sure. But, I would never do that with her here. Consider yourself lucky,” Theo spit.

“That’s enough. Are you alright?” you stated, briskly walking to your lover. Up close, you noticed faint bruising around his neck, as if he’d been choked. Theo didn’t say anything and instead, kept his eyes locked on the two men standing behind you. “Theo,” you trailed off, putting one hand on his cheek. You searched his eyes for any type of response, but you couldn’t find one.

“You don’t have much time,” he said, only loud enough that Ron and Bill were barely able to hear. You took a slight step back, still close enough that you could hold his hand – the hand that he couldn’t even bring himself to grasp in return.

“What?”

“The Dark Lord knows there’s a mole in his closest circle. He knows you are not dead, despite me telling him you were,” Theo said, finally making eye contact with you. Your mouth fell open and you held his hand tighter.

Theo lost his will to fight at that exact moment, letting his hand holding his wand fall to his side. He pulled you into him and rested his forehead against yours. “He knows you’re the mole?” you whispered.

“Not yet, but I can’t imagine it taking much longer. His eyes are set on Berkshire – thinks he’s gotten scared now that his mother died. I was able to ward him off me for the time being. I told him that I wasn’t the one to kill you, I just saw you get hit with a nasty spell.”

“Come with us before it’s too late, Theo. How many times do I have to beg you? Turn your back on it all. We can keep you protected.” you pleaded, looking back at your brothers for reassurance. Bill shook his head before Ron chose to speak.

“He is not coming back with us. Do you know what kind of target that would place on us? It would be a death sentence,” he spit. “With that Dark Mark, I’m sure Voldemort could summon you back to him at any given second,” he added. You spun around to confront him but Theo was quicker – he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you into him.

“I wasn’t planning on it, Weasley,” Theo said with such spite behind his words that it made you want to cower away from him. He looked down at you, asking you a silent question. You bit your lip in thought, looking over at your brothers.

“Could you guys give us a minute to ourselves? Just stand guard at the door.” With a few grumbles, you were able to convince them to leave. As soon as the door shut, you wrapped your arms around Theo as tight as you could, reassuring yourself that he was here with you and still alive. For how much longer he would be alive, no one was certain.

“You can leave them. Even if you don’t take refuge with us, you can escape,” you pleaded. Theo softly shook his head and pressed his lips to your forehead.

“No, y/n, I can’t. I’m bound to him until one of us dies. I…” he trailed off. You frantically started shaking your head at him and he sighed. “We knew this was going to happen.”

“You might have known. I held out hope,” you cried. Theo grabbed your chin gently, using the other hand to wipe away the stray tears. “Promise me you won’t die.”

“Y/n…”

“Promise me, Theo.”

His response never came. Theo pulled you into him and kissed you so tenderly, that it was beyond out of character for him. You knew this was the end. He softly ran his hands down your sides, over your back, anywhere they could grasp. It felt as though he was trying to remember the exact shape of your body. He eventually tried to pull away, but in return, you softly bit his lip and pulled him back in.

Theo couldn’t bring himself to let go of you. You were intoxicating in a way that no drug or drink could replicate. Not breaking the kiss, Theo hoisted you onto a table that was just behind you. Laying you down on it, he kept kissing you. Along your jaw, down your neck – Theo kissed you anywhere with an exposed bit of skin. You couldn’t stop yourself from crying, to which Theo then kissed away your tears. When he was finished, he pulled you up into a sitting position.

“Love, you are the only thing in this short existence of mine that I’ve ever been sure of. When I die, I can die happily because I knew you. I got to love you.” Theo whispered, his voice cracking as he professed to you. You leaned your forehead against him, looking him straight in the eye.

“Try to survive, Theo, please. For me,” you pleaded. Theo nodded briefly but was interrupted by a banging on the door.

“Hurry up, it’s getting dark. We need to leave,” Bill’s voice called out. Bill and Ron both reappeared in the room, looking at the two of you expectantly.

“We need to leave, and you still haven’t given us what we came for,” Bill sighed. Theo tensed and pulled himself away from you, putting his facade back on as if it were a costume. Part of you wished he didn’t, just so they could see the real him.

“The Dark Lord plans to raid Hogsmeade, again. You need to make sure everyone is evacuated. He doesn’t plan on ever having to raid them again. In two days, if you don’t create a plan, everyone still living there will be dead.”

“And will you be one of the Death Eaters killing those people?” Ron inquired.

“If it means that it keeps me alive, and keeps a steady stream of information coming to you, yes. I have never been unclear with my intentions.” Theo said. He was significantly taller than Ron, forcing the redhead to look up at him as Theo walked closer to him, slowly.

“We don’t have time for this,” Bill said, getting visibly anxious. “We’re leaving,” Bill added, grabbing you and Ron both by the arm.

Everything happened so fast after that – you reached out for Theo, but he backed away from you and you could’ve sworn you saw a tear run down his face. Just like that, you were whisked away, Bill choosing that moment to apparate. You didn’t get to say goodbye; you didn’t get to tell him you loved him for the last time.

Three days later, after their failed attempt at raiding Hogsmeade, you and your family watched in horror as Voldemort was broadcasting yet another round of executions. This wasn’t the first time this had happened – the first time being with his son, Mattheo, a boy you had known in school. You can’t recall the exact reason for his death, but it set a standard. If Voldemort would kill his child in such ways, what would he do to others?

You held your breath as the camera view panned down the small row of people awaiting their death. You felt the wind get knocked out of you when you caught sight of him.

The boy you loved was there, his eyes already dead. His appearance was, somehow, much worse than when you had last seen him. The bruising around his neck that had almost been healed was now back in full display, accompanied by bruises all over his face. He had blood dried around his mouth and nose, and his left eye was so swollen that it looked completely closed. Something told you that death was merciful compared to what he had been put through.

Voldemort rambled on about the first three men, killing them quickly. His smile never failed, especially when he turned to the last victim: Theo.

“Theodore Nott, what would your father say?” He teased. He pulled a wand out of the box that a servant of his carried at his side. Raising it, you recognized it to be Theo’s. Voldemort snapped it in half, causing a slight flinch to radiate off Theo.

“Stupidly fell in love with a dirty blood traitor, one of those Weasleys. He’s acted as an agent for them this entire time, but of course, I knew from early on. We’ve played a brilliant game of cat and mouse, haven’t we, Nott?” Voldemort, again, laughed. Every muscle in Theo’s body was tensed up and he never lifted his face to look at the crowd that had gathered or the cameras broadcasting the event.

Noticing Theo's aversion to looking at the crowd, Voldemort ran his fingers through Theo's hair before yanking it back, forcing him to look up. Theo grimaced but finally looked straight at the camera. His good eye bore through you, sending your heart straight to the bottom of your stomach.

You started sobbing, sliding off the couch and crawling towards the hologram showing the entire scene. “Please,” you gasped. Hermione sat behind you, pulling you into her, but you fought her off.

“You were special to me,” Voldemort sighed and raised his wand. You grabbed whatever was closest to you – in this case, a plate someone had been eating off of earlier – and threw it through the hologram. The sound of your sobs and the plate exploding against the wall ricocheted around the hideout.

Another one of your older brothers, Charlie, moved Hermione aside and restrained you. Without doing so, you would’ve hurt yourself or someone else. “Get off me,” you repeatedly screamed, thrashing around on the ground.

Charlie was able to hold you in place on the ground, holding you facedown on the carpet with your arms pinned behind your back. To your horror, you turned your head to the side just in time to see a green light encase Theo in its grip.

The cry you let out was movie-worthy. Using all of your strength, you burst out of Charlie’s grip and jumped up, turning on your surviving family members. “He died for us. He died for us and our cause. You never gave him a chance and never wanted to offer help in return,” you sobbed. Hermione came back to your side and held you in her arms.

You didn’t fight back this time. You sat in her arms and sobbed. You couldn’t stop sobbing as you looked back at the hologram and it was panned to Theo’s dead body. It zoomed in on his face as if to hurt you even more. You watched as Voldemort whispered a simple charm, and flames consumed Theo’s body.

“I hope the Weasleys watching this enjoyed the show. While you watched this we have surrounded your hideout. Even Nott’s Occlumency he worked so hard on for you couldn’t keep me out. Perhaps it’s good that you never trusted him with your exact location, or else this would’ve happened long ago.” Voldemort smiled, and the hologram shut off. There was no noise in the room other than your silent sobs.

Then, the first window exploded.

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obessedwithfictionalmen · 6 months

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Stop trying to feel everything

John Egan X Lieutenant Colonel!Reader

Summary: When a woman comes on the base, ranked higher than anyone. Bucky wants a date with her!

Warning: Historical inaccuracies/ sexism/ alcohol use/ mention of death/ use of Y/n/

Word count: 850

She made her way into the debrief room, she felt the men staring at her, she heard whispers. ‘’Gentleman, this is Lieutenant Colonel Rogers, she will be working with the AWPD (Air War Plan Division), I want you all on your best behaviour, she’s ranked higher than most of you here’’ Colonel Harding ordered. The men went silent as they heard her rank. Bucky looked at the woman, she was intimidating, her body language was telling that she was confident and didn’t took any of the men’s bullshit. ‘’Thank you, Colonel. Now boys, your next target is – ‘’ she was cut off by one of the men. ‘’Come on, doll, lose the uniform!’’ he yelled. She stooped what she was doing and looked at the men. She looked at him from up and down and looked at him in the eyes. Her gaze was intimidating. ‘’Misogyny, how refreshing, what’s next? Stay in the kitchen, you drive like a woman? Listen to me very carefully, I’m the one that helps deciding where you’re going to fly next, which bomb you’re going to drop and everything that you were trained to do. So go ahead, make another joke and I’ll have you arrest for assault by the M. P’s. Understood?’’ she didn’t break eye contact with the men, who quickly sat down with his head down. ‘’Can I continue?’’ she looked at the men in the room.

She quickly made a reputation for herself. She was strong and was fierce, many tried to get with her, all of them failed to do so. John Egan made it his personal objective to get a date with the Lieutenant Colonel Rogers. But as the number of missions grew, he slowly started to lose his mind, Bucky came back from a mission with a lot of casualties, he went to see one of the men injured in the hospital. Y/n was already there. ‘’I’ll let you rest, Bubbles, take care of yourself’’ she said, holding his hands. ‘’Thank you, Miss Rogers,’’ he said, smiling. She walked to the door, but when she walked past Major, she slowed down. ‘’Hello, Major, your friend, Curt, told me to say that he and other guys were going to go drink. He invited you.’’ She said as she walked out the room. Her perfume filled his nose, she smelled really good. ‘’Uh, thank you’’ he stuttered.

He was on the wing of his plane, drinking directly from the bottle. ‘’Curt, can you do me a favor?’’ He asked his friend. He nodded. ‘’Come here’’ he said, moving his fingers in a ‘Come here’ motion. ‘’I want you to hit me’’ he said. Y/n was driving her Jeep around the base. She heard someone yelling, so she drove where the noise came from. She saw Major Egan on the wing of the plane. She stopped the vehicle and got out. ‘’What’s wrong with you, Major?’’ she asked the brunette. ‘’Nothing, Miss.’’ He said, holding his nose. ‘’He just asked me to punch him!’’ Curt exclaimed. Y/n had to hold her laugh as she smiled in disbelief. ‘’Major Egan, come back down, right now’’ she ordered. He did as she asked and climbed down the plane. ‘’What’s going on with you?’’ she asked. ‘’I just want to feel something’’ he blurted out. Y/n felt bad for him. ‘’Hop in, Major’’ she tapped the seat next to her. He sat next to her; she hands him a tissue for his nose. ‘’You know you can do something else than getting punched’’ she said. ‘’I just don’t know what’’ he mumbled. ‘’Stop trying to feel everything, Major, the emotions you’re feeling are valid’’ she says to him. He looked at her, she didn’t know what to say, but he had a lump in his throat. ‘’Why are you shutting off to us, Lieutenant?’’ he asked her. She thought about an answer, but he was right. ‘’Because I can’t take dead pilots, again. I want to be strong; I can’t see my friends being dead, not again’’ she said. She’d been transferred from another base; she lost her old best friend and went a little crazy. Bucky looked at her, she had both hands on the steering wheel, but if one of them was free, he would take her hand. ‘’Yeah, I heard the rumors’’ he softly says. ‘’The one that say that I’m crazy?’’ she asks. ‘’Yeah, but I didn’t believe them’’ Y/n smiles. She stops the car near a tree. ‘’Listen, Major, normally, I’m supposed to get you in trouble for the hole ‘punch me’ situation. I take my job very seriously, and if they learn that I went soft on you, my reputation is ruined. So don’t do it again, or the M. Ps are going to get involved, got it?’’ she tired to sound intimidating. Bucky softly smiled. ‘’You can’t buy my silence that easily, Lieutenant’’ he teased. ‘’Alright, what do you want?’’ she laughed. ‘’A date?’’ his voice was full of hope. Y/n rolled her eyes and looked at the men. She found him attractive, and he was the only one that was persistent enough to try to have a date with her. ‘’Okay, I’ll go on a date with you, Major’’

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #john bucky egan #john egan x reader #major john egan #master of the air imagine #master of the air

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devilfic · 4 months

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❝right place, right time❞

VIII. whatever keeps you around.

parts: previously / next plot: bruce has a proposal for you. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, brief discussion of slight suicidal ideation/martyrdom, drug (and the injection of drugs) mentions, you will not guess what trope I managed to include in here. words: 6.9k. a/n: plotting this series makes me feel like charlie day pointing at a wall of red string

“…You won’t like it.”

It's clear what you have to do. You'd realized it when Gordon came to you, so of course Bruce did too. If you were going to make this right, you would have to face this head on. "I know what I have to do," you start, "I need to lure him out."

Bruce's expression shifts. Whatever you've said seems to be the wrong answer, "That... won't be necessary."

"What? What else can I do?"

"What did Gordon tell you about Dimitri?"

Your head throbs as you recall the memory, "Uh... he said he believes I'm next on Dimitri's hit list. He also said Dimitri hadn't anticipated me being at the house."

"Right, because Russo didn't want anyone knowing where he was." Bruce turns to his computer and brings up Russo's file, "After his divorce and the death of his son, he holed up and started erasing himself from the internet. As far as his neighbors know, he was constantly alone. You already know how hard it was to find him on your own, and unless Dimitri knew someone keeping tabs, it doesn't stand to reason that he found him any easier. But you, on the other hand," Bruce opens a search engine and types in your name. You're unsettled when the screen fills with results, most of them news articles from the night you'd been held hostage, "your name and face was everywhere after the gang war."

When the reporters had shoved cameras in your face and begged for you to tell them about Batman's heroic rescue, you hadn't thought twice about it, still fresh from the throes of gore and violence in the ER. Friends, family, coworkers: almost everyone you knew had seen it.

It clicks for you then, "If Dimitri planned on killing us both and I was easiest to find, why didn't he come for me first? I mean... it was me and Alex who ruined his life. If he wanted anyone dead more, wouldn't it be me?"

"I wondered the same thing. With the know-how and the right connections, anyone could find where you live just by name alone. Russo, on the other hand, is almost anonymous. It doesn't make sense why Dimitri would target Russo first."

"Do you think maybe it was a warning? Maybe he wanted to scare me."

"If he wanted to warn you, he wouldn't kill the guy in his house where no one checks up on him. Days would've passed before anyone noticed the flies in the windows."

"I don't get it."

"Do you remember how long it's been since you were taken hostage?"

Your mind lands on a weak estimate, "I don't know, a week and a half?"

"It's been over two weeks. According to the wardens, Dimitri stopped being a problem for them after the first few years. Friends with a rough crowd but he rarely got caught up in anything. Didn't have the heart to. So why, after 17 years, does he break out?"

Your stomach drops, "He saw me."

"And realized that while he was rotting away with nothing to live for, you were a hero," the word sickens you to hear, "on the front lines, saving lives, being saved. Your life went back to normal."

You grip the side of Bruce's desk with the sudden urge to vomit up everything you'd eaten today, which, frankly, wouldn't add up to much more than water and crackers.

You'd said it yourself: you'd gotten to live a life that Natalie, Dimitri, and Alex never would. Of course he wanted you dead. "So then I have to lure him out."

"And put yourself in danger? No."

"I’m already in danger, Bruce. What if he goes after the others? My parents? My coworkers? The other cops at the shootout? We have to end it now."

"This isn't the only way."

"It's the best way."

"Last time he had a knife, you could defend yourself. Barely. What if next time, he has a gun?"

"So what, you just want to do nothing?"

Bruce turns away from you. He gnaws on his lower lip, "No, I want to bide our time. Look into him more. I need to know if he's working with the Vipers again."

You watch him as he begins typing away at his computer, but you can't process what he's looking for through the haze of anger that washes over you. You lean on the desk, craning your neck up at his face to make him look at you, to understand how ridiculous he sounds, "We don't have time for that. His grudge is with me. I should meet him now and end this... either he gets what he wants or- or..."

Or what? Your stubbornness peters out. You don't know what. You see yourself standing face-to-face with Dimitri, his knife raised, ready to bury itself into the cushion of your chest. And nothing.

The you in this vision has no weapon.

"You don't think you're going to survive this." Coming out of your mind, Bruce is now looking at you, brows furrowed. He looks... mortified.

You scramble to cover your tracks, "That's not true. I'd have you there."

"But you don't want me there. You want to go alone. You think you deserve it."

"God, what are you? My therapist?" Your words flit out of your mouth in a rush, tongue nearly slipping up to defend yourself. You push away from the desk when you start feeling overexposed.

Bruce follows you, "You're not 16 anymore, this isn't some gang fight where you throw all your chips in because you can't see a year ahead of you. You've made a life. You've got people to lose, you said so yourself. I know what it's like... the survivor's guilt. You relive that day over and over-"

His words are making you feel sick to your stomach again and you lurch forward, finger in his face, "Don't you fucking preach to me-"

Almost as immediately as you'd raised your finger, Bruce snatches your wrist in his hand, yanking you close enough to be imposing, staring down at you with the same power that the Batman had used. It was so sudden that you quickly fall slack, wrist going limp in his grip.

It had completely sobered you of your tantrum, and for better or for worse, you were forced to listen to him, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and think. You see this ending with you dead because you want to make up for the shit you did. You think that's what Alex wants? For you to bleed out in an alley like she did?" And just like that, the fire roars in you once more, but your other hand can't slap him across the face before he's caught that one too, "No future? What about all the people you've saved? Could still save? Face it now because you may not get another chance: you're alive. Do you want to be or not?"

You want to hurt him, turn his skin red and give it a place among the other bruises that glitter and glare down his torso, and as your hand shakes in his hold, you are forced to understand that you are angry because he is right.

You'd felt this same anger before. When your parents told you Alex was a bad influence on you. When Russo looked you in the eye and told you that you didn't have it in you to pull the trigger. It was maddening. He had clocked your suicide mission before even you had, had seen you in his mind's eye the way you saw yourself: disarmed, a lamb to the slaughter, a sacrifice for the greater good, a speedbump.

You could see Batman tackling him to the ground over your dying body. You couldn't see yourself getting up the next day.

After the frustration leaves Bruce's eyes, he's looking at you with something softer. You feel known, uncomfortably so, as he waits for you to meet him there.

And when you do, you hate how you collapse into him. Even more, you hate that he takes you up into his arms, holding you steadfast, as understanding as you needed him to be with all your fear of admitting it. The solidness of his body reminds you of the night he'd first held you, and that just makes you cry harder.

It feels different from last time. Where there was armor is now warm skin, the likes of which you hadn't felt in a while. If you had told your past self you'd one day be standing in Batman's cave, hugging Bruce Wayne and crying over the permanence of your mistakes, you might have diagnosed yourself with head trauma.

You screw your eyes shut in a vain attempt to put the tears to rest, your freed hands practically clawing at Bruce's warm back for some purchase, some stability. He doesn't seem to mind. He just holds you closer.

After a few minutes, you force yourself to speak, sniffling away the last remaining tears you'd allow yourself to shed, "You said I wouldn't like it. Your plan. What is it?"

"To disappear."

You wrench yourself back. Bruce is dead serious. "What?"

"I've considered it from all angles-"

"What do you mean, 'disappear'?"

"All but one of the prisoners Dimitri broke out with are still missing. How do we know they're not all working together? How do we know that you luring him out won't draw them out too? You were the easiest target before, not anymore."

"Say what you mean, Bruce. What do you want me to do?"

"I want to hide you here," he winces as he says this, as if aware of his words only now that they're out in the open, "with me."

"You're shitting me."

After a while, Bruce's face hardens, "I told you you wouldn't like it."

Liking it or not liking it was nothing. You'd advanced past "like". You were firmly out of your depth here.

You slip out of Bruce's hold and he lets you, standing rather awkwardly as you rub a hand across your mouth. Despite earlier, it now feels uncomfortably dry. You glance at Bruce and then at his screen, the tab with your name and face plastered all over it hovering in the background. "You want me to disappear off the face of the earth while you track him down. Leave my home, leave the people I care about, abandon my job. You want me to hide."

"I don't know how else to protect you. Not until we figure out what we're up against." Bruce watches you spin away, scoffing into the air, "You noticed it when you fought him off, didn't you? Something was really wrong with him."

You see flashes of Dimitri's feral stare, the way he staggered and swung. He was like a rabid animal in a cage. "Of course there was, he was trying to kill me."

"Beyond that," Bruce insists, "he wasn't right. I've seen it before. He was on something."

"Most people are these days. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd... I don't know, gotten his hands on drops or something-"

"It wasn't drops. Gordon told me."

"The detective?"

"He said they found a syringe with traces of venom in it. Dimitri's shooting up. That's why he was so strong."

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, "Venom? Great. Somehow worse than Drops."

"If he's on that drug, he's definitely addicted. It also means you won't stand a chance against him. This is why I'm telling you to stay here," Bruce steps forward, eyes imploring yours. You're dumbstruck by the heavy earnestness there, "stay in the tower. Hide here for a few days. Let me handle this."

"If he's on venom, it means he doesn't think he can handle you on his own," you wring your hands, flitting through images of the Dimitri you remember, "he was always really small. Even at fourteen, he hadn't really sprung up. He was scrawny and small and couldn't defend himself. Suddenly Gordon's saying he's almost twice the size of what I remember. Have you ever fought someone on venom?"

"Once or twice, somewhere between fixes. Why?"

"General has this kind of... sedative that we use when we get patients dealing with the effects. It's not perfect, but it does help calm them down enough to help them. Maybe we can use it to help him."

"The strain is constantly changing," Bruce watches you deflate and clears his throat, "but if I can get that sedative, I can use it as a base to make a new one."

"You need clearance to get your hands on that stuff. I'm going with you."

"What part of disappear do you not understand?"

"One, I never agreed to do that, and two, if Batman gets caught stealing from a hospital, that'll make you public enemy number one. You need my help, so let me help you."

Bruce is looking away, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth even as you zero in on him. You're getting flashbacks of that same Bruce from when you'd first met him here in this tower. All tender-eyed, even as he tries to put on a face for you, "And I need a drink," you rub your temple next, catching a glimpse of Bruce watching you from his peripheral, "You've got those, don't you?"

It turns out Bruce has plenty. There's a whole cellar full of them, the kinds you see in MTV Cribs with the low recessed lighting and mahogany shelves gleaming with polish. It makes sense for him to have it, but less so when he tells you he doesn't actually drink any of it.

"You weren't drinking at the party, either. Even though everyone else thought you were." You brush your hand along the shelves, careful not to knock any bottles loose. "Is that a trick to keep people spilling secrets? Or to keep from spilling your own?"

Bruce hovers near the entrance with his arms folded and back pressed to the wall, carefully watching you peruse his selection, "Maybe I don't like the taste."

"That's good. Men in Gotham die from alcoholism at a higher rate than any other city in the state."

"Really?"

"Really. You don't smoke either." Bruce blinks at you, "Just get shot at. And stabbed."

He says nothing.

Your hand lands on a red aged older than your mother and you stand to the side, looking expectantly at him. You're afraid that if you try to pick it up, you might knock down the whole row.

Slowly, Bruce pushes himself off the wall and glides over to you, grabbing the neck of the bottle in one hand and looking to you for approval. You try not to shrink yourself when you nod.

You follow him out of the cellar, flinching when the lights dim behind you and the door rolls shut all on its own. He guides you to the kitchen where night still hangs over Gotham outside the window, but the time on the stove clock warns of early morning soon.

Bruce pulls out two glasses and fills yours with wine and his with cranberry juice from the fridge. You could almost laugh at the pairing.

Once he slides your glass to you, you take a seat at the island and take a sip, "I need to ask you something. I get now why you refused me at the station, but then you came back. Why did you change your mind? I mean, neither of us knew Russo would be dead when we got there. Were you just going to let me hate you?"

"Yes." His simple response draws a quick, stifled laugh out of you.

"Are you always this... chaotic?"

Bruce leans his elbows on the countertop, hunching in on himself, "I always meant to tell you who I was. I just didn't know when. And I didn't mind if you hated Bruce Wayne, but... you trusted Batman. I didn't want to break that trust. Even if it meant telling you earlier than I planned, I wanted to give you some closure."

You think about the fear that had paralyzed you back then, thinking that Bruce Wayne was some big, bad criminal hiding behind polite society. Then you think about the real man, hiding behind a mask. You fidget uncomfortably, struggling with feeling somewhere between grateful and nauseous. Your eyes catch the stitches on his shoulder and you itch to wipe away the dried blood that had dribbled from the cut, "You said you were looking for Dimitri when you got that. Did you..."

Bruce catches your eye when you fail to finish your question. "No," he answers solemnly, "which is only part of our problem." He stands to his full height, flexing bruised knuckles against the counter, "I ran into one of the guys that broke out with Dimitri tonight. That's who gave me this. Dimitri isn't working alone."

You frown, "Is he trying to shake you? Why leave clues at all?"

"Because these people want me dead. The guy from tonight? I booked him a year ago for trafficking women. Earlier led me to a fringe group of Falcone's."

"You've been looking for Dimitri all day?"

"I haven't stopped since we found Russo. I couldn't."

You rub your arms, feeling the room grow chiller by the second, "So... so he's leaving clues to people who hate you. To keep you occupied." Bruce nods. "So he can get to me?"

"After last night, he knows the Batman is on your side."

"Dimitri wasn't out when you got on the scene. Do you think maybe he's taking venom because these guys warned him about you?"

Bruce smirks, rolling his eyes as he takes a sip from his glass, "As a precaution, sure. And now he has reason to believe I know you. If he's going to go after you, he's going to shoot up each time."

"That stuff is nasty. You're big and scary when you're on it but as soon as the effects wear off-"

"You deflate like a balloon. It's also stupid expensive, so he's either got real generous prison pals or he's being used. It's why I need to know if he's working with the Vipers. They might be supplying him."

How you'd gone from an ordinary surgeon to a detective in the span of mere weeks was beyond you. You're beyond just treading water. You're diving into the abyss.

Your brain struggles to make real what is before you. Bruce, still shirtless, drinking delicately from a glass as he watches the night sky shimmer from the kitchen window. And you, sitting across from him, cracking open one of his family's expensive bottles that, frankly, puts your pantry vinos to shame. Playing vigilantes like schoolchildren. Except the blood on you both is very real.

Your arm throbs at being remembered for once tonight. Bruce notices you touch it, "You need to get some rest."

You know he's right, and you're not arguing for the sake of arguing when you say, "I can't sleep yet." But he can tell there's more on your mind as he waits silently, almost egging you on to lay yourself bare. You swear you're not arguing just for the sake of arguing, "And I don't want to disappear. I want to be alive."

Bruce says nothing. The silence isn't humiliating like you'd think it be, even if the first few seconds leave you feeling just as laid bare as you thought you would. No. It feels acknowledging. Understanding, even.

For the first time, you look at Bruce and feel like you understand him. If he was really Batman, then he would know better than anyone why you would want to put yourself in danger. But beneath that, with the meager knowledge of who Bruce Wayne is, you also think you understand him too.

He'd mentioned the survivor's guilt. While he'd played a much more innocent role in the whole ordeal, you couldn't imagine the weight on one's chest knowing that two people you love didn't get to go on but you did. It's a lot to ask of a child barely coming to understand the mortality of one's own keepers.

The choice to be alive for someone like that is a deliberate choice. Constantly made every morning.

"There is another way," Bruce muses, "but you'll like it even less."

"Don't leave me hanging."

"We could go public."

"What?"

"You said disappearing would mean abandoning your life. And it would. No one could know where you went, who you were with, but there's always the chance someone might slip up. It's the safest option but it's not what you want. So don't hide." Bruce's eye contact is deep and unwavering. Compared to earlier, he seems to trust you're willing to listen this time, "Be mine."

For the nth time tonight, you are rendered nearly speechless. Nearly. "Are you fucking with me?"

Bruce's eyes narrow, "No."

"Did you just... proposition me?"

"I made a proposal."

"You're asking me to date you."

"Publicly. Batman has more enemies than allies, but Bruce Wayne has the people. If you and I are publicly linked, it tells everyone looking for you that the world is watching. It makes you more visible, as well as anyone who comes after you."

"You haven't slept," you reason, "clearly. And you're delirious."

"I haven't slept, no." But he looks fairly sober for someone who hasn't slept in a day. He is a different breed, this Bruce Wayne.

You peer out the kitchen window and see the black sky dipping into a blue horizon, "Then sleep on it and come up with something better."

Bruce rounds the island until he's standing beside you, looking down at your barely touched wine, "There's some spare rooms upstairs. You can take your pick." It dawns on you that you may not be going back home any time soon. "You know your way around."

You suppose you deserve that dig.

Then he's leaving you, glasses abandoned, home for you to explore. You don't realize how thick the air had gotten with him right next to you until he's gone.

You half-expect Alfred to pop up somewhere nearby, but there's nothing. This far up, there is no city to listen for, no neighbors slamming doors. You are in a cold house all alone. You suddenly wish he'd stayed to keep you company, even if the weight of it was beginning to take its toll on you. Left alone, you only had the sunrise.

You watch until the sky has all but chased the night away, and then you head upstairs.

You didn't think you'd get much sleep in a stranger's bed, but you're being roused by a sharp, successive rapping at your door several hours later. It jolts you awake, kick-starting your heart, and you clumsily tumble out of the million thread count sheets to open the door.

Alfred stands there fully dressed for the day, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other still raised to knock. Upon seeing you, he lowers his fist, "Morning," he starts, looking away as soon as he meets your eyes, "breakfast is ready. Come get it before it's cold."

He does not give you a choice in the matter. He's already limping toward the staircase without another word.

After you get your heart to settle down, you follow after him, preening yourself as you pass hallway mirrors and portraits of the Wayne family through the generations. You hadn't come down this hallway when you'd found the terminus elevator, so you stumble to a stop in front of a portrait of a young Bruce grinning ear to ear.

It startles you. His eyes are soft, a gentle humming blue untouched by wrinkle or darkness. He must've been especially young here. Glancing at a nearby portrait of his parents, you find him the spitting image of his father. You look around and realize there are no portraits of Bruce at this age.

Bruce. He might be at breakfast, and the mere thought of having to discuss what occurred last night almost turns you right back around to the guest room, but your stomach rumbling begs you not to. You still walk quietly, peering around corners in case your stomach changed its mind.

You find you're cautious for naught when the only person standing in the kitchen is Alfred, chopping up fresh fruit.

"I hope you don't mind that I moved your things," he gestures with his paring knife to your surgical tools neatly congregated on the counter, "I cleaned them too."

"Oh. You didn't need to do that."

"There was blood, so I'm afraid I did." Alfred places a bit of pressure on "blood", and you quickly take note of his short tone.

Still, all the same, he then gestures to the island and implores you take a seat in front of an empty plate. Without asking, he begins pushing steaming hot food onto your plate, "Tea or coffee?" He asks, barely looking up at you.

"Uh, coffee is fine. Thanks." You watch Alfred pour you a mug and wonder if the awkwardness with him is any more preferable to the awkwardness with Bruce. Alfred is passive-aggressive, Bruce is... aggressive. You remember how the latter had left off your night together and find yourself feeling warmer toward Alfred. "How long have you been up?"

"Since 6, although I woke a few times through the night."

You wince, "Sorry."

"No need to apologize. I did think Bruce had invited you over under different circumstances, so... not as alarming, all things considered." Your grip on your fork slips and it clatters to the marble. Alfred barely reacts.

"He needed stitches." Is all you can get out.

"Yes, I'm well aware."

You glance up at him, "You saw?"

"When he first arrived home, yes. I was the one who helped stop the bleeding."

You stare at the coffee sweating in your cup, recalling something Bruce had mentioned last night, "Bruce said you were the one who used to stitch him up."

"Yes."

"If you were there, why-"

"It's what he pays you for, isn't it?" Alfred almost snaps back at you, slicing a strawberry into quarters with more edge than needed.

You recall something else next. The softness in Alfred's face the day you first came here, arguing with Bruce in the very room next door. You'd wondered what it had all been about.

"I've done alright, haven't I?"

"He said something else too," you start, careful as you choose your next words, "about how much you worry about him." You fiddle with your mug, pretending not to feel the heat of Alfred's eyes on you, "I think the reason he hired me is because he was worried about you."

You just catch the tail-end of Alfred's frown, "Worried about me? Why?"

You probably aren't close enough to either of these two to laugh about this, but you do anyway, "Isn't it kind of obvious?"

"Nonsense. We always discussed... if it would come to it, that if he were to pursue this life further, that he would recruit professionals who might aid him in his work. It was the natural thing to do."

"Maybe, yeah. But would he have really needed me if you weren't already doing everything else for him? You've taken good care of him this long. I mean, the aftercare you gave his bullet wound was exceptional. I accused him of talking to other doctors."

Alfred busies himself with scraping his strawberry halves into a bowl, "It's basic knowledge. You learn that kind of thing in the service."

"Or when you invited me to watch you two spar. You know his body probably better than he does. You're fantastic, Alfred." You couldn't say you weren't also trying to butter him up to better his feelings toward you, but you were speaking truth all the same.

In a very British way, he rebuts your compliments and spoons some fruit into a glass, beginning to layer some yogurt over top them, "Regardless of reason, you are here now, and I'll have you know that every part of your contract covers this. Wayne Enterprises will exhaust every possible legal tool at our leisure if you speak of any—any—of this to anyone. Master Bruce's identity is safely guarded, and regardless of his trust in you, I will not hesitate-"

"Whoa, whoa, hey. I would never tell anyone. Not after all Batman has done for me." You press a hand over your heart for emphasis, "He is just as much my patient as Bruce Wayne is, and he didn't have to pay me to take care of him."

Alfred still stares you down like a guard dog, paring knife still clutched in his fingers. After a moment, he looks away from you and points at your plate, "Eat. It's getting cold."

So you do. It's good so you say as much, counting any point toward his affection as a good thing. If you could get Alfred to trust you, you'd call that a win.

The tension in the air dissipates over time, and after you've licked your plate clean, you and Alfred are sharing coffee together. "Bruce isn't joining us?"

"I've stopped expecting him to be awake this early." You glance at the clock that reads 10:12. "He has adopted a near-fully nocturnal lifestyle."

"The night that he crawled through my window, he was there at the hospital the next morning like nothing happened. He doesn't do that often?"

"Before last year, it was a rare occurrence. While he's dedicated himself to his role more recently, if he can avoid it, he will."

You think back to what knowledge you do have on Bruce's charity work and his friendship with the Mayor. You'd worked shifts just as long, but you couldn't imagine showing up to work mere hours after getting shot in the stomach and having to put on a brave face about it. You almost feel bad for calling him out on it in front of everyone.

But then again, if you hadn't, would you even be sitting here?

You swirl the last vestiges of coffee in your cup, trying to picture a world in which you'd gone and found that empty office to nap in instead of toddling behind Rudy and Em and Alfred and Batman. The Batman.

The novelty of it brings a fresh wave of dizziness over you. You had been exposed to so much information over the course of the last 12 hours that it hadn't fully settled in on you what Bruce was. You didn't think that your brain would process it even if he was standing in cowl and cape right in front of you.

"I suppose you'll be staying with us for the near future, if Bruce has anything to say about it," Alfred stands from his chair beside you and puts your dishes in the sink, "shall I inform your security detail or would you like to?"

You don't know what to say to that. "I'm... I think I should talk this over with Bruce first. It may not need to come to that."

The butler shrugs. "I'll be attending to some house duties for the rest of the morning. Should you stay for lunch, let Dory know, hm?" You give him a weak nod and watch as he makes his way from the sink and heads down another hallway out of sight.

Not too long after Alfred leaves you, you hear the doorbell ring. Bruce hadn't mentioned to you that any guests would be here today, but then again, the two of you had had more important things to discuss last night. You check your reflection in the glass of the kitchen window, wondering if there were any hidden doors in the bookcases that could hide you from whatever Wayne Enterprises exec that was coming to talk business, but you wouldn't trust yourself not to break something in the process.

You hear two pairs of footsteps approaching from the elevator and turn to see who it might be. You first recognize Dory, fluttering between frantic small talk and making sure not to trip in her kitten heels as she guides her guest into the living room. You stiffen as soon as you see him.

Detective Gordon catches your eyes instantly, his own widening. Dory says something about going to fetch Bruce before she quickly ascends the stairs, leaving you and James staring at each other across the distance. In one hand is a notepad and pencil, and the other fixes his tie, almost as if at a loss for words. He greets you, hesitantly leaving where Dory had left him to approach you, "I saw the boys out front but... I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me neither." You reply. "Is everything okay?"

James glances up at the stairs as he passes underneath, "That depends. I followed up on your request."

Shit. Of course a cop would do their job when you least expect it. You slip out of your chair and rush to meet him halfway into the kitchen, "Did... did you find something?"

"I can't say much right now. I'd like to talk to Mr. Wayne, but-" The sound of Dory's heels clacking against the wooden stairs makes James lower his voice, "-you being here complicates things."

Bruce is wearing a shirt this time, thankfully, though you're not expecting him to look as put together this early after what Alfred had said. He towers behind Dory's much smaller frame in a pair of loose black pants and a matching turtleneck, looking in a fashionable state of undress as he pads barefoot into the room. With hair slicked back and stubble freshly shaved, he doesn't look like someone caught unaware. He's fixing the sleeve of his sweater when he extends a hand to Detective Gordon, bright smile and all, "Detective James Gordon, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced. If this is a bad time, I can come back." James gestures to you.

Bruce's look at you is empty, devoid of any detectable emotion or thought. It strikes you as unsettling, the same way a cashier at the end of their shift isn't really looking at you, "Oh, no. I was just on my way to work when I felt unwell. I called my doctor over but it was nothing to worry about. A little stomach bug, is all."

You do look like you'd just come over in a rush. You're still in your lounge clothes from the night before, and your medical supplies are still in the kitchen where Alfred had left them. James seems to notice, but he doesn't look any more relaxed. "That's good to hear. I don't want to keep you too long, but truth is, I have some questions I'd like to ask you if you have the time."

"Is something wrong?" James glances between you and Bruce, something the latter doesn't miss, "is it sensitive?"

"It's about the party you threw here the other night, Mr. Wayne. For Mayor Reál. I hear you invited quite a few Gotham politicians to celebrate the passing of the mayor's new bill, correct?"

"That's correct."

"And I understand you're quite invested in Gotham politics in general, much like your father."

"I am. My mother and father were very interested in the city, and Mayor Reál breathed new life into that for me after the election. I do what I can to support the cause."

"And that cause is...?"

Bruce takes the skeptical tone on the chin, smiling wider, "A safer, fairer Gotham. For everyone."

This Bruce was nothing like the Bruce you had all to yourself. He taps into that persona from the party with ease. Watching him is like watching a performance. "That's good, good. I notice you try to make an effort with charities in the city, donations and the like. You recently donated a new wing to Gotham General."

"I did. Increasing access to medical care for the citizens is important to me. My doctor, a talented surgeon at General, knows this well." You flash a timid smile when both Bruce and James look to you.

"And you also financially support politicians in Gotham."

"Occasionally. Anyone I feel has Gotham's best interests in mind."

"And have you found members of Gotham's political parties to be unusually forward in requesting your support, Mr. Wayne? Perhaps a little too pushy, maybe."

Bruce wears confusion well, "Not necessarily. I'm not easily pressured into doing things I have no interest in."

"Of course. How about any attempts to win over your support? Publicly or otherwise."

"I'm not sure what you're asking, detective. I'd love to help, but I don't think I have the information you're looking for."

James nods, holding his chin high, "My apologies. I should've been clear from the beginning. My question is: have any politicians or members of law enforcement offered you anything in exchange for your financial or public support? I have reason to believe there may be someone with high clearance exchanging confidential information with civilians. Especially ones who can pay. I'm just looking for a lead."

James frames his question well, even though any fat cat familiar with the cops could see the hidden question. Bruce frowns, tilts his head, shaking it slowly, "That's awful. I don't currently know of anyone doing such a thing, to me or anyone else. But I can keep an eye out. I can only imagine how dangerous that might be."

"Exactly. We'd like to nip it in the bud as soon as possible."

"Of course. Do you have a card? Perhaps I can contact you if I hear anything."

James fishes out his card and hands it over, "I don't want to put you in a bad position, only pass along what you know if you feel safe enough to do so."

You notice Bruce is flicking the business card between his fingers as a fidget, though he keeps his attention respectfully on the detective. "Absolutely. Thank you, detective. Dory can show you to the door."

The detective nods and follows Dory out of the room. As soon as the two are out of earshot, Bruce's expression softens as he presses his back into the counter. You wish you could sink into the floor. "To be fair," you begin, "I didn't think he'd find anything."

Bruce side-eyes you, "That was you?"

"I thought my criminal boss was going to blackmail me to keep his secrets."

"Criminal boss." You think he's trying to mock you, but his eyes are surprisingly guilty when he looks at you, "Alfred wasn't kidding. I really didn't handle this well."

"No, not really." You don't mean to kick him while he's down, but you can't lie either. Even now, you were still making meaning out of this whole thing.

By all means, you've gone from knowing nothing about him, to understanding even less, to fearing him, to this. With Batman on the other hand, you'd felt nothing but loyalty and trust in him up until the very last second. Now they were both the same person, and the meager hours of sleep you'd gotten hadn't cleared all that up just yet.

You wonder who you're supposed to see now. Batman or Bruce Wayne? Why was the line separating them blurring the more you thought of them?

"So, did you ever come up with a better idea?"

Bruce does not offer one. You'd dreaded that.

"You already know what I think. No matter how we go about this, there's going to be something. So what do you want to do?" Bruce's eyes follow your ever minute expression, laser-focused on you. "Whatever you choose, I will keep you safe. I promise you."

He feels so staunchly Batman in this moment, even with the soft voice of Bruce, watching over you. Through all your uncertainty, this you believe him on.

And you're exhausted, you find. Your arm is beginning to throb again. You crave the reprieve of a bed but not your own, to your surprise.

"I'm going to trust you, Bruce," your voice wobbles as you say it out loud, "I'm going to trust you like I trust Batman."

Bruce holds eye contact with you for a few moments, "Okay."

"Can I ask... why are you dressed so nice?"

"We're going to get the sedative."

"You're going as Bruce?"

"It's the middle of the day. Yes, I'm going as Bruce. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

You fluster, suddenly reconsidering this entire plan. You'd pictured Batman skulking on the rooftop while you Mission Impossible'd your way into the medicine cabinets for what you needed. Walking in with him—the real him—would draw attention you didn't need, "You're only going to make me look suspicious."

"I'm your patient, and more importantly, I'm a donor."

"You will stick out like a sore thumb."

"That means when people are looking at me, they're not looking at you." You open your mouth to argue but he's already cutting you off, "Do you want me to drop you off at your place or do you want me to send someone to get your things?"

You're aware of what he's really asking.

You heave a sigh, "Drop me off. I can't promise Judith won't hurt someone if she finds a stranger in my house."

a/n: mj stop having the reader move in with bruce when their life is put in imminent danger challenge impossible

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman fic #batman angst #batman fluff #the batman #battinson x reader #battinson #dc #mjwrites #bw; rprt

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edenfenixblogs · 10 months

Text

Thank Your Jewish Friends Trying to Educate You Right Now

If you’re a leftist, and you have had a Jewish friend reach out to you to try and tell you that you’ve said something alarming or harmful or antisemitic: listen to them, learn, and say thank you.

I am VERY lucky in that all the friends I’ve personally reached out to have taken the opportunity to learn and grow and adjust their behavior. I have never told them that they should not advocate for Palestine. I have told them I want to advocate for Palestine WITH them, but I need to feel safe in order to do so. I need to feel like the people I’m advocating with don’t want me and my loved ones dead. Thank HaShem that they have listened to me. From the bottom of my heart, my friends are a blessing.

But I’ve seen an incredibly disheartening number of fellow Jews who have had the opposite experiences—being expelled from their queer communities and activist communities and book clubs and any space they once found community. This is horrid but it’s especially horrid for Jews. It’s a reminder that we are only accepted if we conform. We are only accepted if we accept abuse. Our presence is always tolerated, never wanted. Our views are not to be trusted. Our opinions are always suspect. Our motives are always sinister. Our acceptance is always conditional. And I think that hurts even more for us than you’d imagine, because our own spaces are no longer safe. We are already in diaspora. And now our synagogues and homes and other community buildings are being vandalized and attack. We are cut off from our own cultural community and now many of us are being cut off from our personal communities as well. It is a loneliness that most people outside of a diaspora will never know.

Im willing to bet that if you have/had a Jewish friend who you considered close but who seems to have disappeared from your life, it’s because you either didn’t reach out to them after 10/7 or you have failed to acknowledge the stochastic threat to Jews or the Jewish connection to Israel. Why is it important that you do this? Because we are your friends and loved ones. And when friends and loved ones tell you they are hurting, you should listen. When you say you care about someone, you should be willing to listen to them when they say you’re hurting them and then you should apologize. It is more hurtful than you can possibly imagine to watch people you thought cared about you decide to listen to people across the world who they have never met rather than simply have a conversation with a friend, because they assume that friend will dismiss the pain of Palestinians.

Many of you are assuming what your friends are feeling about Israel and Palestine, but you haven’t actually asked them. Many of you think that expressing sorrow for Israel or jews in the world, that means we cannot care about or want a better future for Palestine.

If you are lucky enough to have a friend who has tried to reach out to you, that means they are willing to forgive you for neglecting them in this time. They are willing to talk with you and try to explain their emotions in good faith. They want to find a way to advocate for progress with you. They want to keep you in their lives. They want you to understand our culture and history—not at the exclusion of anyone else’s culture and history—just at the inclusion of our own.

Because here’s the other thing: they won’t forget that you denied them understanding and respect and the benefit of the doubt. That’s not a threat. That’s a cultural feature of Judaism. We have famously long cultural memories. We remember the people and places we can trust and those who refused to give us peace and safety and basic kindness. We remember the people who targeted us, your friends and loved ones, simply because other Jews who we have never met behaved in ways you don’t understand and of which you don’t approve. You are blaming the sins of others on people you claim to love.

If someone is giving you the chance to undo the damage you have done on this, you should take it. And if you have expelled Jews from a space you once shared or failed to acknowledge their pain in this time—find them and apologize.

I am not Muslim, but I wouldn’t doubt that something similar is happening in Muslim spaces. Islamophobia and antisemitism are at terrifyingly high levels right now. And if you think you can’t support Jews without condemning Muslims or you can’t support Muslims without condemning Jews, you’re not only part of the problem—you’re the biggest part of the problem.

What we all need right now is unity, peace, solidarity, understanding, and education above all else.

#jumblr #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #islamophobia #jewish muslim solidarity

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thepenultimateword · 4 months

Note

Your stuff is so good!! You should write a villain x weapon designer civilian snippet :0

Thank you, thank you, friend! Also, I’m loving the idea of that dynamic, so here you go!

CW: Weapons, unconsciousness, knockout gas

...

“Move and I’ll blow your head off.”

The ridges on the gun's metal barrel dug sharply into Civilian's hand, but they managed to keep their aim and voice steady as they pointed both at the villain in front of them. The criminal was currently backed up against the train doors, hands in the air, gas mask dangling nonchalantly off two fingers.

The villain raised their brow. "What are you some sort of hero?"

"No talking."

"I've never seen you before. I thought I'd met all of the agency's sentinals in white. Though you're not exactly dressed for the position. Maybe you're not--"

"I said no talking!" Civilian barked, taking a step forward and jerking the gun forward menacingly.

"Ok! Ok!" Villain said. They raised their hands higher. “Touch-y.”

On any other day, Civilian would have been like the other passengers, huddled up together in the far corners of the train or pressed back tight in their seats, as if they could disappear by mere force of will. But today, Civilian had been tasked with transporting their newest prototype to the agency for a demonstration. An electro-pulse gun that they’d tested on no less than five watermelons the night before. They were well acquainted with the damage it could do. They’d ripped the thing from its protective case without even thinking.

“I’ve already alerted the heroes to your location,” Civilian said. “So there’s no point in fighting anymore. Stay still until the next station and you’ll be arrested in one piece.”

“You alerted the heroes?” The villain raised both brows high. “How? I jammed the cell signals over the next twenty miles. Unless…” They grinned. “You have some other form of contact. You do work for the agency, don’t you?”

“Have you listened to a thing I've said? No more questions!"

“You’re the one who keeps chatting, darling. What? Nervous?”

Yes. And no. Their body was alight with adrenaline, every nerve a buzzing, quivering charge, and yet at the same time, they were surreally confident, gut numb and mind blank.

Villain pushed lightly off the doors with their elbows, taking a small, probing step forward. “Would you even really shoot?”

“You really want to try me?"

“You heroes make a lot of talk but not much action. What, don’t you have a code? 'Do no harm' or something like that? Besides, you're so cute." Another step forward. "I don't think you've ever been in a fight, let alone killed someone, so why don't you just--"

Civilian aimed the gun at the ceiling and squeezed the trigger. The energy projectile punched through the metal with ear-splitting BANG! The passengers shrieked. Villain knocked back against the doors with a thud.

The wind whistled loudly overhead as the air whooshed over the new gap in the roof, and after that shot, their ears might as well have been stuffed full of cotton, but even if they couldn't quite measure their own volume, they fixed the gun back on Villain's head and drove their point home.

“I’m really trying not to traumatize all these lovely people with the visual of your head exploding, and honestly, I’d really rather not kill you. But if you press me…if you doubt me, you’ll be dead faster than you can question me again.”

Villain gripped their mask abit tighter but their expression remained smooth and their posture loose. They whistled a long low note. “You’re something else, gunslinger. When this is all over, feel free to look me up anytime.”

“Fortunately, I don’t frequent prisons.”

“Me neither." Villain flashed a broader grin, full of white teeth and pocked with a dimple on one side. "Looks like we have something in common.”

The train screeched, the deceleration sending everyone lurching a bit to the right. In that exact moment, when Civilian's gun swayed a few centimeters off target, the villain's free hand shot to their belt.

"Hey!" Civilian shouted, stumbling a little as the train came to a complete stop. Villain tossed something small and round to the floor. Ping! Ping! It bounced twice, rolled a little into the aisle, and exploded in a cloud of cool fog. No not fog. Gas.

Civilian immediately turned their face into their shoulder, tipping the gun even further off target. The whole train car shrieked while Villain calmly pulled the gas mask over their head, obscuring the beginnings of an infuriating grin. Civilian opened their mouth to launch another threat but immediately choked on the sickly sweet gas. It raised around them so rapidly, they could barely see the nose of the weapon let alone, Villain. Not to mention...everything was getting sorta...slanty...

"S-sleepin'gas?" they slurred.

"I was never here to harm any of you." Villain's muffled voice seemed to come from all directions, echoey and distorted.

Civilian fell to one knee. Was it normal to feel like their head was buzzing?

"You made a really cute gunslinger, though. Like a western sheriff. Or an outlaw. Bet you'd be good in a holdup."

The train doors hissed as they opened. As some of the gas slipped free, they caught a glimpse of the Villain's shoulder as they darted out onto the platform.

The gun suddenly felt so heavy in their arms but they forced it up anyway. The barrel tipped to and fro, and their finger trembled on the trigger. They wanted to risk a blind shot, but there could be dozens of people standing outside on that platform. If they hit anyone else...

Their vision blurred, then blackened. They barely managed to set the gun down on the metal floor before passing out over top of it.

When they awoke, they were in the agency medical wing. They recognized it immediately by its obnoxious orange bedsheets and, well, Keith. Sort of hard to miss a giant, shining man in hero-white scrubs.

Civilian slowly pushed themselves upright. Their head throbbed with the movement, and they let out a rogue groan.

Keith turned away from the figure two beds down, covered from head to toe in bruises and now enveloped in their own cocoon of white luminescence.

"Civilian!" Keith beamed, light glimmering off his teeth. "You've regained consciousness! Any pain?"

Civilian rubbed the bridge of their nose. "Just my head... Was I hurt?"

"Not necessarily." Keith pressed both large hands to the sides of Civilian's skull. Civilian closed their eyes as they healer's glow wrapped around their head. Warmth trickled over their face and under their skin, ebbing the pain away little by little. "Just a very large dose of some sort of gaseous anesthesia. Luckily, there have been no long-term consequences so far. The ventilation created by the hole in the roof probably lessened some of the potency. Your handiwork?"

The events on the train rushed back all at once. They pulled out of Keith's grasp.

"Did we get them?" They looked rapidly around their bedside. "Where's my pulse gun?"

Keith stepped back and leaned against the empty bed beside Civilian's. "The gun is in weapons testing, I think."

"And the villain?"

"No. They escaped. We arrived just moments too late before they must have blended with the crowd.

Civlian threw themself back against their pillows with a heavy sigh. "Great."

"You still helped. You stopped Villain from completing whatever they originally planned and provided many citizens with immediate medical treatment by calling us in."

"Oh yeeeeah, I'm sure the whole team was just dazzled by my competence and quick-thinking. Especially when I couldn't hold Villain in place on anything but a moving train."

Keith frowned. "You don't need the title to be a hero."

"Thanks, Keith, that's really nice and heartfelt, and I'm sure you believe it, but seeing how you do have the title, and no one in power here thinks the same, it doesn't really mean that much to me."

Keith frowned but luckily didn't argue any further. Civilian knew they were being rude, but they really didn't need anyone else telling them that they were special the way they were. That they could do good their own way. That being a hero didn't even matter that much. It mattered a whole lot to them. And now they'd practically proven the entire agency right.

"What were they even doing on that train?"

"Robbery?" Keith shrugged. "Knock out the passengers and loot all their valuables."

"Alone?" Civilian traced the lines of the ceiling panels with their eyes. "They didn't even have a bag. How much could they have gathered if they planned on knocking out an entire train?"

"We don't know they were alone. They could have easily had accomplices posing as civilians throughout the train."

"True... Does the agency have a file on them? Tall, skinny, long black coat, annoyingly perfect eyebrows. Didn't show a power."

"I could look...but I'm not supposed to share that sort of info outside of other heroes..."

"Come on! What was that whole, 'you don't need a title' nonsense?"

"It wasn't nonsense! You are a hero! Just...not a legally sanctioned one."

Civilian sat back up and lowered their voice. "Come on, Keith. I'm not going to do anything; I'm just curious. You don't even have to give me the whole file. Just take a couple pictures of anything you think might also be on the news."

Keith grimaced.

"Please? I was so close today. So close to being what I always planned to be... Just let me chase that high a little longer. Then I'll go back to the weapons lab and never mention it again. Promise."

Keith inhaled a long breath, letting it out in a loud, irritated sigh. "Ok, fine. But don't bring it up to anyone. Ever. And I'm only giving you the first page."

Civilian's insides sank a little; they weren't sure what a first page of a villain file looked like, but they could assume it wasn't much. But they couldn't really be picky, so... "That's fine. Just the first page is perfect."

Keith looked like they had hoped that detail would deter them, but he continued on. "It might take awhile. I'm a hero, but I'm a healer, so no one is expecting me to march into the files room and request info on villains."

"That's ok, I can be patient. I work in weapons, remember? That's like the ultimate test in being patient."

Keith slid a hand over his face. "Ok. I'm also going to need more detail than 'annoyingly perfect eyebrows.'"

#hero x villain #heroes and villains #creative writing #writing snippet #villain x civilian #writblr #snippet #villain #weapons maker #Also keith was the first name to come to mind #and i thought it was sort of funny for a scene transition #but I was stil thinking of hoodwinked the whole time #“oh watch out for keith”

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green-eyedfirework · 4 months

Text

“No.”

“Bruce—”

“Absolutely not. Do you have any idea what you’re proposing?”

“It’s not a proposal,” Dick said with a calm he didn’t feel. He’d already numbed himself to the idea. “I am not asking you, Bruce. I’m telling you.”

“I am not letting my son walk straight into the hands of someone who wants him dead,” Bruce snapped, eyes flashing, as he shoved upright from the council table.

“And I,” Dick replied levelly, meeting Bruce’s gaze, “am not letting someone else suffer for a war I caused.”

Bruce shook his head, deflating slightly as his expression pinched. “You didn’t cause it, Dick,” he said quietly. “It was a set-up. You know this. King Slade knows this.”

Dick’s mouth firmed to a thin line. It didn’t matter if Slade knew now that his son had been captured by extremists and tortured until he was a weapon aimed at Gotham. It was still Dick’s sword that had ended his life. “I killed him,” Dick said softly. “I killed Prince Grant and Slade will never forget that.” Never forgive that, never mind the grudging treaty created when Hive’s treachery had come to light. “I will not let someone else take my place as a target of his rage.”

No one trusted the treaty. Not in Gotham, not in Defiance. The hostage exchange was the only thing grounding the flimsy sheet of paper—one noble from Defiance, one noble from Gotham, each with a permanent stay in the other kingdom’s court.

“Dick,” Bruce said slowly, “you’re the Crown Prince.”

“I’ve been removed from the succession,” Dick said, half-shrugging. “Your advisors won’t let you reinstate me.” Hot-headed, impetuous, reckless—whatever Bruce believed, Dick had started a war by killing a prince, and several nobles in Gotham had never wanted the son of aerialists to ascend to the throne.

“Dick—”

“You can’t stop me,” Dick crossed his arms. This was his mess, and he was going to clean it up, whether Bruce liked it or not.

Bruce slumped back into his chair, and buried his head in his hands. “Dick,” he said quietly, “please.”

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” Dick said, equally quiet. “But I can’t watch someone else take my place.”

Bruce let out a slow, shuddering breath. Finally, he spoke, “You won’t go as a prince.”

“What?”

“You won’t go as a prince. Under your real name. King Slade has never seen you—” That was true, once Bruce had realized why an army was at their border, Dick had been carefully guarded. “He won’t know who you are. We can make up a minor noble family for you. A lordship on the other side of Gotham.”

“But—”

“Dick,” Bruce looked him in the eyes, his face grave and pale. “He despises you. And I will not send my son to his death, do you understand?”

Dick nodded mutely, the words ringing in his head.

He despises you.

And Slade had every right to.

~#~

It was safe to say that Slade wasn’t in a good mood. Hadn’t been in a good mood since he’d received word that his firstborn was dead, and his initial fury had receded to an ever-simmering flame of rage, a perpetual bad temper that sent everyone fleeing.

If he’d had his way, he would’ve razed Gotham to the ground and stuck every member of its royal family on a pike before he stopped. Unfortunately, King Bruce had managed to find evidence that the terrorist group Hive had been involved, muddying the facts to claim that Prince Richard had merely been acting in self-defense, and it had been enough to sour Slade’s kingdom on a costly war.

So now he was supposed to play nice with the kingdom his son had died in, signing a treaty that wasn’t worth the paper and ink, biding his time until he could have his revenge. Gotham was sticking to its best behavior for the time being and Prince Richard had vanished after he’d been removed from the line of succession, leaving Slade uselessly seething.

He glared at Wintergreen as he approached the throne. “Is that it?” he asked, gesturing to the near-empty throne room. “No petitioners to hear today?” Very few dared to show up, all of them showing a healthy fear of his temper.

“The Lord of Owlcourt has arrived,” Wintergreen said. Right. Their noble hostage. Slade had sent Drakon to Gotham days ago with careful instructions to watch and listen but do nothing unprovoked. He doubted that Gotham would give him an easy excuse to go to war, the kingdom wasn’t as cutthroat as its neighbors.

With the exception of its reckless prince.

“And I have to be here for that?” He didn’t want to greet whatever sacrificial lamb Gotham had sent, he didn’t even want to acknowledge that they existed. As minor a lord as they could find, most likely, or maybe even a merchant willing to play at being a lord for a generous payout to his family. According to Wintergreen, Owlcourt had been a royal territory until very recently, which meant that Gotham had magicked this lordship out of thin air.

Wintergreen gave him a sharp look, but didn’t start the long lecture Slade was half-expecting. Everyone was treating him like he was a piece of fucking glass, and Slade dearly wanted a fight. Wanted to draw his sword and hack away until everyone that would hurt him, hurt his children, were dead.

In his imaginings, the bodies all had dark hair and golden crowns.

“The Lord of Owlcourt,” the guards announced as they opened the doors, and Slade got his first look at the noble.

Young, younger than Slade had been expecting, dark-haired and light-eyed, expression steady as he flicked his gaze around the room, not shivering or scared. Slade flicked a glance at Wintergreen to make sure he wasn’t overthinking things. His steward had his mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowed.

Slade wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a taunt or a deliberate provocation, but if they wanted him to lose his composure, they’d have to try harder than sending a lookalike of their prince.

“Your Majesty,” the lordling dipped into a low bow. Lower than a lord to a foreign king usually bowed. The idea that they’d foisted a lordship on some random commoner was looking more and more likely. “My name is Dick Grayson, and I’m—”

“The Lord of Owlcourt, yes, we did receive the message,” Slade said, cutting him off. He made no attempt to hide his glower as Grayson straightened. “Neither of us need to pretend this is anything but what it is.” His noble hostage could rot in a tower for all Slade cared. “You will obey our rules. You will not leave the castle without permission. You want anything, you will ask Wintergreen and he’ll see if it’s necessary.” His steward inclined his head as Grayson darted a glance at him. “If you’re on anything less than your best behavior,” Slade paused, scanning the young lordling’s face. Wariness aplenty, but no outright fear. “There will be consequences.”

“Understood, Your Majesty,” Grayson dropped into another bow. Someone should teach him some etiquette before the whole court figured out he wasn’t a noble. “Thank you for your hospit—”

Slade got up from the throne and walked out before he could finish. The pleasantries had been met, and he had no intention of getting closer to a Gotham lord. Especially not one who looked so similar to the man that killed his son.

This time, when Slade dreamed of destroying his enemies and venting his grief, the corpses looked like the young Lord of Owlcourt.

~#~

Dick had half been expecting them to throw him in the dungeons and was pleasantly surprised when he was led to a room. Nowhere near as large as his quarters in Gotham, and the simplicity was clearly intended as a slight, but the room had a writing desk and a window, and didn’t seem overly cold.

“Your trunk will be brought up after it’s searched,” the steward said—Wintergreen, Dick remembered, cold eyes watching him with eerie intensity. “Anything we deem too dangerous to let you have will be destroyed.”

Dick took a breath and nodded. He hadn’t brought anything valuable with him, had correctly assumed that Defiance wouldn’t treat his possessions with any sort of courtesy.

“It should go without saying, but your best option is to keep your head down,” Wintergreen said sharply. “Do not test the King’s temper. War has been narrowly avoided, I suggest you try not to court it again.”

Don’t flinch, Dick chanted mentally in his head. Wintergreen didn’t know who he was talking to. Didn’t know how accurate his words really were.

“If there is something you require, you come to me. You will not be assigned a chaperone or a guard, and you will be stopped if trying to enter a restricted area. Meals will be served in the Great Hall, the library is open if you wish to read, and the training areas are usually empty in early morning. You will not be allowed sharpened weapons.”

That was more freedom than Dick had expected. There weren’t bars on the windows and the door appeared to lock from the inside.

“Do you have any questions?” Wintergreen asked, tone perfunctory. Dick shook his head, throat still dry from his interaction with the King.

“Very well,” Wintergreen inclined his head. “Lord Grayson.” He swept from the room before Dick could breathe through the sting of the title. No longer a prince. Never a prince again.

He’d half been prepared for his disguise to fall apart the moment he’d reached the castle’s gates. The steward’s eyes had narrowed dangerously when he’d seen him, and Dick had seen the way King Slade’s expression had flickered with surprise before cooling. They might not have seen him before, but clearly they’d heard of his appearance.

He’d thought about dying his hair, but he couldn’t bank on getting the materials to keep it up in Defiance. His only shield was a name lost to time and the prayer that they wouldn’t put it together.

Dick sank down into the chair and exhaled slowly.

It had worked.

~#~

Unfortunately, the Lord of Owlcourt was a model guest. He’d made no demur over his sword and dagger being seized, no protest at being forced to file a formal request for every additional piece of furniture for his rooms, no complaint at being ordered to attend every meal in the Great Hall.

The last had been Wintergreen’s idea. If it was up to Slade, he would’ve locked Grayson in a cell and thrown away the key, but Wintergreen had pointed out that Slade had sworn to treat the hostage with courtesy.

So Grayson had a decent set of rooms in the guest wing, had meals with everyone else, was allowed to roam the castle without fear of retaliation. It helped that he was an unrecognizable face—Slade didn’t doubt that Grayson had fought in the war, his hands bore sword calluses, but no one in Slade’s court had any personal animosity with the young lordling.

It also helped that the Lord of Owlcourt was charming.

~#~ ~#~

Slade turned back when he reached the door, and had to fight his twitching lips. Dick had spread out on the bed, curling up in the warmth Slade had left behind, and had pulled the blankets over his head to block out the sun.

Not a morning bird, then, but a cat. Slade shook his head as he left his room, and refused to call the emotion fondness. He wasn’t getting fond of the Lord of Owlcourt.

And what if you are? a tiny voice asked in his head.

…And what if he was. Dick was from Gotham, true, but he would be staying permanently in Slade’s court. No one had heard of Owlcourt in Defiance, so it wouldn’t ruffle any feathers amongst his court. And—and Slade couldn’t spend the rest of his life wrapped up in misery.

Dick was amusing, and a challenge. Smart and fierce and bold. Good at politics too. He was everything Slade looked for in a partner, and Slade had to admit that what was supposed to be a temporary relief had turned into a more permanent arrangement.

He recalled the way blue eyes sparkled as Slade pinned Dick to the bed, dark hair ruffled by the pillows—as much as Slade detested the underhandedness of the Waynes, Slade wouldn’t have gotten this if they hadn’t tried to provoke him.

For a moment, Slade tried to imagine what it would’ve been like if they’d actually sent over Prince Richard. If Slade, or someone else, didn’t kill him, Richard would’ve probably spent the entire time locked up in his rooms, perhaps plotting how to murder the rest of them in their sleep. There was certainly no way they would’ve ended up sleeping together.

The very thought was ridiculous. As if Prince Richard would’ve ever—

“I volunteered.”

“My cousin. She’s a tutor for the youngest prince.”

“I learned swordsmanship from the very best, Your Majesty.”

Slade came to a stop in the middle of the corridor.

No.

That was—impossible.

No one would ever—

Dick, on his knees, almost trembling, and the snarl of what did they teach in Gotham, that he thought Slade would ever do such a thing forestalled by his fury for the young lordling, what kind of royal family sent someone to sacrifice everything for their mistakes?

“The King is a good man,” Dick sighed, “And his family are good people.”

“It’s my duty,” Dick said quietly, “For my kingdom.”

My.

But no king would ever send his heir as hostage if there was another choice. No father would ever send his son to someone who wanted him dead.

Slade was being ridiculous. Dick was just a noble’s bastard son with a passing resemblance to the Crown Prince of Gotham.

…Dick was a short form of Richard.

~#~

“It’s a pity,” Slade said softly, “That we don’t have Prince Richard to explain away this one too.”

The courtiers laughed. Dick didn’t.

Slade was staring directly at him.

~#~ ~#~

Dick laced his fingers around the cup, and took another sip. It was refreshing. It was water. It was something to do that wasn’t looking up at Slade, because he didn’t think he could handle looking up at Slade right now.

He’d been ready, when he approached the castle, for his paper-thin disguise to fall apart. For Slade to kill him where he stood, and know that at least in death he kept his kingdom safe. He—he had not been prepared to watch Slade’s face twist into hate after softening, after he knew what Slade looked like grinning sharp and victorious, or solemn, or sleepily content with the early morning sun splayed over his face. It…hurt.

Dick took another small sip of water. The cup was already three-quarters empty. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could drag this out.

The door opened again, and Dick’s fingers tightened on the cup. The boots in front of him jerked, and turned to face the newcomer, but Dick didn’t look up. It wouldn’t make a difference.

“Wintergreen,” Slade said flatly, sounding both confused and displeased at once.

“Slade,” the steward answered in the same flat tone, “And here I was half-expecting he’d already be dead.”

Dick raised his head, bewildered. The way Wintergreen had said that—

“You knew?” Oh, Slade sounded furious now. “Since when?”

Wintergreen didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by his king’s agitation, instead studying Dick as Slade growled. “A week or so after his arrival. Before you, I wager.” Dick’s stomach twisted—how long had Slade known? Dick hadn’t noticed any sudden difference in him, anything to suggest that he knew Dick was the person that had killed his son.

Before sleeping with him?

After?

“How?” Slade demanded.

“I already told you of my findings regarding Owlcourt,” Wintergreen said mildly, “But if he was some merchant’s son or a farmer, no amount of drilling in manners would’ve been able to replicate being raised a noble. So that must mean he’s a noble. But then why hide his real title, why give him some random royal territory?” Wintergreen shrugged lightly, “If he looks so much like the prince, then perhaps he is the prince.”

“And you didn’t tell me,” Slade bit back. Dick took another quiet sip of water.

“No, Slade, I didn’t tell you, because you would’ve killed him,” Wintergreen snapped back, “And started another war, hostage or not, by murdering Gotham’s Crown Prince.”

“I’m not,” rang out into sudden silence. Dick winced, but—but he couldn’t stay silent forever. “I’m not the Crown Prince,” he said quietly.

Slade and Wintergreen were both staring at him now. Dick fought the urge to hide.

“We just went over this,” Slade began, but Dick cut him off.

“No, not—I was the Crown Prince. I’m not anymore.”

Slade narrowed his eyes, but it was Wintergreen who spoke. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“The council,” Dick explained, “One of their conditions was that my adoption be revoked.” Bruce had been furious, but his court had agreed that it was an elegant solution—if a prince had not slaughtered a prince, the consequence would never have been war—and by that time, Dick had already made up his mind to go so it had been a moot point. “So I’m not. A prince or a Wayne. I—Owlcourt is a royal territory, yes, but I have a claim to it, through my great-grandfather. My name was Grayson, before Bruce adopted me. It—wasn’t a lie.”

Slade and Wintergreen were staring at him, silent. Dick swallowed, and bowed his head.

“But it’s a deliberate omission,” Dick said quietly, “I understand why you’re angry.” Still two sips of water left in the cup, but Dick put it down, before shifting forward to fold onto his knees. “Killing me won’t start a war,” Dick almost whispered, and squeezed his eyes shut.

Another stretching silence, before boots came closer. “Out of curiosity,” Slade said, his voice level, “How long did you think you’d get away with it?”

Dick—didn’t know. There had always been an end date in sight. All he could do was push it another day away. “Hopefully long enough that tensions would’ve died down,” Dick said quietly, because he was still a hostage, and if Slade killed him without provocation, the treaty would be in turmoil. Too soon after the war, and angry, grieving people might seize the opportunity to attack again.

Slade made an irritated sound. “I’m not going to kill you,” he snapped, one boot nudging his knee, “Get up.”

Dick processed the order before he processed the statement, so he stuttered halfway up, nearly falling back down before he recovered and straightened fully. Slade wasn’t looking at him, but his face was set in a glower. Wintergreen looked…mildly amused. Or satisfied.

#my snippets #sladick #royalty au #royal hostage #identity reveal #snippets from various parts of the story #self sacrifice #mistaken identity

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strwberri-milk · 9 months

Note

that one post about them carrying your vision after you die gave me another idea

They're in a battle, a life-or-death moment. They don't believe they're making it out alive out of this one. Yet, they will fight to the end.

And as they give one last almost desperate attack reader's vision activates, reacting with their own vision and taking down the enemy. Ala the kazuha-raiden moment from the archon quest.

How would they react to this? Maybe if you need someone more specific, how would Diluc, Kaeya and Childe?

Diluc was never the same after your death. He thought about you all the time, somehow even more often than when you were alive. He hung onto your vision constantly, hanging it on his hip next to his own. To him, it was almost as though even in death you were able to seek out the warmth you'd often look for whenever he came home from a hard day of work.

When he's staring down the face of death once again he doesn't even think. He's fighting with everything that he's got, knowing that if he's lucky enough to see you at the end that he'll be able to proudly tell you that he fought his hardest

He thinks he's about to die when he feels your vision lighting up alongside his. For a brief moment he feels as though your hand has come to rest on his, squeezing the back of it lightly as he somehow manages to take out his target, a flash of your elements combined startling him.

He stares at the vision beginning to go dull, not sure what it meant. He decides to take it as a sign that you want him to continue fighting, striving to awaken your vision again in another fight for his life.

Kaeya fights every fight as if it's his last. He doesn't know what to do outside of overwork himself to death, each day dragging on and on. He practically never sleeps, the silence that closes in being far too loud for him to be able to rest.

He's fighting again, hands shaking from over exertion of his vision and he can feel the hypothermia beginning to set in. He knows if he dies here it's a mix of the enemy and his own vision turning against him. He won't be able to hang his head high if he dies from his vision but he can't help but care.

Suddenly, a burst of energy runs through his body and he feels himself rushing forward and plunging his sword through the chest of a the beast, watching as it dies and somehow, he feels better. He looks down to see your vision beginning to fade just as quickly as it lit up, desperately holding onto it to see if he can feel your life lighting it.

When it fades away he still feels some sense of peace in his soul. Somehow, it gives him some respite to know that you were there, helping to save his life once again. It's after this that he really starts trying to be better, for both of your sakes. He knows wherever you are, you wouldn't want him to be living like this and he tries to live better.

Childe already was battle hungry and this was something even worse. After your death nothing could make him feel alive except for the adrenaline running through his veins. All he can feel is that nervous rush - anything else barely registers with his overloaded senses.

He fights harder and harder every time, never feeling any of the wounds he receives and barely realising he's bleeding out until someone tells him he is. It's one of those moments that's got him here, almost dead as he closes his eyes and thinks of you.

At that moment a burst of energy like he's never felt before. With it, he's able to stand over the defeated body, looking at himself for the first time in months. He knows it's your vision, that somehow, your energy was inside of him just as fast as it left him.

Unfortunately, he spends the rest of his life chasing that high. He desperately wants to feel it again, hang onto that feeling of your presence beside him once again. He'll do everything he can, fighting tooth and nail until one day, he realises he's chasing a dream long dead.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #ajax x reader #tartaglia x reader #kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader

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btsmosphere · 5 months

Text

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 4: We Aren't Heroes, Honey

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🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens?~ 🗲this chapter: A chaotic arrival turns everything on its head, and the boys are ready to let you in on their real game.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader, side established vmin 🗲word count: 5.9k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence with superpowers, injury, blood, weapons

a/n: if you hadn't already noticed, vmin is a side pairing in this fic! I probably won't add that in every chapter description tho, since they don't really have a plot revolving around them, but they are together as side characters because I love them mwahahaha🤩while we will learn more about them, they have an entire backstory, one of the many things I know about this universe that never made it "on screen"👀 I also just want to say how thrilled I am that people are enjoying this fic! To those of you who have left me comments, reblogged with sweet and supportive tags or sent in asks, it means the absolute world and I love you all💜💜

(previously)

“I did exactly what I’m training to do.”

“Like scare him half to death?”

Dropping your head, you gazed at your hands, wishing anew that you didn’t have this complicated curse that drove people away. That made you into a danger.

But you didn’t have the words or the will to explain this to the obstinate Jungkook.

“See you at training,” you spoke flatly, and stepped away.

See him at training you did. Not that he was any more helpful than normal.

As always, you gritted your teeth and tried to run through the same actions, still getting used to them. Over the course of the next few sessions, you certainly noticed an improvement, your powers coming more and more naturally to you than you had thought possible at first.

Still, Jungkook clearly disagreed.

You stood in the centre of the training space, arm raised. Just as you had been doing for the past half hour, you shot a bolt, expecting to hear the rattle of the target when you met it. And beyond that, the same heavy silence that always filled your practises.

Instead, your training ‘partner’ stepped nonchalantly in front of the shot.

Eyes widening, you closed your fist, shutting off the flow of power as fast as possible. But as you gawped in outrage, Jungkook raised a hand, easily deflecting the jet of blue electricity that had escaped with a quick burst of his own gold lightning.

Lowering his hand as if he hadn’t just placed himself in front of something deadly, he stuffed it into his pocket and smirked.

“What are you-” you spluttered, “you- you should be careful!”

“If I’m really expected to babysit you, I would hope to see more improvement than that,” he replied easily, “I mean, great, you can shoot, but attacking isn’t what this is all about.”

You raised an eyebrow, watching as he slowly walked towards you.

“Imagine I was someone else,” he continued.

“I wish,” you muttered, adding in an exaggerated eye roll. Jungkook didn’t comment on that, but you saw his gaze harden.

“Someone without my powers,” he drawled, “I would be dead.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to walk across while I was training!”

“You’re not supposed to expect it,” he shot back.

“And when exactly do you forsee me shooting lightning bolts out in public?”

At last, he seemed surprised by your response. Really, he thought you were raring to go out and terrorise the streets? You scoffed, ready to return to your usual mutual silence, but he recovered himself.

“You should control them in here as well,” he spoke, though there was less malice behind it this time. “You’ve already scared V shitless once.”

Arms folded, he turned his back on you, abandoning the conversation.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you muttered, not really caring whether he decided to pay attention or not, “I’m trying.”

But if his step faltered a little, you didn’t notice. He kept his back to you and walked away.

You had been doing a steady amount of work each day with your powers. It didn’t take long for the others to be proven right as you noticed it got easier both in and out of the training rooms as time stretched on. With your powers in use so frequently, they didn’t often try to break out when you least expected it anymore.

And though it hadn’t been long, you were getting a sense of the motions of this unconventional household.

On your way to training, you would pass the others at work, with or without their powers. It made sense that superheroes (it felt strange thinking of them as superheroes, but you supposed that was what you all were, in a way) needed to work out physically as well, to give them the upper hand in any fights.

Not that you could imagine them fighting... Most of the time. Sometimes you would see the power inherent in Jimin’s stance when he threw weights heavier than you could lift across the room with a flick of a finger. Or the deadly speed and precision as Hoseok darted around impossible obstacles.

But then they would huddle around the tv with you in the evening, cradling steaming bowls of food prepared by Jin or Yoongi, usually. The sight of V bundled in a fluffy blanket, laughing at Jimin more than the film, made it hard to believe he was some supernatural force of nature.

Namjoon, though. That, you could believe. He was the rarest sight in the house, even above the enigmatically quiet V.

However, if he caught you and Jungkook on your way out of practise, he would always beam like you were his children, ignoring the scowls that no doubt adorned your faces. Jin did the same, always clapping Jungkook on the shoulder in praise.

If only the others knew how Jungkook neglected the job they believed he was doing.

But as much as you wondered how different it would be if Namjoon had continued teaching you, you understood it couldn’t be that way. Not when he was constantly holed up in his office, or staring at a tablet and tugging his hands through his hair. His job seemed to be important, always moving with hurried purpose.

So then, with all the people and noise you were surrounded by now, it was a shock when things turned quiet.

Before this, you had lived on your own. Woken up each day just to head to work, Kuyang and the lab workers the only faces you saw before returning back to empty space.

So why was it this hard to get used to again?

Sometimes, the house emptied. Not totally, but since it was usually Jungkook that remained with you, it may as well have been. Each time you came from practice to find the house deserted, a scowl would etch itself into his face and he would retreat back to the gym, or somewhere. You never bothered to follow him.

When this happened, you kept your eyes on the news. If they were superheroes – which they must be, what other job could a bunch of powered people have? – then surely they would show up?

But without fail, the news stayed quiet. Either that, or heroes like Bolt or Monsoon (another worshipped figure in your city) instead had stamped out some threat and were being celebrated as always.

You weren’t sure what it was, but something made you shut off the tv when the rest returned, not wanting them to see what you had been looking for.

Generally, though, they didn’t leave you alone for too long, which was nice. You were nearly always in the communal spaces, since you had nothing to do in your room, bare as it was.

So it was when you heard hissed voices that you realised maybe you should let them have more time without you.

“She’s not more important! I don’t get why I have to, of all of us-“

Still hidden in the corridor, you froze when you heard Jungkook’s hushed voice in the living room.

“We’re fine to be down one, it’s not particularly risky,” someone replied.

“Please, can’t one of you stay for once? I already have to spend half my time with her!”

Gulping, you retreated the way you had come. You shouldn’t be hearing this, you knew that. Above all, you couldn’t stand the flicker of hurt that bled through you at the venomous words, though you ought to be used to them by now.

Sitting in your room, you idly played around, forming a ball of blue static that hovered above your palm. You sighed as you tossed it from hand to hand. This should be impressive, but you knew you were still incredibly clumsy with your powers compared to the others: Jungkook made sure you knew it.

But you stayed there, enjoying being able to use your powers without purpose or judgment.

After a while, a tap on your door heralded Yoongi calling you for dinner. Any tension you had sensed earlier when they didn’t know you were listening had dissipated.

Of course, Jungkook was ignoring you, but it was better that way. He was battling Hobi with chopsticks instead, trying to score a piece of meat from his plate as his opponent shrieked in protest. Jimin was falling onto the table with laughter, Yoongi groaning as he took a seat and slid a bowl to you.

Quietly thanking him, you began to eat without trying to muscle into the conversation. It was clear how comfortable these boys were together, having been arguing not long before and now joking around with the air free of bad feelings.

Even though you had never predicted your life going in this direction, you found yourself grateful. Despite the obvious Jungkook issue, having these vibrant people around you was such a stark contrast to your lonely state before Bolt had tried to kill you.

You were only reminded of the frosty conversation you had accidentally eavesdropped when, a few days later, you got the afternoon free of Jungkook.

As usual, that morning the two of you occupied the same room, training by yourselves. Today, Jungkook never offered so much as a word, and almost sprinted away after the hour was up. You couldn’t bring yourself to complain, instead taking the time to rest and return lazily upstairs at your own pace.

When you arrived, the unfortunately familiar sight of an empty apartment waited for you.

Funny, though. You hadn’t seen Jungkook come back downstairs as he normally did when the others went out.

Shrugging it off, you headed for the shower. It had almost slipped your mind by the time you emerged, but confusion instantly resurfaced when you were faced with the back of Jin’s head.

Stepping around the sofa and into the main space, you caught his attention.

“Ah, Y/N,” he greeted, turning away from the tv show he had quietly in the background.

“Jin,” you smiled, “where’s Jungkook?”

A smirk bloomed on his face before you had the chance to realise how that might have sounded.

“I didn’t realise you would miss him,” he teased.

Rolling your eyes, you sunk onto the other sofa.

“I’m not sorry to see him gone,” you quickly backpedalled, “but I just… thought you had all gone out again.”

“Well, Kook was feeling left out,” Jin explained, “I know you two aren’t exactly the best of friends but he’s still been helping you out, so we thought it was fair he doesn’t have to do that all the time and miss out on our… stuff.”

You nodded along as you understood the situation. As if to distract from his strangely vague ending statement, Jin jumped straight in again with a chipper voice.

“But I heard you’re getting much better! Jungkook says he can trust you to work independently, so maybe you won’t have to endure each other’s company as much!”

Now that made you laugh. Loudly. Jungkook had better trust you to work independently – he forced you to do it half the time anyway with his reluctance to teach you.

Jin seemed pleased with your reaction, and you two carried on chatting. It took you a while to even notice his quick glances at the door, the slight jittering leg, the distracted way he watched the show with glazed eyes, not fully taking it in.

When he suggested dinner, he all but sprang from the sofa. With a light frown, you followed him. What was giving him so much nervous energy?

Outside was dark by now, but that didn’t stop Jin’s eyes straying to the black sky visible through the window.

For once, you actually acquiesced to him rejecting your offer to help in the kitchen. He seemed pleased to have his hands busy, even if his knife occasionally clattered too loudly on the counter or oil splatted out of the slightly too-hot pan.

But all that was forgotten when a commotion suddenly shocked the air. The main door must be fully soundproof: that was the only explanation for the way it was silent one second, and the next raised voices were almost at the top of the stairs.

Whipping around to face the sudden interruption, Jin brandished his spatula in panic for a moment. You jumped from your seat.

Then Namjoon swept into the room, long coat swishing as he marched across the room, face set. Looking first at him in panic, your eyes returned to the others following him in and your jaw dropped.

Between Jimin and Jungkook, they were supporting V, whose head drooped alarmingly, legs barely making purchase on the floor. You were frozen on the spot as they hauled him past you. You hadn’t even noticed Yoongi come in until items were being shoved roughly from the counter to the floor to make space to lay V down there.

Swallowing, you staggered back a step, watching with wide eyes at his collapsed form. Sweat beaded on his furrowed brow, feverish spasms weakly shaking his body.

“What happened?” Jin exclaimed, panic shaking his voice.

A storminess brewed in Namjoon’s eyes, which glowed a little red though you weren’t sure if he noticed he was doing that. Turning to Jin with a serious expression, all he said was:

“Our suspicions were true.”

His words meant nothing to you, but the way Jin’s face paled struck fear through you.

Closest to the table, Jimin’s eyes glistened with tears as he clutched V’s hand, murmuring to him. You couldn’t hear him, but you had the feeling it wasn’t for you to hear and turned your eyes away.

Not a moment later, a harsh shove had you stumbling to the side, Jungkook barging past. You couldn’t even spite him for it. The panic spiralling through you at the state of your friend was painful enough, but these boys were his family. You couldn’t imagine the depth of their worry right now.

“What do we do?” Jungkook demanded, stopping in front of Namjoon and Jin. His frame was taught, nearly shaking as he looked to his hyungs for answers.

They always seemed to know what to do, but the uncertainty on Jin’s face as he stepped closer to the unconscious V was concerning.

“W-what happened?” he asked.

Hope was wringing his hands beside him, but spoke up.

“It was like we thought, when we showed up. We knew we had to get out, but B- he caught us, right at the end. We were just going, but V freaked, and-and then he- then- I don’t know what it was hyung, but he shot something…”

Hobi’s voice was bordering on hysterical, and as he trailed away, he leant forwards to pull V’s jacket aside. Jimin whimpered, turning his face away to bury it further against V’s arm.

There, on V’s torso, a section of his shirt was mangled, a bloodied shape seemingly etched into his side. Though the bloodstained shirt made it difficult to see, you couldn’t mistake that. It was no gunshot wound – you had seen something like this before.

The injury was fairly large, shaped something like a star. A familiar shape instantly sprung into your imagination, metal that spit sparks as it flew across the room, latching onto the wall at the other end.

Except, this time it had certainly not been used in lab conditions.

“I- I don’t know,” Jin was stuttering, “I’ve never seen something like this before…”

The silence was totally stifling, Jin’s admission met with disbelief. Namjoon ran hands roughly through his hair, biting at his cheek.

“We have to DO SOMETHING!”

Jungkook’s yell made you flinch a little. He moved forcefully, returning to the table with a handful of tea towels and thrusting one at Hope.

“Let’s just- stop the bleeding, at least-”

“He has powers, the bleeding isn’t the issue, Jungkook-”

“Do you have any better ideas?!”

His eyes flickered a blazing gold as he spun to yell at Jin, something he would never normally do. But right now, that was the least of his worries. He trembled from head to toe with tension, and you could see the shine of tears he was unable to will away from his eyes.

“Right, yes,” Jin swallowed, taking the towel and pressing it to the wound, as Hobi was already doing.

At the no doubt painful contact, though, V jerked a little, purple flame shooting from his hands. It was brief, but you all jumped back from the sudden heat.

“Why’s he doing that?” Jimin’s voice thrummed with underlying fear, “he hasn’t had an outburst in…”

The others only looked between themselves, equally lost.

After a moment, V hadn’t moved again, and Jimin was the first to gravitate back to his side.

Frowning at the ground, you willed your memory to work faster. Jimin’s heartbreaking calls for V, hand pressed desperately to his cheek though he was met with no response, had you racing through your memories.

Kuyang had had you in charge of all his safety files back at the lab, but right now you didn’t have access to the computer with them all stored on. It was at the tip of your tongue, just out of reach. You frantically grasped for any hint of memory about this particular weapon.

“Iodine,” you muttered. Your eyes widened as it dawned on you.

No one heard.

“Iodine,” you repeated, louder this time, “do you have iodine?”

Heads turned towards you, as if they had forgotten you were there at all. Jimin’s tearful face emerged, tentatively hopeful as you spoke.

“That wound is radioactive, it’s what’s messing with his powers. We need to give him some before it gets too far into his bloodstream.”

You spoke with a calm urgency, grateful you could keep your voice from wavering. Trusting your firm tone, Jin hurriedly nodded, darting away down the corridor without a look back.

As you watched him go, you caught Namjoon’s gaze. You stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do with yourself, and his piercing stare startled you. A frown tightened his features and you had the odd sensation that he was calculating you.

Still, he said nothing. But it seemed someone else was less afraid to breach the silence.

“Who put you in charge?”

Only Jungkook had the sense to question you, glaring from where he had taken over pressing on V’s wound.

“This weapon, it uses radiation-“ you began.

“How do you know?” He cut you off. “Isn’t iodine toxic? You’re trying to kill him-”

“It’s the only way-”

“I won’t let you touch him!”

Tentatively stepping forward, you fixed Jungkook with a level gaze. His eyes narrowed, distrustful.

“It’s only toxic if we give too much,” you explained, forcing your voice to stay calm, “he has powers, he should be able to take it. Like Jin said, with powers, you can withstand more bleeding than others. It’s the radiation poisoning that’s hurting him, not the wound.”

Though his teeth were gritted and his glare lost none of its ferocity, he kept quiet.

“We need to stop it,” you spoke with finality.

Just then, Jin dashed back into the room, bottles and packets nearly spilling from his arms before he deposited them on the counter. Rushing forwards to meet him, you spotted some other bottles too.

“Pentetic acid? Where did you get-“

“It helps, doesn’t it?” Jin supplied, and you left it at that. It was another agent Kuyang had had on the safety files as a radiation blocker, but you had never expected to see it outside a lab.

You didn’t complain, though. V needed all the help he could get.

Jin’s fingers fumbled with a small needle as he pulled it out and filled it, looking to you for confirmation.

Nodding, you hastily stepped out of his way, planting yourself beside Jungkook. He watched warily, though you were sure it helped that it was Jin applying the remedy and not you.

A stony silence fell once Jin pulled away. Of course, it wouldn’t work instantly, but you hoped with all your might that some change would be visible. These chemicals were dangerous, the cure to this weapon difficult to apply for good reason. It was a weapon after all.

The bin opened and closed, the room so quiet you could hear the used needle falling inside it.

Hope sunk weakly into a chair, eyes still fixed on his injured brother. Jimin remained close to V, gripping his hand despite the threat of the fire that could burst from them at any moment.

Your eyes slid to Jungkook at your side. Of course he didn’t look away from V.

It felt as if your heart was squeezing its way up your throat, the longer V remained motionless. He had been seriously hurt, and though you were confident in your cure, having learned it from the weapon’s creator, the nagging worry that you might have made it worse refused to go away.

V could be hurt. He could – you didn’t even dare to think it.

The others would never forgive you. Jungkook would never forgive you. You would never be able to forgive yourself if you caused something like this.

And beyond all that, your mind was running frantic laps trying to figure out how Kuyang’s prototypes had ended up being fired at your new friends. Kuyang may have been unhinged, and more than a little shady, but to commit such violence?

But there must have been a reason for him making the things he did in that lab…

The memory of his face the last time you saw him assaulted you then; the way his normally pleasant demeanour left no trace on his fearsome expression when he had found Bolt inside his lab.

Guilt sat heavily inside you as you gazed down at V.

“Taetae?”

Jimin’s voice was quiet, nervous, but still sweet. Despite the low volume, as the only sound in the room it caught everyone’s attention.

A laugh bubbled out of Jimin as the younger boy stirred with a low groan.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Jimin cooed, “you’re okay, we’re home, I’m here.”

Gently, him and Jin helped the boy to sit, and though he seemed tired, the flush had faded from his cheeks. He was no longer sweating and his breathing was even, but his hair was left sticking in places to his forehead.

Jimin took his hands.

“Can you feel your powers, baby? Are-are they there?”

Slowly, V nodded. Turning a hand over, he summoned a single flame, livid purple, to dance on his palm.

“Okay, okay,” Jin closed his fist, “don’t tire yourself out.”

But you could tell he was as relieved as the others that V could still control his powers. Even if you had only just learned what they were, you now understood Jungkook’s outburst when you had come across V at night before. If not controlled, fire was certainly a lethal force to have at your fingertips.

They left, disappearing to get V settled and cleaned up. Even though having powers gave you higher tolerance to injuries, it was still unwise to leave them untreated.

Casting your eyes across the rest of the room, you saw Jungkook duck away from your gaze.

You let him.

The remnants of adrenaline in your body were fizzling out and you understood the temptation to collapse into a seat.

However, as Yoongi moved across to the stove, you joined him without a word needing to be exchanged. The cold beginnings of Jin’s meal from earlier were sitting in pans and chopping boards, and you simply picked up where he left off.

The two of you cooked with minimal movement and noise, not disrupting the stillness of the kitchen as everyone soaked in what had just happened. At some point Namjoon had disappeared.

Though only four of you remained, you ate nonetheless and boxed the rest up. No one said much, and you didn’t try to change that. In fact, you hardly looked up from your plate, preferring to leave the others to their thoughts. They didn’t need you intruding right now.

Of course, that did nothing to stop the onslaught of questions filling your mind.

You still didn’t really know what the boys got up to on their mysterious excursions, and V coming home so badly injured – by one of your old boss’ experiments, no less – only made you more lost. And intrigued.

Still, you held your tongue.

It was only when you collected everyone’s plates that you caught Jungkook’s eyes boring into the side of your head. Looking up at last, you found him staring at you with a confused frown etched across his brow. He held your gaze though, the ever present intensity of his own making you shrink away towards the basin to distract yourself with washing up.

Just as you thought you would have to endure a silent room without the distraction of food to alleviate the tension, Namjoon returned.

At first, only seeing a shadowy figure in the hall, you thought perhaps V had come back, or at least Jin or Jimin to give an update. Perhaps that was entirely too optimistic. Nonetheless, even the stressed-looking Namjoon was a welcome distraction.

You had begun to scoop some more food into a bowl for him when he spoke. He hadn’t come any further into the room, still hovering in the shadows of the hallway.

“I’m sure you have questions.”

Pausing in your movements, you lifted your head. The others all turned their heads to you as well, leaving you like an animal stuck in headlights.

“Uh-” you stuttered once you eventually caught up with yourself, “I mean, I guess…”

Glancing around you, you found Yoongi and Hope looked a little nervous, some doubt in their faces. Jungkook, on the other hand, was smirking.

Not knowing what to make of that, you decided not to keep Namjoon waiting. He seemed fairly expectant, his not entering the room making it clear that you should follow, so you picked up some chopsticks and brought the food along with you.

Namjoon may have seemed a little surprised when you handed him his dinner, but he took it anyway. Once you were in his office, he started eating without complaint.

“Am I right to presume,” he began between mouthfuls, though he was preparing the next already, “that you knew about the weapon used on V because of your work for Kuyang?”

You quickly confirmed, but you could no longer hold back further questions.

“Yes, but how did it end up- I mean, why was it used? Did Kuyang-?”

Shaking his head, Namjoon cut you off with a wave of his chopsticks. He swallowed and continued perfectly calmly.

“It wasn’t Kuyang that used it.”

Already, your shoulders slumped in relief. But still-

“Then how…?”

Sighing, Namjoon set his cutlery down and sat back.

“Kuyang is one of our… associates,” he began to explain. “After the attack, he escaped, as you know, and went into hiding. Only, we found his lab totally empty soon after.”

At this he sighed, raking a hand through his hair as he always seemed to do without noticing. You could empathise with his stress; the news had you shuffling closer to the edge of your seat. The stuff Kuyang worked with was dangerous, it shouldn’t just… go missing.

“We weren’t sure what to think at first, and we investigated for a while. Other, similar cases have cropped up too, others among our allies being raided. It became too difficult to deny what we feared… Bolt was the only connection.”

Without noticing, your mouth was gaping open, eyes widening. You blinked as Namjoon’s words sunk in. But surely you were misunderstanding? It couldn’t be…

Slowly, you were able to form words.

“Bolt fired at V? At all of you?”

Namjoon nodded.

Shutting your mouth, you swallowed. Your mind may have been whirling at a hundred miles an hour, but nothing made it as far as to form a sentence. Fragments flitted past, telling a story you were afraid to believe.

Bolt was the city’s superhero… a hero… everyone knew that.

He protected the city from harm.

Yet he had shot you… and now V…

The silence stretched out, Namjoon pausing in his meal as he watched you. When you eventually spoke, your voice was small.

“You were fighting… against Bolt?”

A wry chuckle left his lips. Cocking his head, he clasped his hands.

“Villains, one might say. Many do.”

You simply blinked at him. Meanwhile, Namjoon stared evenly at you, gauging your reaction.

“What else has Bolt done?” you ventured.

Namjoon’s eyebrows raised.

“What do you mean?”

Stammering slightly, you tried to explain.

“Well, I already know Bolt isn’t exactly as… innocent, as most people think. He- I mean, at Kuyang’s- when Bolt was there, he had no reason to shoot me? But I hadn’t really thought about… why he was at Kuyang’s lab. What’s going on?”

As you spoke, a faint smile quirked Namjoon’s mouth. As you trailed off, he nodded. It seemed he was finally willing to indulge you.

“It’s true that Kuyang had set his latest experiment on Bolt already. To the media, it would simply seem that Bolt was retaliating, or eradicating the threat they perceive people like Kuyang to be. But today confirmed what we feared. Bolt is collecting.”

“He’s not destroying those weapons?”

Before Namjoon’s confirming shake of the head, you already knew the answer.

Though many of your questions had now been answered, it felt like you had opened up a whole new realm of possibilities that you couldn’t wrap your head around. But Namjoon didn’t allow you time to spiral into further confusion.

“I had hoped this would have to come later,” he spoke carefully, chewing on his cheek as he sat back once more. “we’ve taken in a few people before, helped them control their powers and then proceed to leave this life behind…

“You clearly know that this world isn’t as black and white as the city media wants us to think. But you should also know we aren’t many people’s idea of heroes. We fight against this society. We use violence, we support developers like Kuyang, who are…”

A wave of his hand was all that was needed. You both knew the kind of person it took to create the things Kuyang spent his time working on.

“People don’t agree with us,” he continued seriously, “which is why I’m offering you the chance to leave. As I said, we normally wait until someone has full control of their powers. Out there, the world isn’t exactly… kind to people like us. Bolt, Monsoon, heroes from tv – they’re the exceptions. People don’t like those who are different. They see our powers as a threat, and they do twisted things to gain power over people they fear. If you choose to go, we want you to at least be safe.”

Breathing deeply, you sat reeling.

Everything that had been presented to you should have flipped this whole thing on its head. Your new friends were by no means superheroes, as you previously thought. There was a reason you never saw their names in glowing lights on tv like Bolt.

But really… did it change anything?

Breaking through the silence, the click of the door handle. Since the new arrival hadn’t even knocked, you were certain who it was before they even entered your line of sight.

“Hey,” Jin spoke. Then he paused, looking between the two of you in the sombre silence. Cautiously raising a brow, he turned towards Namjoon. “You told her?”

Namjoon nodded.

“How’s V?” Namjoon then asked nearly straight away. That was a relief; you were wondering the same thing yourself.

Wiping his brow, Jin perched himself against the desk. Though his sigh was tired, he nodded.

“He’ll be fine. He’s already annoying poor Jiminie again, so that should tell you enough.” After a brief hesitation, he continued, eyes shifting to you. “That was a close one though… if Y/N hadn’t been there…”

With the room’s attention on you once again, you gulped. But somehow, what you said next didn’t take you much thought.

“I want to stay.”

Namjoon kept his infuriating poker face on as he appraised you, but Jin cracked a smile.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he grinned, clapping you on the shoulder. Turning to Namjoon, he cried a smug “I told you!”

Encouraged, you nodded with more certainty.

“I agree with you guys – Bolt goes unquestioned, he’s practically worshipped. But whatever he’s doing, I want to help stop him. And he did try to kill me after all – you guys are the ones who've helped me. I trust you.”

“Good,” Namjoon spoke, digging back in to his food, “I wanted to offer you a position in the team, if you said yes. With Bolt on the move like this, we need all the power we can get-”

As a smile was just blooming on your face, it was halted by his next words.

“But. You aren’t ready just yet. I want you out there with us, so I’m willing to send you out sooner than I have with others before. These are unusual times, and you have to understand this will be more dangerous than I normally send rookies to. There’s work to do, with your powers, but also…

“As much as I appreciate your trust in us, I know it doesn’t extend fully. I need my team to be able to trust each other. Every single one.”

Fixing you with a hard stare to accompany his last words, he was effective in making you shrink in your seat. You knew exactly who he was talking about.

And that person was waiting for you right outside.

On leaving the office, you found Jungkook leaning up against the wall. Jin and Namjoon had hung back, leaving you alone as you emerged, and you instantly rolled your eyes. Determined not to be deterred, you kept walking down the corridor, trying to fix your eyes ahead – firmly away from the infuriating man that watched your approach.

“Scared yet?” his smirk bled through his words. You were almost upon him at this point, and he pushed away from the wall, blocking the way with his black-clad body.

Eyes flicking up to him, unimpressed, you tapped your foot.

“Why would I be scared?”

One corner of his mouth curved up, looking you in the eye as he leaned a little closer.

“We aren’t heroes, honey.”

“Thanks for spelling that out, Jungkook,” you drawled, making to step past him.

His laughter followed you while you started walking away.

“Need help packing?” he called.

“Hey, Jungkook,” Jin’s stern voice joined him, “no need. She’s not going anywhere.”

Jungkook’s silence spoke volumes.

Glancing back as you reached the end of the corridor, you were met with the livid expression that seemed so familiar. Jungkook’s eyes bulged with shock. You were sure that Jin’s hand on his shoulder was all that was holding him back.

Making the most of his eyes on you, you flashed a serene smile and walked away.

But though an (admittedly large) part of you took satisfaction in Jungkook’s shock and rage, you knew you would be expected to work with him. Properly work with him, not the frosty silence he currently counted as work.

With the impossibility of this steadily creeping over you, you climbed the stairs heavily.

As you returned to the wary stares of your friends and dispelled their trepidation, assuring them you were staying and trying to settle down to a relatively normal evening, it remained in the back of your mind.

But you could deal with Jungkook tomorrow. For now, you let yourself be reminded of the reasons you wanted to stay here with them.

Thank you for reading!!💜comments, questions etc. are always welcome! Fanfiction is all about community and if you wanted a sign that it's ok to participate, you are invited!!💞

Let me know if you want to join the taglist!

taglist: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine @written-in-flowers @taegularities @dvalities

@parapiop7 @taiwan0618 @11thenightwemet11 @junniesoleilkth @doctorquack

@oddinary4bts @svnbangtansworld @ktownshizzle @minisugakoobies @jksusawife

@kokoandkookie @veemegatron @kookxin @seokout @jkayy

@peaaachpit @stxrrielle @welcometomyworld13

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook series #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #jungkook x you #jungkook mafia au #bts mafia au #bts series #jungkook fanfic #jeongguk angst #jeongguk imagine #jungkook scenario #superhero bts #supervillain bts #jungkook e2l #jungkook enemies to lovers

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bugsbenefit · 10 months

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hellfire in s5, and how it's Really not looking good for the members

the hellfire club is, in my opinion, one of the most obvious set ups for s5 and i never see enough people acknowledge how blatant the show actually is with it. because it's a directly addressed ongoing issue that slowly worsens over time and directly threatens three main characters (Dustin, Lucas, and Mike), at Least

there's a clear structured progression of the threat getting worse, with a major part of the s4 Hawkins plot being only Jason and his team chasing Eddie down, and by the last episodes of the show the rest of the town sides with them and joins the objective. however, we never get any consequence of the town agreeing with Jason, aside form the kids parents getting reaction shots looking insanely worried. the only thing even resembling partisan participation is a dogwalker (the same man that agreed with Jason first and then caused every other member in the town hall to also agree) informing Jason and co about there being someone in the Creel house. a single character ratting someone out is not pay off for a scene that rallies the entire town with anger and fear. especially because he was the First one to agree with Jason, arguably the next reaction, in parallel to the town house scene, will have everyone else also involve themselves

and everything Jason actually said in the town hall looks INFINITELY worse by the end of the season because he not only died the same day (how odd that must look), the town was also hit by a severe earthquake. (and hell-gates open in town but we don't know how people will react to that yet, or if it will even be immediately obvious to them)

like. it's a Terrible look. and with Eddie being dead now, the main target that represented the hellfire club in s4 and got the primary share of blame is now officially un-prosecutable

s4 also goes out of it's way to associate Lucas, Dustin and Mike explicitly with the hunt on Hellfire, ages before the whole town gets involved

Lucas is put on edge by the basketball's team hostility towards his friends constantly and has to actively lie his way out of the line of fire multiple times. the basketball team is also looking for Dustin to question him about Eddie's whereabouts, even going to his house where a confrontation only doesn't happen because he's not home. and they even manage to go out of their way to drag Mike into it despite him being out of town, when Jason starts a conversation with Nancy specifically to threaten her and then asks about Mike right after

which leads to the other thing; not only are all the kids already on Jason's radar, he's also getting more and more direct with the fact that he doesn't just want to have a nice chat with them (culminating in actually physically attacking Lucas by the last episode)

and if them setting all of the kid members of hellfire up for a bad time wasn't obvious enough, it's also fascinating to see the posters of hellfire we get over the season also show a clear shift in focus

when we see the hellfire club year book photo for the first time the focus is on Eddie. he's who Jason sees as the main culprit and when we get a close up of the burning poster we see Eddie

but when we see the hellfire club photo again 4 episodes later the focus isn't on Eddie anymore. not in dialogue and not visually

the shot is from the Wheeler's pov (Karen's specifically), and the only part of the picture that's in focus is the far right corner, with Mike and Lucas. (makes sense that's her son that's currently being implicated in satanic murders). Eddie never gets unblurred, he's not who the audience is supposed to look at in this shot. verbally Jason is also explicitly blaming the whole club now. it's not just Eddie who's "crazy" and killed Chrissy, it's the whole club who's responsible (it's also very notable that he's handing out yearbook photos of the whole club, not just Eddie. a really distinct prop choice. everyone in town now not only thinks hellfire is directly responsible for multiple ritualistic murders, they also know Exactly who's in the club)

and looking back at the season in hindsight, there's actually more than enough instances that would make the members of Hellfire look kind of guilty, or shady at best, even if someone were to do some research. there's multiple instances of hellfire members lying to the basketball team about hellfire member's whereabouts which definitely doesn't make them look more innocent in the team's eyes. not only do Eddie's band members try to brush them off, Nancy pretends to not even know about Hellfire when Jason asks about Mike, and Lucas goes out of his way to keep Dustin and Eddie's locations from them by deliberately lying and sending them to wrong locations

and that's on top of the entire montage of Dustin and Mike trying to find a substitute player for a single game on the same day a student with no previous affiliation to Eddie Munson dies at his trailer? that looks Horrible in hindsight. especially with them asking pretty much every other student, from almost every club, while both prominently wearing hellfire shirts. if anyone actually remembers them and thinks about the events post Chrissy's death they could definitely make some assumptions

it's just bad looks all around. and that's not even mentioning how they have the potential to look even worse in s5. if it got out Lucas was with Max when she somehow died and broke all her bones? would look horrible. or Dustin now associating with Eddie's dad? and we don't even know how he'll fulfill Eddie's wish to "look after the little sheep"

and even Mike, who didn't even have the chance to attract suspicion post e1 due to being out of town has a whole thing going on with his image paralleling Eddie, with being the other DM and having his s4 style be directly in reference to Eddie's looks

while there's building hostility towards the hellfire members, and the focus (both visually and vocally) switches more to the members Other than Eddie, by the end of the season there just hasn't been a chance for the townsfolk to respond to Jason's speech yet. they all agreed with him, but everything immediately went to shit the same night. however, even the last few minutes of the show, that always have the most direct foreshadowing for the next season, include a shot focusing on the rise of religion and the fearmongering that started with Jason's speech

which serves as a great reminder that the entire town hall just agreed with Hellfire being a satanist cult they need to stop

s4 ends with the hellfire set up being one of the most explicitly obvious plot threads that are about to be a problem for multiple main characters in s5. like the few other obvious established about-to-be struggles: the gates opening, Vecna still being alive, Max being "gone"; we've gotten a full set up there but no payoff yet

and then there's obviously the question of what the people would even DO in s5? they all agreed that Hellfire needed to be stopped, so... what now?

on one hand there's the interesting concept of the town refusing to help the protagonists but they could also be acting as a hostile force against them

say anyone tried to warn the town about the upside down or it's creatures, the chances of people listening to them talk about actual "demons" and reacting in any positive way is probably near 0. even if you saw a Demogorgon nibble on your neighbour an hour ealier, would you really listen to someone you think intentionally opened the Hellgate that let the creatures through in the first place?

but then there's of course the active antagonistic angle they could also take. Jason was calling for Hellfire to be actively opposed and stopped, not passively. and the show Does go out of it's way to show the overcrowded weapons store in multiple shots post Jason-speech

we're supposed to know these people are armed going forward. whether they're buying them to go hunting, or wanting to go shoot Eddie Munson, the weapons are there now... also ignore the 7 separate hellfire wanted posters in the opening shot of the store alone 💀(it's actually 9, i didn't circle the two that are cut off in the bottom corner. that whole board is just plastered with that one photo)

(the implication of what the guns are for couldn't be more obvious if they tried. again, also the scene where Jason tries to intimidate Nancy and directly asks about where Mike is. also the scene where Erica and co try to hide from the basketball team members in the store. the scene features, guns, hellfire posters everywhere, and characters specifically asking about the whereabouts of a member while other people are actively hiding)

and the weapons could play out in a positive way in s5 too, say the lady from next door gets hands on involved and takes shots at the Demobats in her front yard

but the reactionary, scared, and angry town that blames a specific small group of people for everything that's happening could also lead to MCs having to actively worry about getting shot by someone they've seen at the supermarket for 10+ years on top of the supernatural threat

TLDR: re Hellfire, none of these members will have a good time in s5

Edit (because i forgot to include these images and am silly)

Hellfire even makes it on the local news by the end of the season

and in line with the focus shifting from Eddie to the other hellfire members, the news anchor then goes to say that Eddie Munson is presumed dead after the earthquake but that that isn't enough for the town. the news even mentions the conspiracy theory that the hellfire murders CAUSED the earthquake. so anyone who hasn't heard Jason's speech, now they're getting it from a "reputable" source too. call that high quality journalism, let's throw the local highschoolers under the bus

we're supposed to remember the fear of the "satanic cult killing children" that Jason spread to the town. it's still there. and it's not just in the local town hall anymore, its being broadcast on live television. so just in case you didn't catch wind of who caused a "gate to hell" to open in your suburban neighbourhood the first time, the news anchor thankfully tells you who everybody Says is responsible, it's the 14-18 year old satanist serial killers duh

#the hellfire set up for s5 being so obvious gets me okay #i'm excited about it #watching s4 you can really just see how it progressively looks worse for the members #i'm just curious which route they'll actually go with it #mike wheeler #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #st s5 #st s5 speculation #stranger things

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respectthepetty · 9 months

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Wild Ass Theory - Who is the Second Killer?

@anotherblblog asked about the colors in Dead Friend Forever as a response to my Phi is Sus AF post where I listed the reasons I think Phi is in on the kills since they think White is sus too, but I cannot answer questions about White/colors because . . .

Who the fuck is this?!

Freeze frame: Is this Tee?!

Well, it sure isn't Non (Barcode) taking off the mask!

In the original film the boys were shooting and the one played at the party, Non was the killer who unmasked himself.

But apparently, Non wasn't the only one playing a killer.

There were two killers.

This is why we see Jin and Non running in the opening scene because they are being chased by the second killer in the film.

So who is the second killer?

Just like with the original film, the second killer isn't some magical ninth person, but someone already in the group, and in the recreated scene, there is a person missing.

Tan!

Tan and Phi didn't come into the friend group until 12th grade, and White is the baby of the group, so he was too young to hang out with the core friend group until he started dating Tee (way to already start pissing off Tee by holding his man's hand, Phi).

So Phi, Tan, and White are new to all of this and weren't part of the original incident that happened in the 11th grade, but White is now playing Non's part in the film by running away from the masked killer with Jin. Yes? Yes!

From the trailer, we got this scene. Phi, Tee, and Tan are all standing in a bloody room that has hanging signs stating "He Must Die" in Thai with a fourth person, who could either be White or Jin.

And we got the scene of Phi keeping Jin quiet in a box as the killer lurks around them.

So it seems like the final girl boy in the "He Must Die" scene is Jin and not White based on the jacket he is wearing, and

Because Jin is the target.

He is the main character.

And he is about to leave. For. Ev. Er.

Which is something Tan throws out when agreeing with Phi to reshoot the film.

And White is the final push for Tee to agree to it.

From the trailer, we know Non had feelings for Jin, and those feelings seemed mutual.

But Tee is the worst.

And somehow convinced everyone that Non was creepy and should be bullied.

So if Jin was the main character and Tee was possibly the second killer and main bully, it makes sense why they would be saved for last since Non wrote this story,

Yet Por, the first one attacked, is the one credited as writing it, so by reshooting it, the killers are going to correct the wrongs and follow the script the way Non originally wrote it.

Which is why I thought White was the other killer since he is now playing Non's part and Phi asked Tan if he brought his inhaler while he was smoking, which seems like a quick way to kill him in the future, BUT . . .

It doesn't seem like White was supposed to be on this trip in the first place. Tee brought him because he thought White "would be obedient" but he doesn't want White involved in what is happening, and it seems neither do the killers.

When all hell broke loose, Phi went with Jin to look for a saw and sent White and Tan to call for help ensuring that Jin was under his watchful eye and that White and Tan, two people who weren't involved in the original incident, were out of the woods, literally and metaphorically. But Tan seemed surprised that White got the walkie talkie working, while White was confused because all he did was charge it.

The conversation is odd in multiple ways but mostly because Tan is smiling the entire time knowing that their dear friend Por is still out in the woods with a tree limb sticking out of his stomach. But then again, Tan is closer to Phi than anyone else, which is why Jin told Phi to go have sex with Tan.

Which is why I fully believe, after one whole episode, that Tan and Phi are just friends . . .

who plot murders together.

#dead friend forever #dead friend forever the series #please don't disappoint me #I need another good thriller #I know the rules #and these boys already lost #there are two of them #never just one #I don't think this is supernatural #this is personal

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chireikiden · 8 months

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Might be a pretty basic take by the standards of more seasoned yuri fans, but it's my perspective as someone who's mostly read yuri in a Touhou context (though a lot of it), and exclusively manga from the Japanese fans as opposed to i.e. written fics.

Touhou yuri (using it very broadly here to describe any kind of wlw shipping present) is, across the board, in a pool of fan literature going back twenty years, remarkably good at taking the lesbian part for granted. Not counting outright het content or works that simply don't bring it up, I have only very vague memories of a character's lesbian orientation being either denied or even brought to question (even in the cliche "But we're both girls!" manner, which even as a somewhat dead horse trope you might still expect to see, given plenty of doujin writing isn't exactly highbrow). You might be able to read "Does she like girls?" between the lines in the usual question of "Does she like me?" if you really want to, but the way it's still basically treated as default is fun to me. There's a reason Touhou basically has honorary yuri status on e.g. Dynasty Reader, even the stories with effectively zero shipping in them. You might not notice if you haven't browsed the site, but it's literally nothing but yuri + Touhou. We even got upload rights just so we could post more Touhou.

(Of course, Touhou being yuri city is part of the reason any hint of straight romance gets a really strong kneejerk reaction from people, including me. But that's also because the lack of usable male characters makes that shipping inherently hamfisted, up to and including literally making up cardboard villager OCs. Basically the only positive example I can remember off the top of my head is Hisona's An Old Poem for the Cuckoo Bird depicting Youki with a 1000-year-old mostly joking crush on Nue, which after some chin-scratching I decided I liked alright. And Hisona of course has plenty of yuri cred to cover for it.)

But although taken for granted, most Touhou yuri is one or more of: a.) On a "blushing maidens thinking about holding hands" level in its approach to romance, b.) Only depicting the starting moments of a relationship, at best - usually just pining, c.) Only off-handedly teasing, basically to acknowledge the ship is there, d.) Showing a very close and loving relationship but leaving the romance part subtextual, even if thinly veiled.

While those are all fine - some of my favorite artists like e.g. Ashiyama undeniably fall under d.) - it means that artists who depict more established couples, and couples that get depicted as more established, stand out. I love when a story is very blunt about two characters, whether the focus is actually on them or not, already being an item. Be it due to a difference in target demographic or what, many of these works seem to have a slight lean towards being more raunchy/horny even when not outright R-18, but I don't actually mind that too much when it does happen - as long as they're fun and raunchy, as opposed to only raunchy or, god forbid, unfun in raunchy ways.

I like how Moyazou depicts Mokou and Keine as basically-married. I like how Atoki depicts YuuParu or SakiYachi after drawing like twenty books of them (each). I like when Kawayabug depicts Tojiko as Miko's beleaguered wife. But the example of the day is obviously risui (of Ladies of Scarlet Devil Mansion), who you might have guessed inspired this ramble. Funnily enough, in LoSDM she seems to have walked back Meiling and Sakuya's relationship coincidentally at the same time she toned down the content to fit SCoOW's guidelines, compared to her usual works that have MeiSaku at a much more established and mutual stage.

But the point stands that it's really fun to see LoSDM almost rub it in your face from the very start - from Meiling's dream to every other conversation she has - that everyone in it is unapologetically and openly lesbian, assumes everyone else to be a lesbian, and doesn't hesitate to talk about it like a (romcom idiot) adult.

Also, risui draw lady very good

#would be really funny if I started using the tag 'ladies disc.'#losdm disc.

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jiveyuncle · 8 months

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Keith never believed he'd have a long life. He always figured he'd die young and that his death would serve some purpose. He'd die taking a hit for a teammate. Or go up in the flames of a violent explosion while dragging a civilian out of a targeted building. Or crashing his ship at Naxzela to prevent an entire system from being incinerated.

Keith was going to die. He was going to die young. His death would mean something.

He thought these things were a given - facts inscribed on the essence of his being - as unavoidable as a dream, programmed into him the way sleep always eventually demanded dragging creatures to realities outside their own.

Keith was reckless, not because he didn't value his own life - that value could be measured by what he did with it and what he could achieve by risking it - but because he valued others’ more. He was reckless because he cared too much - about the success of the mission, about someone left behind, about everything and everyone else - and that caring was going to be what got him killed. His paladin teammates shouted it at him after every rash decision. His blade comrades acknowledged it with approving nods after each close call. He would easily give up his life if his death meant someone else was saved.

So, when he wakes inside Red, blinking his eyes open only to come face to face with himself in the pilot's chair, things don't click right away. It's not that Keith is dead - that part he accepts instantly, understands on some subconscious level in the same inexplicable way the astral plane connects minds and quintessence links paladins to their lions - but it's the how that his brain isn't processing. It's not that he is staring at his own slumped lifeless body, but it is the trusted Blade member he'd been tasked with transporting to a location to disclose the latest intel on Galran troop movements simply dislodging their blade from Keith's neck, tucking the knife away in their armor, walking to the exit, and leaving as if nothing had just happened. It’s Pidge joking into the comms of Keith's helmet, and Lance joking back, completely unaware of the fact that in a moment, without fight, without reason or warning, without some big sacrificial act, Keith just ceased to exist.

It takes them 15 seconds to write off Keith's lack of a response to the joke as him being peeved about being the butt of it.

It takes them 5 minutes before Lance starts offering lighthearted apologies in the form of backhanded compliments.

It takes them 15 minutes to discover that Keith isn't at the meetup location at the time they agreed on and to realize something is actually wrong.

They find Keith's body cold.

There's a lot of panic that feels much too sudden and extreme after drifting through space with his own corpse in the quiet cabin for so long - too many emotions in his friends faces, loud cracking voices, shaking hands.

Lance presses a palm to the gash in Keith's neck and grabs a control arm with the other, begging Red to take them home. He can't feel how cold Keith's skin is through the climate-controlled gloves of his suit, but he has to recognize there is no pulse beneath his fingertips. “If you've ever loved Keith,” he pleads anyway, as if he doesn't already know.

They rush his body out like getting him to a pod will be of any help.

Keith can’t feel his body, but he feels tears on the floor of the cockpit and the vibration of feet down Red's ramp. He doesn’t sense pain, but he tastes his own congealed blood in the chair and, later, the antiseptic Coran returns with.

This is how Keith dies. Quietly. Without purpose. Alive one moment, and then not - wiped away with a cleaning rag beneath clenched fists, secret shuddering breaths, and a mouth whispering his name for the first time alongside words of regret.

Dead Keith/Red Paladin Lance AU (Part 2/?)

The event that set things in motion.

I’ve always wanted a canon story where the main character dies in some anticlimactic way, but I don’t ever see it because I assume it would really anger a fanbase or just feel really dissatisfying. The big question of, “For what reason? What purpose did that death serve?” And the reality is, death doesn’t usually come in the form of sacrifice or to satisfy some narrative. I’m obsessed with the idea of someone so important, a character who has lived through so many close calls just dying in such a simple and unexpected fashion - of dying without anyone knowing. It has to really fuck with Keith’s teammates extra bad - suddenly not knowing who they can trust, wondering any time there’s silence on the comms if one of their other friends just died without them noticing. Them each picking up little habits to signal to the others that they’re okay - Lance humming, Pidge tapping her fingers near the mic, Shiro clearing his throat, Hunk popping his lips. Uhg.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

You can now read this on AO3 as:

Empty Spaces You Left Behind

#keith kogane #lance mcclain #pidge holt #pidge gunderson #katie holt #voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld #fanart #fanfic #major character death #cw blood #dead keith red paladin lance au #Empty Spaces You Left Behind

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sapphic-coded · 4 months

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Loose Ends

With her target dead, all Yelena needs to do is clean up a loose end. You. Except she can't pull the trigger. But she can't let you go. That leaves only one option.

Yelena Belova x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Some gore. Mention of past non-consensual relationship. Smut ( bdsm, dom/sub relationship, punishments, impact play, restraints, light degradation but it's there, edging, collars ). Minors DNI. This was written for a mature audience. Please do not repost my work. Reblog, like, and/or comments is how you can show your support.

Word Count: 3k

Author's Note: This started out as a writing exercise and it turned into this. It was too much fun to not share. I can see this being a short series. Let me know what you guys think. Do you want more Yelena?

Chapter One: The Brat Tamer

You put up a good fight. The two goons that obey Watson’s every command drag you down the hallway. With every breath you take, you try to get away. You try to pull yourself from their grasp. You try digging your feet into the hardwood floors. You try everything you can think of to either wear them down or slip free. But all your efforts do nothing as they reach the door to Watson’s study. The door opens, and you are pushed into the room.

You stumble into Watson’s study, and you just barely manage to stop yourself from falling face first onto the floor. You hear the door shut behind you. You want to turn around and yank the door back open. You want to run out of Watson’s study and just keep running until all of this is far behind you. But you already tried that. Multiple times. It never works. You run and run and run…and you end up back here.

“Ah, Y/N,” Watson’s familiar voice claims your attention. He is sitting behind his large mahogany desk in his favorite dark brown armchair. He is dressed in his usual navy blue business suit with a tumbler glass of whiskey in his hand. “You made it.” The smile that cuts across his face is cold and hollow. “I want you to meet someone.” He gestures with his hand to the woman sitting across from him.

The first thing you notice is her hair. Her long blonde hair is held away from her face in a large intricate braid. Only a couple blonde strands fall free to frame her face as she turns in her seat to look at you. She wears a long green trench coat that is held closed by the wrap that is knotted across her stomach. Black fingerless gloves cover her hands while black tactical looking boots cover her feet. But it’s her eyes that steal your attention completely. The woman’s hazel eyes are playful, but there is something else that lurks behind it. You feel as though you are standing before a predator. But not the kind like Watson. Not vile and disgusting. She’s different.

“This is Yelena,” Watson says.

She offers you a smile and tilts her head slightly as her eyes drink in the sight of you.

“She is here at my request,” Watson continues.

You can feel her stare as if they were her fingers raking over your skin. Just minutes ago, you hadn’t cared how you looked. You were content to look as messy and unpresentable to Watson as possible. You hated his touch, and you did whatever you could to keep him away from you. It wasn’t a foolproof plan. When he wanted you he would have his way with you. But his displeasure was always palpable, and you found solace in that.

But now you feel like a dirty, mangy animal under her stare. You are suddenly self conscious of all your flaws. Your grass stained sweats and your worn band t-shirt feel wrong to wear. You nervously pick at the hem of your shirt.

“Y/N!” Watson’s raises his voice and your attention is dragged away from Yelena. You can still feel her looking at you. Watson’s hollow smile is gone. “Say hello.”

Your attention quickly returns to Yelena. Her hazel eyes meet yours. “Hi.” You feel proud that your voice doesn’t betray how you really feel. Your voice comes out calm and even slightly disinterested.

Watson shakes his head and looks across his desk to Yelena. “As I explained, she is challenging.”

“It is nothing I can’t handle,” Yelena says. The woman’s Russian accent laces through her words as she keeps her focus on you despite responding to Watson.

“Threesome’s aren’t really my thing,” you say to Watson. You watch as he takes a long sip of his drink. Your words are meaningless to him. He has already done so much to you that you hated. He’s already heard you begging him to stop. He never does.

He sets his drink down on his desk. “Even if it was, you do not deserve any pleasure. I spent three days chasing you down after your latest stunt. Do you know how much money I spent to make sure you got back here safely?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. A thousand dollars? Whatever it was, it sounds like a big waste of money to me.”

“You should be grateful,” he says.

“I will be dead before that ever happens,” you reply. “Can I go now?”

“No.”

It is Yelena that answers you. Your gaze shifts to the woman, and you notice that her smile is gone.

“Yelena is here to correct your behavior,” Watson explains.

You are still processing Watson’s words when Yelena stands up and moves towards you. You instinctively step back, but Yelena closes the space between the two of you. You can smell the jasmine and cedarwood scent of her perfume as she moves in a slow circle around you. You hear her come to a stop behind you. You are tempted to turn your head to look at her, but Watson’s movement steals your attention.

He rises from his chair and collects his glass of whiskey. “She has my permission to do whatever her work requires.” He moves away from his desk and closer to you. “And if you drive her away–”

“She won’t,” Yelena cuts in before Watson can finish his threat. You feel her finger slowly glide across your back between your two shoulder blades. You shift your weight from one foot to the other. The smell of her perfume is beginning to be all you smell, and you don’t want that to stop. “I am very good at taming brats.”

Watson’s smile makes you want to turn and run, but Yelena’s hand grabs the back of your collar. You stumble for a moment as the action jerks you back half a step. You can feel the softness of her coat brush against your back as something cuts apart the collar. Before you can think to ask, the dark blue, rough, scratchy collar is removed. The brush of cool air against the newly exposed skin around your neck feels strange.

Yelena holds the collar out towards Watson. The collar’s fabric has been cut through and looks pathetic and sad in Watson’s hand. “Take that. She must earn it back.” You aren’t eager to earn it back, but a warmth pools in your gut. Watson walks by you, and you listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps. You can still feel Yelena at your back as you hear the door to Watson’s study open and then close.

“Your Master has told me so much about you,” she says once you two are finally alone. You feel her press her finger into the nape of your neck. “He told me how he acquired you.” Her finger slowly traces down the back of your neck. The feeling of her skin pressed against yours is like lightning, and the warmth taking root within you becomes more pronounced. “It is obviously the root of your misbehavior. We will address it. I will make you his obedient slut.”

“I’m not his–”

You are about to turn around to face her, but her finger disappears from the back of your neck. Her fingers curl into your hair, and she grabs a fistful of it. Without warning, she pulls you back until your entire back is pressed against her front. Her lips come to rest next to your ear.

“You will not speak unless I give you permission. Do you understand?”

Your hands come up in a pathetic attempt to free yourself from her hold. Yelena’s free hand effortlessly smacks your hands away and gives another swift yank on your hair. Your eyes squeeze shut against the pain, and you think you can hear her smiling as her breath tickles your ear.

“Yes,” you finally say.

She doesn’t let go. “You will address me as Domina.”

“Yes, Domina,” you quickly reply.

She lets go of your hair, and you take a breath at the receding pain. Domina. You’ve never had a Domina before. Always a Master. There’s a ring to the title that you like. You like the way it feels in your mouth when you say it. Unlike Watson’s title. You want to gag every time he forces the title out of you.

“Your Master gives you too many privileges,” Yelena says as she takes a small step away from you. The feeling of her body against yours disappears, and you don’t like that at all. You miss it. And you hate how she keeps dragging your Master back to the forefront of your mind. You don’t want to think about him. You just want to think about her. You don’t know what she’s going to do to you, and it sends a thrill through you.

“He lets you speak when you have not earned it,” she continues. “He lets you hit him when you do not listen. I am revoking these privileges. Put your hands behind your back.”

You bring your hands back, and you feel her hand grab hold of yours. She secures a pair of handcuffs around your wrists. Once the cuffs are locked, she lets go and you hear her take a step back. The same feeling from before returns. You want her to keep touching you. You don’t want her to stop.

“Kneel,” she orders.

“Does this have to happen here?” you ask. You hear her moving slightly behind you and you start to turn your head to look at her. “There are at least six bedrooms we could–”

You don’t see her pull out the baton. In fact, you aren’t even aware of its existence within this room until she hits it against the back of your knees. A sharp cry is ripped from your lips as you fall immediately to your knees. The pain stings as she slowly walks around and stands in front of you. You stare at her black tactical boots until the tip of her black baton comes to rest beneath your chin. She tilts your head up.

“Your antics will not work on me,” she says. “All they will do is earn you more punishments.” She removes her baton from beneath your chin. “Open your mouth.”

You keep your lips shut and look away from her. A moment later her hand grabs your face and forces you to look up at her again.

“You will not win this, Y/N.” Yelena’s fingers press into your cheeks and squeeze. You try to keep your mouth shut for as long as possible, but she soon manages to pry your mouth open. She brings her baton back up, but instead of bringing it down against you again, she positions it horizontally and shoves it into your open mouth. The grip she has on your mouth loosens as your mouth slowly closes over the baton. Your teeth bite down against the weapon. “Do not drop this.”

Yelena lets go of her baton before kneeling down on one knee in front of you. She lifts up the hem of your t-shirt until the waistline of your sweats is exposed. “You should be wet by now.”

You are not prepared for those words, and you are even less prepared when Yelena slips her hand between the fabric of your sweats and your skin. Her hand expertly slips underneath your soaked panties. The moment you feel her fingers brush against your wet sex, you let out a small moan. Your bite on her baton starts to loosen as every thought in your head diverts to her fingers.

“You are losing focus,” she says as her fingers gather up some of your slick. “Your punishment will be worse if you drop my baton.”

Your teeth dig back into the baton, and you are glad you did because you know for sure that you would have dropped the weapon when her fingers finally plunge into you. She gives you no time to properly react as her fingers begin thrusting in and out of you at a pace that pulls louder moans from you. She watches you as her fingers brush across your sweet spot. Her head tilts slightly to the side as her fingers continue to work you up. Her fingers are deft and merciless as you feel yourself steadily reaching that sweet, blissful edge.

You’re getting so close, and you try to speak around the baton in your mouth but all that comes out are unintelligent noises. But right as you are about to spill over, her fingers disappear. Yelena pulls her hand out from your sweats. More unintelligent noises escape from your mouth as you voice your frustration. You are so close. Why did she stop?

She ignores all your noises and gets up. Your head tilts back to look at her while her hand dips into the pocket of her green coat. “That is all you will get until you learn to behave.” Her other hand reaches out, and her fingers settle underneath your chin while her thumb softly strokes the side of your cheek. “But we will work on that, malýshka.”

You feel something pinch the side of your neck. You don’t understand what is happening as you feel your body grow heavy. Yelena continues to watch you as your head suddenly feels very heavy and rolls forward. Your eyes shut, and you hear the baton hit the floor. Then nothing.

When you wake, you are no longer in the study. You are laying on a couch in the living room. It’s quiet, and you don’t understand how you got here. You feel something draped over you. You turn your head to look, and you end up more confused. Draped across your body is Yelena’s green coat. What happened? One minute you were on the cusp of coming completely undone into the hands of this woman, and now you’re here.

You sit up and part of Yelena’s coat falls away to reveal your hands bound in cuffs in front of you. Your clothes are still on, and you don’t see anyone around. In fact, you don’t hear the usual chatter of lounging goons. Everything is so quiet. What’s going on? You lift Yelena’s coat off of you and stand. The living room is empty, and the large flatscreen hanging on the wall is off. You are about to call out to anybody when you see it.

Or rather, when you see him.

Laying on his back on the other side of the couch is Watson. He is dressed in the same navy business suit you saw him in earlier. So you couldn’t have been out for long. He is staring up at the ceiling with his eyes wide and his mouth open as if he is yelling. In the middle of his forehead, right above his eyebrows, is a red hole. Dark red blood pools on the wooden floor beneath his head.

You are still putting together exactly what you are seeing when you hear fast, heavy footsteps rushing down the hallway. One of Watson’s goons emerges from the hallway. Usually, Watson’s goons can’t help themselves. They love touching you. They love any excuse to drag you to your Master. But this time, the goon doesn’t even spare you a look. He keeps running across the living room towards the foyer.

Three gunshots make you jump and cry out as the goon stumbles. Fresh blood stains the backside of his shirt as he falls. You hear him struggling to push himself back onto his feet when someone else emerges from the hallway.

Yelena. With her coat gone you see that she is dressed in a black tactical suit. Some blood has dried along the side of her face, but you don’t see any marks on her. In her hand is a gun, and she raises it towards the struggling goon. She pulls the trigger and another gunshot rips through the air. You take several steps back away from the couch as the goon goes still.

“Oh my god,” you say, unable to stop yourself. You know you shouldn’t have drawn attention to yourself but what the fuck did you just watch? “You killed him. You just…” You look away from the goon’s body and you find Yelena looking at you. “...killed him.” You know that you’re repeating yourself, but it’s the only thing you can think to say.

“Yes,” Yelena replies with a small nod. “That is what I am paid to do.”

Paid? Your mouth opens and then closes as a million questions crash together in your head.

Yelena moves towards the couch and reaches down to grab her coat. “Come. We cannot play twenty questions here. I have set the explosives to go off in five minutes.”

You quickly take another step back. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Then, a moment later when what she also said finally hits you. “Wait, explosives?”

She puts her coat back on and moves towards you. “I think I drugged you too much. You are acting very slow.” You feel the warm barrel of her gun press against your side when she reaches you. “You do not get to choose. You are my prisoner.” The barrel of her gun digs into your side when you don’t move. “Do you want to walk or do you want me to shoot?”

You still have so many questions, but the look Yelena gives you keeps you quiet. As much as you want to understand what the hell is going on, you also want to get as far away from all this as possible. But the gun makes both those things impossible. So, without any other choice available, you start to move towards the foyer. You see Yelena smile as she moves to walk behind you. She drags the barrel of her gun to press against your lower back.

“Good girl, malýshka,” she says.

Her praise sends a shiver down your spine as you leave.

#yelena belova x reader #yelena x reader #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova fanfic #yelena belova fanfiction #black widow x reader #black widow fanfiction #my fanfic #fic: loose ends

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pastanest · 1 year

Text

Daryl Dixon x she/her!reader

A/N: set in Alexandria, no spoilers of events, just one character who lives there

For Your Hand

From the moment Daryl strolled into Alexandria with one hand holding yours and the other holding a dead opossum, he had made a statement, and everyone in Alexandria had understood it loud and clear. In truth, Daryl had not thought much about the deeper meaning behind his statement, he simply wanted the crowd of strangers to understand that you were under his protection and he was very capable of handling pests. In his own way, the gesture was very sweet and because you knew him so well, you took it as a compliment.

Anyone that had looked at you and seen you as an easy target or - god forbid - available, had quickly been set on the right path upon seeing the large hand that held yours and the way in which you partially hid yourself behind what you had accepted to be your guardian angel while others saw an unpredictable, animalistic, territorial wild-man, and you didn’t mind that description, either. There was only one person in the crowd of strangers that had been stupid enough to misinterpret the display and, instead of taking the “back off” message and following suit, took it as a personal challenge.

Deanna’s eldest son, Spencer, was the furthest thing from your type you could have conjured up if you were to try. Clean cut, smooth talking, clearly views himself as charming; the perfect salesman, in a time where nothing would ever be sold again. But, you were never one to be impolite without good reason, which was something Daryl admired about you from day one. Being naturally standoffish, he could not understand the warmth you immediately offered every person you met, including him, until a person gave you a reason to treat them differently. As ridiculous as you thought Spencer’s attempts at wooing you were, he had not overstepped a boundary or acted inappropriately, he remained respectful and would accept your refusals at every turn, but would approach you again in no time from a different angle, trying out some new sales pitch on you. It became an inside joke within your group, everyone laughing and rolling their eyes when they saw Spencer approach you, and because you had made it clear to Daryl you had no interest in the guy and he trusted you wholeheartedly, he saw the humor in it, too.

That was, until yesterday, when you went to Daryl nervously to tell him that the previous night, after Daryl had left to check the traps he’d set beyond the walls - not wanting to rely on the community’s food just yet - and Spencer took it upon himself to knock at your door. It was very late by the time your soulmate and protector had left your home, meaning it was no coincidence that Spencer was around when he left; he had been waiting for Daryl to go before he made his move. While the conversation he approached you with was nothing out of the ordinary for Spencer, you were made uncomfortable by the way in which he had snuck around Daryl, it meant he understood that your boyfriend would not approve of his intentions and that raised alarm bells for you.

Listening intently to your explanation, Daryl nodded only once, scowl already darting around Alexandria until it landed on the idiot that had dared make you feel uncomfortable. Fixing his icy glare on him, Daryl finally answered you.

“I’ll deal with ‘im.”

He considers running over and tackling the guy to the ground then and there, but decides against it in favor of a better plan, the thought of which leaves a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth for the rest of the day.

Daryl makes the executive decision to stick to you like glue for the rest of the evening. While he is not always at your side, he is never more than a few feet away, smoking a cigarette while you chat to someone else, helping you with your daily tasks, leading you over to his bike and having you sit on it while he works on it for absolutely no reason, solely to relish in the disdainful expression he catches on Spencer’s face from the corner of his eye when he stands up and you swoon over your greased up wildman. He ensures that, for the duration of the day when the sun is up, Spencer has no opportunity whatsoever to get you alone, for your sense of safety and his own personal enjoyment.

Much like the previous night, Daryl spends the evening with you in the house you share, the two of you enjoying each other’s company, cooking up what he retrieved from his traps the night before, laughing and joking around like a married couple in the suburbs. As ironic as that description is, considering the state of the world and Daryl’s general opposition to that kind of dream, he cannot deny that, when that kind of dream involves you, it brings the softest smile to his face and the lightest dusting of pink to his cheeks.

Around the same time as the previous night, Daryl takes his leave, kissing you goodbye at the door and swinging his crossbow over his shoulder before heading for the gate. This time, though, he intends to trap a different kind of pest. Instead of going to the gate, he turns left down a different street, then left again down another, then left one final time, between some houses that bring him right back to yours. There, he finds Spencer jogging up your porch steps with some flowers clasped in his hands. Daryl scoffs, approaching silently to stand at the bottom of the steps and right as Spencer lifts his hand to knock at your door, his voice cuts into the silence of the night.

“The hell you doin’?” His voice is quiet and gruff as ever, but the way Spencer’s stance stiffens tells Daryl he has already succeeded in making the younger man shit himself where he stands.

Clearing his throat, he turns to face Daryl, trying lamely to hide the flowers behind his back. “Daryl! Hey!”

Taking a drag of his cigarette, Daryl tips his nose, gesturing to the flowers. “Those for (Y/N)?”

Accepting that he has been caught in the act, Spencer can only nod.

Daryl nods back at him. “She don’ like ‘em, she likes pink ones best.”

Spencer’s eyes widen. “O-Oh…”

Dropping his cigarette on the ground, Daryl puts it out with a single drag of his shoe. “Course, ya’d know that if ya cared enough t’ ask ‘er, but ya dont. Every time ya talk to ‘er, yer tryna persuade ‘er that yer her dream guy, but ya know nothin’ about ‘er.”

Spencer frowns at this. “Hey, man, I never meant to-”

Daryl waves him off. “Save it, I’ve known what you were doin’ since the firs’ time I saw you lookin’ at ‘er.”

Spencer’s frown intensifies. “You knew and never tried to stop me? Isn’t she supposed to be yours?”

Daryl smirks at the idiot’s poor attempt to get under his skin. “Glad ya know that, at least. Never stopped ya ‘cause (Y/N) never asked me to, she didn’t wanna be impolite an’ as long as you stayed respectful, I would’ve had no problem laughin’ at yer attempts to get ‘er. Ya crossed the line las’ night, so ‘m stoppin’ you now.”

Spencer sighs, feigning defeat as he hangs his head and walks slowly down the steps, not meeting Daryl’s scowl as he passes him. “I never meant to make her uncomfortable…You win, man.”

At that, Daryl scoffs again. “She ain’t no damn prize to be won, asshole.” Then it’s his turn to jog up the steps and stand at your door, intending to guard it until Spencer is out of sight.

Unfortunately, Spencer’s ego just won’t let him leave without taking one last jab. Looking over his shoulder from down the street, he calls out.

“I hope someday (Y/N) realizes what’s good for her and chooses someone that will actually fight for her!”

For a moment, there is silence, because Daryl allows it. He watches the silence lull Spencer into a false sense of security, waits for the victorious smirk to appear on his face, and then lets that smirk disappear at the sound of a crossbow falling against your porch.

The steps towards Spencer are silent, but he turns to face the fast approaching wildman with an expression of a deer in headlights. Once only a few feet separates them, Daryl stops.

“Ya think I won’t fight for ‘er?”

Spencer clears his throat. “W-Well, I just meant that you haven’t-”

Daryl shrugs, interrupting him. “C’mon then, gimme yer best shot.”

Spencer’s jaw drops. “Wh-What?!”

Daryl crosses his arms over his chest. “C’mon, man, you wanna fight for ‘er hand or whatever, go for it. I’ve got all night.”

The sound of your front door opening pulls Daryl from his current conversation immediately. As soon as his eyes land on the sight of you, stepping out onto your porch, his scowl softens into the loving smile that only you can bring him.

“Daryl? Is everything alright?” You call out to him, your concern for what is unfolding between the two men obvious by your tone.

“Everythin’s fine, almos’ done here!” Daryl calls back to you.

Seeing your expression relax makes his heart sing, even from afar, but it doesn’t last long. A look of alarm flashes across your face and you’re quick to point behind him.

“DARYL! LOOK OUT!”

Scowling, Daryl turns around just in time to duck out of the way of Spencer as he lunges for him, sending him stumbling. The moment Spencer is steady on his feet again, Daryl closes the space between them with a swift right hook to his jaw, Spencer landing on the ground with a thud. Standing over him, Daryl shakes his head.

“If ya wan’ed me t’ fight for ‘er, only had t’ ask.”

With that, he steps over Spencer as he sputters blood onto the gray street and rolls onto his back, staring up at the night sky in total defeat. Meanwhile, Daryl strolls over to you so casually, as though he hasn’t just made the most chivalrous and impressive display for your hand you have ever seen. Playing along, you hold your hand out to him and as he ascends the porch steps, he takes hold of it and gently kisses your knuckles, the two of you chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all, but both feeling heat rising in your faces at the intensity of your feelings towards each other, following such a gesture.

Hand still in his, you tug him as close to you as you can bring him and lean up to place a chaste kiss on his lips. You can both feel Spencer’s eyes on you as you do, bringing amused smiles to your faces, but a chaste kiss is the most PDA either of you want to give him the satisfaction of showing off. Leaning down to pick his crossbow back up, Daryl swings it over his shoulder, and you are quick to instinctively brush his hair from his face as you admire him in all his glory.

“My knight in shining armor.”

—————

taglist:

@ruinedbythehobbit @iamburdened @evilbabyelf @of-storms-and-sadness @crossbowking @spidergirla5 @jodiereedus22 @thanossexual @captain-shannon-becker @cordialgargoyle @romanoffs-bitch @daryldixonandfrogs @just-always-tired @pillowjj @the-musical-doodle @likeablevillain @irrelevantyettopicalusername @notquitecannon @alyisdead @polkadottedpillowcase @twdeadfanfic @wishingtobeforeveryoung1994 @sigynlokiem @courtnytrash04 @thatwrestlingfan91 @buttsology @prettylittleblog13 @milariskanavasi @whatanicepanohthatsjustme @your-new-mom @daryls-angell @lilzebub @amaroho @bakedcrispss @yes-sir-hotchner @wasted-years @kpopandharry @madshelily @datidixon @dumandbass @savageneversaw

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead imagine #x reader #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons

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rachetmath · 2 months

Text

Jaune's Final Act

Jaune: Okay, so from all the information you all have shown me, again thank you all, I think we should discuss some things.

Winter: Indeed.

Ruby: We need to do something.

Jaune: Okay, first let's discuss the Crown. As Coco told me they were a horrible organization. They target people, especially with valuable semblances. Not to mention they are now partner with Tyrian. A wild card that we may not be able to predict.

Qrow: Yeah he is a slipper guy.

Jaune: We have no idea what their next move will be so we need to be prepared. So I think we send Emerald Sustrai in to infiltrate and spy on them.

Ruby: What- No!

Jaune: I’m sorry why not?

Nora: Jaune we can't trust her.

Jaune: why not?

Yang: Well she-

Jaune: Penny is dead. You got a new arm. Your name is clear. Get over it. First off, we don't know what Tyrian knows. Tyrian might not know what's happened in Atlas. Even so, we’re not letting go as she but in disguise.

Nora: But Jaune-Jaune-

Jaune: The woman helped us in evacuation. And has not she not protected this city from Grimm?

Winter: Well-

Ren: She probably informed Cinder and that's-

Jaune: Has anyone interrogated her? Robyn.

Robyn: Well um-

Jaune: So we jump to conclusions. Plus this is perfect for her to prove herself so why not let her walk?

Blake: Jaune she was a-

Jaune: Blake we have files and you told me about your old life so don't try to play.

Blake: … …

Jaune: Yang didn't you destroy someone's property and drive past the speed limit? Shouldn't you be in debt?

Yang: … … …

Jaune: Ruby you interfered in the hunting business more than one time. You know you could've been charged a fine right? In fact, you be arrested.

Ruby: Um…

Jaune: And Weiss. You. Your sister. Your mom. Or your brother. Someone's could do some time considering the Schnees' shady deals. In fact, Klian can take the fall.

Weiss and Winter: *scared*

Jaune: Like I said let her walk. We need her. Next is the Grimm attacks. They are skyrocketing. This may be due to our mistake of bringing too many people to Vacuo. Not to mention Vale citizens. So… I am afraid we need to escort some of them out.

Robyn: What?! Objection!

Obleck: I agree, Mr.Arc. That is cruel.

Jaune: Oh really how so?

Robyn: We can't force these people out. They will have nowhere to go.

Jaune: We forcefully brought these people here. They don't like being here let alone with each other.

Robyn: Well our people-

Jaune: Stop. You talk a big game yet you haven't done jack for your people. Where were you when they needed you? What were you doing besides making their situation worse?

Robyn: EXCUSE ME!? I’ll have you-

Jaune: When you kept stealing from the military did you ever occur to you that could have caused Martial law to be In place? In fact, even without Martial law, you caused more problems like with more security. More guns. Largerer curfew hours. Was what you were trying to accomplish worth that than for your people?

Robyn: …

Jaune: Not to mention Tyrian wouldn't be here or alive if it wasn't for a certain someone or two people for letting him escape. Was that worth it to you? Considering he hurt your team too.

Robyn: …

Winter: Say that we do consider your suggestion. How would we go about it and where would they go?

Jaune: I already spoke with Mr. Belladonna.

Blake: My father.

Jaune: Yep and he agrees to help. In fact, he said he could use some more hands considering the state Mantle was left in.

Ren: That isn't enough.

Jaune: Well he also wanted to talk with you on this Ren.

Ren: He wants to use my old village.

Jaune: Yep to expand Faunus territory, gain more human relationships, and restore it. He even believes since it's your home you should one day lead it.

Ren: But-

Jaune: Regardless that village is unclaimed territory right now. If he doesn't get it someone else will. I just want you to have your home back. You can discuss the terms with him. Your choice.

Ren: Okay.

Nora: Wait. Jaune… this could lead to our team-

Jaune: I know.

Winter: Okay besides that just Mistral-

Ruby: Well we have Argus but we also have that one village we went to. And with Apathy gone, we could use that.

Jaune: But if that's the case we still need to send hunters to help.

Raven: Woo-woo kid. We can't send hunters on escort missions.

Theodore: Yes we need as many hunters as possible.

Jaune: Yes but we need to escort these people safely out of the city.

Theodore: Are you suggesting what I think you are?

Jaune: …

Theodore: No.

Jaune: Sir please -

Theodore: They're just kids. First year.

Jaune: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. And nine for Pyrrha. Ten of you count Penny.

Theodore: Your point?

Jaune: Pyrrha a first year chosen to be a maiden. She died. Penny, another first year, was placed in charge of an entire city. Became soon after. Died.

Theodore: Mr. Arc I will have you know I am nothing like Ironwood and Ozpin.

Jaune: I know. But my point still stands. These people, students, wanted to be hunters. But they lack experience. So why not give it to them? Let them show what they got. I mean they will be monitored but still.

Theodore: Very well.

Raven: Now for the tribes.

Jaune: We already set up a meeting with them after this one.

Raven: What?

Theodore: It's true. We need to know what tribes will be against us and who we can trust. You Miss Branwen will be my ascort.

Raven: ….

Jaune: You have more tribal knowledge than any of us. You're our best shot.

Raven: …

Jaune: So. Does anyone have any suggestions or questions about this?

Everyone is silent.

Jaune: Look I understand I sound cruel. But I rather for once be ahead of the game this time.

Yang: You can’t control everything Jaune.

Jaune: I know. But at least I’m doing whatever I can instead of being an ass.

Raven: We’re screwed.

After a long battle.

Raven: Holy crap.

Emerald: That’s right. That’s right. I did this. I came through. Mercury.

Mercury: I’m officially on the hero’s side. I’m nothing like my father.

Emerald: That’s right.

Ren: My village will restored. And one day I must lead it. Blake, I hope you will help me.

Blake: Of course my friend.

Oobleck: Our numbers have increased. New homes have been established.

Theodore: We still have the relic despite losing our maiden. But that was the casualty of war.

Ruby: I got maiden powers now.

Jaune: You're the main character.

Ruby: F*** you.

Raven: We really increased our chances. Get work kid.

Jaune: Yeah… *died*

Ruby: No!

Cinder: *laugh* F*** you b****!

Ruby: I WILL KILL YOU!

In heaven

Jaune: Damn. Well, at least I turned up one last time.

Pyrrha: Jau-Jaune!

Jaune: Pyrrha. Penny! Alyx! Lewis!

Jaune hugs all of them.

Pyrrha: I’m so- I’m so- sorry.

Penny: I am too.

Jaune: Don’t be. I wish I’m sorry I-

Pyrrha: It’s okay. You did great out there.

James: I think-

Penny: Shut up.

Summer: I mean-

Pyrrha: You died for nothing.

Jaune: I mean, come on, I died but at least I gave the world a better chance to survive. I focused on what mattered in the present instead of the future which changes constantly. I tried to bring humans and faunas together for a common goal and maintain relationships even after Salem was finished.

In hell

Adam: Damn

In heaven

Jaune: I may have lost my life I didn’t go out like a b****. A coward. And a control freak. I went out like a G. Like Roman.

In hell

Roman: Damn right.

In heaven.

Jaune: Now you excuse.

Pyrhha: *lifted bridal style*

Jaune: I think you owe me something for all my troubles.

Pyrrha: *blushes*Um.

Jaune takes Pyrrha away.

Penny: Have fun you two!

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #lie ren #nora valkyrie #blake belladonna #penny polendina #qrow branwen #pyhrra nikos #james ironwood #rwby alyx #raven branwen #ghira belladonna

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